"PART I\n\n\n\nCHAPTER I\n\nOn an exceptionally hot evening early in July a young man came out of\nthe garret in which he lodged in S. Place and walked slowly, as though\nin hesitation, towards K. bridge.\n\nHe had successfully avoided meeting his landlady on the staircase. His\ngarret was under the roof of a high, five-storied house and was more\nlike a cupboard than a room. The landlady who provided him with garret,\ndinners, and attendance, lived on the floor below, and every time\nhe went out he was obliged to pass her kitchen, the door of which\ninvariably stood open. And each time he passed, the young man had a\nsick, frightened feeling, which made him scowl and feel ashamed. He was\nhopelessly in debt to his landlady, and was afraid of meeting her.\n\nThis was not because he was cowardly and abject, quite the contrary; but\nfor some time past he had been in an overstrained irritable condition,\nverging on hypochondria. He had become so completely absorbed in\nhimself, and isolated from his fellows that he dreaded meeting, not\nonly his landlady, but anyone at all. He was crushed by poverty, but the\nanxieties of his position had of late ceased to weigh upon him. He had\ngiven up attending to matters of practical importance; he had lost all\ndesire to do so. Nothing that any landlady could do had a real terror\nfor him. But to be stopped on the stairs, to be forced to listen to her\ntrivial, irrelevant gossip, to pestering demands for payment, threats\nand complaints, and to rack his brains for excuses, to prevaricate, to\nlie--no, rather than that, he would creep down the stairs like a cat and\nslip out unseen.\n\nThis evening, however, on coming out into the street, he became acutely\naware of his fears.\n\n\"I want to attempt a thing _like that_ and am frightened by these\ntrifles,\" he thought, with an odd smile. \"Hm... yes, all is in a man's\nhands and he lets it all slip from cowardice, that's an axiom. It would\nbe interesting to know what it is men are most afraid of. Taking a new\nstep, uttering a new word is what they fear most.... But I am talking\ntoo much. It's because I chatter that I do nothing. Or perhaps it is\nthat I chatter because I do nothing. I've learned to chatter this\nlast month, lying for days together in my den thinking... of Jack the\nGiant-killer. Why am I going there now? Am I capable of _that_? Is\n_that_ serious? It is not serious at all. It's simply a fantasy to amuse\nmyself; a plaything! Yes, maybe it is a plaything.\"\n\nThe heat in the street was terrible: and the airlessness, the bustle\nand the plaster, scaffolding, bricks, and dust all about him, and that\nspecial Petersburg stench, so familiar to all who are unable to get out\nof town in summer--all worked painfully upon the young man's already\noverwrought nerves. The insufferable stench from the pot-houses, which\nare particularly numerous in that part of the town, and the drunken men\nwhom he met continually, although it was a working day, completed\nthe revolting misery of the picture. An expression of the profoundest\ndisgust gleamed for a moment in the young man's refined face. He was,\nby the way, exceptionally handsome, above the average in height, slim,\nwell-built, with beautiful dark eyes and dark brown hair. Soon he sank\ninto deep thought, or more accurately speaking into a complete blankness\nof mind; he walked along not observing what was about him and not caring\nto observe it. From time to time, he would mutter something, from the\nhabit of talking to himself, to which he had just confessed. At these\nmoments he would become conscious that his ideas were sometimes in a\ntangle and that he was very weak; for two days he had scarcely tasted\nfood.\n\nHe was so badly dressed that even a man accustomed to shabbiness would\nhave been ashamed to be seen in the street in such rags. In that quarter\nof the town, however, scarcely any shortcoming in dress would have\ncreated surprise. Owing to the proximity of the Hay Market, the number\nof establishments of bad character, the preponderance of the trading\nand working class population crowded in these streets and alleys in the\nheart of Petersburg, types so various were to be seen in the streets\nthat no figure, however queer, would have caused surprise. But there was\nsuch accumulated bitterness and contempt in the young man's heart, that,\nin spite of all the fastidiousness of youth, he minded his rags least\nof all in the street. It was a different matter when he met with\nacquaintances or with former fellow students, whom, indeed, he disliked\nmeeting at any time. And yet when a drunken man who, for some unknown\nreason, was being taken somewhere in a huge waggon dragged by a heavy\ndray horse, suddenly shouted at him as he drove past: \"Hey there, German\nhatter\" bawling at the top of his voice and pointing at him--the young\nman stopped suddenly and clutched tremulously at his hat. It was a tall\nround hat from Zimmerman's, but completely worn out, rusty with age, all\ntorn and bespattered, brimless and bent on one side in a most unseemly\nfashion. Not shame, however, but quite another feeling akin to terror\nhad overtaken him.\n\n\"I knew it,\" he muttered in confusion, \"I thought so! That's the worst\nof all! Why, a stupid thing like this, the most trivial detail might\nspoil the whole plan. Yes, my hat is too noticeable.... It looks absurd\nand that makes it noticeable.... With my rags I ought to wear a cap, any\nsort of old pancake, but not this grotesque thing. Nobody wears such\na hat, it would be noticed a mile off, it would be remembered.... What\nmatters is that people would remember it, and that would give them\na clue. For this business one should be as little conspicuous as\npossible.... Trifles, trifles are what matter! Why, it's just such\ntrifles that always ruin everything....\"\n\nHe had not far to go; he knew indeed how many steps it was from the gate\nof his lodging house: exactly seven hundred and thirty. He had counted\nthem once when he had been lost in dreams. At the time he had put no\nfaith in those dreams and was only tantalising himself by their hideous\nbut daring recklessness. Now, a month later, he had begun to look upon\nthem differently, and, in spite of the monologues in which he jeered at\nhis own impotence and indecision, he had involuntarily come to regard\nthis \"hideous\" dream as an exploit to be attempted, although he\nstill did not realise this himself. He was positively going now for a\n\"rehearsal\" of his project, and at every step his excitement grew more\nand more violent.\n\nWith a sinking heart and a nervous tremor, he went up to a huge house\nwhich on one side looked on to the canal, and on the other into the\nstreet. This house was let out in tiny tenements and was inhabited by\nworking people of all kinds--tailors, locksmiths, cooks, Germans of\nsorts, girls picking up a living as best they could, petty clerks, etc.\nThere was a continual coming and going through the two gates and in the\ntwo courtyards of the house. Three or four door-keepers were employed on\nthe building. The young man was very glad to meet none of them, and\nat once slipped unnoticed through the door on the right, and up the\nstaircase. It was a back staircase, dark and narrow, but he was familiar\nwith it already, and knew his way, and he liked all these surroundings:\nin such darkness even the most inquisitive eyes were not to be dreaded.\n\n\"If I am so scared now, what would it be if it somehow came to pass that\nI were really going to do it?\" he could not help asking himself as he\nreached the fourth storey. There his progress was barred by some porters\nwho were engaged in moving furniture out of a flat. He knew that the\nflat had been occupied by a German clerk in the civil service, and his\nfamily. This German was moving out then, and so the fourth floor on this\nstaircase would be untenanted except by the old woman. \"That's a good\nthing anyway,\" he thought to himself, as he rang the bell of the old\nwoman's flat. The bell gave a faint tinkle as though it were made of\ntin and not of copper. The little flats in such houses always have bells\nthat ring like that. He had forgotten the note of that bell, and now\nits peculiar tinkle seemed to remind him of something and to bring it\nclearly before him.... He started, his nerves were terribly overstrained\nby now. In a little while, the door was opened a tiny crack: the old\nwoman eyed her visitor with evident distrust through the crack, and\nnothing could be seen but her little eyes, glittering in the darkness.\nBut, seeing a number of people on the landing, she grew bolder, and\nopened the door wide. The young man stepped into the dark entry, which\nwas partitioned off from the tiny kitchen. The old woman stood facing\nhim in silence and looking inquiringly at him. She was a diminutive,\nwithered up old woman of sixty, with sharp malignant eyes and a sharp\nlittle nose. Her colourless, somewhat grizzled hair was thickly smeared\nwith oil, and she wore no kerchief over it. Round her thin long neck,\nwhich looked like a hen's leg, was knotted some sort of flannel rag,\nand, in spite of the heat, there hung flapping on her shoulders, a mangy\nfur cape, yellow with age. The old woman coughed and groaned at every\ninstant. The young man must have looked at her with a rather peculiar\nexpression, for a gleam of mistrust came into her eyes again.\n\n\"Raskolnikov, a student, I came here a month ago,\" the young man made\nhaste to mutter, with a half bow, remembering that he ought to be more\npolite.\n\n\"I remember, my good sir, I remember quite well your coming here,\" the\nold woman said distinctly, still keeping her inquiring eyes on his face.\n\n\"And here... I am again on the same errand,\" Raskolnikov continued, a\nlittle disconcerted and surprised at the old woman's mistrust. \"Perhaps\nshe is always like that though, only I did not notice it the other\ntime,\" he thought with an uneasy feeling.\n\nThe old woman paused, as though hesitating; then stepped on one side,\nand pointing to the door of the room, she said, letting her visitor pass\nin front of her:\n\n\"Step in, my good sir.\"\n\nThe little room into which the young man walked, with yellow paper on\nthe walls, geraniums and muslin curtains in the windows, was brightly\nlighted up at that moment by the setting sun.\n\n\"So the sun will shine like this _then_ too!\" flashed as it were by\nchance through Raskolnikov's mind, and with a rapid glance he scanned\neverything in the room, trying as far as possible to notice and\nremember its arrangement. But there was nothing special in the room. The\nfurniture, all very old and of yellow wood, consisted of a sofa with\na huge bent wooden back, an oval table in front of the sofa, a\ndressing-table with a looking-glass fixed on it between the windows,\nchairs along the walls and two or three half-penny prints in yellow\nframes, representing German damsels with birds in their hands--that was\nall. In the corner a light was burning before a small ikon. Everything\nwas very clean; the floor and the furniture were brightly polished;\neverything shone.\n\n\"Lizaveta's work,\" thought the young man. There was not a speck of dust\nto be seen in the whole flat.\n\n\"It's in the houses of spiteful old widows that one finds such\ncleanliness,\" Raskolnikov thought again, and he stole a curious glance\nat the cotton curtain over the door leading into another tiny room, in\nwhich stood the old woman's bed and chest of drawers and into which he\nhad never looked before. These two rooms made up the whole flat.\n\n\"What do you want?\" the old woman said severely, coming into the room\nand, as before, standing in front of him so as to look him straight in\nthe face.\n\n\"I've brought something to pawn here,\" and he drew out of his pocket\nan old-fashioned flat silver watch, on the back of which was engraved a\nglobe; the chain was of steel.\n\n\"But the time is up for your last pledge. The month was up the day\nbefore yesterday.\"\n\n\"I will bring you the interest for another month; wait a little.\"\n\n\"But that's for me to do as I please, my good sir, to wait or to sell\nyour pledge at once.\"\n\n\"How much will you give me for the watch, Alyona Ivanovna?\"\n\n\"You come with such trifles, my good sir, it's scarcely worth anything.\nI gave you two roubles last time for your ring and one could buy it\nquite new at a jeweler's for a rouble and a half.\"\n\n\"Give me four roubles for it, I shall redeem it, it was my father's. I\nshall be getting some money soon.\"\n\n\"A rouble and a half, and interest in advance, if you like!\"\n\n\"A rouble and a half!\" cried the young man.\n\n\"Please yourself\"--and the old woman handed him back the watch. The\nyoung man took it, and was so angry that he was on the point of going\naway; but checked himself at once, remembering that there was nowhere\nelse he could go, and that he had had another object also in coming.\n\n\"Hand it over,\" he said roughly.\n\nThe old woman fumbled in her pocket for her keys, and disappeared behind\nthe curtain into the other room. The young man, left standing alone in\nthe middle of the room, listened inquisitively, thinking. He could hear\nher unlocking the chest of drawers.\n\n\"It must be the top drawer,\" he reflected. \"So she carries the keys in\na pocket on the right. All in one bunch on a steel ring.... And there's\none key there, three times as big as all the others, with deep notches;\nthat can't be the key of the chest of drawers... then there must be some\nother chest or strong-box... that's worth knowing. Strong-boxes always\nhave keys like that... but how degrading it all is.\"\n\nThe old woman came back.\n\n\"Here, sir: as we say ten copecks the rouble a month, so I must take\nfifteen copecks from a rouble and a half for the month in advance. But\nfor the two roubles I lent you before, you owe me now twenty copecks\non the same reckoning in advance. That makes thirty-five copecks\naltogether. So I must give you a rouble and fifteen copecks for the\nwatch. Here it is.\"\n\n\"What! only a rouble and fifteen copecks now!\"\n\n\"Just so.\"\n\nThe young man did not dispute it and took the money. He looked at the\nold woman, and was in no hurry to get away, as though there was still\nsomething he wanted to say or to do, but he did not himself quite know\nwhat.\n\n\"I may be bringing you something else in a day or two, Alyona\nIvanovna--a valuable thing--silver--a cigarette-box, as soon as I get it\nback from a friend...\" he broke off in confusion.\n\n\"Well, we will talk about it then, sir.\"\n\n\"Good-bye--are you always at home alone, your sister is not here with\nyou?\" He asked her as casually as possible as he went out into the\npassage.\n\n\"What business is she of yours, my good sir?\"\n\n\"Oh, nothing particular, I simply asked. You are too quick.... Good-day,\nAlyona Ivanovna.\"\n\nRaskolnikov went out in complete confusion. This confusion became more\nand more intense. As he went down the stairs, he even stopped short, two\nor three times, as though suddenly struck by some thought. When he was\nin the street he cried out, \"Oh, God, how loathsome it all is! and\ncan I, can I possibly.... No, it's nonsense, it's rubbish!\" he added\nresolutely. \"And how could such an atrocious thing come into my head?\nWhat filthy things my heart is capable of. Yes, filthy above all,\ndisgusting, loathsome, loathsome!--and for a whole month I've been....\"\nBut no words, no exclamations, could express his agitation. The feeling\nof intense repulsion, which had begun to oppress and torture his heart\nwhile he was on his way to the old woman, had by now reached such a\npitch and had taken such a definite form that he did not know what to\ndo with himself to escape from his wretchedness. He walked along the\npavement like a drunken man, regardless of the passers-by, and jostling\nagainst them, and only came to his senses when he was in the next\nstreet. Looking round, he noticed that he was standing close to a tavern\nwhich was entered by steps leading from the pavement to the basement.\nAt that instant two drunken men came out at the door, and abusing and\nsupporting one another, they mounted the steps. Without stopping to\nthink, Raskolnikov went down the steps at once. Till that moment he had\nnever been into a tavern, but now he felt giddy and was tormented by a\nburning thirst. He longed for a drink of cold beer, and attributed his\nsudden weakness to the want of food. He sat down at a sticky little\ntable in a dark and dirty corner; ordered some beer, and eagerly drank\noff the first glassful. At once he felt easier; and his thoughts became\nclear.\n\n\"All that's nonsense,\" he said hopefully, \"and there is nothing in it\nall to worry about! It's simply physical derangement. Just a glass of\nbeer, a piece of dry bread--and in one moment the brain is stronger,\nthe mind is clearer and the will is firm! Phew, how utterly petty it all\nis!\"\n\nBut in spite of this scornful reflection, he was by now looking cheerful\nas though he were suddenly set free from a terrible burden: and he gazed\nround in a friendly way at the people in the room. But even at that\nmoment he had a dim foreboding that this happier frame of mind was also\nnot normal.\n\nThere were few people at the time in the tavern. Besides the two drunken\nmen he had met on the steps, a group consisting of about five men and\na girl with a concertina had gone out at the same time. Their departure\nleft the room quiet and rather empty. The persons still in the tavern\nwere a man who appeared to be an artisan, drunk, but not extremely so,\nsitting before a pot of beer, and his companion, a huge, stout man with\na grey beard, in a short full-skirted coat. He was very drunk: and had\ndropped asleep on the bench; every now and then, he began as though in\nhis sleep, cracking his fingers, with his arms wide apart and the upper\npart of his body bounding about on the bench, while he hummed some\nmeaningless refrain, trying to recall some such lines as these:\n\n   \"His wife a year he fondly loved\n    His wife a--a year he--fondly loved.\"\n\nOr suddenly waking up again:\n\n   \"Walking along the crowded row\n    He met the one he used to know.\"\n\nBut no one shared his enjoyment: his silent companion looked with\npositive hostility and mistrust at all these manifestations. There was\nanother man in the room who looked somewhat like a retired government\nclerk. He was sitting apart, now and then sipping from his pot and\nlooking round at the company. He, too, appeared to be in some agitation.\n\n\n\nCHAPTER II\n\nRaskolnikov was not used to crowds, and, as we said before, he avoided\nsociety of every sort, more especially of late. But now all at once he\nfelt a desire to be with other people. Something new seemed to be taking\nplace within him, and with it he felt a sort of thirst for company. He\nwas so weary after a whole month of concentrated wretchedness and gloomy\nexcitement that he longed to rest, if only for a moment, in some other\nworld, whatever it might be; and, in spite of the filthiness of the\nsurroundings, he was glad now to stay in the tavern.\n\nThe master of the establishment was in another room, but he frequently\ncame down some steps into the main room, his jaunty, tarred boots with\nred turn-over tops coming into view each time before the rest of his\nperson. He wore a full coat and a horribly greasy black satin waistcoat,\nwith no cravat, and his whole face seemed smeared with oil like an\niron lock. At the counter stood a boy of about fourteen, and there was\nanother boy somewhat younger who handed whatever was wanted. On the\ncounter lay some sliced cucumber, some pieces of dried black bread, and\nsome fish, chopped up small, all smelling very bad. It was insufferably\nclose, and so heavy with the fumes of spirits that five minutes in such\nan atmosphere might well make a man drunk.\n\nThere are chance meetings with strangers that interest us from the\nfirst moment, before a word is spoken. Such was the impression made on\nRaskolnikov by the person sitting a little distance from him, who looked\nlike a retired clerk. The young man often recalled this impression\nafterwards, and even ascribed it to presentiment. He looked repeatedly\nat the clerk, partly no doubt because the latter was staring\npersistently at him, obviously anxious to enter into conversation. At\nthe other persons in the room, including the tavern-keeper, the clerk\nlooked as though he were used to their company, and weary of it, showing\na shade of condescending contempt for them as persons of station and\nculture inferior to his own, with whom it would be useless for him to\nconverse. He was a man over fifty, bald and grizzled, of medium height,\nand stoutly built. His face, bloated from continual drinking, was of\na yellow, even greenish, tinge, with swollen eyelids out of which keen\nreddish eyes gleamed like little chinks. But there was something very\nstrange in him; there was a light in his eyes as though of intense\nfeeling--perhaps there were even thought and intelligence, but at the\nsame time there was a gleam of something like madness. He was wearing an\nold and hopelessly ragged black dress coat, with all its buttons missing\nexcept one, and that one he had buttoned, evidently clinging to this\nlast trace of respectability. A crumpled shirt front, covered with spots\nand stains, protruded from his canvas waistcoat. Like a clerk, he wore\nno beard, nor moustache, but had been so long unshaven that his chin\nlooked like a stiff greyish brush. And there was something respectable\nand like an official about his manner too. But he was restless; he\nruffled up his hair and from time to time let his head drop into his\nhands dejectedly resting his ragged elbows on the stained and sticky\ntable. At last he looked straight at Raskolnikov, and said loudly and\nresolutely:\n\n\"May I venture, honoured sir, to engage you in polite conversation?\nForasmuch as, though your exterior would not command respect, my\nexperience admonishes me that you are a man of education and not\naccustomed to drinking. I have always respected education when in\nconjunction with genuine sentiments, and I am besides a titular\ncounsellor in rank. Marmeladov--such is my name; titular counsellor. I\nmake bold to inquire--have you been in the service?\"\n\n\"No, I am studying,\" answered the young man, somewhat surprised at\nthe grandiloquent style of the speaker and also at being so directly\naddressed. In spite of the momentary desire he had just been feeling for\ncompany of any sort, on being actually spoken to he felt immediately his\nhabitual irritable and uneasy aversion for any stranger who approached\nor attempted to approach him.\n\n\"A student then, or formerly a student,\" cried the clerk. \"Just what\nI thought! I'm a man of experience, immense experience, sir,\" and he\ntapped his forehead with his fingers in self-approval. \"You've been a\nstudent or have attended some learned institution!... But allow me....\"\nHe got up, staggered, took up his jug and glass, and sat down beside\nthe young man, facing him a little sideways. He was drunk, but spoke\nfluently and boldly, only occasionally losing the thread of his\nsentences and drawling his words. He pounced upon Raskolnikov as\ngreedily as though he too had not spoken to a soul for a month.\n\n\"Honoured sir,\" he began almost with solemnity, \"poverty is not a vice,\nthat's a true saying. Yet I know too that drunkenness is not a virtue,\nand that that's even truer. But beggary, honoured sir, beggary is a\nvice. In poverty you may still retain your innate nobility of soul, but\nin beggary--never--no one. For beggary a man is not chased out of human\nsociety with a stick, he is swept out with a broom, so as to make it as\nhumiliating as possible; and quite right, too, forasmuch as in beggary\nI am ready to be the first to humiliate myself. Hence the pot-house!\nHonoured sir, a month ago Mr. Lebeziatnikov gave my wife a beating, and\nmy wife is a very different matter from me! Do you understand? Allow me\nto ask you another question out of simple curiosity: have you ever spent\na night on a hay barge, on the Neva?\"\n\n\"No, I have not happened to,\" answered Raskolnikov. \"What do you mean?\"\n\n\"Well, I've just come from one and it's the fifth night I've slept\nso....\" He filled his glass, emptied it and paused. Bits of hay were in\nfact clinging to his clothes and sticking to his hair. It seemed quite\nprobable that he had not undressed or washed for the last five days.\nHis hands, particularly, were filthy. They were fat and red, with black\nnails.\n\nHis conversation seemed to excite a general though languid interest. The\nboys at the counter fell to sniggering. The innkeeper came down from the\nupper room, apparently on purpose to listen to the \"funny fellow\"\nand sat down at a little distance, yawning lazily, but with dignity.\nEvidently Marmeladov was a familiar figure here, and he had most\nlikely acquired his weakness for high-flown speeches from the habit of\nfrequently entering into conversation with strangers of all sorts in\nthe tavern. This habit develops into a necessity in some drunkards, and\nespecially in those who are looked after sharply and kept in order\nat home. Hence in the company of other drinkers they try to justify\nthemselves and even if possible obtain consideration.\n\n\"Funny fellow!\" pronounced the innkeeper. \"And why don't you work, why\naren't you at your duty, if you are in the service?\"\n\n\"Why am I not at my duty, honoured sir,\" Marmeladov went on, addressing\nhimself exclusively to Raskolnikov, as though it had been he who put\nthat question to him. \"Why am I not at my duty? Does not my heart ache\nto think what a useless worm I am? A month ago when Mr. Lebeziatnikov\nbeat my wife with his own hands, and I lay drunk, didn't I suffer?\nExcuse me, young man, has it ever happened to you... hm... well, to\npetition hopelessly for a loan?\"\n\n\"Yes, it has. But what do you mean by hopelessly?\"\n\n\"Hopelessly in the fullest sense, when you know beforehand that you\nwill get nothing by it. You know, for instance, beforehand with positive\ncertainty that this man, this most reputable and exemplary citizen, will\non no consideration give you money; and indeed I ask you why should he?\nFor he knows of course that I shan't pay it back. From compassion? But\nMr. Lebeziatnikov who keeps up with modern ideas explained the other day\nthat compassion is forbidden nowadays by science itself, and that that's\nwhat is done now in England, where there is political economy. Why, I\nask you, should he give it to me? And yet though I know beforehand that\nhe won't, I set off to him and...\"\n\n\"Why do you go?\" put in Raskolnikov.\n\n\"Well, when one has no one, nowhere else one can go! For every man must\nhave somewhere to go. Since there are times when one absolutely must\ngo somewhere! When my own daughter first went out with a yellow ticket,\nthen I had to go... (for my daughter has a yellow passport),\" he added\nin parenthesis, looking with a certain uneasiness at the young man.\n\"No matter, sir, no matter!\" he went on hurriedly and with apparent\ncomposure when both the boys at the counter guffawed and even the\ninnkeeper smiled--\"No matter, I am not confounded by the wagging of\ntheir heads; for everyone knows everything about it already, and all\nthat is secret is made open. And I accept it all, not with contempt, but\nwith humility. So be it! So be it! 'Behold the man!' Excuse me, young\nman, can you.... No, to put it more strongly and more distinctly; not\n_can_ you but _dare_ you, looking upon me, assert that I am not a pig?\"\n\nThe young man did not answer a word.\n\n\"Well,\" the orator began again stolidly and with even increased dignity,\nafter waiting for the laughter in the room to subside. \"Well, so be\nit, I am a pig, but she is a lady! I have the semblance of a beast, but\nKaterina Ivanovna, my spouse, is a person of education and an officer's\ndaughter. Granted, granted, I am a scoundrel, but she is a woman of a\nnoble heart, full of sentiments, refined by education. And yet... oh,\nif only she felt for me! Honoured sir, honoured sir, you know every man\nought to have at least one place where people feel for him! But Katerina\nIvanovna, though she is magnanimous, she is unjust.... And yet, although\nI realise that when she pulls my hair she only does it out of pity--for\nI repeat without being ashamed, she pulls my hair, young man,\" he\ndeclared with redoubled dignity, hearing the sniggering again--\"but, my\nGod, if she would but once.... But no, no! It's all in vain and it's no\nuse talking! No use talking! For more than once, my wish did come true\nand more than once she has felt for me but... such is my fate and I am a\nbeast by nature!\"\n\n\"Rather!\" assented the innkeeper yawning. Marmeladov struck his fist\nresolutely on the table.\n\n\"Such is my fate! Do you know, sir, do you know, I have sold her very\nstockings for drink? Not her shoes--that would be more or less in the\norder of things, but her stockings, her stockings I have sold for drink!\nHer mohair shawl I sold for drink, a present to her long ago, her own\nproperty, not mine; and we live in a cold room and she caught cold this\nwinter and has begun coughing and spitting blood too. We have three\nlittle children and Katerina Ivanovna is at work from morning till\nnight; she is scrubbing and cleaning and washing the children, for she's\nbeen used to cleanliness from a child. But her chest is weak and she has\na tendency to consumption and I feel it! Do you suppose I don't feel it?\nAnd the more I drink the more I feel it. That's why I drink too. I try\nto find sympathy and feeling in drink.... I drink so that I may suffer\ntwice as much!\" And as though in despair he laid his head down on the\ntable.\n\n\"Young man,\" he went on, raising his head again, \"in your face I seem to\nread some trouble of mind. When you came in I read it, and that was why\nI addressed you at once. For in unfolding to you the story of my life, I\ndo not wish to make myself a laughing-stock before these idle listeners,\nwho indeed know all about it already, but I am looking for a man\nof feeling and education. Know then that my wife was educated in a\nhigh-class school for the daughters of noblemen, and on leaving she\ndanced the shawl dance before the governor and other personages for\nwhich she was presented with a gold medal and a certificate of merit.\nThe medal... well, the medal of course was sold--long ago, hm... but the\ncertificate of merit is in her trunk still and not long ago she showed\nit to our landlady. And although she is most continually on bad terms\nwith the landlady, yet she wanted to tell someone or other of her past\nhonours and of the happy days that are gone. I don't condemn her for\nit, I don't blame her, for the one thing left her is recollection of\nthe past, and all the rest is dust and ashes. Yes, yes, she is a lady\nof spirit, proud and determined. She scrubs the floors herself and has\nnothing but black bread to eat, but won't allow herself to be treated\nwith disrespect. That's why she would not overlook Mr. Lebeziatnikov's\nrudeness to her, and so when he gave her a beating for it, she took to\nher bed more from the hurt to her feelings than from the blows. She was\na widow when I married her, with three children, one smaller than the\nother. She married her first husband, an infantry officer, for love, and\nran away with him from her father's house. She was exceedingly fond of\nher husband; but he gave way to cards, got into trouble and with that he\ndied. He used to beat her at the end: and although she paid him back, of\nwhich I have authentic documentary evidence, to this day she speaks of\nhim with tears and she throws him up to me; and I am glad, I am glad\nthat, though only in imagination, she should think of herself as having\nonce been happy.... And she was left at his death with three children in\na wild and remote district where I happened to be at the time; and she\nwas left in such hopeless poverty that, although I have seen many ups\nand downs of all sort, I don't feel equal to describing it even. Her\nrelations had all thrown her off. And she was proud, too, excessively\nproud.... And then, honoured sir, and then, I, being at the time a\nwidower, with a daughter of fourteen left me by my first wife, offered\nher my hand, for I could not bear the sight of such suffering. You can\njudge the extremity of her calamities, that she, a woman of education\nand culture and distinguished family, should have consented to be my\nwife. But she did! Weeping and sobbing and wringing her hands, she\nmarried me! For she had nowhere to turn! Do you understand, sir, do you\nunderstand what it means when you have absolutely nowhere to turn? No,\nthat you don't understand yet.... And for a whole year, I performed\nmy duties conscientiously and faithfully, and did not touch this\" (he\ntapped the jug with his finger), \"for I have feelings. But even so, I\ncould not please her; and then I lost my place too, and that through no\nfault of mine but through changes in the office; and then I did touch\nit!... It will be a year and a half ago soon since we found ourselves at\nlast after many wanderings and numerous calamities in this magnificent\ncapital, adorned with innumerable monuments. Here I obtained a\nsituation.... I obtained it and I lost it again. Do you understand? This\ntime it was through my own fault I lost it: for my weakness had come\nout.... We have now part of a room at Amalia Fyodorovna Lippevechsel's;\nand what we live upon and what we pay our rent with, I could not say.\nThere are a lot of people living there besides ourselves. Dirt and\ndisorder, a perfect Bedlam... hm... yes... And meanwhile my daughter by\nmy first wife has grown up; and what my daughter has had to put up with\nfrom her step-mother whilst she was growing up, I won't speak of. For,\nthough Katerina Ivanovna is full of generous feelings, she is a spirited\nlady, irritable and short-tempered.... Yes. But it's no use going over\nthat! Sonia, as you may well fancy, has had no education. I did make an\neffort four years ago to give her a course of geography and universal\nhistory, but as I was not very well up in those subjects myself and we\nhad no suitable books, and what books we had... hm, anyway we have not\neven those now, so all our instruction came to an end. We stopped at\nCyrus of Persia. Since she has attained years of maturity, she has read\nother books of romantic tendency and of late she had read with great\ninterest a book she got through Mr. Lebeziatnikov, Lewes' Physiology--do\nyou know it?--and even recounted extracts from it to us: and that's the\nwhole of her education. And now may I venture to address you, honoured\nsir, on my own account with a private question. Do you suppose that\na respectable poor girl can earn much by honest work? Not fifteen\nfarthings a day can she earn, if she is respectable and has no special\ntalent and that without putting her work down for an instant! And what's\nmore, Ivan Ivanitch Klopstock the civil counsellor--have you heard of\nhim?--has not to this day paid her for the half-dozen linen shirts she\nmade him and drove her roughly away, stamping and reviling her, on the\npretext that the shirt collars were not made like the pattern and were\nput in askew. And there are the little ones hungry.... And Katerina\nIvanovna walking up and down and wringing her hands, her cheeks flushed\nred, as they always are in that disease: 'Here you live with us,' says\nshe, 'you eat and drink and are kept warm and you do nothing to help.'\nAnd much she gets to eat and drink when there is not a crust for the\nlittle ones for three days! I was lying at the time... well, what of\nit! I was lying drunk and I heard my Sonia speaking (she is a gentle\ncreature with a soft little voice... fair hair and such a pale, thin\nlittle face). She said: 'Katerina Ivanovna, am I really to do a thing\nlike that?' And Darya Frantsovna, a woman of evil character and very\nwell known to the police, had two or three times tried to get at her\nthrough the landlady. 'And why not?' said Katerina Ivanovna with a jeer,\n'you are something mighty precious to be so careful of!' But don't blame\nher, don't blame her, honoured sir, don't blame her! She was not herself\nwhen she spoke, but driven to distraction by her illness and the crying\nof the hungry children; and it was said more to wound her than anything\nelse.... For that's Katerina Ivanovna's character, and when children\ncry, even from hunger, she falls to beating them at once. At six o'clock\nI saw Sonia get up, put on her kerchief and her cape, and go out of the\nroom and about nine o'clock she came back. She walked straight up to\nKaterina Ivanovna and she laid thirty roubles on the table before her\nin silence. She did not utter a word, she did not even look at her, she\nsimply picked up our big green _drap de dames_ shawl (we have a shawl,\nmade of _drap de dames_), put it over her head and face and lay down\non the bed with her face to the wall; only her little shoulders and her\nbody kept shuddering.... And I went on lying there, just as before....\nAnd then I saw, young man, I saw Katerina Ivanovna, in the same silence\ngo up to Sonia's little bed; she was on her knees all the evening\nkissing Sonia's feet, and would not get up, and then they both fell\nasleep in each other's arms... together, together... yes... and I... lay\ndrunk.\"\n\nMarmeladov stopped short, as though his voice had failed him. Then he\nhurriedly filled his glass, drank, and cleared his throat.\n\n\"Since then, sir,\" he went on after a brief pause--\"Since then, owing\nto an unfortunate occurrence and through information given by\nevil-intentioned persons--in all which Darya Frantsovna took a\nleading part on the pretext that she had been treated with want of\nrespect--since then my daughter Sofya Semyonovna has been forced to take\na yellow ticket, and owing to that she is unable to go on living with\nus. For our landlady, Amalia Fyodorovna would not hear of it (though\nshe had backed up Darya Frantsovna before) and Mr. Lebeziatnikov too...\nhm.... All the trouble between him and Katerina Ivanovna was on Sonia's\naccount. At first he was for making up to Sonia himself and then all of\na sudden he stood on his dignity: 'how,' said he, 'can a highly educated\nman like me live in the same rooms with a girl like that?' And Katerina\nIvanovna would not let it pass, she stood up for her... and so that's\nhow it happened. And Sonia comes to us now, mostly after dark; she\ncomforts Katerina Ivanovna and gives her all she can.... She has a room\nat the Kapernaumovs' the tailors, she lodges with them; Kapernaumov is\na lame man with a cleft palate and all of his numerous family have cleft\npalates too. And his wife, too, has a cleft palate. They all live in one\nroom, but Sonia has her own, partitioned off.... Hm... yes... very poor\npeople and all with cleft palates... yes. Then I got up in the morning,\nand put on my rags, lifted up my hands to heaven and set off to his\nexcellency Ivan Afanasyvitch. His excellency Ivan Afanasyvitch, do you\nknow him? No? Well, then, it's a man of God you don't know. He is wax...\nwax before the face of the Lord; even as wax melteth!... His eyes were\ndim when he heard my story. 'Marmeladov, once already you have\ndeceived my expectations... I'll take you once more on my own\nresponsibility'--that's what he said, 'remember,' he said, 'and now you\ncan go.' I kissed the dust at his feet--in thought only, for in reality\nhe would not have allowed me to do it, being a statesman and a man of\nmodern political and enlightened ideas. I returned home, and when I\nannounced that I'd been taken back into the service and should receive a\nsalary, heavens, what a to-do there was!...\"\n\nMarmeladov stopped again in violent excitement. At that moment a whole\nparty of revellers already drunk came in from the street, and the sounds\nof a hired concertina and the cracked piping voice of a child of seven\nsinging \"The Hamlet\" were heard in the entry. The room was filled with\nnoise. The tavern-keeper and the boys were busy with the new-comers.\nMarmeladov paying no attention to the new arrivals continued his story.\nHe appeared by now to be extremely weak, but as he became more and more\ndrunk, he became more and more talkative. The recollection of his\nrecent success in getting the situation seemed to revive him, and was\npositively reflected in a sort of radiance on his face. Raskolnikov\nlistened attentively.\n\n\"That was five weeks ago, sir. Yes.... As soon as Katerina Ivanovna\nand Sonia heard of it, mercy on us, it was as though I stepped into the\nkingdom of Heaven. It used to be: you can lie like a beast, nothing but\nabuse. Now they were walking on tiptoe, hushing the children. 'Semyon\nZaharovitch is tired with his work at the office, he is resting, shh!'\nThey made me coffee before I went to work and boiled cream for me! They\nbegan to get real cream for me, do you hear that? And how they managed\nto get together the money for a decent outfit--eleven roubles, fifty\ncopecks, I can't guess. Boots, cotton shirt-fronts--most magnificent,\na uniform, they got up all in splendid style, for eleven roubles and\na half. The first morning I came back from the office I found Katerina\nIvanovna had cooked two courses for dinner--soup and salt meat with\nhorse radish--which we had never dreamed of till then. She had not any\ndresses... none at all, but she got herself up as though she were going\non a visit; and not that she'd anything to do it with, she smartened\nherself up with nothing at all, she'd done her hair nicely, put on a\nclean collar of some sort, cuffs, and there she was, quite a different\nperson, she was younger and better looking. Sonia, my little darling,\nhad only helped with money 'for the time,' she said, 'it won't do for me\nto come and see you too often. After dark maybe when no one can see.' Do\nyou hear, do you hear? I lay down for a nap after dinner and what do you\nthink: though Katerina Ivanovna had quarrelled to the last degree with\nour landlady Amalia Fyodorovna only a week before, she could not\nresist then asking her in to coffee. For two hours they were sitting,\nwhispering together. 'Semyon Zaharovitch is in the service again,\nnow, and receiving a salary,' says she, 'and he went himself to his\nexcellency and his excellency himself came out to him, made all the\nothers wait and led Semyon Zaharovitch by the hand before everybody into\nhis study.' Do you hear, do you hear? 'To be sure,' says he, 'Semyon\nZaharovitch, remembering your past services,' says he, 'and in spite\nof your propensity to that foolish weakness, since you promise now and\nsince moreover we've got on badly without you,' (do you hear, do you\nhear;) 'and so,' says he, 'I rely now on your word as a gentleman.' And\nall that, let me tell you, she has simply made up for herself, and not\nsimply out of wantonness, for the sake of bragging; no, she believes it\nall herself, she amuses herself with her own fancies, upon my word she\ndoes! And I don't blame her for it, no, I don't blame her!... Six days\nago when I brought her my first earnings in full--twenty-three roubles\nforty copecks altogether--she called me her poppet: 'poppet,' said she,\n'my little poppet.' And when we were by ourselves, you understand?\nYou would not think me a beauty, you would not think much of me as a\nhusband, would you?... Well, she pinched my cheek, 'my little poppet,'\nsaid she.\"\n\nMarmeladov broke off, tried to smile, but suddenly his chin began\nto twitch. He controlled himself however. The tavern, the degraded\nappearance of the man, the five nights in the hay barge, and the pot of\nspirits, and yet this poignant love for his wife and children bewildered\nhis listener. Raskolnikov listened intently but with a sick sensation.\nHe felt vexed that he had come here.\n\n\"Honoured sir, honoured sir,\" cried Marmeladov recovering himself--\"Oh,\nsir, perhaps all this seems a laughing matter to you, as it does to\nothers, and perhaps I am only worrying you with the stupidity of all the\ntrivial details of my home life, but it is not a laughing matter to me.\nFor I can feel it all.... And the whole of that heavenly day of my life\nand the whole of that evening I passed in fleeting dreams of how I would\narrange it all, and how I would dress all the children, and how I should\ngive her rest, and how I should rescue my own daughter from dishonour\nand restore her to the bosom of her family.... And a great deal more....\nQuite excusable, sir. Well, then, sir\" (Marmeladov suddenly gave a sort\nof start, raised his head and gazed intently at his listener) \"well, on\nthe very next day after all those dreams, that is to say, exactly five\ndays ago, in the evening, by a cunning trick, like a thief in the night,\nI stole from Katerina Ivanovna the key of her box, took out what was\nleft of my earnings, how much it was I have forgotten, and now look\nat me, all of you! It's the fifth day since I left home, and they are\nlooking for me there and it's the end of my employment, and my uniform\nis lying in a tavern on the Egyptian bridge. I exchanged it for the\ngarments I have on... and it's the end of everything!\"\n\nMarmeladov struck his forehead with his fist, clenched his teeth, closed\nhis eyes and leaned heavily with his elbow on the table. But a minute\nlater his face suddenly changed and with a certain assumed slyness and\naffectation of bravado, he glanced at Raskolnikov, laughed and said:\n\n\"This morning I went to see Sonia, I went to ask her for a pick-me-up!\nHe-he-he!\"\n\n\"You don't say she gave it to you?\" cried one of the new-comers; he\nshouted the words and went off into a guffaw.\n\n\"This very quart was bought with her money,\" Marmeladov declared,\naddressing himself exclusively to Raskolnikov. \"Thirty copecks she gave\nme with her own hands, her last, all she had, as I saw.... She said\nnothing, she only looked at me without a word.... Not on earth, but up\nyonder... they grieve over men, they weep, but they don't blame them,\nthey don't blame them! But it hurts more, it hurts more when they don't\nblame! Thirty copecks yes! And maybe she needs them now, eh? What do\nyou think, my dear sir? For now she's got to keep up her appearance. It\ncosts money, that smartness, that special smartness, you know? Do you\nunderstand? And there's pomatum, too, you see, she must have things;\npetticoats, starched ones, shoes, too, real jaunty ones to show off her\nfoot when she has to step over a puddle. Do you understand, sir, do you\nunderstand what all that smartness means? And here I, her own father,\nhere I took thirty copecks of that money for a drink! And I am drinking\nit! And I have already drunk it! Come, who will have pity on a man like\nme, eh? Are you sorry for me, sir, or not? Tell me, sir, are you sorry\nor not? He-he-he!\"\n\nHe would have filled his glass, but there was no drink left. The pot was\nempty.\n\n\"What are you to be pitied for?\" shouted the tavern-keeper who was again\nnear them.\n\nShouts of laughter and even oaths followed. The laughter and the oaths\ncame from those who were listening and also from those who had heard\nnothing but were simply looking at the figure of the discharged\ngovernment clerk.\n\n\"To be pitied! Why am I to be pitied?\" Marmeladov suddenly declaimed,\nstanding up with his arm outstretched, as though he had been only\nwaiting for that question.\n\n\"Why am I to be pitied, you say? Yes! there's nothing to pity me for! I\nought to be crucified, crucified on a cross, not pitied! Crucify me,\noh judge, crucify me but pity me! And then I will go of myself to be\ncrucified, for it's not merry-making I seek but tears and tribulation!...\nDo you suppose, you that sell, that this pint of yours has been\nsweet to me? It was tribulation I sought at the bottom of it, tears and\ntribulation, and have found it, and I have tasted it; but He will pity\nus Who has had pity on all men, Who has understood all men and all\nthings, He is the One, He too is the judge. He will come in that day\nand He will ask: 'Where is the daughter who gave herself for her cross,\nconsumptive step-mother and for the little children of another? Where is\nthe daughter who had pity upon the filthy drunkard, her earthly father,\nundismayed by his beastliness?' And He will say, 'Come to me! I have\nalready forgiven thee once.... I have forgiven thee once.... Thy sins\nwhich are many are forgiven thee for thou hast loved much....' And he\nwill forgive my Sonia, He will forgive, I know it... I felt it in my\nheart when I was with her just now! And He will judge and will forgive\nall, the good and the evil, the wise and the meek.... And when He has\ndone with all of them, then He will summon us. 'You too come forth,'\nHe will say, 'Come forth ye drunkards, come forth, ye weak ones, come\nforth, ye children of shame!' And we shall all come forth, without shame\nand shall stand before him. And He will say unto us, 'Ye are swine, made\nin the Image of the Beast and with his mark; but come ye also!' And the\nwise ones and those of understanding will say, 'Oh Lord, why dost Thou\nreceive these men?' And He will say, 'This is why I receive them, oh ye\nwise, this is why I receive them, oh ye of understanding, that not one\nof them believed himself to be worthy of this.' And He will hold out His\nhands to us and we shall fall down before him... and we shall weep...\nand we shall understand all things! Then we shall understand all!... and\nall will understand, Katerina Ivanovna even... she will understand....\nLord, Thy kingdom come!\" And he sank down on the bench exhausted, and\nhelpless, looking at no one, apparently oblivious of his surroundings\nand plunged in deep thought. His words had created a certain impression;\nthere was a moment of silence; but soon laughter and oaths were heard\nagain.\n\n\"That's his notion!\"\n\n\"Talked himself silly!\"\n\n\"A fine clerk he is!\"\n\nAnd so on, and so on.\n\n\"Let us go, sir,\" said Marmeladov all at once, raising his head and\naddressing Raskolnikov--\"come along with me... Kozel's house, looking\ninto the yard. I'm going to Katerina Ivanovna--time I did.\"\n\nRaskolnikov had for some time been wanting to go and he had meant to\nhelp him. Marmeladov was much unsteadier on his legs than in his speech\nand leaned heavily on the young man. They had two or three hundred\npaces to go. The drunken man was more and more overcome by dismay and\nconfusion as they drew nearer the house.\n\n\"It's not Katerina Ivanovna I am afraid of now,\" he muttered in\nagitation--\"and that she will begin pulling my hair. What does my hair\nmatter! Bother my hair! That's what I say! Indeed it will be better if\nshe does begin pulling it, that's not what I am afraid of... it's her\neyes I am afraid of... yes, her eyes... the red on her cheeks, too,\nfrightens me... and her breathing too.... Have you noticed how people\nin that disease breathe... when they are excited? I am frightened of\nthe children's crying, too.... For if Sonia has not taken them food...\nI don't know what's happened! I don't know! But blows I am not afraid\nof.... Know, sir, that such blows are not a pain to me, but even an\nenjoyment. In fact I can't get on without it.... It's better so. Let\nher strike me, it relieves her heart... it's better so... There is the\nhouse. The house of Kozel, the cabinet-maker... a German, well-to-do.\nLead the way!\"\n\nThey went in from the yard and up to the fourth storey. The staircase\ngot darker and darker as they went up. It was nearly eleven o'clock\nand although in summer in Petersburg there is no real night, yet it was\nquite dark at the top of the stairs.\n\nA grimy little door at the very top of the stairs stood ajar. A very\npoor-looking room about ten paces long was lighted up by a candle-end;\nthe whole of it was visible from the entrance. It was all in disorder,\nlittered up with rags of all sorts, especially children's garments.\nAcross the furthest corner was stretched a ragged sheet. Behind it\nprobably was the bed. There was nothing in the room except two chairs\nand a sofa covered with American leather, full of holes, before which\nstood an old deal kitchen-table, unpainted and uncovered. At the edge\nof the table stood a smoldering tallow-candle in an iron candlestick. It\nappeared that the family had a room to themselves, not part of a room,\nbut their room was practically a passage. The door leading to the other\nrooms, or rather cupboards, into which Amalia Lippevechsel's flat was\ndivided stood half open, and there was shouting, uproar and laughter\nwithin. People seemed to be playing cards and drinking tea there. Words\nof the most unceremonious kind flew out from time to time.\n\nRaskolnikov recognised Katerina Ivanovna at once. She was a rather tall,\nslim and graceful woman, terribly emaciated, with magnificent dark brown\nhair and with a hectic flush in her cheeks. She was pacing up and down\nin her little room, pressing her hands against her chest; her lips\nwere parched and her breathing came in nervous broken gasps. Her eyes\nglittered as in fever and looked about with a harsh immovable stare. And\nthat consumptive and excited face with the last flickering light of the\ncandle-end playing upon it made a sickening impression. She seemed to\nRaskolnikov about thirty years old and was certainly a strange wife for\nMarmeladov.... She had not heard them and did not notice them coming in.\nShe seemed to be lost in thought, hearing and seeing nothing. The room\nwas close, but she had not opened the window; a stench rose from the\nstaircase, but the door on to the stairs was not closed. From the inner\nrooms clouds of tobacco smoke floated in, she kept coughing, but did not\nclose the door. The youngest child, a girl of six, was asleep, sitting\ncurled up on the floor with her head on the sofa. A boy a year older\nstood crying and shaking in the corner, probably he had just had a\nbeating. Beside him stood a girl of nine years old, tall and thin,\nwearing a thin and ragged chemise with an ancient cashmere pelisse flung\nover her bare shoulders, long outgrown and barely reaching her knees.\nHer arm, as thin as a stick, was round her brother's neck. She was\ntrying to comfort him, whispering something to him, and doing all she\ncould to keep him from whimpering again. At the same time her large\ndark eyes, which looked larger still from the thinness of her frightened\nface, were watching her mother with alarm. Marmeladov did not enter the\ndoor, but dropped on his knees in the very doorway, pushing Raskolnikov\nin front of him. The woman seeing a stranger stopped indifferently\nfacing him, coming to herself for a moment and apparently wondering what\nhe had come for. But evidently she decided that he was going into\nthe next room, as he had to pass through hers to get there. Taking no\nfurther notice of him, she walked towards the outer door to close it\nand uttered a sudden scream on seeing her husband on his knees in the\ndoorway.\n\n\"Ah!\" she cried out in a frenzy, \"he has come back! The criminal! the\nmonster!... And where is the money? What's in your pocket, show me! And\nyour clothes are all different! Where are your clothes? Where is the\nmoney! Speak!\"\n\nAnd she fell to searching him. Marmeladov submissively and obediently\nheld up both arms to facilitate the search. Not a farthing was there.\n\n\"Where is the money?\" she cried--\"Mercy on us, can he have drunk it all?\nThere were twelve silver roubles left in the chest!\" and in a fury\nshe seized him by the hair and dragged him into the room. Marmeladov\nseconded her efforts by meekly crawling along on his knees.\n\n\"And this is a consolation to me! This does not hurt me, but is a\npositive con-so-la-tion, ho-nou-red sir,\" he called out, shaken to and\nfro by his hair and even once striking the ground with his forehead.\nThe child asleep on the floor woke up, and began to cry. The boy in the\ncorner losing all control began trembling and screaming and rushed\nto his sister in violent terror, almost in a fit. The eldest girl was\nshaking like a leaf.\n\n\"He's drunk it! he's drunk it all,\" the poor woman screamed in\ndespair--\"and his clothes are gone! And they are hungry, hungry!\"--and\nwringing her hands she pointed to the children. \"Oh, accursed life!\nAnd you, are you not ashamed?\"--she pounced all at once upon\nRaskolnikov--\"from the tavern! Have you been drinking with him? You have\nbeen drinking with him, too! Go away!\"\n\nThe young man was hastening away without uttering a word. The inner door\nwas thrown wide open and inquisitive faces were peering in at it. Coarse\nlaughing faces with pipes and cigarettes and heads wearing caps thrust\nthemselves in at the doorway. Further in could be seen figures in\ndressing gowns flung open, in costumes of unseemly scantiness, some of\nthem with cards in their hands. They were particularly diverted, when\nMarmeladov, dragged about by his hair, shouted that it was a consolation\nto him. They even began to come into the room; at last a sinister shrill\noutcry was heard: this came from Amalia Lippevechsel herself pushing her\nway amongst them and trying to restore order after her own fashion and\nfor the hundredth time to frighten the poor woman by ordering her\nwith coarse abuse to clear out of the room next day. As he went out,\nRaskolnikov had time to put his hand into his pocket, to snatch up the\ncoppers he had received in exchange for his rouble in the tavern and to\nlay them unnoticed on the window. Afterwards on the stairs, he changed\nhis mind and would have gone back.\n\n\"What a stupid thing I've done,\" he thought to himself, \"they have Sonia\nand I want it myself.\" But reflecting that it would be impossible to\ntake it back now and that in any case he would not have taken it, he\ndismissed it with a wave of his hand and went back to his lodging.\n\"Sonia wants pomatum too,\" he said as he walked along the street, and he\nlaughed malignantly--\"such smartness costs money.... Hm! And maybe Sonia\nherself will be bankrupt to-day, for there is always a risk, hunting\nbig game... digging for gold... then they would all be without a crust\nto-morrow except for my money. Hurrah for Sonia! What a mine they've dug\nthere! And they're making the most of it! Yes, they are making the most\nof it! They've wept over it and grown used to it. Man grows used to\neverything, the scoundrel!\"\n\nHe sank into thought.\n\n\"And what if I am wrong,\" he cried suddenly after a moment's thought.\n\"What if man is not really a scoundrel, man in general, I mean, the\nwhole race of mankind--then all the rest is prejudice, simply artificial\nterrors and there are no barriers and it's all as it should be.\"\n\n\n\nCHAPTER III\n\nHe waked up late next day after a broken sleep. But his sleep had not\nrefreshed him; he waked up bilious, irritable, ill-tempered, and looked\nwith hatred at his room. It was a tiny cupboard of a room about six\npaces in length. It had a poverty-stricken appearance with its dusty\nyellow paper peeling off the walls, and it was so low-pitched that a man\nof more than average height was ill at ease in it and felt every moment\nthat he would knock his head against the ceiling. The furniture was in\nkeeping with the room: there were three old chairs, rather rickety; a\npainted table in the corner on which lay a few manuscripts and books;\nthe dust that lay thick upon them showed that they had been long\nuntouched. A big clumsy sofa occupied almost the whole of one wall and\nhalf the floor space of the room; it was once covered with chintz, but\nwas now in rags and served Raskolnikov as a bed. Often he went to sleep\non it, as he was, without undressing, without sheets, wrapped in his old\nstudent's overcoat, with his head on one little pillow, under which he\nheaped up all the linen he had, clean and dirty, by way of a bolster. A\nlittle table stood in front of the sofa.\n\nIt would have been difficult to sink to a lower ebb of disorder, but to\nRaskolnikov in his present state of mind this was positively agreeable.\nHe had got completely away from everyone, like a tortoise in its shell,\nand even the sight of a servant girl who had to wait upon him and looked\nsometimes into his room made him writhe with nervous irritation. He was\nin the condition that overtakes some monomaniacs entirely concentrated\nupon one thing. His landlady had for the last fortnight given up sending\nhim in meals, and he had not yet thought of expostulating with her,\nthough he went without his dinner. Nastasya, the cook and only servant,\nwas rather pleased at the lodger's mood and had entirely given up\nsweeping and doing his room, only once a week or so she would stray into\nhis room with a broom. She waked him up that day.\n\n\"Get up, why are you asleep?\" she called to him. \"It's past nine, I have\nbrought you some tea; will you have a cup? I should think you're fairly\nstarving?\"\n\nRaskolnikov opened his eyes, started and recognised Nastasya.\n\n\"From the landlady, eh?\" he asked, slowly and with a sickly face sitting\nup on the sofa.\n\n\"From the landlady, indeed!\"\n\nShe set before him her own cracked teapot full of weak and stale tea and\nlaid two yellow lumps of sugar by the side of it.\n\n\"Here, Nastasya, take it please,\" he said, fumbling in his pocket (for\nhe had slept in his clothes) and taking out a handful of coppers--\"run\nand buy me a loaf. And get me a little sausage, the cheapest, at the\npork-butcher's.\"\n\n\"The loaf I'll fetch you this very minute, but wouldn't you rather have\nsome cabbage soup instead of sausage? It's capital soup, yesterday's. I\nsaved it for you yesterday, but you came in late. It's fine soup.\"\n\nWhen the soup had been brought, and he had begun upon it, Nastasya\nsat down beside him on the sofa and began chatting. She was a country\npeasant-woman and a very talkative one.\n\n\"Praskovya Pavlovna means to complain to the police about you,\" she\nsaid.\n\nHe scowled.\n\n\"To the police? What does she want?\"\n\n\"You don't pay her money and you won't turn out of the room. That's what\nshe wants, to be sure.\"\n\n\"The devil, that's the last straw,\" he muttered, grinding his teeth,\n\"no, that would not suit me... just now. She is a fool,\" he added aloud.\n\"I'll go and talk to her to-day.\"\n\n\"Fool she is and no mistake, just as I am. But why, if you are so\nclever, do you lie here like a sack and have nothing to show for it? One\ntime you used to go out, you say, to teach children. But why is it you\ndo nothing now?\"\n\n\"I am doing...\" Raskolnikov began sullenly and reluctantly.\n\n\"What are you doing?\"\n\n\"Work...\"\n\n\"What sort of work?\"\n\n\"I am thinking,\" he answered seriously after a pause.\n\nNastasya was overcome with a fit of laughter. She was given to laughter\nand when anything amused her, she laughed inaudibly, quivering and\nshaking all over till she felt ill.\n\n\"And have you made much money by your thinking?\" she managed to\narticulate at last.\n\n\"One can't go out to give lessons without boots. And I'm sick of it.\"\n\n\"Don't quarrel with your bread and butter.\"\n\n\"They pay so little for lessons. What's the use of a few coppers?\" he\nanswered, reluctantly, as though replying to his own thought.\n\n\"And you want to get a fortune all at once?\"\n\nHe looked at her strangely.\n\n\"Yes, I want a fortune,\" he answered firmly, after a brief pause.\n\n\"Don't be in such a hurry, you quite frighten me! Shall I get you the\nloaf or not?\"\n\n\"As you please.\"\n\n\"Ah, I forgot! A letter came for you yesterday when you were out.\"\n\n\"A letter? for me! from whom?\"\n\n\"I can't say. I gave three copecks of my own to the postman for it. Will\nyou pay me back?\"\n\n\"Then bring it to me, for God's sake, bring it,\" cried Raskolnikov\ngreatly excited--\"good God!\"\n\nA minute later the letter was brought him. That was it: from his mother,\nfrom the province of R----. He turned pale when he took it. It was a\nlong while since he had received a letter, but another feeling also\nsuddenly stabbed his heart.\n\n\"Nastasya, leave me alone, for goodness' sake; here are your three\ncopecks, but for goodness' sake, make haste and go!\"\n\nThe letter was quivering in his hand; he did not want to open it in her\npresence; he wanted to be left _alone_ with this letter. When Nastasya\nhad gone out, he lifted it quickly to his lips and kissed it; then he\ngazed intently at the address, the small, sloping handwriting, so dear\nand familiar, of the mother who had once taught him to read and write.\nHe delayed; he seemed almost afraid of something. At last he opened it;\nit was a thick heavy letter, weighing over two ounces, two large sheets\nof note paper were covered with very small handwriting.\n\n\"My dear Rodya,\" wrote his mother--\"it's two months since I last had a\ntalk with you by letter which has distressed me and even kept me\nawake at night, thinking. But I am sure you will not blame me for my\ninevitable silence. You know how I love you; you are all we have to look\nto, Dounia and I, you are our all, our one hope, our one stay. What a\ngrief it was to me when I heard that you had given up the university\nsome months ago, for want of means to keep yourself and that you had\nlost your lessons and your other work! How could I help you out of my\nhundred and twenty roubles a year pension? The fifteen roubles I sent\nyou four months ago I borrowed, as you know, on security of my pension,\nfrom Vassily Ivanovitch Vahrushin a merchant of this town. He is a\nkind-hearted man and was a friend of your father's too. But having given\nhim the right to receive the pension, I had to wait till the debt was\npaid off and that is only just done, so that I've been unable to send\nyou anything all this time. But now, thank God, I believe I shall\nbe able to send you something more and in fact we may congratulate\nourselves on our good fortune now, of which I hasten to inform you. In\nthe first place, would you have guessed, dear Rodya, that your sister\nhas been living with me for the last six weeks and we shall not be\nseparated in the future. Thank God, her sufferings are over, but I will\ntell you everything in order, so that you may know just how everything\nhas happened and all that we have hitherto concealed from you. When you\nwrote to me two months ago that you had heard that Dounia had a great\ndeal to put up with in the Svidrigrailovs' house, when you wrote that\nand asked me to tell you all about it--what could I write in answer to\nyou? If I had written the whole truth to you, I dare say you would have\nthrown up everything and have come to us, even if you had to walk all\nthe way, for I know your character and your feelings, and you would not\nlet your sister be insulted. I was in despair myself, but what could I\ndo? And, besides, I did not know the whole truth myself then. What\nmade it all so difficult was that Dounia received a hundred roubles\nin advance when she took the place as governess in their family, on\ncondition of part of her salary being deducted every month, and so it\nwas impossible to throw up the situation without repaying the debt.\nThis sum (now I can explain it all to you, my precious Rodya) she took\nchiefly in order to send you sixty roubles, which you needed so terribly\nthen and which you received from us last year. We deceived you then,\nwriting that this money came from Dounia's savings, but that was not\nso, and now I tell you all about it, because, thank God, things have\nsuddenly changed for the better, and that you may know how Dounia loves\nyou and what a heart she has. At first indeed Mr. Svidrigailov treated\nher very rudely and used to make disrespectful and jeering remarks at\ntable.... But I don't want to go into all those painful details, so as\nnot to worry you for nothing when it is now all over. In short, in spite\nof the kind and generous behaviour of Marfa Petrovna, Mr. Svidrigailov's\nwife, and all the rest of the household, Dounia had a very hard time,\nespecially when Mr. Svidrigailov, relapsing into his old regimental\nhabits, was under the influence of Bacchus. And how do you think it\nwas all explained later on? Would you believe that the crazy fellow had\nconceived a passion for Dounia from the beginning, but had concealed\nit under a show of rudeness and contempt. Possibly he was ashamed and\nhorrified himself at his own flighty hopes, considering his years and\nhis being the father of a family; and that made him angry with Dounia.\nAnd possibly, too, he hoped by his rude and sneering behaviour to hide\nthe truth from others. But at last he lost all control and had the face\nto make Dounia an open and shameful proposal, promising her all sorts of\ninducements and offering, besides, to throw up everything and take her\nto another estate of his, or even abroad. You can imagine all she went\nthrough! To leave her situation at once was impossible not only on\naccount of the money debt, but also to spare the feelings of Marfa\nPetrovna, whose suspicions would have been aroused: and then Dounia\nwould have been the cause of a rupture in the family. And it would\nhave meant a terrible scandal for Dounia too; that would have been\ninevitable. There were various other reasons owing to which Dounia could\nnot hope to escape from that awful house for another six weeks. You know\nDounia, of course; you know how clever she is and what a strong will she\nhas. Dounia can endure a great deal and even in the most difficult cases\nshe has the fortitude to maintain her firmness. She did not even write\nto me about everything for fear of upsetting me, although we were\nconstantly in communication. It all ended very unexpectedly. Marfa\nPetrovna accidentally overheard her husband imploring Dounia in the\ngarden, and, putting quite a wrong interpretation on the position, threw\nthe blame upon her, believing her to be the cause of it all. An awful\nscene took place between them on the spot in the garden; Marfa Petrovna\nwent so far as to strike Dounia, refused to hear anything and was\nshouting at her for a whole hour and then gave orders that Dounia should\nbe packed off at once to me in a plain peasant's cart, into which they\nflung all her things, her linen and her clothes, all pell-mell, without\nfolding it up and packing it. And a heavy shower of rain came on, too,\nand Dounia, insulted and put to shame, had to drive with a peasant in an\nopen cart all the seventeen versts into town. Only think now what answer\ncould I have sent to the letter I received from you two months ago and\nwhat could I have written? I was in despair; I dared not write to\nyou the truth because you would have been very unhappy, mortified\nand indignant, and yet what could you do? You could only perhaps ruin\nyourself, and, besides, Dounia would not allow it; and fill up my letter\nwith trifles when my heart was so full of sorrow, I could not. For a\nwhole month the town was full of gossip about this scandal, and it came\nto such a pass that Dounia and I dared not even go to church on account\nof the contemptuous looks, whispers, and even remarks made aloud about\nus. All our acquaintances avoided us, nobody even bowed to us in the\nstreet, and I learnt that some shopmen and clerks were intending to\ninsult us in a shameful way, smearing the gates of our house with pitch,\nso that the landlord began to tell us we must leave. All this was set\ngoing by Marfa Petrovna who managed to slander Dounia and throw dirt at\nher in every family. She knows everyone in the neighbourhood, and that\nmonth she was continually coming into the town, and as she is\nrather talkative and fond of gossiping about her family affairs and\nparticularly of complaining to all and each of her husband--which is not\nat all right--so in a short time she had spread her story not only in\nthe town, but over the whole surrounding district. It made me ill, but\nDounia bore it better than I did, and if only you could have seen how\nshe endured it all and tried to comfort me and cheer me up! She is\nan angel! But by God's mercy, our sufferings were cut short: Mr.\nSvidrigailov returned to his senses and repented and, probably\nfeeling sorry for Dounia, he laid before Marfa Petrovna a complete and\nunmistakable proof of Dounia's innocence, in the form of a letter Dounia\nhad been forced to write and give to him, before Marfa Petrovna\ncame upon them in the garden. This letter, which remained in Mr.\nSvidrigailov's hands after her departure, she had written to refuse\npersonal explanations and secret interviews, for which he was entreating\nher. In that letter she reproached him with great heat and indignation\nfor the baseness of his behaviour in regard to Marfa Petrovna, reminding\nhim that he was the father and head of a family and telling him how\ninfamous it was of him to torment and make unhappy a defenceless girl,\nunhappy enough already. Indeed, dear Rodya, the letter was so nobly and\ntouchingly written that I sobbed when I read it and to this day I cannot\nread it without tears. Moreover, the evidence of the servants, too,\ncleared Dounia's reputation; they had seen and known a great deal more\nthan Mr. Svidrigailov had himself supposed--as indeed is always the case\nwith servants. Marfa Petrovna was completely taken aback, and 'again\ncrushed' as she said herself to us, but she was completely convinced of\nDounia's innocence. The very next day, being Sunday, she went straight\nto the Cathedral, knelt down and prayed with tears to Our Lady to give\nher strength to bear this new trial and to do her duty. Then she\ncame straight from the Cathedral to us, told us the whole story, wept\nbitterly and, fully penitent, she embraced Dounia and besought her to\nforgive her. The same morning without any delay, she went round to all\nthe houses in the town and everywhere, shedding tears, she asserted in\nthe most flattering terms Dounia's innocence and the nobility of\nher feelings and her behavior. What was more, she showed and read to\neveryone the letter in Dounia's own handwriting to Mr. Svidrigailov and\neven allowed them to take copies of it--which I must say I think was\nsuperfluous. In this way she was busy for several days in driving about\nthe whole town, because some people had taken offence through precedence\nhaving been given to others. And therefore they had to take turns, so\nthat in every house she was expected before she arrived, and everyone\nknew that on such and such a day Marfa Petrovna would be reading the\nletter in such and such a place and people assembled for every reading\nof it, even many who had heard it several times already both in their\nown houses and in other people's. In my opinion a great deal, a very\ngreat deal of all this was unnecessary; but that's Marfa Petrovna's\ncharacter. Anyway she succeeded in completely re-establishing Dounia's\nreputation and the whole ignominy of this affair rested as an indelible\ndisgrace upon her husband, as the only person to blame, so that I really\nbegan to feel sorry for him; it was really treating the crazy fellow too\nharshly. Dounia was at once asked to give lessons in several families,\nbut she refused. All of a sudden everyone began to treat her with marked\nrespect and all this did much to bring about the event by which, one may\nsay, our whole fortunes are now transformed. You must know, dear Rodya,\nthat Dounia has a suitor and that she has already consented to marry\nhim. I hasten to tell you all about the matter, and though it has been\narranged without asking your consent, I think you will not be aggrieved\nwith me or with your sister on that account, for you will see that we\ncould not wait and put off our decision till we heard from you. And you\ncould not have judged all the facts without being on the spot. This\nwas how it happened. He is already of the rank of a counsellor, Pyotr\nPetrovitch Luzhin, and is distantly related to Marfa Petrovna, who\nhas been very active in bringing the match about. It began with his\nexpressing through her his desire to make our acquaintance. He was\nproperly received, drank coffee with us and the very next day he sent\nus a letter in which he very courteously made an offer and begged for a\nspeedy and decided answer. He is a very busy man and is in a great hurry\nto get to Petersburg, so that every moment is precious to him. At first,\nof course, we were greatly surprised, as it had all happened so quickly\nand unexpectedly. We thought and talked it over the whole day. He is a\nwell-to-do man, to be depended upon, he has two posts in the government\nand has already made his fortune. It is true that he is forty-five years\nold, but he is of a fairly prepossessing appearance and might still be\nthought attractive by women, and he is altogether a very respectable and\npresentable man, only he seems a little morose and somewhat conceited.\nBut possibly that may only be the impression he makes at first sight.\nAnd beware, dear Rodya, when he comes to Petersburg, as he shortly will\ndo, beware of judging him too hastily and severely, as your way is, if\nthere is anything you do not like in him at first sight. I give you this\nwarning, although I feel sure that he will make a favourable impression\nupon you. Moreover, in order to understand any man one must be\ndeliberate and careful to avoid forming prejudices and mistaken ideas,\nwhich are very difficult to correct and get over afterwards. And Pyotr\nPetrovitch, judging by many indications, is a thoroughly estimable man.\nAt his first visit, indeed, he told us that he was a practical man, but\nstill he shares, as he expressed it, many of the convictions 'of our\nmost rising generation' and he is an opponent of all prejudices. He\nsaid a good deal more, for he seems a little conceited and likes to be\nlistened to, but this is scarcely a vice. I, of course, understood very\nlittle of it, but Dounia explained to me that, though he is not a man\nof great education, he is clever and seems to be good-natured. You know\nyour sister's character, Rodya. She is a resolute, sensible, patient and\ngenerous girl, but she has a passionate heart, as I know very well.\nOf course, there is no great love either on his side, or on hers, but\nDounia is a clever girl and has the heart of an angel, and will make\nit her duty to make her husband happy who on his side will make her\nhappiness his care. Of that we have no good reason to doubt, though it\nmust be admitted the matter has been arranged in great haste. Besides he\nis a man of great prudence and he will see, to be sure, of himself, that\nhis own happiness will be the more secure, the happier Dounia is with\nhim. And as for some defects of character, for some habits and even\ncertain differences of opinion--which indeed are inevitable even in\nthe happiest marriages--Dounia has said that, as regards all that, she\nrelies on herself, that there is nothing to be uneasy about, and\nthat she is ready to put up with a great deal, if only their future\nrelationship can be an honourable and straightforward one. He struck me,\nfor instance, at first, as rather abrupt, but that may well come\nfrom his being an outspoken man, and that is no doubt how it is. For\ninstance, at his second visit, after he had received Dounia's consent,\nin the course of conversation, he declared that before making\nDounia's acquaintance, he had made up his mind to marry a girl of\ngood reputation, without dowry and, above all, one who had experienced\npoverty, because, as he explained, a man ought not to be indebted to his\nwife, but that it is better for a wife to look upon her husband as her\nbenefactor. I must add that he expressed it more nicely and politely\nthan I have done, for I have forgotten his actual phrases and only\nremember the meaning. And, besides, it was obviously not said of design,\nbut slipped out in the heat of conversation, so that he tried afterwards\nto correct himself and smooth it over, but all the same it did strike\nme as somewhat rude, and I said so afterwards to Dounia. But Dounia was\nvexed, and answered that 'words are not deeds,' and that, of course, is\nperfectly true. Dounia did not sleep all night before she made up\nher mind, and, thinking that I was asleep, she got out of bed and was\nwalking up and down the room all night; at last she knelt down before\nthe ikon and prayed long and fervently and in the morning she told me\nthat she had decided.\n\n\"I have mentioned already that Pyotr Petrovitch is just setting off for\nPetersburg, where he has a great deal of business, and he wants to open\na legal bureau. He has been occupied for many years in conducting civil\nand commercial litigation, and only the other day he won an important\ncase. He has to be in Petersburg because he has an important case before\nthe Senate. So, Rodya dear, he may be of the greatest use to you, in\nevery way indeed, and Dounia and I have agreed that from this very day\nyou could definitely enter upon your career and might consider that\nyour future is marked out and assured for you. Oh, if only this comes to\npass! This would be such a benefit that we could only look upon it as a\nprovidential blessing. Dounia is dreaming of nothing else. We have even\nventured already to drop a few words on the subject to Pyotr Petrovitch.\nHe was cautious in his answer, and said that, of course, as he could not\nget on without a secretary, it would be better to be paying a salary to\na relation than to a stranger, if only the former were fitted for the\nduties (as though there could be doubt of your being fitted!) but then\nhe expressed doubts whether your studies at the university would leave\nyou time for work at his office. The matter dropped for the time, but\nDounia is thinking of nothing else now. She has been in a sort of fever\nfor the last few days, and has already made a regular plan for\nyour becoming in the end an associate and even a partner in Pyotr\nPetrovitch's business, which might well be, seeing that you are a\nstudent of law. I am in complete agreement with her, Rodya, and share\nall her plans and hopes, and think there is every probability of\nrealising them. And in spite of Pyotr Petrovitch's evasiveness, very\nnatural at present (since he does not know you), Dounia is firmly\npersuaded that she will gain everything by her good influence over her\nfuture husband; this she is reckoning upon. Of course we are careful\nnot to talk of any of these more remote plans to Pyotr Petrovitch,\nespecially of your becoming his partner. He is a practical man and might\ntake this very coldly, it might all seem to him simply a day-dream. Nor\nhas either Dounia or I breathed a word to him of the great hopes we have\nof his helping us to pay for your university studies; we have not spoken\nof it in the first place, because it will come to pass of itself,\nlater on, and he will no doubt without wasting words offer to do it of\nhimself, (as though he could refuse Dounia that) the more readily since\nyou may by your own efforts become his right hand in the office, and\nreceive this assistance not as a charity, but as a salary earned by your\nown work. Dounia wants to arrange it all like this and I quite agree\nwith her. And we have not spoken of our plans for another reason, that\nis, because I particularly wanted you to feel on an equal footing when\nyou first meet him. When Dounia spoke to him with enthusiasm about\nyou, he answered that one could never judge of a man without seeing\nhim close, for oneself, and that he looked forward to forming his own\nopinion when he makes your acquaintance. Do you know, my precious\nRodya, I think that perhaps for some reasons (nothing to do with Pyotr\nPetrovitch though, simply for my own personal, perhaps old-womanish,\nfancies) I should do better to go on living by myself, apart, than with\nthem, after the wedding. I am convinced that he will be generous and\ndelicate enough to invite me and to urge me to remain with my daughter\nfor the future, and if he has said nothing about it hitherto, it is\nsimply because it has been taken for granted; but I shall refuse. I have\nnoticed more than once in my life that husbands don't quite get on with\ntheir mothers-in-law, and I don't want to be the least bit in anyone's\nway, and for my own sake, too, would rather be quite independent, so\nlong as I have a crust of bread of my own, and such children as you and\nDounia. If possible, I would settle somewhere near you, for the most\njoyful piece of news, dear Rodya, I have kept for the end of my letter:\nknow then, my dear boy, that we may, perhaps, be all together in a\nvery short time and may embrace one another again after a separation of\nalmost three years! It is settled _for certain_ that Dounia and I are to\nset off for Petersburg, exactly when I don't know, but very, very soon,\npossibly in a week. It all depends on Pyotr Petrovitch who will let us\nknow when he has had time to look round him in Petersburg. To suit his\nown arrangements he is anxious to have the ceremony as soon as possible,\neven before the fast of Our Lady, if it could be managed, or if that is\ntoo soon to be ready, immediately after. Oh, with what happiness I shall\npress you to my heart! Dounia is all excitement at the joyful thought\nof seeing you, she said one day in joke that she would be ready to marry\nPyotr Petrovitch for that alone. She is an angel! She is not writing\nanything to you now, and has only told me to write that she has so much,\nso much to tell you that she is not going to take up her pen now, for\na few lines would tell you nothing, and it would only mean upsetting\nherself; she bids me send you her love and innumerable kisses. But\nalthough we shall be meeting so soon, perhaps I shall send you as much\nmoney as I can in a day or two. Now that everyone has heard that Dounia\nis to marry Pyotr Petrovitch, my credit has suddenly improved and I know\nthat Afanasy Ivanovitch will trust me now even to seventy-five roubles\non the security of my pension, so that perhaps I shall be able to send\nyou twenty-five or even thirty roubles. I would send you more, but I am\nuneasy about our travelling expenses; for though Pyotr Petrovitch has\nbeen so kind as to undertake part of the expenses of the journey, that\nis to say, he has taken upon himself the conveyance of our bags and big\ntrunk (which will be conveyed through some acquaintances of his), we\nmust reckon upon some expense on our arrival in Petersburg, where we\ncan't be left without a halfpenny, at least for the first few days. But\nwe have calculated it all, Dounia and I, to the last penny, and we see\nthat the journey will not cost very much. It is only ninety versts from\nus to the railway and we have come to an agreement with a driver we\nknow, so as to be in readiness; and from there Dounia and I can travel\nquite comfortably third class. So that I may very likely be able to send\nto you not twenty-five, but thirty roubles. But enough; I have covered\ntwo sheets already and there is no space left for more; our whole\nhistory, but so many events have happened! And now, my precious Rodya,\nI embrace you and send you a mother's blessing till we meet. Love Dounia\nyour sister, Rodya; love her as she loves you and understand that she\nloves you beyond everything, more than herself. She is an angel and you,\nRodya, you are everything to us--our one hope, our one consolation. If\nonly you are happy, we shall be happy. Do you still say your prayers,\nRodya, and believe in the mercy of our Creator and our Redeemer? I am\nafraid in my heart that you may have been visited by the new spirit of\ninfidelity that is abroad to-day; If it is so, I pray for you. Remember,\ndear boy, how in your childhood, when your father was living, you used\nto lisp your prayers at my knee, and how happy we all were in those\ndays. Good-bye, till we meet then--I embrace you warmly, warmly, with\nmany kisses.\n\n\"Yours till death,\n\n\"PULCHERIA RASKOLNIKOV.\"\n\n\nAlmost from the first, while he read the letter, Raskolnikov's face was\nwet with tears; but when he finished it, his face was pale and distorted\nand a bitter, wrathful and malignant smile was on his lips. He laid his\nhead down on his threadbare dirty pillow and pondered, pondered a long\ntime. His heart was beating violently, and his brain was in a turmoil.\nAt last he felt cramped and stifled in the little yellow room that was\nlike a cupboard or a box. His eyes and his mind craved for space. He\ntook up his hat and went out, this time without dread of meeting\nanyone; he had forgotten his dread. He turned in the direction of the\nVassilyevsky Ostrov, walking along Vassilyevsky Prospect, as though\nhastening on some business, but he walked, as his habit was, without\nnoticing his way, muttering and even speaking aloud to himself, to the\nastonishment of the passers-by. Many of them took him to be drunk.\n\n\n\nCHAPTER IV\n\nHis mother's letter had been a torture to him, but as regards the chief\nfact in it, he had felt not one moment's hesitation, even whilst he was\nreading the letter. The essential question was settled, and irrevocably\nsettled, in his mind: \"Never such a marriage while I am alive and\nMr. Luzhin be damned!\" \"The thing is perfectly clear,\" he muttered\nto himself, with a malignant smile anticipating the triumph of his\ndecision. \"No, mother, no, Dounia, you won't deceive me! and then they\napologise for not asking my advice and for taking the decision without\nme! I dare say! They imagine it is arranged now and can't be broken\noff; but we will see whether it can or not! A magnificent excuse:\n'Pyotr Petrovitch is such a busy man that even his wedding has to be in\npost-haste, almost by express.' No, Dounia, I see it all and I know what\nyou want to say to me; and I know too what you were thinking about, when\nyou walked up and down all night, and what your prayers were like before\nthe Holy Mother of Kazan who stands in mother's bedroom. Bitter is\nthe ascent to Golgotha.... Hm... so it is finally settled; you have\ndetermined to marry a sensible business man, Avdotya Romanovna, one\nwho has a fortune (has _already_ made his fortune, that is so much\nmore solid and impressive) a man who holds two government posts and who\nshares the ideas of our most rising generation, as mother writes, and\nwho _seems_ to be kind, as Dounia herself observes. That _seems_ beats\neverything! And that very Dounia for that very '_seems_' is marrying\nhim! Splendid! splendid!\n\n\"... But I should like to know why mother has written to me about 'our\nmost rising generation'? Simply as a descriptive touch, or with the idea\nof prepossessing me in favour of Mr. Luzhin? Oh, the cunning of them!\nI should like to know one thing more: how far they were open with one\nanother that day and night and all this time since? Was it all put into\n_words_, or did both understand that they had the same thing at heart\nand in their minds, so that there was no need to speak of it aloud, and\nbetter not to speak of it. Most likely it was partly like that, from\nmother's letter it's evident: he struck her as rude _a little_, and\nmother in her simplicity took her observations to Dounia. And she was\nsure to be vexed and 'answered her angrily.' I should think so! Who\nwould not be angered when it was quite clear without any naive questions\nand when it was understood that it was useless to discuss it. And why\ndoes she write to me, 'love Dounia, Rodya, and she loves you more than\nherself'? Has she a secret conscience-prick at sacrificing her daughter\nto her son? 'You are our one comfort, you are everything to us.' Oh,\nmother!\"\n\nHis bitterness grew more and more intense, and if he had happened to\nmeet Mr. Luzhin at the moment, he might have murdered him.\n\n\"Hm... yes, that's true,\" he continued, pursuing the whirling ideas that\nchased each other in his brain, \"it is true that 'it needs time and care\nto get to know a man,' but there is no mistake about Mr. Luzhin. The\nchief thing is he is 'a man of business and _seems_ kind,' that was\nsomething, wasn't it, to send the bags and big box for them! A kind man,\nno doubt after that! But his _bride_ and her mother are to drive in a\npeasant's cart covered with sacking (I know, I have been driven in\nit). No matter! It is only ninety versts and then they can 'travel very\ncomfortably, third class,' for a thousand versts! Quite right, too. One\nmust cut one's coat according to one's cloth, but what about you, Mr.\nLuzhin? She is your bride.... And you must be aware that her mother has\nto raise money on her pension for the journey. To be sure it's a matter\nof business, a partnership for mutual benefit, with equal shares and\nexpenses;--food and drink provided, but pay for your tobacco. The\nbusiness man has got the better of them, too. The luggage will cost less\nthan their fares and very likely go for nothing. How is it that they\ndon't both see all that, or is it that they don't want to see? And\nthey are pleased, pleased! And to think that this is only the first\nblossoming, and that the real fruits are to come! But what really\nmatters is not the stinginess, is not the meanness, but the _tone_\nof the whole thing. For that will be the tone after marriage, it's a\nforetaste of it. And mother too, why should she be so lavish? What will\nshe have by the time she gets to Petersburg? Three silver roubles or\ntwo 'paper ones' as _she_ says.... that old woman... hm. What does\nshe expect to live upon in Petersburg afterwards? She has her reasons\nalready for guessing that she _could not_ live with Dounia after the\nmarriage, even for the first few months. The good man has no doubt let\nslip something on that subject also, though mother would deny it: 'I\nshall refuse,' says she. On whom is she reckoning then? Is she counting\non what is left of her hundred and twenty roubles of pension when\nAfanasy Ivanovitch's debt is paid? She knits woollen shawls and\nembroiders cuffs, ruining her old eyes. And all her shawls don't add\nmore than twenty roubles a year to her hundred and twenty, I know\nthat. So she is building all her hopes all the time on Mr. Luzhin's\ngenerosity; 'he will offer it of himself, he will press it on me.'\nYou may wait a long time for that! That's how it always is with these\nSchilleresque noble hearts; till the last moment every goose is a swan\nwith them, till the last moment, they hope for the best and will see\nnothing wrong, and although they have an inkling of the other side of\nthe picture, yet they won't face the truth till they are forced to; the\nvery thought of it makes them shiver; they thrust the truth away with\nboth hands, until the man they deck out in false colours puts a fool's\ncap on them with his own hands. I should like to know whether Mr. Luzhin\nhas any orders of merit; I bet he has the Anna in his buttonhole and\nthat he puts it on when he goes to dine with contractors or merchants.\nHe will be sure to have it for his wedding, too! Enough of him, confound\nhim!\n\n\"Well,... mother I don't wonder at, it's like her, God bless her, but\nhow could Dounia? Dounia darling, as though I did not know you! You were\nnearly twenty when I saw you last: I understood you then. Mother writes\nthat 'Dounia can put up with a great deal.' I know that very well. I\nknew that two years and a half ago, and for the last two and a half\nyears I have been thinking about it, thinking of just that, that 'Dounia\ncan put up with a great deal.' If she could put up with Mr. Svidrigailov\nand all the rest of it, she certainly can put up with a great deal. And\nnow mother and she have taken it into their heads that she can put up\nwith Mr. Luzhin, who propounds the theory of the superiority of\nwives raised from destitution and owing everything to their husband's\nbounty--who propounds it, too, almost at the first interview. Granted\nthat he 'let it slip,' though he is a sensible man, (yet maybe it\nwas not a slip at all, but he meant to make himself clear as soon as\npossible) but Dounia, Dounia? She understands the man, of course, but\nshe will have to live with the man. Why! she'd live on black bread\nand water, she would not sell her soul, she would not barter her moral\nfreedom for comfort; she would not barter it for all Schleswig-Holstein,\nmuch less Mr. Luzhin's money. No, Dounia was not that sort when I knew\nher and... she is still the same, of course! Yes, there's no denying,\nthe Svidrigailovs are a bitter pill! It's a bitter thing to spend one's\nlife a governess in the provinces for two hundred roubles, but I know\nshe would rather be a nigger on a plantation or a Lett with a German\nmaster than degrade her soul, and her moral dignity, by binding herself\nfor ever to a man whom she does not respect and with whom she has\nnothing in common--for her own advantage. And if Mr. Luzhin had been of\nunalloyed gold, or one huge diamond, she would never have consented to\nbecome his legal concubine. Why is she consenting then? What's the\npoint of it? What's the answer? It's clear enough: for herself, for her\ncomfort, to save her life she would not sell herself, but for someone\nelse she is doing it! For one she loves, for one she adores, she will\nsell herself! That's what it all amounts to; for her brother, for her\nmother, she will sell herself! She will sell everything! In such cases,\n'we overcome our moral feeling if necessary,' freedom, peace, conscience\neven, all, all are brought into the market. Let my life go, if only my\ndear ones may be happy! More than that, we become casuists, we learn\nto be Jesuitical and for a time maybe we can soothe ourselves, we can\npersuade ourselves that it is one's duty for a good object. That's just\nlike us, it's as clear as daylight. It's clear that Rodion Romanovitch\nRaskolnikov is the central figure in the business, and no one else. Oh,\nyes, she can ensure his happiness, keep him in the university, make him\na partner in the office, make his whole future secure; perhaps he may\neven be a rich man later on, prosperous, respected, and may even end his\nlife a famous man! But my mother? It's all Rodya, precious Rodya, her\nfirst born! For such a son who would not sacrifice such a daughter! Oh,\nloving, over-partial hearts! Why, for his sake we would not shrink even\nfrom Sonia's fate. Sonia, Sonia Marmeladov, the eternal victim so long\nas the world lasts. Have you taken the measure of your sacrifice, both\nof you? Is it right? Can you bear it? Is it any use? Is there sense in\nit? And let me tell you, Dounia, Sonia's life is no worse than life with\nMr. Luzhin. 'There can be no question of love,' mother writes. And what\nif there can be no respect either, if on the contrary there is aversion,\ncontempt, repulsion, what then? So you will have to 'keep up your\nappearance,' too. Is not that so? Do you understand what that smartness\nmeans? Do you understand that the Luzhin smartness is just the same\nthing as Sonia's and may be worse, viler, baser, because in your case,\nDounia, it's a bargain for luxuries, after all, but with Sonia it's\nsimply a question of starvation. It has to be paid for, it has to be\npaid for, Dounia, this smartness. And what if it's more than you can\nbear afterwards, if you regret it? The bitterness, the misery, the\ncurses, the tears hidden from all the world, for you are not a Marfa\nPetrovna. And how will your mother feel then? Even now she is uneasy,\nshe is worried, but then, when she sees it all clearly? And I? Yes,\nindeed, what have you taken me for? I won't have your sacrifice, Dounia,\nI won't have it, mother! It shall not be, so long as I am alive, it\nshall not, it shall not! I won't accept it!\"\n\nHe suddenly paused in his reflection and stood still.\n\n\"It shall not be? But what are you going to do to prevent it? You'll\nforbid it? And what right have you? What can you promise them on your\nside to give you such a right? Your whole life, your whole future, you\nwill devote to them _when you have finished your studies and obtained a\npost_? Yes, we have heard all that before, and that's all _words_, but\nnow? Now something must be done, now, do you understand that? And\nwhat are you doing now? You are living upon them. They borrow on their\nhundred roubles pension. They borrow from the Svidrigailovs. How are\nyou going to save them from Svidrigailovs, from Afanasy Ivanovitch\nVahrushin, oh, future millionaire Zeus who would arrange their lives for\nthem? In another ten years? In another ten years, mother will be blind\nwith knitting shawls, maybe with weeping too. She will be worn to a\nshadow with fasting; and my sister? Imagine for a moment what may have\nbecome of your sister in ten years? What may happen to her during those\nten years? Can you fancy?\"\n\nSo he tortured himself, fretting himself with such questions, and\nfinding a kind of enjoyment in it. And yet all these questions were not\nnew ones suddenly confronting him, they were old familiar aches. It was\nlong since they had first begun to grip and rend his heart. Long, long\nago his present anguish had its first beginnings; it had waxed and\ngathered strength, it had matured and concentrated, until it had taken\nthe form of a fearful, frenzied and fantastic question, which tortured\nhis heart and mind, clamouring insistently for an answer. Now his\nmother's letter had burst on him like a thunderclap. It was clear\nthat he must not now suffer passively, worrying himself over unsolved\nquestions, but that he must do something, do it at once, and do it\nquickly. Anyway he must decide on something, or else...\n\n\"Or throw up life altogether!\" he cried suddenly, in a frenzy--\"accept\none's lot humbly as it is, once for all and stifle everything in\noneself, giving up all claim to activity, life and love!\"\n\n\"Do you understand, sir, do you understand what it means when you have\nabsolutely nowhere to turn?\" Marmeladov's question came suddenly into\nhis mind, \"for every man must have somewhere to turn....\"\n\nHe gave a sudden start; another thought, that he had had yesterday,\nslipped back into his mind. But he did not start at the thought\nrecurring to him, for he knew, he had _felt beforehand_, that it must\ncome back, he was expecting it; besides it was not only yesterday's\nthought. The difference was that a month ago, yesterday even, the\nthought was a mere dream: but now... now it appeared not a dream at all,\nit had taken a new menacing and quite unfamiliar shape, and he suddenly\nbecame aware of this himself.... He felt a hammering in his head, and\nthere was a darkness before his eyes.\n\nHe looked round hurriedly, he was searching for something. He wanted\nto sit down and was looking for a seat; he was walking along the K----\nBoulevard. There was a seat about a hundred paces in front of him. He\nwalked towards it as fast he could; but on the way he met with a little\nadventure which absorbed all his attention. Looking for the seat, he had\nnoticed a woman walking some twenty paces in front of him, but at first\nhe took no more notice of her than of other objects that crossed his\npath. It had happened to him many times going home not to notice the\nroad by which he was going, and he was accustomed to walk like that. But\nthere was at first sight something so strange about the woman in front\nof him, that gradually his attention was riveted upon her, at first\nreluctantly and, as it were, resentfully, and then more and more\nintently. He felt a sudden desire to find out what it was that was so\nstrange about the woman. In the first place, she appeared to be a girl\nquite young, and she was walking in the great heat bareheaded and with\nno parasol or gloves, waving her arms about in an absurd way. She had\non a dress of some light silky material, but put on strangely awry, not\nproperly hooked up, and torn open at the top of the skirt, close to the\nwaist: a great piece was rent and hanging loose. A little kerchief was\nflung about her bare throat, but lay slanting on one side. The girl was\nwalking unsteadily, too, stumbling and staggering from side to side. She\ndrew Raskolnikov's whole attention at last. He overtook the girl at the\nseat, but, on reaching it, she dropped down on it, in the corner;\nshe let her head sink on the back of the seat and closed her eyes,\napparently in extreme exhaustion. Looking at her closely, he saw at once\nthat she was completely drunk. It was a strange and shocking sight. He\ncould hardly believe that he was not mistaken. He saw before him the\nface of a quite young, fair-haired girl--sixteen, perhaps not more than\nfifteen, years old, pretty little face, but flushed and heavy looking\nand, as it were, swollen. The girl seemed hardly to know what she was\ndoing; she crossed one leg over the other, lifting it indecorously, and\nshowed every sign of being unconscious that she was in the street.\n\nRaskolnikov did not sit down, but he felt unwilling to leave her,\nand stood facing her in perplexity. This boulevard was never much\nfrequented; and now, at two o'clock, in the stifling heat, it was quite\ndeserted. And yet on the further side of the boulevard, about fifteen\npaces away, a gentleman was standing on the edge of the pavement. He,\ntoo, would apparently have liked to approach the girl with some object\nof his own. He, too, had probably seen her in the distance and had\nfollowed her, but found Raskolnikov in his way. He looked angrily at\nhim, though he tried to escape his notice, and stood impatiently biding\nhis time, till the unwelcome man in rags should have moved away. His\nintentions were unmistakable. The gentleman was a plump, thickly-set\nman, about thirty, fashionably dressed, with a high colour, red lips and\nmoustaches. Raskolnikov felt furious; he had a sudden longing to insult\nthis fat dandy in some way. He left the girl for a moment and walked\ntowards the gentleman.\n\n\"Hey! You Svidrigailov! What do you want here?\" he shouted, clenching\nhis fists and laughing, spluttering with rage.\n\n\"What do you mean?\" the gentleman asked sternly, scowling in haughty\nastonishment.\n\n\"Get away, that's what I mean.\"\n\n\"How dare you, you low fellow!\"\n\nHe raised his cane. Raskolnikov rushed at him with his fists, without\nreflecting that the stout gentleman was a match for two men like\nhimself. But at that instant someone seized him from behind, and a\npolice constable stood between them.\n\n\"That's enough, gentlemen, no fighting, please, in a public place. What\ndo you want? Who are you?\" he asked Raskolnikov sternly, noticing his\nrags.\n\nRaskolnikov looked at him intently. He had a straight-forward, sensible,\nsoldierly face, with grey moustaches and whiskers.\n\n\"You are just the man I want,\" Raskolnikov cried, catching at his arm.\n\"I am a student, Raskolnikov.... You may as well know that too,\" he\nadded, addressing the gentleman, \"come along, I have something to show\nyou.\"\n\nAnd taking the policeman by the hand he drew him towards the seat.\n\n\"Look here, hopelessly drunk, and she has just come down the boulevard.\nThere is no telling who and what she is, she does not look like a\nprofessional. It's more likely she has been given drink and deceived\nsomewhere... for the first time... you understand? and they've put her\nout into the street like that. Look at the way her dress is torn, and\nthe way it has been put on: she has been dressed by somebody, she has\nnot dressed herself, and dressed by unpractised hands, by a man's hands;\nthat's evident. And now look there: I don't know that dandy with whom I\nwas going to fight, I see him for the first time, but he, too, has seen\nher on the road, just now, drunk, not knowing what she is doing, and now\nhe is very eager to get hold of her, to get her away somewhere while she\nis in this state... that's certain, believe me, I am not wrong. I saw\nhim myself watching her and following her, but I prevented him, and he\nis just waiting for me to go away. Now he has walked away a little, and\nis standing still, pretending to make a cigarette.... Think how can we\nkeep her out of his hands, and how are we to get her home?\"\n\nThe policeman saw it all in a flash. The stout gentleman was easy to\nunderstand, he turned to consider the girl. The policeman bent over to\nexamine her more closely, and his face worked with genuine compassion.\n\n\"Ah, what a pity!\" he said, shaking his head--\"why, she is quite a\nchild! She has been deceived, you can see that at once. Listen, lady,\"\nhe began addressing her, \"where do you live?\" The girl opened her weary\nand sleepy-looking eyes, gazed blankly at the speaker and waved her\nhand.\n\n\"Here,\" said Raskolnikov feeling in his pocket and finding twenty\ncopecks, \"here, call a cab and tell him to drive her to her address. The\nonly thing is to find out her address!\"\n\n\"Missy, missy!\" the policeman began again, taking the money. \"I'll fetch\nyou a cab and take you home myself. Where shall I take you, eh? Where do\nyou live?\"\n\n\"Go away! They won't let me alone,\" the girl muttered, and once more\nwaved her hand.\n\n\"Ach, ach, how shocking! It's shameful, missy, it's a shame!\" He shook\nhis head again, shocked, sympathetic and indignant.\n\n\"It's a difficult job,\" the policeman said to Raskolnikov, and as he\ndid so, he looked him up and down in a rapid glance. He, too, must have\nseemed a strange figure to him: dressed in rags and handing him money!\n\n\"Did you meet her far from here?\" he asked him.\n\n\"I tell you she was walking in front of me, staggering, just here, in\nthe boulevard. She only just reached the seat and sank down on it.\"\n\n\"Ah, the shameful things that are done in the world nowadays, God have\nmercy on us! An innocent creature like that, drunk already! She has been\ndeceived, that's a sure thing. See how her dress has been torn too....\nAh, the vice one sees nowadays! And as likely as not she belongs to\ngentlefolk too, poor ones maybe.... There are many like that nowadays.\nShe looks refined, too, as though she were a lady,\" and he bent over her\nonce more.\n\nPerhaps he had daughters growing up like that, \"looking like ladies and\nrefined\" with pretensions to gentility and smartness....\n\n\"The chief thing is,\" Raskolnikov persisted, \"to keep her out of this\nscoundrel's hands! Why should he outrage her! It's as clear as day what\nhe is after; ah, the brute, he is not moving off!\"\n\nRaskolnikov spoke aloud and pointed to him. The gentleman heard him,\nand seemed about to fly into a rage again, but thought better of it, and\nconfined himself to a contemptuous look. He then walked slowly another\nten paces away and again halted.\n\n\"Keep her out of his hands we can,\" said the constable thoughtfully,\n\"if only she'd tell us where to take her, but as it is.... Missy, hey,\nmissy!\" he bent over her once more.\n\nShe opened her eyes fully all of a sudden, looked at him intently, as\nthough realising something, got up from the seat and walked away in the\ndirection from which she had come. \"Oh shameful wretches, they won't let\nme alone!\" she said, waving her hand again. She walked quickly, though\nstaggering as before. The dandy followed her, but along another avenue,\nkeeping his eye on her.\n\n\"Don't be anxious, I won't let him have her,\" the policeman said\nresolutely, and he set off after them.\n\n\"Ah, the vice one sees nowadays!\" he repeated aloud, sighing.\n\nAt that moment something seemed to sting Raskolnikov; in an instant a\ncomplete revulsion of feeling came over him.\n\n\"Hey, here!\" he shouted after the policeman.\n\nThe latter turned round.\n\n\"Let them be! What is it to do with you? Let her go! Let him amuse\nhimself.\" He pointed at the dandy, \"What is it to do with you?\"\n\nThe policeman was bewildered, and stared at him open-eyed. Raskolnikov\nlaughed.\n\n\"Well!\" ejaculated the policeman, with a gesture of contempt, and he\nwalked after the dandy and the girl, probably taking Raskolnikov for a\nmadman or something even worse.\n\n\"He has carried off my twenty copecks,\" Raskolnikov murmured angrily\nwhen he was left alone. \"Well, let him take as much from the other\nfellow to allow him to have the girl and so let it end. And why did I\nwant to interfere? Is it for me to help? Have I any right to help? Let\nthem devour each other alive--what is to me? How did I dare to give him\ntwenty copecks? Were they mine?\"\n\nIn spite of those strange words he felt very wretched. He sat down on\nthe deserted seat. His thoughts strayed aimlessly.... He found it hard\nto fix his mind on anything at that moment. He longed to forget himself\naltogether, to forget everything, and then to wake up and begin life\nanew....\n\n\"Poor girl!\" he said, looking at the empty corner where she had\nsat--\"She will come to herself and weep, and then her mother will find\nout.... She will give her a beating, a horrible, shameful beating and\nthen maybe, turn her out of doors.... And even if she does not, the\nDarya Frantsovnas will get wind of it, and the girl will soon be\nslipping out on the sly here and there. Then there will be the hospital\ndirectly (that's always the luck of those girls with respectable\nmothers, who go wrong on the sly) and then... again the hospital...\ndrink... the taverns... and more hospital, in two or three years--a\nwreck, and her life over at eighteen or nineteen.... Have not I seen\ncases like that? And how have they been brought to it? Why, they've all\ncome to it like that. Ugh! But what does it matter? That's as it should\nbe, they tell us. A certain percentage, they tell us, must every year\ngo... that way... to the devil, I suppose, so that the rest may remain\nchaste, and not be interfered with. A percentage! What splendid words\nthey have; they are so scientific, so consolatory.... Once you've said\n'percentage' there's nothing more to worry about. If we had any other\nword... maybe we might feel more uneasy.... But what if Dounia were one\nof the percentage! Of another one if not that one?\n\n\"But where am I going?\" he thought suddenly. \"Strange, I came out for\nsomething. As soon as I had read the letter I came out.... I was going\nto Vassilyevsky Ostrov, to Razumihin. That's what it was... now I\nremember. What for, though? And what put the idea of going to Razumihin\ninto my head just now? That's curious.\"\n\nHe wondered at himself. Razumihin was one of his old comrades at the\nuniversity. It was remarkable that Raskolnikov had hardly any friends at\nthe university; he kept aloof from everyone, went to see no one, and did\nnot welcome anyone who came to see him, and indeed everyone soon gave\nhim up. He took no part in the students' gatherings, amusements or\nconversations. He worked with great intensity without sparing himself,\nand he was respected for this, but no one liked him. He was very poor,\nand there was a sort of haughty pride and reserve about him, as though\nhe were keeping something to himself. He seemed to some of his comrades\nto look down upon them all as children, as though he were superior in\ndevelopment, knowledge and convictions, as though their beliefs and\ninterests were beneath him.\n\nWith Razumihin he had got on, or, at least, he was more unreserved and\ncommunicative with him. Indeed it was impossible to be on any other\nterms with Razumihin. He was an exceptionally good-humoured and candid\nyouth, good-natured to the point of simplicity, though both depth and\ndignity lay concealed under that simplicity. The better of his comrades\nunderstood this, and all were fond of him. He was extremely intelligent,\nthough he was certainly rather a simpleton at times. He was of striking\nappearance--tall, thin, blackhaired and always badly shaved. He was\nsometimes uproarious and was reputed to be of great physical strength.\nOne night, when out in a festive company, he had with one blow laid\na gigantic policeman on his back. There was no limit to his drinking\npowers, but he could abstain from drink altogether; he sometimes went\ntoo far in his pranks; but he could do without pranks altogether.\nAnother thing striking about Razumihin, no failure distressed him, and\nit seemed as though no unfavourable circumstances could crush him. He\ncould lodge anywhere, and bear the extremes of cold and hunger. He was\nvery poor, and kept himself entirely on what he could earn by work of\none sort or another. He knew of no end of resources by which to earn\nmoney. He spent one whole winter without lighting his stove, and used to\ndeclare that he liked it better, because one slept more soundly in\nthe cold. For the present he, too, had been obliged to give up the\nuniversity, but it was only for a time, and he was working with all his\nmight to save enough to return to his studies again. Raskolnikov had\nnot been to see him for the last four months, and Razumihin did not even\nknow his address. About two months before, they had met in the street,\nbut Raskolnikov had turned away and even crossed to the other side that\nhe might not be observed. And though Razumihin noticed him, he passed\nhim by, as he did not want to annoy him.\n\n\n\nCHAPTER V\n\n\"Of course, I've been meaning lately to go to Razumihin's to ask for\nwork, to ask him to get me lessons or something...\" Raskolnikov thought,\n\"but what help can he be to me now? Suppose he gets me lessons, suppose\nhe shares his last farthing with me, if he has any farthings, so that\nI could get some boots and make myself tidy enough to give lessons...\nhm... Well and what then? What shall I do with the few coppers I\nearn? That's not what I want now. It's really absurd for me to go to\nRazumihin....\"\n\nThe question why he was now going to Razumihin agitated him even more\nthan he was himself aware; he kept uneasily seeking for some sinister\nsignificance in this apparently ordinary action.\n\n\"Could I have expected to set it all straight and to find a way out by\nmeans of Razumihin alone?\" he asked himself in perplexity.\n\nHe pondered and rubbed his forehead, and, strange to say, after long\nmusing, suddenly, as if it were spontaneously and by chance, a fantastic\nthought came into his head.\n\n\"Hm... to Razumihin's,\" he said all at once, calmly, as though he had\nreached a final determination. \"I shall go to Razumihin's of course,\nbut... not now. I shall go to him... on the next day after It, when It\nwill be over and everything will begin afresh....\"\n\nAnd suddenly he realised what he was thinking.\n\n\"After It,\" he shouted, jumping up from the seat, \"but is It really\ngoing to happen? Is it possible it really will happen?\" He left the\nseat, and went off almost at a run; he meant to turn back, homewards,\nbut the thought of going home suddenly filled him with intense loathing;\nin that hole, in that awful little cupboard of his, all _this_ had for a\nmonth past been growing up in him; and he walked on at random.\n\nHis nervous shudder had passed into a fever that made him feel\nshivering; in spite of the heat he felt cold. With a kind of effort he\nbegan almost unconsciously, from some inner craving, to stare at all\nthe objects before him, as though looking for something to distract his\nattention; but he did not succeed, and kept dropping every moment into\nbrooding. When with a start he lifted his head again and looked round,\nhe forgot at once what he had just been thinking about and even where he\nwas going. In this way he walked right across Vassilyevsky Ostrov, came\nout on to the Lesser Neva, crossed the bridge and turned towards the\nislands. The greenness and freshness were at first restful to his weary\neyes after the dust of the town and the huge houses that hemmed him in\nand weighed upon him. Here there were no taverns, no stifling closeness,\nno stench. But soon these new pleasant sensations passed into morbid\nirritability. Sometimes he stood still before a brightly painted summer\nvilla standing among green foliage, he gazed through the fence, he saw\nin the distance smartly dressed women on the verandahs and balconies,\nand children running in the gardens. The flowers especially caught his\nattention; he gazed at them longer than at anything. He was met, too, by\nluxurious carriages and by men and women on horseback; he watched them\nwith curious eyes and forgot about them before they had vanished from\nhis sight. Once he stood still and counted his money; he found he had\nthirty copecks. \"Twenty to the policeman, three to Nastasya for the\nletter, so I must have given forty-seven or fifty to the Marmeladovs\nyesterday,\" he thought, reckoning it up for some unknown reason, but he\nsoon forgot with what object he had taken the money out of his pocket.\nHe recalled it on passing an eating-house or tavern, and felt that he\nwas hungry.... Going into the tavern he drank a glass of vodka and ate a\npie of some sort. He finished eating it as he walked away. It was a long\nwhile since he had taken vodka and it had an effect upon him at once,\nthough he only drank a wineglassful. His legs felt suddenly heavy and\na great drowsiness came upon him. He turned homewards, but reaching\nPetrovsky Ostrov he stopped completely exhausted, turned off the road\ninto the bushes, sank down upon the grass and instantly fell asleep.\n\nIn a morbid condition of the brain, dreams often have a singular\nactuality, vividness, and extraordinary semblance of reality. At times\nmonstrous images are created, but the setting and the whole picture are\nso truth-like and filled with details so delicate, so unexpectedly, but\nso artistically consistent, that the dreamer, were he an artist like\nPushkin or Turgenev even, could never have invented them in the waking\nstate. Such sick dreams always remain long in the memory and make a\npowerful impression on the overwrought and deranged nervous system.\n\nRaskolnikov had a fearful dream. He dreamt he was back in his childhood\nin the little town of his birth. He was a child about seven years old,\nwalking into the country with his father on the evening of a holiday. It\nwas a grey and heavy day, the country was exactly as he remembered it;\nindeed he recalled it far more vividly in his dream than he had done in\nmemory. The little town stood on a level flat as bare as the hand, not\neven a willow near it; only in the far distance, a copse lay, a dark\nblur on the very edge of the horizon. A few paces beyond the last market\ngarden stood a tavern, a big tavern, which had always aroused in him a\nfeeling of aversion, even of fear, when he walked by it with his father.\nThere was always a crowd there, always shouting, laughter and abuse,\nhideous hoarse singing and often fighting. Drunken and horrible-looking\nfigures were hanging about the tavern. He used to cling close to his\nfather, trembling all over when he met them. Near the tavern the road\nbecame a dusty track, the dust of which was always black. It was a\nwinding road, and about a hundred paces further on, it turned to the\nright to the graveyard. In the middle of the graveyard stood a stone\nchurch with a green cupola where he used to go to mass two or three\ntimes a year with his father and mother, when a service was held in\nmemory of his grandmother, who had long been dead, and whom he had never\nseen. On these occasions they used to take on a white dish tied up in a\ntable napkin a special sort of rice pudding with raisins stuck in it in\nthe shape of a cross. He loved that church, the old-fashioned, unadorned\nikons and the old priest with the shaking head. Near his grandmother's\ngrave, which was marked by a stone, was the little grave of his younger\nbrother who had died at six months old. He did not remember him at all,\nbut he had been told about his little brother, and whenever he visited\nthe graveyard he used religiously and reverently to cross himself and\nto bow down and kiss the little grave. And now he dreamt that he was\nwalking with his father past the tavern on the way to the graveyard; he\nwas holding his father's hand and looking with dread at the tavern. A\npeculiar circumstance attracted his attention: there seemed to be\nsome kind of festivity going on, there were crowds of gaily dressed\ntownspeople, peasant women, their husbands, and riff-raff of all sorts,\nall singing and all more or less drunk. Near the entrance of the tavern\nstood a cart, but a strange cart. It was one of those big carts usually\ndrawn by heavy cart-horses and laden with casks of wine or other heavy\ngoods. He always liked looking at those great cart-horses, with their\nlong manes, thick legs, and slow even pace, drawing along a perfect\nmountain with no appearance of effort, as though it were easier going\nwith a load than without it. But now, strange to say, in the shafts of\nsuch a cart he saw a thin little sorrel beast, one of those peasants'\nnags which he had often seen straining their utmost under a heavy load\nof wood or hay, especially when the wheels were stuck in the mud or in\na rut. And the peasants would beat them so cruelly, sometimes even\nabout the nose and eyes, and he felt so sorry, so sorry for them that\nhe almost cried, and his mother always used to take him away from the\nwindow. All of a sudden there was a great uproar of shouting, singing\nand the balalaika, and from the tavern a number of big and very drunken\npeasants came out, wearing red and blue shirts and coats thrown over\ntheir shoulders.\n\n\"Get in, get in!\" shouted one of them, a young thick-necked peasant with\na fleshy face red as a carrot. \"I'll take you all, get in!\"\n\nBut at once there was an outbreak of laughter and exclamations in the\ncrowd.\n\n\"Take us all with a beast like that!\"\n\n\"Why, Mikolka, are you crazy to put a nag like that in such a cart?\"\n\n\"And this mare is twenty if she is a day, mates!\"\n\n\"Get in, I'll take you all,\" Mikolka shouted again, leaping first into\nthe cart, seizing the reins and standing straight up in front. \"The bay\nhas gone with Matvey,\" he shouted from the cart--\"and this brute, mates,\nis just breaking my heart, I feel as if I could kill her. She's just\neating her head off. Get in, I tell you! I'll make her gallop! She'll\ngallop!\" and he picked up the whip, preparing himself with relish to\nflog the little mare.\n\n\"Get in! Come along!\" The crowd laughed. \"D'you hear, she'll gallop!\"\n\n\"Gallop indeed! She has not had a gallop in her for the last ten years!\"\n\n\"She'll jog along!\"\n\n\"Don't you mind her, mates, bring a whip each of you, get ready!\"\n\n\"All right! Give it to her!\"\n\nThey all clambered into Mikolka's cart, laughing and making jokes. Six\nmen got in and there was still room for more. They hauled in a fat,\nrosy-cheeked woman. She was dressed in red cotton, in a pointed, beaded\nheaddress and thick leather shoes; she was cracking nuts and laughing.\nThe crowd round them was laughing too and indeed, how could they help\nlaughing? That wretched nag was to drag all the cartload of them at a\ngallop! Two young fellows in the cart were just getting whips ready to\nhelp Mikolka. With the cry of \"now,\" the mare tugged with all her might,\nbut far from galloping, could scarcely move forward; she struggled with\nher legs, gasping and shrinking from the blows of the three whips which\nwere showered upon her like hail. The laughter in the cart and in the\ncrowd was redoubled, but Mikolka flew into a rage and furiously thrashed\nthe mare, as though he supposed she really could gallop.\n\n\"Let me get in, too, mates,\" shouted a young man in the crowd whose\nappetite was aroused.\n\n\"Get in, all get in,\" cried Mikolka, \"she will draw you all. I'll beat\nher to death!\" And he thrashed and thrashed at the mare, beside himself\nwith fury.\n\n\"Father, father,\" he cried, \"father, what are they doing? Father, they\nare beating the poor horse!\"\n\n\"Come along, come along!\" said his father. \"They are drunken and\nfoolish, they are in fun; come away, don't look!\" and he tried to draw\nhim away, but he tore himself away from his hand, and, beside himself\nwith horror, ran to the horse. The poor beast was in a bad way. She was\ngasping, standing still, then tugging again and almost falling.\n\n\"Beat her to death,\" cried Mikolka, \"it's come to that. I'll do for\nher!\"\n\n\"What are you about, are you a Christian, you devil?\" shouted an old man\nin the crowd.\n\n\"Did anyone ever see the like? A wretched nag like that pulling such a\ncartload,\" said another.\n\n\"You'll kill her,\" shouted the third.\n\n\"Don't meddle! It's my property, I'll do what I choose. Get in, more of\nyou! Get in, all of you! I will have her go at a gallop!...\"\n\nAll at once laughter broke into a roar and covered everything: the mare,\nroused by the shower of blows, began feebly kicking. Even the old man\ncould not help smiling. To think of a wretched little beast like that\ntrying to kick!\n\nTwo lads in the crowd snatched up whips and ran to the mare to beat her\nabout the ribs. One ran each side.\n\n\"Hit her in the face, in the eyes, in the eyes,\" cried Mikolka.\n\n\"Give us a song, mates,\" shouted someone in the cart and everyone in the\ncart joined in a riotous song, jingling a tambourine and whistling. The\nwoman went on cracking nuts and laughing.\n\n... He ran beside the mare, ran in front of her, saw her being whipped\nacross the eyes, right in the eyes! He was crying, he felt choking, his\ntears were streaming. One of the men gave him a cut with the whip across\nthe face, he did not feel it. Wringing his hands and screaming, he\nrushed up to the grey-headed old man with the grey beard, who was\nshaking his head in disapproval. One woman seized him by the hand and\nwould have taken him away, but he tore himself from her and ran back to\nthe mare. She was almost at the last gasp, but began kicking once more.\n\n\"I'll teach you to kick,\" Mikolka shouted ferociously. He threw down\nthe whip, bent forward and picked up from the bottom of the cart a long,\nthick shaft, he took hold of one end with both hands and with an effort\nbrandished it over the mare.\n\n\"He'll crush her,\" was shouted round him. \"He'll kill her!\"\n\n\"It's my property,\" shouted Mikolka and brought the shaft down with a\nswinging blow. There was a sound of a heavy thud.\n\n\"Thrash her, thrash her! Why have you stopped?\" shouted voices in the\ncrowd.\n\nAnd Mikolka swung the shaft a second time and it fell a second time\non the spine of the luckless mare. She sank back on her haunches, but\nlurched forward and tugged forward with all her force, tugged first on\none side and then on the other, trying to move the cart. But the six\nwhips were attacking her in all directions, and the shaft was raised\nagain and fell upon her a third time, then a fourth, with heavy measured\nblows. Mikolka was in a fury that he could not kill her at one blow.\n\n\"She's a tough one,\" was shouted in the crowd.\n\n\"She'll fall in a minute, mates, there will soon be an end of her,\" said\nan admiring spectator in the crowd.\n\n\"Fetch an axe to her! Finish her off,\" shouted a third.\n\n\"I'll show you! Stand off,\" Mikolka screamed frantically; he threw down\nthe shaft, stooped down in the cart and picked up an iron crowbar. \"Look\nout,\" he shouted, and with all his might he dealt a stunning blow at the\npoor mare. The blow fell; the mare staggered, sank back, tried to pull,\nbut the bar fell again with a swinging blow on her back and she fell on\nthe ground like a log.\n\n\"Finish her off,\" shouted Mikolka and he leapt beside himself, out of\nthe cart. Several young men, also flushed with drink, seized anything\nthey could come across--whips, sticks, poles, and ran to the dying\nmare. Mikolka stood on one side and began dealing random blows with the\ncrowbar. The mare stretched out her head, drew a long breath and died.\n\n\"You butchered her,\" someone shouted in the crowd.\n\n\"Why wouldn't she gallop then?\"\n\n\"My property!\" shouted Mikolka, with bloodshot eyes, brandishing the bar\nin his hands. He stood as though regretting that he had nothing more to\nbeat.\n\n\"No mistake about it, you are not a Christian,\" many voices were\nshouting in the crowd.\n\nBut the poor boy, beside himself, made his way, screaming, through the\ncrowd to the sorrel nag, put his arms round her bleeding dead head and\nkissed it, kissed the eyes and kissed the lips.... Then he jumped up and\nflew in a frenzy with his little fists out at Mikolka. At that instant\nhis father, who had been running after him, snatched him up and carried\nhim out of the crowd.\n\n\"Come along, come! Let us go home,\" he said to him.\n\n\"Father! Why did they... kill... the poor horse!\" he sobbed, but his\nvoice broke and the words came in shrieks from his panting chest.\n\n\"They are drunk.... They are brutal... it's not our business!\" said his\nfather. He put his arms round his father but he felt choked, choked. He\ntried to draw a breath, to cry out--and woke up.\n\nHe waked up, gasping for breath, his hair soaked with perspiration, and\nstood up in terror.\n\n\"Thank God, that was only a dream,\" he said, sitting down under a tree\nand drawing deep breaths. \"But what is it? Is it some fever coming on?\nSuch a hideous dream!\"\n\nHe felt utterly broken: darkness and confusion were in his soul. He\nrested his elbows on his knees and leaned his head on his hands.\n\n\"Good God!\" he cried, \"can it be, can it be, that I shall really take an\naxe, that I shall strike her on the head, split her skull open... that I\nshall tread in the sticky warm blood, break the lock, steal and tremble;\nhide, all spattered in the blood... with the axe.... Good God, can it\nbe?\"\n\nHe was shaking like a leaf as he said this.\n\n\"But why am I going on like this?\" he continued, sitting up again, as it\nwere in profound amazement. \"I knew that I could never bring myself\nto it, so what have I been torturing myself for till now? Yesterday,\nyesterday, when I went to make that... _experiment_, yesterday I\nrealised completely that I could never bear to do it.... Why am I going\nover it again, then? Why am I hesitating? As I came down the stairs\nyesterday, I said myself that it was base, loathsome, vile, vile... the\nvery thought of it made me feel sick and filled me with horror.\n\n\"No, I couldn't do it, I couldn't do it! Granted, granted that there is\nno flaw in all that reasoning, that all that I have concluded this last\nmonth is clear as day, true as arithmetic.... My God! Anyway I couldn't\nbring myself to it! I couldn't do it, I couldn't do it! Why, why then am\nI still...?\"\n\nHe rose to his feet, looked round in wonder as though surprised at\nfinding himself in this place, and went towards the bridge. He was pale,\nhis eyes glowed, he was exhausted in every limb, but he seemed suddenly\nto breathe more easily. He felt he had cast off that fearful burden that\nhad so long been weighing upon him, and all at once there was a sense\nof relief and peace in his soul. \"Lord,\" he prayed, \"show me my path--I\nrenounce that accursed... dream of mine.\"\n\nCrossing the bridge, he gazed quietly and calmly at the Neva, at the\nglowing red sun setting in the glowing sky. In spite of his weakness he\nwas not conscious of fatigue. It was as though an abscess that had been\nforming for a month past in his heart had suddenly broken. Freedom,\nfreedom! He was free from that spell, that sorcery, that obsession!\n\nLater on, when he recalled that time and all that happened to him during\nthose days, minute by minute, point by point, he was superstitiously\nimpressed by one circumstance, which, though in itself not very\nexceptional, always seemed to him afterwards the predestined\nturning-point of his fate. He could never understand and explain to\nhimself why, when he was tired and worn out, when it would have been\nmore convenient for him to go home by the shortest and most direct way,\nhe had returned by the Hay Market where he had no need to go. It was\nobviously and quite unnecessarily out of his way, though not much so. It\nis true that it happened to him dozens of times to return home without\nnoticing what streets he passed through. But why, he was always asking\nhimself, why had such an important, such a decisive and at the same time\nsuch an absolutely chance meeting happened in the Hay Market (where he\nhad moreover no reason to go) at the very hour, the very minute of his\nlife when he was just in the very mood and in the very circumstances\nin which that meeting was able to exert the gravest and most decisive\ninfluence on his whole destiny? As though it had been lying in wait for\nhim on purpose!\n\nIt was about nine o'clock when he crossed the Hay Market. At the tables\nand the barrows, at the booths and the shops, all the market people were\nclosing their establishments or clearing away and packing up their\nwares and, like their customers, were going home. Rag pickers and\ncostermongers of all kinds were crowding round the taverns in the dirty\nand stinking courtyards of the Hay Market. Raskolnikov particularly\nliked this place and the neighbouring alleys, when he wandered aimlessly\nin the streets. Here his rags did not attract contemptuous attention,\nand one could walk about in any attire without scandalising people. At\nthe corner of an alley a huckster and his wife had two tables set out\nwith tapes, thread, cotton handkerchiefs, etc. They, too, had got up to\ngo home, but were lingering in conversation with a friend, who had just\ncome up to them. This friend was Lizaveta Ivanovna, or, as everyone\ncalled her, Lizaveta, the younger sister of the old pawnbroker, Alyona\nIvanovna, whom Raskolnikov had visited the previous day to pawn his\nwatch and make his _experiment_.... He already knew all about Lizaveta\nand she knew him a little too. She was a single woman of about\nthirty-five, tall, clumsy, timid, submissive and almost idiotic. She was\na complete slave and went in fear and trembling of her sister, who\nmade her work day and night, and even beat her. She was standing with\na bundle before the huckster and his wife, listening earnestly and\ndoubtfully. They were talking of something with special warmth. The\nmoment Raskolnikov caught sight of her, he was overcome by a strange\nsensation as it were of intense astonishment, though there was nothing\nastonishing about this meeting.\n\n\"You could make up your mind for yourself, Lizaveta Ivanovna,\" the\nhuckster was saying aloud. \"Come round to-morrow about seven. They will\nbe here too.\"\n\n\"To-morrow?\" said Lizaveta slowly and thoughtfully, as though unable to\nmake up her mind.\n\n\"Upon my word, what a fright you are in of Alyona Ivanovna,\" gabbled\nthe huckster's wife, a lively little woman. \"I look at you, you are like\nsome little babe. And she is not your own sister either--nothing but a\nstep-sister and what a hand she keeps over you!\"\n\n\"But this time don't say a word to Alyona Ivanovna,\" her husband\ninterrupted; \"that's my advice, but come round to us without asking.\nIt will be worth your while. Later on your sister herself may have a\nnotion.\"\n\n\"Am I to come?\"\n\n\"About seven o'clock to-morrow. And they will be here. You will be able\nto decide for yourself.\"\n\n\"And we'll have a cup of tea,\" added his wife.\n\n\"All right, I'll come,\" said Lizaveta, still pondering, and she began\nslowly moving away.\n\nRaskolnikov had just passed and heard no more. He passed softly,\nunnoticed, trying not to miss a word. His first amazement was followed\nby a thrill of horror, like a shiver running down his spine. He had\nlearnt, he had suddenly quite unexpectedly learnt, that the next day at\nseven o'clock Lizaveta, the old woman's sister and only companion, would\nbe away from home and that therefore at seven o'clock precisely the old\nwoman _would be left alone_.\n\nHe was only a few steps from his lodging. He went in like a man\ncondemned to death. He thought of nothing and was incapable of thinking;\nbut he felt suddenly in his whole being that he had no more freedom\nof thought, no will, and that everything was suddenly and irrevocably\ndecided.\n\nCertainly, if he had to wait whole years for a suitable opportunity, he\ncould not reckon on a more certain step towards the success of the plan\nthan that which had just presented itself. In any case, it would have\nbeen difficult to find out beforehand and with certainty, with\ngreater exactness and less risk, and without dangerous inquiries and\ninvestigations, that next day at a certain time an old woman, on whose\nlife an attempt was contemplated, would be at home and entirely alone.\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VI\n\nLater on Raskolnikov happened to find out why the huckster and his\nwife had invited Lizaveta. It was a very ordinary matter and there was\nnothing exceptional about it. A family who had come to the town and been\nreduced to poverty were selling their household goods and clothes, all\nwomen's things. As the things would have fetched little in the market,\nthey were looking for a dealer. This was Lizaveta's business. She\nundertook such jobs and was frequently employed, as she was very honest\nand always fixed a fair price and stuck to it. She spoke as a rule\nlittle and, as we have said already, she was very submissive and timid.\n\nBut Raskolnikov had become superstitious of late. The traces of\nsuperstition remained in him long after, and were almost ineradicable.\nAnd in all this he was always afterwards disposed to see something\nstrange and mysterious, as it were, the presence of some peculiar\ninfluences and coincidences. In the previous winter a student he knew\ncalled Pokorev, who had left for Harkov, had chanced in conversation to\ngive him the address of Alyona Ivanovna, the old pawnbroker, in case he\nmight want to pawn anything. For a long while he did not go to her, for\nhe had lessons and managed to get along somehow. Six weeks ago he had\nremembered the address; he had two articles that could be pawned: his\nfather's old silver watch and a little gold ring with three red stones,\na present from his sister at parting. He decided to take the ring. When\nhe found the old woman he had felt an insurmountable repulsion for her\nat the first glance, though he knew nothing special about her. He got\ntwo roubles from her and went into a miserable little tavern on his way\nhome. He asked for tea, sat down and sank into deep thought. A strange\nidea was pecking at his brain like a chicken in the egg, and very, very\nmuch absorbed him.\n\nAlmost beside him at the next table there was sitting a student, whom he\ndid not know and had never seen, and with him a young officer. They had\nplayed a game of billiards and began drinking tea. All at once he heard\nthe student mention to the officer the pawnbroker Alyona Ivanovna and\ngive him her address. This of itself seemed strange to Raskolnikov; he\nhad just come from her and here at once he heard her name. Of course\nit was a chance, but he could not shake off a very extraordinary\nimpression, and here someone seemed to be speaking expressly for him;\nthe student began telling his friend various details about Alyona\nIvanovna.\n\n\"She is first-rate,\" he said. \"You can always get money from her. She is\nas rich as a Jew, she can give you five thousand roubles at a time and\nshe is not above taking a pledge for a rouble. Lots of our fellows have\nhad dealings with her. But she is an awful old harpy....\"\n\nAnd he began describing how spiteful and uncertain she was, how if you\nwere only a day late with your interest the pledge was lost; how she\ngave a quarter of the value of an article and took five and even seven\npercent a month on it and so on. The student chattered on, saying\nthat she had a sister Lizaveta, whom the wretched little creature was\ncontinually beating, and kept in complete bondage like a small child,\nthough Lizaveta was at least six feet high.\n\n\"There's a phenomenon for you,\" cried the student and he laughed.\n\nThey began talking about Lizaveta. The student spoke about her with a\npeculiar relish and was continually laughing and the officer listened\nwith great interest and asked him to send Lizaveta to do some mending\nfor him. Raskolnikov did not miss a word and learned everything about\nher. Lizaveta was younger than the old woman and was her half-sister,\nbeing the child of a different mother. She was thirty-five. She worked\nday and night for her sister, and besides doing the cooking and the\nwashing, she did sewing and worked as a charwoman and gave her sister\nall she earned. She did not dare to accept an order or job of any kind\nwithout her sister's permission. The old woman had already made her\nwill, and Lizaveta knew of it, and by this will she would not get a\nfarthing; nothing but the movables, chairs and so on; all the money was\nleft to a monastery in the province of N----, that prayers might be\nsaid for her in perpetuity. Lizaveta was of lower rank than her sister,\nunmarried and awfully uncouth in appearance, remarkably tall with long\nfeet that looked as if they were bent outwards. She always wore battered\ngoatskin shoes, and was clean in her person. What the student expressed\nmost surprise and amusement about was the fact that Lizaveta was\ncontinually with child.\n\n\"But you say she is hideous?\" observed the officer.\n\n\"Yes, she is so dark-skinned and looks like a soldier dressed up, but\nyou know she is not at all hideous. She has such a good-natured face\nand eyes. Strikingly so. And the proof of it is that lots of people are\nattracted by her. She is such a soft, gentle creature, ready to put up\nwith anything, always willing, willing to do anything. And her smile is\nreally very sweet.\"\n\n\"You seem to find her attractive yourself,\" laughed the officer.\n\n\"From her queerness. No, I'll tell you what. I could kill that damned\nold woman and make off with her money, I assure you, without the\nfaintest conscience-prick,\" the student added with warmth. The officer\nlaughed again while Raskolnikov shuddered. How strange it was!\n\n\"Listen, I want to ask you a serious question,\" the student said hotly.\n\"I was joking of course, but look here; on one side we have a stupid,\nsenseless, worthless, spiteful, ailing, horrid old woman, not simply\nuseless but doing actual mischief, who has not an idea what she is\nliving for herself, and who will die in a day or two in any case. You\nunderstand? You understand?\"\n\n\"Yes, yes, I understand,\" answered the officer, watching his excited\ncompanion attentively.\n\n\"Well, listen then. On the other side, fresh young lives thrown away for\nwant of help and by thousands, on every side! A hundred thousand good\ndeeds could be done and helped, on that old woman's money which will be\nburied in a monastery! Hundreds, thousands perhaps, might be set on the\nright path; dozens of families saved from destitution, from ruin, from\nvice, from the Lock hospitals--and all with her money. Kill her, take\nher money and with the help of it devote oneself to the service of\nhumanity and the good of all. What do you think, would not one tiny\ncrime be wiped out by thousands of good deeds? For one life thousands\nwould be saved from corruption and decay. One death, and a hundred lives\nin exchange--it's simple arithmetic! Besides, what value has the life of\nthat sickly, stupid, ill-natured old woman in the balance of existence!\nNo more than the life of a louse, of a black-beetle, less in fact\nbecause the old woman is doing harm. She is wearing out the lives of\nothers; the other day she bit Lizaveta's finger out of spite; it almost\nhad to be amputated.\"\n\n\"Of course she does not deserve to live,\" remarked the officer, \"but\nthere it is, it's nature.\"\n\n\"Oh, well, brother, but we have to correct and direct nature, and, but\nfor that, we should drown in an ocean of prejudice. But for that,\nthere would never have been a single great man. They talk of\nduty, conscience--I don't want to say anything against duty and\nconscience;--but the point is, what do we mean by them? Stay, I have\nanother question to ask you. Listen!\"\n\n\"No, you stay, I'll ask you a question. Listen!\"\n\n\"Well?\"\n\n\"You are talking and speechifying away, but tell me, would you kill the\nold woman _yourself_?\"\n\n\"Of course not! I was only arguing the justice of it.... It's nothing to\ndo with me....\"\n\n\"But I think, if you would not do it yourself, there's no justice about\nit.... Let us have another game.\"\n\nRaskolnikov was violently agitated. Of course, it was all ordinary\nyouthful talk and thought, such as he had often heard before in\ndifferent forms and on different themes. But why had he happened to hear\nsuch a discussion and such ideas at the very moment when his own brain\nwas just conceiving... _the very same ideas_? And why, just at the\nmoment when he had brought away the embryo of his idea from the old\nwoman had he dropped at once upon a conversation about her? This\ncoincidence always seemed strange to him. This trivial talk in a tavern\nhad an immense influence on him in his later action; as though there had\nreally been in it something preordained, some guiding hint....\n\n*****\n\nOn returning from the Hay Market he flung himself on the sofa and sat\nfor a whole hour without stirring. Meanwhile it got dark; he had no\ncandle and, indeed, it did not occur to him to light up. He could never\nrecollect whether he had been thinking about anything at that time. At\nlast he was conscious of his former fever and shivering, and he realised\nwith relief that he could lie down on the sofa. Soon heavy, leaden sleep\ncame over him, as it were crushing him.\n\nHe slept an extraordinarily long time and without dreaming. Nastasya,\ncoming into his room at ten o'clock the next morning, had difficulty\nin rousing him. She brought him in tea and bread. The tea was again the\nsecond brew and again in her own tea-pot.\n\n\"My goodness, how he sleeps!\" she cried indignantly. \"And he is always\nasleep.\"\n\nHe got up with an effort. His head ached, he stood up, took a turn in\nhis garret and sank back on the sofa again.\n\n\"Going to sleep again,\" cried Nastasya. \"Are you ill, eh?\"\n\nHe made no reply.\n\n\"Do you want some tea?\"\n\n\"Afterwards,\" he said with an effort, closing his eyes again and turning\nto the wall.\n\nNastasya stood over him.\n\n\"Perhaps he really is ill,\" she said, turned and went out. She came in\nagain at two o'clock with soup. He was lying as before. The tea stood\nuntouched. Nastasya felt positively offended and began wrathfully\nrousing him.\n\n\"Why are you lying like a log?\" she shouted, looking at him with\nrepulsion.\n\nHe got up, and sat down again, but said nothing and stared at the floor.\n\n\"Are you ill or not?\" asked Nastasya and again received no answer.\n\"You'd better go out and get a breath of air,\" she said after a pause.\n\"Will you eat it or not?\"\n\n\"Afterwards,\" he said weakly. \"You can go.\"\n\nAnd he motioned her out.\n\nShe remained a little longer, looked at him with compassion and went\nout.\n\nA few minutes afterwards, he raised his eyes and looked for a long while\nat the tea and the soup. Then he took the bread, took up a spoon and\nbegan to eat.\n\nHe ate a little, three or four spoonfuls, without appetite, as it were\nmechanically. His head ached less. After his meal he stretched himself\non the sofa again, but now he could not sleep; he lay without stirring,\nwith his face in the pillow. He was haunted by day-dreams and such\nstrange day-dreams; in one, that kept recurring, he fancied that he was\nin Africa, in Egypt, in some sort of oasis. The caravan was resting,\nthe camels were peacefully lying down; the palms stood all around in a\ncomplete circle; all the party were at dinner. But he was drinking water\nfrom a spring which flowed gurgling close by. And it was so cool, it was\nwonderful, wonderful, blue, cold water running among the parti-coloured\nstones and over the clean sand which glistened here and there like\ngold.... Suddenly he heard a clock strike. He started, roused himself,\nraised his head, looked out of the window, and seeing how late it was,\nsuddenly jumped up wide awake as though someone had pulled him off the\nsofa. He crept on tiptoe to the door, stealthily opened it and began\nlistening on the staircase. His heart beat terribly. But all was quiet\non the stairs as if everyone was asleep.... It seemed to him strange and\nmonstrous that he could have slept in such forgetfulness from the\nprevious day and had done nothing, had prepared nothing yet.... And\nmeanwhile perhaps it had struck six. And his drowsiness and stupefaction\nwere followed by an extraordinary, feverish, as it were distracted\nhaste. But the preparations to be made were few. He concentrated all his\nenergies on thinking of everything and forgetting nothing; and his heart\nkept beating and thumping so that he could hardly breathe. First he had\nto make a noose and sew it into his overcoat--a work of a moment. He\nrummaged under his pillow and picked out amongst the linen stuffed away\nunder it, a worn out, old unwashed shirt. From its rags he tore a long\nstrip, a couple of inches wide and about sixteen inches long. He folded\nthis strip in two, took off his wide, strong summer overcoat of some\nstout cotton material (his only outer garment) and began sewing the two\nends of the rag on the inside, under the left armhole. His hands shook\nas he sewed, but he did it successfully so that nothing showed outside\nwhen he put the coat on again. The needle and thread he had got ready\nlong before and they lay on his table in a piece of paper. As for the\nnoose, it was a very ingenious device of his own; the noose was intended\nfor the axe. It was impossible for him to carry the axe through the\nstreet in his hands. And if hidden under his coat he would still have\nhad to support it with his hand, which would have been noticeable. Now\nhe had only to put the head of the axe in the noose, and it would hang\nquietly under his arm on the inside. Putting his hand in his coat\npocket, he could hold the end of the handle all the way, so that it did\nnot swing; and as the coat was very full, a regular sack in fact, it\ncould not be seen from outside that he was holding something with the\nhand that was in the pocket. This noose, too, he had designed a\nfortnight before.\n\nWhen he had finished with this, he thrust his hand into a little opening\nbetween his sofa and the floor, fumbled in the left corner and drew out\nthe _pledge_, which he had got ready long before and hidden there. This\npledge was, however, only a smoothly planed piece of wood the size and\nthickness of a silver cigarette case. He picked up this piece of wood\nin one of his wanderings in a courtyard where there was some sort of\na workshop. Afterwards he had added to the wood a thin smooth piece\nof iron, which he had also picked up at the same time in the street.\nPutting the iron which was a little the smaller on the piece of wood,\nhe fastened them very firmly, crossing and re-crossing the thread round\nthem; then wrapped them carefully and daintily in clean white paper and\ntied up the parcel so that it would be very difficult to untie it. This\nwas in order to divert the attention of the old woman for a time, while\nshe was trying to undo the knot, and so to gain a moment. The iron strip\nwas added to give weight, so that the woman might not guess the first\nminute that the \"thing\" was made of wood. All this had been stored by\nhim beforehand under the sofa. He had only just got the pledge out when\nhe heard someone suddenly about in the yard.\n\n\"It struck six long ago.\"\n\n\"Long ago! My God!\"\n\nHe rushed to the door, listened, caught up his hat and began to descend\nhis thirteen steps cautiously, noiselessly, like a cat. He had still the\nmost important thing to do--to steal the axe from the kitchen. That the\ndeed must be done with an axe he had decided long ago. He had also a\npocket pruning-knife, but he could not rely on the knife and still less\non his own strength, and so resolved finally on the axe. We may note in\npassing, one peculiarity in regard to all the final resolutions taken by\nhim in the matter; they had one strange characteristic: the more final\nthey were, the more hideous and the more absurd they at once became in\nhis eyes. In spite of all his agonising inward struggle, he never for\na single instant all that time could believe in the carrying out of his\nplans.\n\nAnd, indeed, if it had ever happened that everything to the least point\ncould have been considered and finally settled, and no uncertainty of\nany kind had remained, he would, it seems, have renounced it all\nas something absurd, monstrous and impossible. But a whole mass of\nunsettled points and uncertainties remained. As for getting the axe,\nthat trifling business cost him no anxiety, for nothing could be easier.\nNastasya was continually out of the house, especially in the evenings;\nshe would run in to the neighbours or to a shop, and always left the\ndoor ajar. It was the one thing the landlady was always scolding her\nabout. And so, when the time came, he would only have to go quietly into\nthe kitchen and to take the axe, and an hour later (when everything\nwas over) go in and put it back again. But these were doubtful points.\nSupposing he returned an hour later to put it back, and Nastasya had\ncome back and was on the spot. He would of course have to go by and wait\ntill she went out again. But supposing she were in the meantime to miss\nthe axe, look for it, make an outcry--that would mean suspicion or at\nleast grounds for suspicion.\n\nBut those were all trifles which he had not even begun to consider, and\nindeed he had no time. He was thinking of the chief point, and put off\ntrifling details, until _he could believe in it all_. But that seemed\nutterly unattainable. So it seemed to himself at least. He could not\nimagine, for instance, that he would sometime leave off thinking, get\nup and simply go there.... Even his late experiment (i.e. his visit with\nthe object of a final survey of the place) was simply an attempt at\nan experiment, far from being the real thing, as though one should say\n\"come, let us go and try it--why dream about it!\"--and at once he\nhad broken down and had run away cursing, in a frenzy with himself.\nMeanwhile it would seem, as regards the moral question, that his\nanalysis was complete; his casuistry had become keen as a razor, and he\ncould not find rational objections in himself. But in the last resort\nhe simply ceased to believe in himself, and doggedly, slavishly sought\narguments in all directions, fumbling for them, as though someone were\nforcing and drawing him to it.\n\nAt first--long before indeed--he had been much occupied with one\nquestion; why almost all crimes are so badly concealed and so easily\ndetected, and why almost all criminals leave such obvious traces? He\nhad come gradually to many different and curious conclusions, and in his\nopinion the chief reason lay not so much in the material impossibility\nof concealing the crime, as in the criminal himself. Almost every\ncriminal is subject to a failure of will and reasoning power by a\nchildish and phenomenal heedlessness, at the very instant when prudence\nand caution are most essential. It was his conviction that this eclipse\nof reason and failure of will power attacked a man like a disease,\ndeveloped gradually and reached its highest point just before the\nperpetration of the crime, continued with equal violence at the moment\nof the crime and for longer or shorter time after, according to the\nindividual case, and then passed off like any other disease. The\nquestion whether the disease gives rise to the crime, or whether the\ncrime from its own peculiar nature is always accompanied by something of\nthe nature of disease, he did not yet feel able to decide.\n\nWhen he reached these conclusions, he decided that in his own case there\ncould not be such a morbid reaction, that his reason and will would\nremain unimpaired at the time of carrying out his design, for the\nsimple reason that his design was \"not a crime....\" We will omit all the\nprocess by means of which he arrived at this last conclusion; we have\nrun too far ahead already.... We may add only that the practical, purely\nmaterial difficulties of the affair occupied a secondary position in his\nmind. \"One has but to keep all one's will-power and reason to deal\nwith them, and they will all be overcome at the time when once one has\nfamiliarised oneself with the minutest details of the business....\" But\nthis preparation had never been begun. His final decisions were what he\ncame to trust least, and when the hour struck, it all came to pass quite\ndifferently, as it were accidentally and unexpectedly.\n\nOne trifling circumstance upset his calculations, before he had even\nleft the staircase. When he reached the landlady's kitchen, the door\nof which was open as usual, he glanced cautiously in to see whether, in\nNastasya's absence, the landlady herself was there, or if not, whether\nthe door to her own room was closed, so that she might not peep out when\nhe went in for the axe. But what was his amazement when he suddenly\nsaw that Nastasya was not only at home in the kitchen, but was occupied\nthere, taking linen out of a basket and hanging it on a line. Seeing\nhim, she left off hanging the clothes, turned to him and stared at him\nall the time he was passing. He turned away his eyes, and walked past as\nthough he noticed nothing. But it was the end of everything; he had not\nthe axe! He was overwhelmed.\n\n\"What made me think,\" he reflected, as he went under the gateway, \"what\nmade me think that she would be sure not to be at home at that moment!\nWhy, why, why did I assume this so certainly?\"\n\nHe was crushed and even humiliated. He could have laughed at himself in\nhis anger.... A dull animal rage boiled within him.\n\nHe stood hesitating in the gateway. To go into the street, to go a walk\nfor appearance' sake was revolting; to go back to his room, even more\nrevolting. \"And what a chance I have lost for ever!\" he muttered,\nstanding aimlessly in the gateway, just opposite the porter's little\ndark room, which was also open. Suddenly he started. From the porter's\nroom, two paces away from him, something shining under the bench to the\nright caught his eye.... He looked about him--nobody. He approached the\nroom on tiptoe, went down two steps into it and in a faint voice called\nthe porter. \"Yes, not at home! Somewhere near though, in the yard, for\nthe door is wide open.\" He dashed to the axe (it was an axe) and pulled\nit out from under the bench, where it lay between two chunks of wood;\nat once, before going out, he made it fast in the noose, he thrust both\nhands into his pockets and went out of the room; no one had noticed him!\n\"When reason fails, the devil helps!\" he thought with a strange grin.\nThis chance raised his spirits extraordinarily.\n\nHe walked along quietly and sedately, without hurry, to avoid awakening\nsuspicion. He scarcely looked at the passers-by, tried to escape looking\nat their faces at all, and to be as little noticeable as possible.\nSuddenly he thought of his hat. \"Good heavens! I had the money the day\nbefore yesterday and did not get a cap to wear instead!\" A curse rose\nfrom the bottom of his soul.\n\nGlancing out of the corner of his eye into a shop, he saw by a clock on\nthe wall that it was ten minutes past seven. He had to make haste and at\nthe same time to go someway round, so as to approach the house from the\nother side....\n\nWhen he had happened to imagine all this beforehand, he had sometimes\nthought that he would be very much afraid. But he was not very much\nafraid now, was not afraid at all, indeed. His mind was even occupied\nby irrelevant matters, but by nothing for long. As he passed the Yusupov\ngarden, he was deeply absorbed in considering the building of great\nfountains, and of their refreshing effect on the atmosphere in all\nthe squares. By degrees he passed to the conviction that if the summer\ngarden were extended to the field of Mars, and perhaps joined to the\ngarden of the Mihailovsky Palace, it would be a splendid thing and a\ngreat benefit to the town. Then he was interested by the question why\nin all great towns men are not simply driven by necessity, but in some\npeculiar way inclined to live in those parts of the town where there\nare no gardens nor fountains; where there is most dirt and smell and all\nsorts of nastiness. Then his own walks through the Hay Market came back\nto his mind, and for a moment he waked up to reality. \"What nonsense!\"\nhe thought, \"better think of nothing at all!\"\n\n\"So probably men led to execution clutch mentally at every object that\nmeets them on the way,\" flashed through his mind, but simply flashed,\nlike lightning; he made haste to dismiss this thought.... And by now\nhe was near; here was the house, here was the gate. Suddenly a clock\nsomewhere struck once. \"What! can it be half-past seven? Impossible, it\nmust be fast!\"\n\nLuckily for him, everything went well again at the gates. At that very\nmoment, as though expressly for his benefit, a huge waggon of hay had\njust driven in at the gate, completely screening him as he passed under\nthe gateway, and the waggon had scarcely had time to drive through into\nthe yard, before he had slipped in a flash to the right. On the other\nside of the waggon he could hear shouting and quarrelling; but no one\nnoticed him and no one met him. Many windows looking into that huge\nquadrangular yard were open at that moment, but he did not raise his\nhead--he had not the strength to. The staircase leading to the old\nwoman's room was close by, just on the right of the gateway. He was\nalready on the stairs....\n\nDrawing a breath, pressing his hand against his throbbing heart, and\nonce more feeling for the axe and setting it straight, he began softly\nand cautiously ascending the stairs, listening every minute. But the\nstairs, too, were quite deserted; all the doors were shut; he met no\none. One flat indeed on the first floor was wide open and painters were\nat work in it, but they did not glance at him. He stood still, thought\na minute and went on. \"Of course it would be better if they had not been\nhere, but... it's two storeys above them.\"\n\nAnd there was the fourth storey, here was the door, here was the\nflat opposite, the empty one. The flat underneath the old woman's was\napparently empty also; the visiting card nailed on the door had been\ntorn off--they had gone away!... He was out of breath. For one instant\nthe thought floated through his mind \"Shall I go back?\" But he made no\nanswer and began listening at the old woman's door, a dead silence. Then\nhe listened again on the staircase, listened long and intently...\nthen looked about him for the last time, pulled himself together, drew\nhimself up, and once more tried the axe in the noose. \"Am I very pale?\"\nhe wondered. \"Am I not evidently agitated? She is mistrustful.... Had I\nbetter wait a little longer... till my heart leaves off thumping?\"\n\nBut his heart did not leave off. On the contrary, as though to spite\nhim, it throbbed more and more violently. He could stand it no longer,\nhe slowly put out his hand to the bell and rang. Half a minute later he\nrang again, more loudly.\n\nNo answer. To go on ringing was useless and out of place. The old woman\nwas, of course, at home, but she was suspicious and alone. He had some\nknowledge of her habits... and once more he put his ear to the door.\nEither his senses were peculiarly keen (which it is difficult to\nsuppose), or the sound was really very distinct. Anyway, he suddenly\nheard something like the cautious touch of a hand on the lock and the\nrustle of a skirt at the very door. Someone was standing stealthily\nclose to the lock and just as he was doing on the outside was secretly\nlistening within, and seemed to have her ear to the door.... He moved\na little on purpose and muttered something aloud that he might not have\nthe appearance of hiding, then rang a third time, but quietly, soberly,\nand without impatience, Recalling it afterwards, that moment stood out\nin his mind vividly, distinctly, for ever; he could not make out how he\nhad had such cunning, for his mind was as it were clouded at moments and\nhe was almost unconscious of his body.... An instant later he heard the\nlatch unfastened.\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VII\n\nThe door was as before opened a tiny crack, and again two sharp and\nsuspicious eyes stared at him out of the darkness. Then Raskolnikov lost\nhis head and nearly made a great mistake.\n\nFearing the old woman would be frightened by their being alone, and not\nhoping that the sight of him would disarm her suspicions, he took\nhold of the door and drew it towards him to prevent the old woman from\nattempting to shut it again. Seeing this she did not pull the door back,\nbut she did not let go the handle so that he almost dragged her out with\nit on to the stairs. Seeing that she was standing in the doorway not\nallowing him to pass, he advanced straight upon her. She stepped back\nin alarm, tried to say something, but seemed unable to speak and stared\nwith open eyes at him.\n\n\"Good evening, Alyona Ivanovna,\" he began, trying to speak easily, but\nhis voice would not obey him, it broke and shook. \"I have come... I have\nbrought something... but we'd better come in... to the light....\"\n\nAnd leaving her, he passed straight into the room uninvited. The old\nwoman ran after him; her tongue was unloosed.\n\n\"Good heavens! What it is? Who is it? What do you want?\"\n\n\"Why, Alyona Ivanovna, you know me... Raskolnikov... here, I brought you\nthe pledge I promised the other day...\" And he held out the pledge.\n\nThe old woman glanced for a moment at the pledge, but at once stared in\nthe eyes of her uninvited visitor. She looked intently, maliciously and\nmistrustfully. A minute passed; he even fancied something like a sneer\nin her eyes, as though she had already guessed everything. He felt that\nhe was losing his head, that he was almost frightened, so frightened\nthat if she were to look like that and not say a word for another half\nminute, he thought he would have run away from her.\n\n\"Why do you look at me as though you did not know me?\" he said suddenly,\nalso with malice. \"Take it if you like, if not I'll go elsewhere, I am\nin a hurry.\"\n\nHe had not even thought of saying this, but it was suddenly said of\nitself. The old woman recovered herself, and her visitor's resolute tone\nevidently restored her confidence.\n\n\"But why, my good sir, all of a minute.... What is it?\" she asked,\nlooking at the pledge.\n\n\"The silver cigarette case; I spoke of it last time, you know.\"\n\nShe held out her hand.\n\n\"But how pale you are, to be sure... and your hands are trembling too?\nHave you been bathing, or what?\"\n\n\"Fever,\" he answered abruptly. \"You can't help getting pale... if you've\nnothing to eat,\" he added, with difficulty articulating the words.\n\nHis strength was failing him again. But his answer sounded like the\ntruth; the old woman took the pledge.\n\n\"What is it?\" she asked once more, scanning Raskolnikov intently, and\nweighing the pledge in her hand.\n\n\"A thing... cigarette case.... Silver.... Look at it.\"\n\n\"It does not seem somehow like silver.... How he has wrapped it up!\"\n\nTrying to untie the string and turning to the window, to the light (all\nher windows were shut, in spite of the stifling heat), she left\nhim altogether for some seconds and stood with her back to him. He\nunbuttoned his coat and freed the axe from the noose, but did not yet\ntake it out altogether, simply holding it in his right hand under the\ncoat. His hands were fearfully weak, he felt them every moment growing\nmore numb and more wooden. He was afraid he would let the axe slip and\nfall.... A sudden giddiness came over him.\n\n\"But what has he tied it up like this for?\" the old woman cried with\nvexation and moved towards him.\n\nHe had not a minute more to lose. He pulled the axe quite out, swung\nit with both arms, scarcely conscious of himself, and almost without\neffort, almost mechanically, brought the blunt side down on her head. He\nseemed not to use his own strength in this. But as soon as he had once\nbrought the axe down, his strength returned to him.\n\nThe old woman was as always bareheaded. Her thin, light hair, streaked\nwith grey, thickly smeared with grease, was plaited in a rat's tail and\nfastened by a broken horn comb which stood out on the nape of her neck.\nAs she was so short, the blow fell on the very top of her skull. She\ncried out, but very faintly, and suddenly sank all of a heap on the\nfloor, raising her hands to her head. In one hand she still held \"the\npledge.\" Then he dealt her another and another blow with the blunt side\nand on the same spot. The blood gushed as from an overturned glass, the\nbody fell back. He stepped back, let it fall, and at once bent over her\nface; she was dead. Her eyes seemed to be starting out of their sockets,\nthe brow and the whole face were drawn and contorted convulsively.\n\nHe laid the axe on the ground near the dead body and felt at once in her\npocket (trying to avoid the streaming body)--the same right-hand pocket\nfrom which she had taken the key on his last visit. He was in full\npossession of his faculties, free from confusion or giddiness, but his\nhands were still trembling. He remembered afterwards that he had been\nparticularly collected and careful, trying all the time not to get\nsmeared with blood.... He pulled out the keys at once, they were all,\nas before, in one bunch on a steel ring. He ran at once into the bedroom\nwith them. It was a very small room with a whole shrine of holy images.\nAgainst the other wall stood a big bed, very clean and covered with\na silk patchwork wadded quilt. Against a third wall was a chest of\ndrawers. Strange to say, so soon as he began to fit the keys into the\nchest, so soon as he heard their jingling, a convulsive shudder passed\nover him. He suddenly felt tempted again to give it all up and go\naway. But that was only for an instant; it was too late to go back.\nHe positively smiled at himself, when suddenly another terrifying idea\noccurred to his mind. He suddenly fancied that the old woman might be\nstill alive and might recover her senses. Leaving the keys in the chest,\nhe ran back to the body, snatched up the axe and lifted it once more\nover the old woman, but did not bring it down. There was no doubt that\nshe was dead. Bending down and examining her again more closely, he saw\nclearly that the skull was broken and even battered in on one side. He\nwas about to feel it with his finger, but drew back his hand and indeed\nit was evident without that. Meanwhile there was a perfect pool of\nblood. All at once he noticed a string on her neck; he tugged at it, but\nthe string was strong and did not snap and besides, it was soaked\nwith blood. He tried to pull it out from the front of the dress, but\nsomething held it and prevented its coming. In his impatience he raised\nthe axe again to cut the string from above on the body, but did not\ndare, and with difficulty, smearing his hand and the axe in the blood,\nafter two minutes' hurried effort, he cut the string and took it off\nwithout touching the body with the axe; he was not mistaken--it was a\npurse. On the string were two crosses, one of Cyprus wood and one of\ncopper, and an image in silver filigree, and with them a small greasy\nchamois leather purse with a steel rim and ring. The purse was stuffed\nvery full; Raskolnikov thrust it in his pocket without looking at it,\nflung the crosses on the old woman's body and rushed back into the\nbedroom, this time taking the axe with him.\n\nHe was in terrible haste, he snatched the keys, and began trying them\nagain. But he was unsuccessful. They would not fit in the locks. It\nwas not so much that his hands were shaking, but that he kept making\nmistakes; though he saw for instance that a key was not the right one\nand would not fit, still he tried to put it in. Suddenly he remembered\nand realised that the big key with the deep notches, which was hanging\nthere with the small keys could not possibly belong to the chest of\ndrawers (on his last visit this had struck him), but to some strong box,\nand that everything perhaps was hidden in that box. He left the chest\nof drawers, and at once felt under the bedstead, knowing that old\nwomen usually keep boxes under their beds. And so it was; there was a\ngood-sized box under the bed, at least a yard in length, with an arched\nlid covered with red leather and studded with steel nails. The notched\nkey fitted at once and unlocked it. At the top, under a white sheet, was\na coat of red brocade lined with hareskin; under it was a silk dress,\nthen a shawl and it seemed as though there was nothing below but\nclothes. The first thing he did was to wipe his blood-stained hands on\nthe red brocade. \"It's red, and on red blood will be less noticeable,\"\nthe thought passed through his mind; then he suddenly came to himself.\n\"Good God, am I going out of my senses?\" he thought with terror.\n\nBut no sooner did he touch the clothes than a gold watch slipped from\nunder the fur coat. He made haste to turn them all over. There turned\nout to be various articles made of gold among the clothes--probably\nall pledges, unredeemed or waiting to be redeemed--bracelets, chains,\near-rings, pins and such things. Some were in cases, others simply\nwrapped in newspaper, carefully and exactly folded, and tied round with\ntape. Without any delay, he began filling up the pockets of his trousers\nand overcoat without examining or undoing the parcels and cases; but he\nhad not time to take many....\n\nHe suddenly heard steps in the room where the old woman lay. He stopped\nshort and was still as death. But all was quiet, so it must have been\nhis fancy. All at once he heard distinctly a faint cry, as though\nsomeone had uttered a low broken moan. Then again dead silence for\na minute or two. He sat squatting on his heels by the box and waited\nholding his breath. Suddenly he jumped up, seized the axe and ran out of\nthe bedroom.\n\nIn the middle of the room stood Lizaveta with a big bundle in her arms.\nShe was gazing in stupefaction at her murdered sister, white as a sheet\nand seeming not to have the strength to cry out. Seeing him run out\nof the bedroom, she began faintly quivering all over, like a leaf, a\nshudder ran down her face; she lifted her hand, opened her mouth, but\nstill did not scream. She began slowly backing away from him into the\ncorner, staring intently, persistently at him, but still uttered no\nsound, as though she could not get breath to scream. He rushed at her\nwith the axe; her mouth twitched piteously, as one sees babies' mouths,\nwhen they begin to be frightened, stare intently at what frightens them\nand are on the point of screaming. And this hapless Lizaveta was so\nsimple and had been so thoroughly crushed and scared that she did not\neven raise a hand to guard her face, though that was the most necessary\nand natural action at the moment, for the axe was raised over her face.\nShe only put up her empty left hand, but not to her face, slowly holding\nit out before her as though motioning him away. The axe fell with the\nsharp edge just on the skull and split at one blow all the top of the\nhead. She fell heavily at once. Raskolnikov completely lost his head,\nsnatching up her bundle, dropped it again and ran into the entry.\n\nFear gained more and more mastery over him, especially after this\nsecond, quite unexpected murder. He longed to run away from the place\nas fast as possible. And if at that moment he had been capable of seeing\nand reasoning more correctly, if he had been able to realise all the\ndifficulties of his position, the hopelessness, the hideousness and the\nabsurdity of it, if he could have understood how many obstacles and,\nperhaps, crimes he had still to overcome or to commit, to get out of\nthat place and to make his way home, it is very possible that he would\nhave flung up everything, and would have gone to give himself up, and\nnot from fear, but from simple horror and loathing of what he had\ndone. The feeling of loathing especially surged up within him and grew\nstronger every minute. He would not now have gone to the box or even\ninto the room for anything in the world.\n\nBut a sort of blankness, even dreaminess, had begun by degrees to take\npossession of him; at moments he forgot himself, or rather, forgot what\nwas of importance, and caught at trifles. Glancing, however, into the\nkitchen and seeing a bucket half full of water on a bench, he bethought\nhim of washing his hands and the axe. His hands were sticky with blood.\nHe dropped the axe with the blade in the water, snatched a piece of soap\nthat lay in a broken saucer on the window, and began washing his hands\nin the bucket. When they were clean, he took out the axe, washed the\nblade and spent a long time, about three minutes, washing the wood where\nthere were spots of blood rubbing them with soap. Then he wiped it all\nwith some linen that was hanging to dry on a line in the kitchen and\nthen he was a long while attentively examining the axe at the window.\nThere was no trace left on it, only the wood was still damp. He\ncarefully hung the axe in the noose under his coat. Then as far as was\npossible, in the dim light in the kitchen, he looked over his overcoat,\nhis trousers and his boots. At the first glance there seemed to be\nnothing but stains on the boots. He wetted the rag and rubbed the boots.\nBut he knew he was not looking thoroughly, that there might be something\nquite noticeable that he was overlooking. He stood in the middle of the\nroom, lost in thought. Dark agonising ideas rose in his mind--the idea\nthat he was mad and that at that moment he was incapable of reasoning,\nof protecting himself, that he ought perhaps to be doing something\nutterly different from what he was now doing. \"Good God!\" he muttered \"I\nmust fly, fly,\" and he rushed into the entry. But here a shock of terror\nawaited him such as he had never known before.\n\nHe stood and gazed and could not believe his eyes: the door, the outer\ndoor from the stairs, at which he had not long before waited and rung,\nwas standing unfastened and at least six inches open. No lock, no bolt,\nall the time, all that time! The old woman had not shut it after him\nperhaps as a precaution. But, good God! Why, he had seen Lizaveta\nafterwards! And how could he, how could he have failed to reflect that\nshe must have come in somehow! She could not have come through the wall!\n\nHe dashed to the door and fastened the latch.\n\n\"But no, the wrong thing again! I must get away, get away....\"\n\nHe unfastened the latch, opened the door and began listening on the\nstaircase.\n\nHe listened a long time. Somewhere far away, it might be in the gateway,\ntwo voices were loudly and shrilly shouting, quarrelling and scolding.\n\"What are they about?\" He waited patiently. At last all was still, as\nthough suddenly cut off; they had separated. He was meaning to go out,\nbut suddenly, on the floor below, a door was noisily opened and someone\nbegan going downstairs humming a tune. \"How is it they all make such\na noise?\" flashed through his mind. Once more he closed the door and\nwaited. At last all was still, not a soul stirring. He was just taking a\nstep towards the stairs when he heard fresh footsteps.\n\nThe steps sounded very far off, at the very bottom of the stairs, but\nhe remembered quite clearly and distinctly that from the first sound he\nbegan for some reason to suspect that this was someone coming _there_,\nto the fourth floor, to the old woman. Why? Were the sounds somehow\npeculiar, significant? The steps were heavy, even and unhurried. Now\n_he_ had passed the first floor, now he was mounting higher, it was\ngrowing more and more distinct! He could hear his heavy breathing. And\nnow the third storey had been reached. Coming here! And it seemed to\nhim all at once that he was turned to stone, that it was like a dream\nin which one is being pursued, nearly caught and will be killed, and is\nrooted to the spot and cannot even move one's arms.\n\nAt last when the unknown was mounting to the fourth floor, he suddenly\nstarted, and succeeded in slipping neatly and quickly back into the\nflat and closing the door behind him. Then he took the hook and softly,\nnoiselessly, fixed it in the catch. Instinct helped him. When he had\ndone this, he crouched holding his breath, by the door. The unknown\nvisitor was by now also at the door. They were now standing opposite one\nanother, as he had just before been standing with the old woman, when\nthe door divided them and he was listening.\n\nThe visitor panted several times. \"He must be a big, fat man,\" thought\nRaskolnikov, squeezing the axe in his hand. It seemed like a dream\nindeed. The visitor took hold of the bell and rang it loudly.\n\nAs soon as the tin bell tinkled, Raskolnikov seemed to be aware of\nsomething moving in the room. For some seconds he listened quite\nseriously. The unknown rang again, waited and suddenly tugged violently\nand impatiently at the handle of the door. Raskolnikov gazed in horror\nat the hook shaking in its fastening, and in blank terror expected every\nminute that the fastening would be pulled out. It certainly did seem\npossible, so violently was he shaking it. He was tempted to hold the\nfastening, but _he_ might be aware of it. A giddiness came over him\nagain. \"I shall fall down!\" flashed through his mind, but the unknown\nbegan to speak and he recovered himself at once.\n\n\"What's up? Are they asleep or murdered? D-damn them!\" he bawled in a\nthick voice, \"Hey, Alyona Ivanovna, old witch! Lizaveta Ivanovna, hey,\nmy beauty! open the door! Oh, damn them! Are they asleep or what?\"\n\nAnd again, enraged, he tugged with all his might a dozen times at\nthe bell. He must certainly be a man of authority and an intimate\nacquaintance.\n\nAt this moment light hurried steps were heard not far off, on the\nstairs. Someone else was approaching. Raskolnikov had not heard them at\nfirst.\n\n\"You don't say there's no one at home,\" the new-comer cried in a\ncheerful, ringing voice, addressing the first visitor, who still went on\npulling the bell. \"Good evening, Koch.\"\n\n\"From his voice he must be quite young,\" thought Raskolnikov.\n\n\"Who the devil can tell? I've almost broken the lock,\" answered Koch.\n\"But how do you come to know me?\"\n\n\"Why! The day before yesterday I beat you three times running at\nbilliards at Gambrinus'.\"\n\n\"Oh!\"\n\n\"So they are not at home? That's queer. It's awfully stupid though.\nWhere could the old woman have gone? I've come on business.\"\n\n\"Yes; and I have business with her, too.\"\n\n\"Well, what can we do? Go back, I suppose, Aie--aie! And I was hoping to\nget some money!\" cried the young man.\n\n\"We must give it up, of course, but what did she fix this time for? The\nold witch fixed the time for me to come herself. It's out of my way.\nAnd where the devil she can have got to, I can't make out. She sits here\nfrom year's end to year's end, the old hag; her legs are bad and yet\nhere all of a sudden she is out for a walk!\"\n\n\"Hadn't we better ask the porter?\"\n\n\"What?\"\n\n\"Where she's gone and when she'll be back.\"\n\n\"Hm.... Damn it all!... We might ask.... But you know she never does go\nanywhere.\"\n\nAnd he once more tugged at the door-handle.\n\n\"Damn it all. There's nothing to be done, we must go!\"\n\n\"Stay!\" cried the young man suddenly. \"Do you see how the door shakes if\nyou pull it?\"\n\n\"Well?\"\n\n\"That shows it's not locked, but fastened with the hook! Do you hear how\nthe hook clanks?\"\n\n\"Well?\"\n\n\"Why, don't you see? That proves that one of them is at home. If they\nwere all out, they would have locked the door from the outside with the\nkey and not with the hook from inside. There, do you hear how the hook\nis clanking? To fasten the hook on the inside they must be at home,\ndon't you see. So there they are sitting inside and don't open the\ndoor!\"\n\n\"Well! And so they must be!\" cried Koch, astonished. \"What are they\nabout in there?\" And he began furiously shaking the door.\n\n\"Stay!\" cried the young man again. \"Don't pull at it! There must be\nsomething wrong.... Here, you've been ringing and pulling at the door\nand still they don't open! So either they've both fainted or...\"\n\n\"What?\"\n\n\"I tell you what. Let's go fetch the porter, let him wake them up.\"\n\n\"All right.\"\n\nBoth were going down.\n\n\"Stay. You stop here while I run down for the porter.\"\n\n\"What for?\"\n\n\"Well, you'd better.\"\n\n\"All right.\"\n\n\"I'm studying the law you see! It's evident, e-vi-dent there's something\nwrong here!\" the young man cried hotly, and he ran downstairs.\n\nKoch remained. Once more he softly touched the bell which gave one\ntinkle, then gently, as though reflecting and looking about him, began\ntouching the door-handle pulling it and letting it go to make sure once\nmore that it was only fastened by the hook. Then puffing and panting he\nbent down and began looking at the keyhole: but the key was in the lock\non the inside and so nothing could be seen.\n\nRaskolnikov stood keeping tight hold of the axe. He was in a sort of\ndelirium. He was even making ready to fight when they should come in.\nWhile they were knocking and talking together, the idea several times\noccurred to him to end it all at once and shout to them through the\ndoor. Now and then he was tempted to swear at them, to jeer at them,\nwhile they could not open the door! \"Only make haste!\" was the thought\nthat flashed through his mind.\n\n\"But what the devil is he about?...\" Time was passing, one minute, and\nanother--no one came. Koch began to be restless.\n\n\"What the devil?\" he cried suddenly and in impatience deserting his\nsentry duty, he, too, went down, hurrying and thumping with his heavy\nboots on the stairs. The steps died away.\n\n\"Good heavens! What am I to do?\"\n\nRaskolnikov unfastened the hook, opened the door--there was no sound.\nAbruptly, without any thought at all, he went out, closing the door as\nthoroughly as he could, and went downstairs.\n\nHe had gone down three flights when he suddenly heard a loud voice\nbelow--where could he go! There was nowhere to hide. He was just going\nback to the flat.\n\n\"Hey there! Catch the brute!\"\n\nSomebody dashed out of a flat below, shouting, and rather fell than ran\ndown the stairs, bawling at the top of his voice.\n\n\"Mitka! Mitka! Mitka! Mitka! Mitka! Blast him!\"\n\nThe shout ended in a shriek; the last sounds came from the yard; all was\nstill. But at the same instant several men talking loud and fast began\nnoisily mounting the stairs. There were three or four of them. He\ndistinguished the ringing voice of the young man. \"Hey!\"\n\nFilled with despair he went straight to meet them, feeling \"come what\nmust!\" If they stopped him--all was lost; if they let him pass--all was\nlost too; they would remember him. They were approaching; they were only\na flight from him--and suddenly deliverance! A few steps from him on the\nright, there was an empty flat with the door wide open, the flat on the\nsecond floor where the painters had been at work, and which, as though\nfor his benefit, they had just left. It was they, no doubt, who had just\nrun down, shouting. The floor had only just been painted, in the middle\nof the room stood a pail and a broken pot with paint and brushes. In one\ninstant he had whisked in at the open door and hidden behind the wall\nand only in the nick of time; they had already reached the landing.\nThen they turned and went on up to the fourth floor, talking loudly. He\nwaited, went out on tiptoe and ran down the stairs.\n\nNo one was on the stairs, nor in the gateway. He passed quickly through\nthe gateway and turned to the left in the street.\n\nHe knew, he knew perfectly well that at that moment they were at the\nflat, that they were greatly astonished at finding it unlocked, as\nthe door had just been fastened, that by now they were looking at the\nbodies, that before another minute had passed they would guess and\ncompletely realise that the murderer had just been there, and had\nsucceeded in hiding somewhere, slipping by them and escaping. They would\nguess most likely that he had been in the empty flat, while they were\ngoing upstairs. And meanwhile he dared not quicken his pace much, though\nthe next turning was still nearly a hundred yards away. \"Should he\nslip through some gateway and wait somewhere in an unknown street? No,\nhopeless! Should he fling away the axe? Should he take a cab? Hopeless,\nhopeless!\"\n\nAt last he reached the turning. He turned down it more dead than alive.\nHere he was half way to safety, and he understood it; it was less risky\nbecause there was a great crowd of people, and he was lost in it like a\ngrain of sand. But all he had suffered had so weakened him that he could\nscarcely move. Perspiration ran down him in drops, his neck was all wet.\n\"My word, he has been going it!\" someone shouted at him when he came out\non the canal bank.\n\nHe was only dimly conscious of himself now, and the farther he went the\nworse it was. He remembered however, that on coming out on to the canal\nbank, he was alarmed at finding few people there and so being more\nconspicuous, and he had thought of turning back. Though he was almost\nfalling from fatigue, he went a long way round so as to get home from\nquite a different direction.\n\nHe was not fully conscious when he passed through the gateway of his\nhouse! He was already on the staircase before he recollected the axe.\nAnd yet he had a very grave problem before him, to put it back and to\nescape observation as far as possible in doing so. He was of course\nincapable of reflecting that it might perhaps be far better not to\nrestore the axe at all, but to drop it later on in somebody's yard. But\nit all happened fortunately, the door of the porter's room was closed\nbut not locked, so that it seemed most likely that the porter was at\nhome. But he had so completely lost all power of reflection that he\nwalked straight to the door and opened it. If the porter had asked him,\n\"What do you want?\" he would perhaps have simply handed him the axe. But\nagain the porter was not at home, and he succeeded in putting the axe\nback under the bench, and even covering it with the chunk of wood as\nbefore. He met no one, not a soul, afterwards on the way to his room;\nthe landlady's door was shut. When he was in his room, he flung himself\non the sofa just as he was--he did not sleep, but sank into blank\nforgetfulness. If anyone had come into his room then, he would have\njumped up at once and screamed. Scraps and shreds of thoughts were\nsimply swarming in his brain, but he could not catch at one, he could\nnot rest on one, in spite of all his efforts....\n\n\n\n\nPART II\n\n\n\nCHAPTER I\n\nSo he lay a very long while. Now and then he seemed to wake up, and at\nsuch moments he noticed that it was far into the night, but it did not\noccur to him to get up. At last he noticed that it was beginning to get\nlight. He was lying on his back, still dazed from his recent oblivion.\nFearful, despairing cries rose shrilly from the street, sounds which he\nheard every night, indeed, under his window after two o'clock. They woke\nhim up now.\n\n\"Ah! the drunken men are coming out of the taverns,\" he thought, \"it's\npast two o'clock,\" and at once he leaped up, as though someone had\npulled him from the sofa.\n\n\"What! Past two o'clock!\"\n\nHe sat down on the sofa--and instantly recollected everything! All at\nonce, in one flash, he recollected everything.\n\nFor the first moment he thought he was going mad. A dreadful chill came\nover him; but the chill was from the fever that had begun long before in\nhis sleep. Now he was suddenly taken with violent shivering, so that his\nteeth chattered and all his limbs were shaking. He opened the door and\nbegan listening--everything in the house was asleep. With amazement he\ngazed at himself and everything in the room around him, wondering how he\ncould have come in the night before without fastening the door, and have\nflung himself on the sofa without undressing, without even taking his\nhat off. It had fallen off and was lying on the floor near his pillow.\n\n\"If anyone had come in, what would he have thought? That I'm drunk\nbut...\"\n\nHe rushed to the window. There was light enough, and he began hurriedly\nlooking himself all over from head to foot, all his clothes; were there\nno traces? But there was no doing it like that; shivering with cold, he\nbegan taking off everything and looking over again. He turned everything\nover to the last threads and rags, and mistrusting himself, went through\nhis search three times.\n\nBut there seemed to be nothing, no trace, except in one place, where\nsome thick drops of congealed blood were clinging to the frayed edge\nof his trousers. He picked up a big claspknife and cut off the frayed\nthreads. There seemed to be nothing more.\n\nSuddenly he remembered that the purse and the things he had taken out of\nthe old woman's box were still in his pockets! He had not thought till\nthen of taking them out and hiding them! He had not even thought of them\nwhile he was examining his clothes! What next? Instantly he rushed\nto take them out and fling them on the table. When he had pulled out\neverything, and turned the pocket inside out to be sure there was\nnothing left, he carried the whole heap to the corner. The paper had\ncome off the bottom of the wall and hung there in tatters. He began\nstuffing all the things into the hole under the paper: \"They're in! All\nout of sight, and the purse too!\" he thought gleefully, getting up and\ngazing blankly at the hole which bulged out more than ever. Suddenly\nhe shuddered all over with horror; \"My God!\" he whispered in despair:\n\"what's the matter with me? Is that hidden? Is that the way to hide\nthings?\"\n\nHe had not reckoned on having trinkets to hide. He had only thought of\nmoney, and so had not prepared a hiding-place.\n\n\"But now, now, what am I glad of?\" he thought, \"Is that hiding things?\nMy reason's deserting me--simply!\"\n\nHe sat down on the sofa in exhaustion and was at once shaken by another\nunbearable fit of shivering. Mechanically he drew from a chair beside\nhim his old student's winter coat, which was still warm though almost in\nrags, covered himself up with it and once more sank into drowsiness and\ndelirium. He lost consciousness.\n\nNot more than five minutes had passed when he jumped up a second time,\nand at once pounced in a frenzy on his clothes again.\n\n\"How could I go to sleep again with nothing done? Yes, yes; I have not\ntaken the loop off the armhole! I forgot it, forgot a thing like that!\nSuch a piece of evidence!\"\n\nHe pulled off the noose, hurriedly cut it to pieces and threw the bits\namong his linen under the pillow.\n\n\"Pieces of torn linen couldn't rouse suspicion, whatever happened; I\nthink not, I think not, any way!\" he repeated, standing in the middle\nof the room, and with painful concentration he fell to gazing about\nhim again, at the floor and everywhere, trying to make sure he had not\nforgotten anything. The conviction that all his faculties, even memory,\nand the simplest power of reflection were failing him, began to be an\ninsufferable torture.\n\n\"Surely it isn't beginning already! Surely it isn't my punishment coming\nupon me? It is!\"\n\nThe frayed rags he had cut off his trousers were actually lying on the\nfloor in the middle of the room, where anyone coming in would see them!\n\n\"What is the matter with me!\" he cried again, like one distraught.\n\nThen a strange idea entered his head; that, perhaps, all his clothes\nwere covered with blood, that, perhaps, there were a great many\nstains, but that he did not see them, did not notice them because\nhis perceptions were failing, were going to pieces... his reason was\nclouded.... Suddenly he remembered that there had been blood on the\npurse too. \"Ah! Then there must be blood on the pocket too, for I put\nthe wet purse in my pocket!\"\n\nIn a flash he had turned the pocket inside out and, yes!--there were\ntraces, stains on the lining of the pocket!\n\n\"So my reason has not quite deserted me, so I still have some sense and\nmemory, since I guessed it of myself,\" he thought triumphantly, with\na deep sigh of relief; \"it's simply the weakness of fever, a moment's\ndelirium,\" and he tore the whole lining out of the left pocket of his\ntrousers. At that instant the sunlight fell on his left boot; on the\nsock which poked out from the boot, he fancied there were traces! He\nflung off his boots; \"traces indeed! The tip of the sock was soaked with\nblood;\" he must have unwarily stepped into that pool.... \"But what am I\nto do with this now? Where am I to put the sock and rags and pocket?\"\n\nHe gathered them all up in his hands and stood in the middle of the\nroom.\n\n\"In the stove? But they would ransack the stove first of all. Burn them?\nBut what can I burn them with? There are no matches even. No, better\ngo out and throw it all away somewhere. Yes, better throw it away,\" he\nrepeated, sitting down on the sofa again, \"and at once, this minute,\nwithout lingering...\"\n\nBut his head sank on the pillow instead. Again the unbearable icy\nshivering came over him; again he drew his coat over him.\n\nAnd for a long while, for some hours, he was haunted by the impulse to\n\"go off somewhere at once, this moment, and fling it all away, so that\nit may be out of sight and done with, at once, at once!\" Several times\nhe tried to rise from the sofa, but could not.\n\nHe was thoroughly waked up at last by a violent knocking at his door.\n\n\"Open, do, are you dead or alive? He keeps sleeping here!\" shouted\nNastasya, banging with her fist on the door. \"For whole days together\nhe's snoring here like a dog! A dog he is too. Open I tell you. It's\npast ten.\"\n\n\"Maybe he's not at home,\" said a man's voice.\n\n\"Ha! that's the porter's voice.... What does he want?\"\n\nHe jumped up and sat on the sofa. The beating of his heart was a\npositive pain.\n\n\"Then who can have latched the door?\" retorted Nastasya. \"He's taken to\nbolting himself in! As if he were worth stealing! Open, you stupid, wake\nup!\"\n\n\"What do they want? Why the porter? All's discovered. Resist or open?\nCome what may!...\"\n\nHe half rose, stooped forward and unlatched the door.\n\nHis room was so small that he could undo the latch without leaving the\nbed. Yes; the porter and Nastasya were standing there.\n\nNastasya stared at him in a strange way. He glanced with a defiant and\ndesperate air at the porter, who without a word held out a grey folded\npaper sealed with bottle-wax.\n\n\"A notice from the office,\" he announced, as he gave him the paper.\n\n\"From what office?\"\n\n\"A summons to the police office, of course. You know which office.\"\n\n\"To the police?... What for?...\"\n\n\"How can I tell? You're sent for, so you go.\"\n\nThe man looked at him attentively, looked round the room and turned to\ngo away.\n\n\"He's downright ill!\" observed Nastasya, not taking her eyes off him.\nThe porter turned his head for a moment. \"He's been in a fever since\nyesterday,\" she added.\n\nRaskolnikov made no response and held the paper in his hands, without\nopening it. \"Don't you get up then,\" Nastasya went on compassionately,\nseeing that he was letting his feet down from the sofa. \"You're ill, and\nso don't go; there's no such hurry. What have you got there?\"\n\nHe looked; in his right hand he held the shreds he had cut from his\ntrousers, the sock, and the rags of the pocket. So he had been asleep\nwith them in his hand. Afterwards reflecting upon it, he remembered that\nhalf waking up in his fever, he had grasped all this tightly in his hand\nand so fallen asleep again.\n\n\"Look at the rags he's collected and sleeps with them, as though he has\ngot hold of a treasure...\"\n\nAnd Nastasya went off into her hysterical giggle.\n\nInstantly he thrust them all under his great coat and fixed his\neyes intently upon her. Far as he was from being capable of rational\nreflection at that moment, he felt that no one would behave like that\nwith a person who was going to be arrested. \"But... the police?\"\n\n\"You'd better have some tea! Yes? I'll bring it, there's some left.\"\n\n\"No... I'm going; I'll go at once,\" he muttered, getting on to his feet.\n\n\"Why, you'll never get downstairs!\"\n\n\"Yes, I'll go.\"\n\n\"As you please.\"\n\nShe followed the porter out.\n\nAt once he rushed to the light to examine the sock and the rags.\n\n\"There are stains, but not very noticeable; all covered with dirt,\nand rubbed and already discoloured. No one who had no suspicion could\ndistinguish anything. Nastasya from a distance could not have noticed,\nthank God!\" Then with a tremor he broke the seal of the notice and began\nreading; he was a long while reading, before he understood. It was an\nordinary summons from the district police-station to appear that day at\nhalf-past nine at the office of the district superintendent.\n\n\"But when has such a thing happened? I never have anything to do with\nthe police! And why just to-day?\" he thought in agonising bewilderment.\n\"Good God, only get it over soon!\"\n\nHe was flinging himself on his knees to pray, but broke into\nlaughter--not at the idea of prayer, but at himself.\n\nHe began, hurriedly dressing. \"If I'm lost, I am lost, I don't care!\nShall I put the sock on?\" he suddenly wondered, \"it will get dustier\nstill and the traces will be gone.\"\n\nBut no sooner had he put it on than he pulled it off again in loathing\nand horror. He pulled it off, but reflecting that he had no other socks,\nhe picked it up and put it on again--and again he laughed.\n\n\"That's all conventional, that's all relative, merely a way of looking\nat it,\" he thought in a flash, but only on the top surface of his\nmind, while he was shuddering all over, \"there, I've got it on! I have\nfinished by getting it on!\"\n\nBut his laughter was quickly followed by despair.\n\n\"No, it's too much for me...\" he thought. His legs shook. \"From fear,\"\nhe muttered. His head swam and ached with fever. \"It's a trick! They\nwant to decoy me there and confound me over everything,\" he mused, as\nhe went out on to the stairs--\"the worst of it is I'm almost\nlight-headed... I may blurt out something stupid...\"\n\nOn the stairs he remembered that he was leaving all the things just as\nthey were in the hole in the wall, \"and very likely, it's on purpose\nto search when I'm out,\" he thought, and stopped short. But he was\npossessed by such despair, such cynicism of misery, if one may so call\nit, that with a wave of his hand he went on. \"Only to get it over!\"\n\nIn the street the heat was insufferable again; not a drop of rain had\nfallen all those days. Again dust, bricks and mortar, again the stench\nfrom the shops and pot-houses, again the drunken men, the Finnish\npedlars and half-broken-down cabs. The sun shone straight in his eyes,\nso that it hurt him to look out of them, and he felt his head going\nround--as a man in a fever is apt to feel when he comes out into the\nstreet on a bright sunny day.\n\nWhen he reached the turning into _the_ street, in an agony of\ntrepidation he looked down it... at _the_ house... and at once averted\nhis eyes.\n\n\"If they question me, perhaps I'll simply tell,\" he thought, as he drew\nnear the police-station.\n\nThe police-station was about a quarter of a mile off. It had lately been\nmoved to new rooms on the fourth floor of a new house. He had been once\nfor a moment in the old office but long ago. Turning in at the gateway,\nhe saw on the right a flight of stairs which a peasant was mounting with\na book in his hand. \"A house-porter, no doubt; so then, the office is\nhere,\" and he began ascending the stairs on the chance. He did not want\nto ask questions of anyone.\n\n\"I'll go in, fall on my knees, and confess everything...\" he thought, as\nhe reached the fourth floor.\n\nThe staircase was steep, narrow and all sloppy with dirty water. The\nkitchens of the flats opened on to the stairs and stood open almost\nthe whole day. So there was a fearful smell and heat. The staircase\nwas crowded with porters going up and down with their books under their\narms, policemen, and persons of all sorts and both sexes. The door of\nthe office, too, stood wide open. Peasants stood waiting within. There,\ntoo, the heat was stifling and there was a sickening smell of fresh\npaint and stale oil from the newly decorated rooms.\n\nAfter waiting a little, he decided to move forward into the next room.\nAll the rooms were small and low-pitched. A fearful impatience drew him\non and on. No one paid attention to him. In the second room some\nclerks sat writing, dressed hardly better than he was, and rather a\nqueer-looking set. He went up to one of them.\n\n\"What is it?\"\n\nHe showed the notice he had received.\n\n\"You are a student?\" the man asked, glancing at the notice.\n\n\"Yes, formerly a student.\"\n\nThe clerk looked at him, but without the slightest interest. He was a\nparticularly unkempt person with the look of a fixed idea in his eye.\n\n\"There would be no getting anything out of him, because he has no\ninterest in anything,\" thought Raskolnikov.\n\n\"Go in there to the head clerk,\" said the clerk, pointing towards the\nfurthest room.\n\nHe went into that room--the fourth in order; it was a small room and\npacked full of people, rather better dressed than in the outer rooms.\nAmong them were two ladies. One, poorly dressed in mourning, sat at the\ntable opposite the chief clerk, writing something at his dictation.\nThe other, a very stout, buxom woman with a purplish-red, blotchy face,\nexcessively smartly dressed with a brooch on her bosom as big as a\nsaucer, was standing on one side, apparently waiting for something.\nRaskolnikov thrust his notice upon the head clerk. The latter glanced\nat it, said: \"Wait a minute,\" and went on attending to the lady in\nmourning.\n\nHe breathed more freely. \"It can't be that!\"\n\nBy degrees he began to regain confidence, he kept urging himself to have\ncourage and be calm.\n\n\"Some foolishness, some trifling carelessness, and I may betray myself!\nHm... it's a pity there's no air here,\" he added, \"it's stifling.... It\nmakes one's head dizzier than ever... and one's mind too...\"\n\nHe was conscious of a terrible inner turmoil. He was afraid of losing\nhis self-control; he tried to catch at something and fix his mind on it,\nsomething quite irrelevant, but he could not succeed in this at all. Yet\nthe head clerk greatly interested him, he kept hoping to see through him\nand guess something from his face.\n\nHe was a very young man, about two and twenty, with a dark mobile\nface that looked older than his years. He was fashionably dressed and\nfoppish, with his hair parted in the middle, well combed and pomaded,\nand wore a number of rings on his well-scrubbed fingers and a gold chain\non his waistcoat. He said a couple of words in French to a foreigner who\nwas in the room, and said them fairly correctly.\n\n\"Luise Ivanovna, you can sit down,\" he said casually to the\ngaily-dressed, purple-faced lady, who was still standing as though not\nventuring to sit down, though there was a chair beside her.\n\n\"Ich danke,\" said the latter, and softly, with a rustle of silk she sank\ninto the chair. Her light blue dress trimmed with white lace floated\nabout the table like an air-balloon and filled almost half the room. She\nsmelt of scent. But she was obviously embarrassed at filling half\nthe room and smelling so strongly of scent; and though her smile was\nimpudent as well as cringing, it betrayed evident uneasiness.\n\nThe lady in mourning had done at last, and got up. All at once, with\nsome noise, an officer walked in very jauntily, with a peculiar swing of\nhis shoulders at each step. He tossed his cockaded cap on the table and\nsat down in an easy-chair. The small lady positively skipped from her\nseat on seeing him, and fell to curtsying in a sort of ecstasy; but the\nofficer took not the smallest notice of her, and she did not venture to\nsit down again in his presence. He was the assistant superintendent. He\nhad a reddish moustache that stood out horizontally on each side of his\nface, and extremely small features, expressive of nothing much except\na certain insolence. He looked askance and rather indignantly at\nRaskolnikov; he was so very badly dressed, and in spite of his\nhumiliating position, his bearing was by no means in keeping with his\nclothes. Raskolnikov had unwarily fixed a very long and direct look on\nhim, so that he felt positively affronted.\n\n\"What do you want?\" he shouted, apparently astonished that such a ragged\nfellow was not annihilated by the majesty of his glance.\n\n\"I was summoned... by a notice...\" Raskolnikov faltered.\n\n\"For the recovery of money due, from _the student_,\" the head clerk\ninterfered hurriedly, tearing himself from his papers. \"Here!\" and he\nflung Raskolnikov a document and pointed out the place. \"Read that!\"\n\n\"Money? What money?\" thought Raskolnikov, \"but... then... it's certainly\nnot _that_.\"\n\nAnd he trembled with joy. He felt sudden intense indescribable relief. A\nload was lifted from his back.\n\n\"And pray, what time were you directed to appear, sir?\" shouted the\nassistant superintendent, seeming for some unknown reason more and more\naggrieved. \"You are told to come at nine, and now it's twelve!\"\n\n\"The notice was only brought me a quarter of an hour ago,\" Raskolnikov\nanswered loudly over his shoulder. To his own surprise he, too, grew\nsuddenly angry and found a certain pleasure in it. \"And it's enough that\nI have come here ill with fever.\"\n\n\"Kindly refrain from shouting!\"\n\n\"I'm not shouting, I'm speaking very quietly, it's you who are shouting\nat me. I'm a student, and allow no one to shout at me.\"\n\nThe assistant superintendent was so furious that for the first minute he\ncould only splutter inarticulately. He leaped up from his seat.\n\n\"Be silent! You are in a government office. Don't be impudent, sir!\"\n\n\"You're in a government office, too,\" cried Raskolnikov, \"and you're\nsmoking a cigarette as well as shouting, so you are showing disrespect\nto all of us.\"\n\nHe felt an indescribable satisfaction at having said this.\n\nThe head clerk looked at him with a smile. The angry assistant\nsuperintendent was obviously disconcerted.\n\n\"That's not your business!\" he shouted at last with unnatural loudness.\n\"Kindly make the declaration demanded of you. Show him. Alexandr\nGrigorievitch. There is a complaint against you! You don't pay your\ndebts! You're a fine bird!\"\n\nBut Raskolnikov was not listening now; he had eagerly clutched at the\npaper, in haste to find an explanation. He read it once, and a second\ntime, and still did not understand.\n\n\"What is this?\" he asked the head clerk.\n\n\"It is for the recovery of money on an I O U, a writ. You must\neither pay it, with all expenses, costs and so on, or give a written\ndeclaration when you can pay it, and at the same time an undertaking not\nto leave the capital without payment, and nor to sell or conceal your\nproperty. The creditor is at liberty to sell your property, and proceed\nagainst you according to the law.\"\n\n\"But I... am not in debt to anyone!\"\n\n\"That's not our business. Here, an I O U for a hundred and fifteen\nroubles, legally attested, and due for payment, has been brought us\nfor recovery, given by you to the widow of the assessor Zarnitsyn, nine\nmonths ago, and paid over by the widow Zarnitsyn to one Mr. Tchebarov.\nWe therefore summon you, hereupon.\"\n\n\"But she is my landlady!\"\n\n\"And what if she is your landlady?\"\n\nThe head clerk looked at him with a condescending smile of compassion,\nand at the same time with a certain triumph, as at a novice under fire\nfor the first time--as though he would say: \"Well, how do you feel now?\"\nBut what did he care now for an I O U, for a writ of recovery! Was that\nworth worrying about now, was it worth attention even! He stood, he\nread, he listened, he answered, he even asked questions himself, but\nall mechanically. The triumphant sense of security, of deliverance from\noverwhelming danger, that was what filled his whole soul that moment\nwithout thought for the future, without analysis, without suppositions\nor surmises, without doubts and without questioning. It was an instant\nof full, direct, purely instinctive joy. But at that very moment\nsomething like a thunderstorm took place in the office. The assistant\nsuperintendent, still shaken by Raskolnikov's disrespect, still fuming\nand obviously anxious to keep up his wounded dignity, pounced on the\nunfortunate smart lady, who had been gazing at him ever since he came in\nwith an exceedingly silly smile.\n\n\"You shameful hussy!\" he shouted suddenly at the top of his voice. (The\nlady in mourning had left the office.) \"What was going on at your house\nlast night? Eh! A disgrace again, you're a scandal to the whole street.\nFighting and drinking again. Do you want the house of correction? Why,\nI have warned you ten times over that I would not let you off the\neleventh! And here you are again, again, you... you...!\"\n\nThe paper fell out of Raskolnikov's hands, and he looked wildly at the\nsmart lady who was so unceremoniously treated. But he soon saw what it\nmeant, and at once began to find positive amusement in the scandal. He\nlistened with pleasure, so that he longed to laugh and laugh... all his\nnerves were on edge.\n\n\"Ilya Petrovitch!\" the head clerk was beginning anxiously, but stopped\nshort, for he knew from experience that the enraged assistant could not\nbe stopped except by force.\n\nAs for the smart lady, at first she positively trembled before the\nstorm. But, strange to say, the more numerous and violent the terms of\nabuse became, the more amiable she looked, and the more seductive the\nsmiles she lavished on the terrible assistant. She moved uneasily, and\ncurtsied incessantly, waiting impatiently for a chance of putting in her\nword: and at last she found it.\n\n\"There was no sort of noise or fighting in my house, Mr. Captain,\" she\npattered all at once, like peas dropping, speaking Russian confidently,\nthough with a strong German accent, \"and no sort of scandal, and his\nhonour came drunk, and it's the whole truth I am telling, Mr. Captain,\nand I am not to blame.... Mine is an honourable house, Mr. Captain,\nand honourable behaviour, Mr. Captain, and I always, always dislike any\nscandal myself. But he came quite tipsy, and asked for three bottles\nagain, and then he lifted up one leg, and began playing the pianoforte\nwith one foot, and that is not at all right in an honourable house, and\nhe _ganz_ broke the piano, and it was very bad manners indeed and I said\nso. And he took up a bottle and began hitting everyone with it. And then\nI called the porter, and Karl came, and he took Karl and hit him in the\neye; and he hit Henriette in the eye, too, and gave me five slaps on the\ncheek. And it was so ungentlemanly in an honourable house, Mr. Captain,\nand I screamed. And he opened the window over the canal, and stood in\nthe window, squealing like a little pig; it was a disgrace. The idea of\nsquealing like a little pig at the window into the street! Fie upon him!\nAnd Karl pulled him away from the window by his coat, and it is true,\nMr. Captain, he tore _sein rock_. And then he shouted that _man muss_\npay him fifteen roubles damages. And I did pay him, Mr. Captain, five\nroubles for _sein rock_. And he is an ungentlemanly visitor and caused\nall the scandal. 'I will show you up,' he said, 'for I can write to all\nthe papers about you.'\"\n\n\"Then he was an author?\"\n\n\"Yes, Mr. Captain, and what an ungentlemanly visitor in an honourable\nhouse....\"\n\n\"Now then! Enough! I have told you already...\"\n\n\"Ilya Petrovitch!\" the head clerk repeated significantly.\n\nThe assistant glanced rapidly at him; the head clerk slightly shook his\nhead.\n\n\"... So I tell you this, most respectable Luise Ivanovna, and I tell it\nyou for the last time,\" the assistant went on. \"If there is a scandal\nin your honourable house once again, I will put you yourself in the\nlock-up, as it is called in polite society. Do you hear? So a literary\nman, an author took five roubles for his coat-tail in an 'honourable\nhouse'? A nice set, these authors!\"\n\nAnd he cast a contemptuous glance at Raskolnikov. \"There was a scandal\nthe other day in a restaurant, too. An author had eaten his dinner and\nwould not pay; 'I'll write a satire on you,' says he. And there was\nanother of them on a steamer last week used the most disgraceful\nlanguage to the respectable family of a civil councillor, his wife and\ndaughter. And there was one of them turned out of a confectioner's shop\nthe other day. They are like that, authors, literary men, students,\ntown-criers.... Pfoo! You get along! I shall look in upon you myself one\nday. Then you had better be careful! Do you hear?\"\n\nWith hurried deference, Luise Ivanovna fell to curtsying in all\ndirections, and so curtsied herself to the door. But at the door, she\nstumbled backwards against a good-looking officer with a fresh, open\nface and splendid thick fair whiskers. This was the superintendent of\nthe district himself, Nikodim Fomitch. Luise Ivanovna made haste\nto curtsy almost to the ground, and with mincing little steps, she\nfluttered out of the office.\n\n\"Again thunder and lightning--a hurricane!\" said Nikodim Fomitch to Ilya\nPetrovitch in a civil and friendly tone. \"You are aroused again, you are\nfuming again! I heard it on the stairs!\"\n\n\"Well, what then!\" Ilya Petrovitch drawled with gentlemanly nonchalance;\nand he walked with some papers to another table, with a jaunty swing of\nhis shoulders at each step. \"Here, if you will kindly look: an author,\nor a student, has been one at least, does not pay his debts, has given\nan I O U, won't clear out of his room, and complaints are constantly\nbeing lodged against him, and here he has been pleased to make a protest\nagainst my smoking in his presence! He behaves like a cad himself, and\njust look at him, please. Here's the gentleman, and very attractive he\nis!\"\n\n\"Poverty is not a vice, my friend, but we know you go off like powder,\nyou can't bear a slight, I daresay you took offence at something and\nwent too far yourself,\" continued Nikodim Fomitch, turning affably to\nRaskolnikov. \"But you were wrong there; he is a capital fellow, I assure\nyou, but explosive, explosive! He gets hot, fires up, boils over, and no\nstopping him! And then it's all over! And at the bottom he's a heart of\ngold! His nickname in the regiment was the Explosive Lieutenant....\"\n\n\"And what a regiment it was, too,\" cried Ilya Petrovitch, much gratified\nat this agreeable banter, though still sulky.\n\nRaskolnikov had a sudden desire to say something exceptionally pleasant\nto them all. \"Excuse me, Captain,\" he began easily, suddenly addressing\nNikodim Fomitch, \"will you enter into my position?... I am ready to\nask pardon, if I have been ill-mannered. I am a poor student, sick\nand shattered (shattered was the word he used) by poverty. I am not\nstudying, because I cannot keep myself now, but I shall get money.... I\nhave a mother and sister in the province of X. They will send it to\nme, and I will pay. My landlady is a good-hearted woman, but she is so\nexasperated at my having lost my lessons, and not paying her for the\nlast four months, that she does not even send up my dinner... and I\ndon't understand this I O U at all. She is asking me to pay her on this\nI O U. How am I to pay her? Judge for yourselves!...\"\n\n\"But that is not our business, you know,\" the head clerk was observing.\n\n\"Yes, yes. I perfectly agree with you. But allow me to explain...\"\nRaskolnikov put in again, still addressing Nikodim Fomitch, but trying\nhis best to address Ilya Petrovitch also, though the latter persistently\nappeared to be rummaging among his papers and to be contemptuously\noblivious of him. \"Allow me to explain that I have been living with her\nfor nearly three years and at first... at first... for why should I not\nconfess it, at the very beginning I promised to marry her daughter, it\nwas a verbal promise, freely given... she was a girl... indeed, I liked\nher, though I was not in love with her... a youthful affair in fact...\nthat is, I mean to say, that my landlady gave me credit freely in those\ndays, and I led a life of... I was very heedless...\"\n\n\"Nobody asks you for these personal details, sir, we've no time to\nwaste,\" Ilya Petrovitch interposed roughly and with a note of triumph;\nbut Raskolnikov stopped him hotly, though he suddenly found it\nexceedingly difficult to speak.\n\n\"But excuse me, excuse me. It is for me to explain... how it all\nhappened... In my turn... though I agree with you... it is unnecessary.\nBut a year ago, the girl died of typhus. I remained lodging there as\nbefore, and when my landlady moved into her present quarters, she said\nto me... and in a friendly way... that she had complete trust in me,\nbut still, would I not give her an I O U for one hundred and fifteen\nroubles, all the debt I owed her. She said if only I gave her that,\nshe would trust me again, as much as I liked, and that she would never,\nnever--those were her own words--make use of that I O U till I could pay\nof myself... and now, when I have lost my lessons and have nothing to\neat, she takes action against me. What am I to say to that?\"\n\n\"All these affecting details are no business of ours.\" Ilya Petrovitch\ninterrupted rudely. \"You must give a written undertaking but as for your\nlove affairs and all these tragic events, we have nothing to do with\nthat.\"\n\n\"Come now... you are harsh,\" muttered Nikodim Fomitch, sitting down at\nthe table and also beginning to write. He looked a little ashamed.\n\n\"Write!\" said the head clerk to Raskolnikov.\n\n\"Write what?\" the latter asked, gruffly.\n\n\"I will dictate to you.\"\n\nRaskolnikov fancied that the head clerk treated him more casually and\ncontemptuously after his speech, but strange to say he suddenly felt\ncompletely indifferent to anyone's opinion, and this revulsion took\nplace in a flash, in one instant. If he had cared to think a little,\nhe would have been amazed indeed that he could have talked to them like\nthat a minute before, forcing his feelings upon them. And where had\nthose feelings come from? Now if the whole room had been filled, not\nwith police officers, but with those nearest and dearest to him, he\nwould not have found one human word for them, so empty was his heart. A\ngloomy sensation of agonising, everlasting solitude and remoteness, took\nconscious form in his soul. It was not the meanness of his sentimental\neffusions before Ilya Petrovitch, nor the meanness of the latter's\ntriumph over him that had caused this sudden revulsion in his heart.\nOh, what had he to do now with his own baseness, with all these petty\nvanities, officers, German women, debts, police-offices? If he had been\nsentenced to be burnt at that moment, he would not have stirred, would\nhardly have heard the sentence to the end. Something was happening to\nhim entirely new, sudden and unknown. It was not that he understood, but\nhe felt clearly with all the intensity of sensation that he could\nnever more appeal to these people in the police-office with sentimental\neffusions like his recent outburst, or with anything whatever; and that\nif they had been his own brothers and sisters and not police-officers,\nit would have been utterly out of the question to appeal to them in any\ncircumstance of life. He had never experienced such a strange and awful\nsensation. And what was most agonising--it was more a sensation than a\nconception or idea, a direct sensation, the most agonising of all the\nsensations he had known in his life.\n\nThe head clerk began dictating to him the usual form of declaration,\nthat he could not pay, that he undertook to do so at a future date, that\nhe would not leave the town, nor sell his property, and so on.\n\n\"But you can't write, you can hardly hold the pen,\" observed the head\nclerk, looking with curiosity at Raskolnikov. \"Are you ill?\"\n\n\"Yes, I am giddy. Go on!\"\n\n\"That's all. Sign it.\"\n\nThe head clerk took the paper, and turned to attend to others.\n\nRaskolnikov gave back the pen; but instead of getting up and going away,\nhe put his elbows on the table and pressed his head in his hands. He\nfelt as if a nail were being driven into his skull. A strange idea\nsuddenly occurred to him, to get up at once, to go up to Nikodim\nFomitch, and tell him everything that had happened yesterday, and then\nto go with him to his lodgings and to show him the things in the hole\nin the corner. The impulse was so strong that he got up from his seat\nto carry it out. \"Hadn't I better think a minute?\" flashed through his\nmind. \"No, better cast off the burden without thinking.\" But all at once\nhe stood still, rooted to the spot. Nikodim Fomitch was talking eagerly\nwith Ilya Petrovitch, and the words reached him:\n\n\"It's impossible, they'll both be released. To begin with, the whole\nstory contradicts itself. Why should they have called the porter, if it\nhad been their doing? To inform against themselves? Or as a blind? No,\nthat would be too cunning! Besides, Pestryakov, the student, was seen at\nthe gate by both the porters and a woman as he went in. He was walking\nwith three friends, who left him only at the gate, and he asked the\nporters to direct him, in the presence of the friends. Now, would he\nhave asked his way if he had been going with such an object? As for\nKoch, he spent half an hour at the silversmith's below, before he went\nup to the old woman and he left him at exactly a quarter to eight. Now\njust consider...\"\n\n\"But excuse me, how do you explain this contradiction? They state\nthemselves that they knocked and the door was locked; yet three minutes\nlater when they went up with the porter, it turned out the door was\nunfastened.\"\n\n\"That's just it; the murderer must have been there and bolted himself\nin; and they'd have caught him for a certainty if Koch had not been\nan ass and gone to look for the porter too. _He_ must have seized the\ninterval to get downstairs and slip by them somehow. Koch keeps crossing\nhimself and saying: 'If I had been there, he would have jumped out and\nkilled me with his axe.' He is going to have a thanksgiving service--ha,\nha!\"\n\n\"And no one saw the murderer?\"\n\n\"They might well not see him; the house is a regular Noah's Ark,\" said\nthe head clerk, who was listening.\n\n\"It's clear, quite clear,\" Nikodim Fomitch repeated warmly.\n\n\"No, it is anything but clear,\" Ilya Petrovitch maintained.\n\nRaskolnikov picked up his hat and walked towards the door, but he did\nnot reach it....\n\nWhen he recovered consciousness, he found himself sitting in a chair,\nsupported by someone on the right side, while someone else was standing\non the left, holding a yellowish glass filled with yellow water, and\nNikodim Fomitch standing before him, looking intently at him. He got up\nfrom the chair.\n\n\"What's this? Are you ill?\" Nikodim Fomitch asked, rather sharply.\n\n\"He could hardly hold his pen when he was signing,\" said the head clerk,\nsettling back in his place, and taking up his work again.\n\n\"Have you been ill long?\" cried Ilya Petrovitch from his place, where\nhe, too, was looking through papers. He had, of course, come to look at\nthe sick man when he fainted, but retired at once when he recovered.\n\n\"Since yesterday,\" muttered Raskolnikov in reply.\n\n\"Did you go out yesterday?\"\n\n\"Yes.\"\n\n\"Though you were ill?\"\n\n\"Yes.\"\n\n\"At what time?\"\n\n\"About seven.\"\n\n\"And where did you go, may I ask?\"\n\n\"Along the street.\"\n\n\"Short and clear.\"\n\nRaskolnikov, white as a handkerchief, had answered sharply, jerkily,\nwithout dropping his black feverish eyes before Ilya Petrovitch's stare.\n\n\"He can scarcely stand upright. And you...\" Nikodim Fomitch was\nbeginning.\n\n\"No matter,\" Ilya Petrovitch pronounced rather peculiarly.\n\nNikodim Fomitch would have made some further protest, but glancing at\nthe head clerk who was looking very hard at him, he did not speak. There\nwas a sudden silence. It was strange.\n\n\"Very well, then,\" concluded Ilya Petrovitch, \"we will not detain you.\"\n\nRaskolnikov went out. He caught the sound of eager conversation on his\ndeparture, and above the rest rose the questioning voice of Nikodim\nFomitch. In the street, his faintness passed off completely.\n\n\"A search--there will be a search at once,\" he repeated to himself,\nhurrying home. \"The brutes! they suspect.\"\n\nHis former terror mastered him completely again.\n\n\n\nCHAPTER II\n\n\"And what if there has been a search already? What if I find them in my\nroom?\"\n\nBut here was his room. Nothing and no one in it. No one had peeped in.\nEven Nastasya had not touched it. But heavens! how could he have left\nall those things in the hole?\n\nHe rushed to the corner, slipped his hand under the paper, pulled the\nthings out and lined his pockets with them. There were eight articles in\nall: two little boxes with ear-rings or something of the sort, he hardly\nlooked to see; then four small leather cases. There was a chain, too,\nmerely wrapped in newspaper and something else in newspaper, that looked\nlike a decoration.... He put them all in the different pockets of his\novercoat, and the remaining pocket of his trousers, trying to conceal\nthem as much as possible. He took the purse, too. Then he went out of\nhis room, leaving the door open. He walked quickly and resolutely, and\nthough he felt shattered, he had his senses about him. He was afraid of\npursuit, he was afraid that in another half-hour, another quarter of an\nhour perhaps, instructions would be issued for his pursuit, and so at\nall costs, he must hide all traces before then. He must clear everything\nup while he still had some strength, some reasoning power left him....\nWhere was he to go?\n\nThat had long been settled: \"Fling them into the canal, and all traces\nhidden in the water, the thing would be at an end.\" So he had decided in\nthe night of his delirium when several times he had had the impulse to\nget up and go away, to make haste, and get rid of it all. But to get\nrid of it, turned out to be a very difficult task. He wandered along\nthe bank of the Ekaterininsky Canal for half an hour or more and looked\nseveral times at the steps running down to the water, but he could not\nthink of carrying out his plan; either rafts stood at the steps' edge,\nand women were washing clothes on them, or boats were moored there, and\npeople were swarming everywhere. Moreover he could be seen and noticed\nfrom the banks on all sides; it would look suspicious for a man to go\ndown on purpose, stop, and throw something into the water. And what if\nthe boxes were to float instead of sinking? And of course they would.\nEven as it was, everyone he met seemed to stare and look round, as if\nthey had nothing to do but to watch him. \"Why is it, or can it be my\nfancy?\" he thought.\n\nAt last the thought struck him that it might be better to go to the\nNeva. There were not so many people there, he would be less observed,\nand it would be more convenient in every way, above all it was further\noff. He wondered how he could have been wandering for a good half-hour,\nworried and anxious in this dangerous past without thinking of it\nbefore. And that half-hour he had lost over an irrational plan, simply\nbecause he had thought of it in delirium! He had become extremely absent\nand forgetful and he was aware of it. He certainly must make haste.\n\nHe walked towards the Neva along V---- Prospect, but on the way\nanother idea struck him. \"Why to the Neva? Would it not be better to go\nsomewhere far off, to the Islands again, and there hide the things\nin some solitary place, in a wood or under a bush, and mark the spot\nperhaps?\" And though he felt incapable of clear judgment, the idea\nseemed to him a sound one. But he was not destined to go there. For\ncoming out of V---- Prospect towards the square, he saw on the left a\npassage leading between two blank walls to a courtyard. On the right\nhand, the blank unwhitewashed wall of a four-storied house stretched far\ninto the court; on the left, a wooden hoarding ran parallel with it for\ntwenty paces into the court, and then turned sharply to the left. Here\nwas a deserted fenced-off place where rubbish of different sorts was\nlying. At the end of the court, the corner of a low, smutty, stone shed,\napparently part of some workshop, peeped from behind the hoarding. It\nwas probably a carriage builder's or carpenter's shed; the whole place\nfrom the entrance was black with coal dust. Here would be the place to\nthrow it, he thought. Not seeing anyone in the yard, he slipped in, and\nat once saw near the gate a sink, such as is often put in yards where\nthere are many workmen or cab-drivers; and on the hoarding above had\nbeen scribbled in chalk the time-honoured witticism, \"Standing here\nstrictly forbidden.\" This was all the better, for there would be nothing\nsuspicious about his going in. \"Here I could throw it all in a heap and\nget away!\"\n\nLooking round once more, with his hand already in his pocket, he noticed\nagainst the outer wall, between the entrance and the sink, a big unhewn\nstone, weighing perhaps sixty pounds. The other side of the wall was a\nstreet. He could hear passers-by, always numerous in that part, but he\ncould not be seen from the entrance, unless someone came in from the\nstreet, which might well happen indeed, so there was need of haste.\n\nHe bent down over the stone, seized the top of it firmly in both hands,\nand using all his strength turned it over. Under the stone was a small\nhollow in the ground, and he immediately emptied his pocket into it.\nThe purse lay at the top, and yet the hollow was not filled up. Then he\nseized the stone again and with one twist turned it back, so that it was\nin the same position again, though it stood a very little higher. But\nhe scraped the earth about it and pressed it at the edges with his foot.\nNothing could be noticed.\n\nThen he went out, and turned into the square. Again an intense,\nalmost unbearable joy overwhelmed him for an instant, as it had in\nthe police-office. \"I have buried my tracks! And who, who can think of\nlooking under that stone? It has been lying there most likely ever since\nthe house was built, and will lie as many years more. And if it were\nfound, who would think of me? It is all over! No clue!\" And he laughed.\nYes, he remembered that he began laughing a thin, nervous noiseless\nlaugh, and went on laughing all the time he was crossing the square. But\nwhen he reached the K---- Boulevard where two days before he had come\nupon that girl, his laughter suddenly ceased. Other ideas crept into his\nmind. He felt all at once that it would be loathsome to pass that seat\non which after the girl was gone, he had sat and pondered, and that it\nwould be hateful, too, to meet that whiskered policeman to whom he had\ngiven the twenty copecks: \"Damn him!\"\n\nHe walked, looking about him angrily and distractedly. All his ideas now\nseemed to be circling round some single point, and he felt that there\nreally was such a point, and that now, now, he was left facing that\npoint--and for the first time, indeed, during the last two months.\n\n\"Damn it all!\" he thought suddenly, in a fit of ungovernable fury.\n\"If it has begun, then it has begun. Hang the new life! Good Lord, how\nstupid it is!... And what lies I told to-day! How despicably I fawned\nupon that wretched Ilya Petrovitch! But that is all folly! What do I\ncare for them all, and my fawning upon them! It is not that at all! It\nis not that at all!\"\n\nSuddenly he stopped; a new utterly unexpected and exceedingly simple\nquestion perplexed and bitterly confounded him.\n\n\"If it all has really been done deliberately and not idiotically, if\nI really had a certain and definite object, how is it I did not even\nglance into the purse and don't know what I had there, for which I have\nundergone these agonies, and have deliberately undertaken this base,\nfilthy degrading business? And here I wanted at once to throw into the\nwater the purse together with all the things which I had not seen\neither... how's that?\"\n\nYes, that was so, that was all so. Yet he had known it all before, and\nit was not a new question for him, even when it was decided in the night\nwithout hesitation and consideration, as though so it must be, as though\nit could not possibly be otherwise.... Yes, he had known it all, and\nunderstood it all; it surely had all been settled even yesterday at the\nmoment when he was bending over the box and pulling the jewel-cases out\nof it.... Yes, so it was.\n\n\"It is because I am very ill,\" he decided grimly at last, \"I have been\nworrying and fretting myself, and I don't know what I am doing....\nYesterday and the day before yesterday and all this time I have been\nworrying myself.... I shall get well and I shall not worry.... But what\nif I don't get well at all? Good God, how sick I am of it all!\"\n\nHe walked on without resting. He had a terrible longing for some\ndistraction, but he did not know what to do, what to attempt. A new\noverwhelming sensation was gaining more and more mastery over him\nevery moment; this was an immeasurable, almost physical, repulsion for\neverything surrounding him, an obstinate, malignant feeling of hatred.\nAll who met him were loathsome to him--he loathed their faces, their\nmovements, their gestures. If anyone had addressed him, he felt that he\nmight have spat at him or bitten him....\n\nHe stopped suddenly, on coming out on the bank of the Little Neva, near\nthe bridge to Vassilyevsky Ostrov. \"Why, he lives here, in that house,\"\nhe thought, \"why, I have not come to Razumihin of my own accord! Here\nit's the same thing over again.... Very interesting to know, though;\nhave I come on purpose or have I simply walked here by chance? Never\nmind, I said the day before yesterday that I would go and see him the\nday _after_; well, and so I will! Besides I really cannot go further\nnow.\"\n\nHe went up to Razumihin's room on the fifth floor.\n\nThe latter was at home in his garret, busily writing at the moment, and\nhe opened the door himself. It was four months since they had seen each\nother. Razumihin was sitting in a ragged dressing-gown, with slippers on\nhis bare feet, unkempt, unshaven and unwashed. His face showed surprise.\n\n\"Is it you?\" he cried. He looked his comrade up and down; then after a\nbrief pause, he whistled. \"As hard up as all that! Why, brother, you've\ncut me out!\" he added, looking at Raskolnikov's rags. \"Come sit down,\nyou are tired, I'll be bound.\"\n\nAnd when he had sunk down on the American leather sofa, which was\nin even worse condition than his own, Razumihin saw at once that his\nvisitor was ill.\n\n\"Why, you are seriously ill, do you know that?\" He began feeling his\npulse. Raskolnikov pulled away his hand.\n\n\"Never mind,\" he said, \"I have come for this: I have no lessons.... I\nwanted,... but I don't really want lessons....\"\n\n\"But I say! You are delirious, you know!\" Razumihin observed, watching\nhim carefully.\n\n\"No, I am not.\"\n\nRaskolnikov got up from the sofa. As he had mounted the stairs to\nRazumihin's, he had not realised that he would be meeting his friend\nface to face. Now, in a flash, he knew, that what he was least of all\ndisposed for at that moment was to be face to face with anyone in the\nwide world. His spleen rose within him. He almost choked with rage at\nhimself as soon as he crossed Razumihin's threshold.\n\n\"Good-bye,\" he said abruptly, and walked to the door.\n\n\"Stop, stop! You queer fish.\"\n\n\"I don't want to,\" said the other, again pulling away his hand.\n\n\"Then why the devil have you come? Are you mad, or what? Why, this\nis... almost insulting! I won't let you go like that.\"\n\n\"Well, then, I came to you because I know no one but you who could\nhelp... to begin... because you are kinder than anyone--cleverer, I\nmean, and can judge... and now I see that I want nothing. Do you hear?\nNothing at all... no one's services... no one's sympathy. I am by\nmyself... alone. Come, that's enough. Leave me alone.\"\n\n\"Stay a minute, you sweep! You are a perfect madman. As you like for all\nI care. I have no lessons, do you see, and I don't care about that, but\nthere's a bookseller, Heruvimov--and he takes the place of a lesson.\nI would not exchange him for five lessons. He's doing publishing of a\nkind, and issuing natural science manuals and what a circulation they\nhave! The very titles are worth the money! You always maintained that I\nwas a fool, but by Jove, my boy, there are greater fools than I am!\nNow he is setting up for being advanced, not that he has an inkling of\nanything, but, of course, I encourage him. Here are two signatures of\nthe German text--in my opinion, the crudest charlatanism; it discusses\nthe question, 'Is woman a human being?' And, of course, triumphantly\nproves that she is. Heruvimov is going to bring out this work as a\ncontribution to the woman question; I am translating it; he will expand\nthese two and a half signatures into six, we shall make up a gorgeous\ntitle half a page long and bring it out at half a rouble. It will do! He\npays me six roubles the signature, it works out to about fifteen roubles\nfor the job, and I've had six already in advance. When we have finished\nthis, we are going to begin a translation about whales, and then some of\nthe dullest scandals out of the second part of _Les Confessions_ we have\nmarked for translation; somebody has told Heruvimov, that Rousseau was\na kind of Radishchev. You may be sure I don't contradict him, hang him!\nWell, would you like to do the second signature of '_Is woman a human\nbeing?_' If you would, take the German and pens and paper--all those\nare provided, and take three roubles; for as I have had six roubles in\nadvance on the whole thing, three roubles come to you for your share.\nAnd when you have finished the signature there will be another three\nroubles for you. And please don't think I am doing you a service; quite\nthe contrary, as soon as you came in, I saw how you could help me; to\nbegin with, I am weak in spelling, and secondly, I am sometimes utterly\nadrift in German, so that I make it up as I go along for the most part.\nThe only comfort is, that it's bound to be a change for the better.\nThough who can tell, maybe it's sometimes for the worse. Will you take\nit?\"\n\nRaskolnikov took the German sheets in silence, took the three roubles\nand without a word went out. Razumihin gazed after him in astonishment.\nBut when Raskolnikov was in the next street, he turned back, mounted the\nstairs to Razumihin's again and laying on the table the German article\nand the three roubles, went out again, still without uttering a word.\n\n\"Are you raving, or what?\" Razumihin shouted, roused to fury at last.\n\"What farce is this? You'll drive me crazy too... what did you come to\nsee me for, damn you?\"\n\n\"I don't want... translation,\" muttered Raskolnikov from the stairs.\n\n\"Then what the devil do you want?\" shouted Razumihin from above.\nRaskolnikov continued descending the staircase in silence.\n\n\"Hey, there! Where are you living?\"\n\nNo answer.\n\n\"Well, confound you then!\"\n\nBut Raskolnikov was already stepping into the street. On the Nikolaevsky\nBridge he was roused to full consciousness again by an unpleasant\nincident. A coachman, after shouting at him two or three times, gave him\na violent lash on the back with his whip, for having almost fallen under\nhis horses' hoofs. The lash so infuriated him that he dashed away to the\nrailing (for some unknown reason he had been walking in the very middle\nof the bridge in the traffic). He angrily clenched and ground his teeth.\nHe heard laughter, of course.\n\n\"Serves him right!\"\n\n\"A pickpocket I dare say.\"\n\n\"Pretending to be drunk, for sure, and getting under the wheels on\npurpose; and you have to answer for him.\"\n\n\"It's a regular profession, that's what it is.\"\n\nBut while he stood at the railing, still looking angry and bewildered\nafter the retreating carriage, and rubbing his back, he suddenly felt\nsomeone thrust money into his hand. He looked. It was an elderly woman\nin a kerchief and goatskin shoes, with a girl, probably her daughter,\nwearing a hat, and carrying a green parasol.\n\n\"Take it, my good man, in Christ's name.\"\n\nHe took it and they passed on. It was a piece of twenty copecks. From\nhis dress and appearance they might well have taken him for a beggar\nasking alms in the streets, and the gift of the twenty copecks he\ndoubtless owed to the blow, which made them feel sorry for him.\n\nHe closed his hand on the twenty copecks, walked on for ten paces, and\nturned facing the Neva, looking towards the palace. The sky was without\na cloud and the water was almost bright blue, which is so rare in the\nNeva. The cupola of the cathedral, which is seen at its best from the\nbridge about twenty paces from the chapel, glittered in the sunlight,\nand in the pure air every ornament on it could be clearly distinguished.\nThe pain from the lash went off, and Raskolnikov forgot about it; one\nuneasy and not quite definite idea occupied him now completely. He stood\nstill, and gazed long and intently into the distance; this spot was\nespecially familiar to him. When he was attending the university, he had\nhundreds of times--generally on his way home--stood still on this spot,\ngazed at this truly magnificent spectacle and almost always marvelled at\na vague and mysterious emotion it roused in him. It left him strangely\ncold; this gorgeous picture was for him blank and lifeless. He wondered\nevery time at his sombre and enigmatic impression and, mistrusting\nhimself, put off finding the explanation of it. He vividly recalled\nthose old doubts and perplexities, and it seemed to him that it was\nno mere chance that he recalled them now. It struck him as strange and\ngrotesque, that he should have stopped at the same spot as before,\nas though he actually imagined he could think the same thoughts, be\ninterested in the same theories and pictures that had interested him...\nso short a time ago. He felt it almost amusing, and yet it wrung his\nheart. Deep down, hidden far away out of sight all that seemed to him\nnow--all his old past, his old thoughts, his old problems and theories,\nhis old impressions and that picture and himself and all, all.... He\nfelt as though he were flying upwards, and everything were vanishing\nfrom his sight. Making an unconscious movement with his hand, he\nsuddenly became aware of the piece of money in his fist. He opened his\nhand, stared at the coin, and with a sweep of his arm flung it into\nthe water; then he turned and went home. It seemed to him, he had cut\nhimself off from everyone and from everything at that moment.\n\nEvening was coming on when he reached home, so that he must have been\nwalking about six hours. How and where he came back he did not remember.\nUndressing, and quivering like an overdriven horse, he lay down on the\nsofa, drew his greatcoat over him, and at once sank into oblivion....\n\nIt was dusk when he was waked up by a fearful scream. Good God, what a\nscream! Such unnatural sounds, such howling, wailing, grinding, tears,\nblows and curses he had never heard.\n\nHe could never have imagined such brutality, such frenzy. In terror he\nsat up in bed, almost swooning with agony. But the fighting, wailing\nand cursing grew louder and louder. And then to his intense amazement\nhe caught the voice of his landlady. She was howling, shrieking and\nwailing, rapidly, hurriedly, incoherently, so that he could not make\nout what she was talking about; she was beseeching, no doubt, not to be\nbeaten, for she was being mercilessly beaten on the stairs. The voice of\nher assailant was so horrible from spite and rage that it was almost\na croak; but he, too, was saying something, and just as quickly\nand indistinctly, hurrying and spluttering. All at once Raskolnikov\ntrembled; he recognised the voice--it was the voice of Ilya Petrovitch.\nIlya Petrovitch here and beating the landlady! He is kicking her,\nbanging her head against the steps--that's clear, that can be told\nfrom the sounds, from the cries and the thuds. How is it, is the world\ntopsy-turvy? He could hear people running in crowds from all the storeys\nand all the staircases; he heard voices, exclamations, knocking, doors\nbanging. \"But why, why, and how could it be?\" he repeated, thinking\nseriously that he had gone mad. But no, he heard too distinctly! And\nthey would come to him then next, \"for no doubt... it's all about\nthat... about yesterday.... Good God!\" He would have fastened his door\nwith the latch, but he could not lift his hand... besides, it would\nbe useless. Terror gripped his heart like ice, tortured him and numbed\nhim.... But at last all this uproar, after continuing about ten minutes,\nbegan gradually to subside. The landlady was moaning and groaning; Ilya\nPetrovitch was still uttering threats and curses.... But at last he,\ntoo, seemed to be silent, and now he could not be heard. \"Can he have\ngone away? Good Lord!\" Yes, and now the landlady is going too, still\nweeping and moaning... and then her door slammed.... Now the crowd was\ngoing from the stairs to their rooms, exclaiming, disputing, calling\nto one another, raising their voices to a shout, dropping them to a\nwhisper. There must have been numbers of them--almost all the inmates\nof the block. \"But, good God, how could it be! And why, why had he come\nhere!\"\n\nRaskolnikov sank worn out on the sofa, but could not close his eyes. He\nlay for half an hour in such anguish, such an intolerable sensation of\ninfinite terror as he had never experienced before. Suddenly a bright\nlight flashed into his room. Nastasya came in with a candle and a plate\nof soup. Looking at him carefully and ascertaining that he was not\nasleep, she set the candle on the table and began to lay out what she\nhad brought--bread, salt, a plate, a spoon.\n\n\"You've eaten nothing since yesterday, I warrant. You've been trudging\nabout all day, and you're shaking with fever.\"\n\n\"Nastasya... what were they beating the landlady for?\"\n\nShe looked intently at him.\n\n\"Who beat the landlady?\"\n\n\"Just now... half an hour ago, Ilya Petrovitch, the assistant\nsuperintendent, on the stairs.... Why was he ill-treating her like that,\nand... why was he here?\"\n\nNastasya scrutinised him, silent and frowning, and her scrutiny lasted a\nlong time. He felt uneasy, even frightened at her searching eyes.\n\n\"Nastasya, why don't you speak?\" he said timidly at last in a weak\nvoice.\n\n\"It's the blood,\" she answered at last softly, as though speaking to\nherself.\n\n\"Blood? What blood?\" he muttered, growing white and turning towards the\nwall.\n\nNastasya still looked at him without speaking.\n\n\"Nobody has been beating the landlady,\" she declared at last in a firm,\nresolute voice.\n\nHe gazed at her, hardly able to breathe.\n\n\"I heard it myself.... I was not asleep... I was sitting up,\" he\nsaid still more timidly. \"I listened a long while. The assistant\nsuperintendent came.... Everyone ran out on to the stairs from all the\nflats.\"\n\n\"No one has been here. That's the blood crying in your ears. When\nthere's no outlet for it and it gets clotted, you begin fancying\nthings.... Will you eat something?\"\n\nHe made no answer. Nastasya still stood over him, watching him.\n\n\"Give me something to drink... Nastasya.\"\n\nShe went downstairs and returned with a white earthenware jug of water.\nHe remembered only swallowing one sip of the cold water and spilling\nsome on his neck. Then followed forgetfulness.\n\n\n\nCHAPTER III\n\nHe was not completely unconscious, however, all the time he was ill; he\nwas in a feverish state, sometimes delirious, sometimes half conscious.\nHe remembered a great deal afterwards. Sometimes it seemed as though\nthere were a number of people round him; they wanted to take him away\nsomewhere, there was a great deal of squabbling and discussing about\nhim. Then he would be alone in the room; they had all gone away afraid\nof him, and only now and then opened the door a crack to look at him;\nthey threatened him, plotted something together, laughed, and mocked\nat him. He remembered Nastasya often at his bedside; he distinguished\nanother person, too, whom he seemed to know very well, though he could\nnot remember who he was, and this fretted him, even made him cry.\nSometimes he fancied he had been lying there a month; at other times\nit all seemed part of the same day. But of _that_--of _that_ he had\nno recollection, and yet every minute he felt that he had forgotten\nsomething he ought to remember. He worried and tormented himself trying\nto remember, moaned, flew into a rage, or sank into awful, intolerable\nterror. Then he struggled to get up, would have run away, but someone\nalways prevented him by force, and he sank back into impotence and\nforgetfulness. At last he returned to complete consciousness.\n\nIt happened at ten o'clock in the morning. On fine days the sun shone\ninto the room at that hour, throwing a streak of light on the right\nwall and the corner near the door. Nastasya was standing beside him\nwith another person, a complete stranger, who was looking at him\nvery inquisitively. He was a young man with a beard, wearing a full,\nshort-waisted coat, and looked like a messenger. The landlady was\npeeping in at the half-opened door. Raskolnikov sat up.\n\n\"Who is this, Nastasya?\" he asked, pointing to the young man.\n\n\"I say, he's himself again!\" she said.\n\n\"He is himself,\" echoed the man.\n\nConcluding that he had returned to his senses, the landlady closed the\ndoor and disappeared. She was always shy and dreaded conversations or\ndiscussions. She was a woman of forty, not at all bad-looking, fat\nand buxom, with black eyes and eyebrows, good-natured from fatness and\nlaziness, and absurdly bashful.\n\n\"Who... are you?\" he went on, addressing the man. But at that moment\nthe door was flung open, and, stooping a little, as he was so tall,\nRazumihin came in.\n\n\"What a cabin it is!\" he cried. \"I am always knocking my head. You call\nthis a lodging! So you are conscious, brother? I've just heard the news\nfrom Pashenka.\"\n\n\"He has just come to,\" said Nastasya.\n\n\"Just come to,\" echoed the man again, with a smile.\n\n\"And who are you?\" Razumihin asked, suddenly addressing him. \"My name is\nVrazumihin, at your service; not Razumihin, as I am always called, but\nVrazumihin, a student and gentleman; and he is my friend. And who are\nyou?\"\n\n\"I am the messenger from our office, from the merchant Shelopaev, and\nI've come on business.\"\n\n\"Please sit down.\" Razumihin seated himself on the other side of the\ntable. \"It's a good thing you've come to, brother,\" he went on to\nRaskolnikov. \"For the last four days you have scarcely eaten or drunk\nanything. We had to give you tea in spoonfuls. I brought Zossimov to see\nyou twice. You remember Zossimov? He examined you carefully and said at\nonce it was nothing serious--something seemed to have gone to your head.\nSome nervous nonsense, the result of bad feeding, he says you have not\nhad enough beer and radish, but it's nothing much, it will pass and you\nwill be all right. Zossimov is a first-rate fellow! He is making quite a\nname. Come, I won't keep you,\" he said, addressing the man again. \"Will\nyou explain what you want? You must know, Rodya, this is the second time\nthey have sent from the office; but it was another man last time, and I\ntalked to him. Who was it came before?\"\n\n\"That was the day before yesterday, I venture to say, if you please,\nsir. That was Alexey Semyonovitch; he is in our office, too.\"\n\n\"He was more intelligent than you, don't you think so?\"\n\n\"Yes, indeed, sir, he is of more weight than I am.\"\n\n\"Quite so; go on.\"\n\n\"At your mamma's request, through Afanasy Ivanovitch Vahrushin, of whom\nI presume you have heard more than once, a remittance is sent to you\nfrom our office,\" the man began, addressing Raskolnikov. \"If you are in\nan intelligible condition, I've thirty-five roubles to remit to you, as\nSemyon Semyonovitch has received from Afanasy Ivanovitch at your mamma's\nrequest instructions to that effect, as on previous occasions. Do you\nknow him, sir?\"\n\n\"Yes, I remember... Vahrushin,\" Raskolnikov said dreamily.\n\n\"You hear, he knows Vahrushin,\" cried Razumihin. \"He is in 'an\nintelligible condition'! And I see you are an intelligent man too. Well,\nit's always pleasant to hear words of wisdom.\"\n\n\"That's the gentleman, Vahrushin, Afanasy Ivanovitch. And at the request\nof your mamma, who has sent you a remittance once before in the\nsame manner through him, he did not refuse this time also, and sent\ninstructions to Semyon Semyonovitch some days since to hand you\nthirty-five roubles in the hope of better to come.\"\n\n\"That 'hoping for better to come' is the best thing you've said, though\n'your mamma' is not bad either. Come then, what do you say? Is he fully\nconscious, eh?\"\n\n\"That's all right. If only he can sign this little paper.\"\n\n\"He can scrawl his name. Have you got the book?\"\n\n\"Yes, here's the book.\"\n\n\"Give it to me. Here, Rodya, sit up. I'll hold you. Take the pen and\nscribble 'Raskolnikov' for him. For just now, brother, money is sweeter\nto us than treacle.\"\n\n\"I don't want it,\" said Raskolnikov, pushing away the pen.\n\n\"Not want it?\"\n\n\"I won't sign it.\"\n\n\"How the devil can you do without signing it?\"\n\n\"I don't want... the money.\"\n\n\"Don't want the money! Come, brother, that's nonsense, I bear witness.\nDon't trouble, please, it's only that he is on his travels again. But\nthat's pretty common with him at all times though.... You are a man of\njudgment and we will take him in hand, that is, more simply, take his\nhand and he will sign it. Here.\"\n\n\"But I can come another time.\"\n\n\"No, no. Why should we trouble you? You are a man of judgment.... Now,\nRodya, don't keep your visitor, you see he is waiting,\" and he made\nready to hold Raskolnikov's hand in earnest.\n\n\"Stop, I'll do it alone,\" said the latter, taking the pen and signing\nhis name.\n\nThe messenger took out the money and went away.\n\n\"Bravo! And now, brother, are you hungry?\"\n\n\"Yes,\" answered Raskolnikov.\n\n\"Is there any soup?\"\n\n\"Some of yesterday's,\" answered Nastasya, who was still standing there.\n\n\"With potatoes and rice in it?\"\n\n\"Yes.\"\n\n\"I know it by heart. Bring soup and give us some tea.\"\n\n\"Very well.\"\n\nRaskolnikov looked at all this with profound astonishment and a dull,\nunreasoning terror. He made up his mind to keep quiet and see what\nwould happen. \"I believe I am not wandering. I believe it's reality,\" he\nthought.\n\nIn a couple of minutes Nastasya returned with the soup, and announced\nthat the tea would be ready directly. With the soup she brought two\nspoons, two plates, salt, pepper, mustard for the beef, and so on. The\ntable was set as it had not been for a long time. The cloth was clean.\n\n\"It would not be amiss, Nastasya, if Praskovya Pavlovna were to send us\nup a couple of bottles of beer. We could empty them.\"\n\n\"Well, you are a cool hand,\" muttered Nastasya, and she departed to\ncarry out his orders.\n\nRaskolnikov still gazed wildly with strained attention. Meanwhile\nRazumihin sat down on the sofa beside him, as clumsily as a bear put his\nleft arm round Raskolnikov's head, although he was able to sit up, and\nwith his right hand gave him a spoonful of soup, blowing on it that\nit might not burn him. But the soup was only just warm. Raskolnikov\nswallowed one spoonful greedily, then a second, then a third. But after\ngiving him a few more spoonfuls of soup, Razumihin suddenly stopped, and\nsaid that he must ask Zossimov whether he ought to have more.\n\nNastasya came in with two bottles of beer.\n\n\"And will you have tea?\"\n\n\"Yes.\"\n\n\"Cut along, Nastasya, and bring some tea, for tea we may venture on\nwithout the faculty. But here is the beer!\" He moved back to his chair,\npulled the soup and meat in front of him, and began eating as though he\nhad not touched food for three days.\n\n\"I must tell you, Rodya, I dine like this here every day now,\" he\nmumbled with his mouth full of beef, \"and it's all Pashenka, your dear\nlittle landlady, who sees to that; she loves to do anything for me. I\ndon't ask for it, but, of course, I don't object. And here's Nastasya\nwith the tea. She is a quick girl. Nastasya, my dear, won't you have\nsome beer?\"\n\n\"Get along with your nonsense!\"\n\n\"A cup of tea, then?\"\n\n\"A cup of tea, maybe.\"\n\n\"Pour it out. Stay, I'll pour it out myself. Sit down.\"\n\nHe poured out two cups, left his dinner, and sat on the sofa again. As\nbefore, he put his left arm round the sick man's head, raised him up\nand gave him tea in spoonfuls, again blowing each spoonful steadily and\nearnestly, as though this process was the principal and most effective\nmeans towards his friend's recovery. Raskolnikov said nothing and made\nno resistance, though he felt quite strong enough to sit up on the sofa\nwithout support and could not merely have held a cup or a spoon, but\neven perhaps could have walked about. But from some queer, almost\nanimal, cunning he conceived the idea of hiding his strength and lying\nlow for a time, pretending if necessary not to be yet in full possession\nof his faculties, and meanwhile listening to find out what was going on.\nYet he could not overcome his sense of repugnance. After sipping a dozen\nspoonfuls of tea, he suddenly released his head, pushed the spoon away\ncapriciously, and sank back on the pillow. There were actually real\npillows under his head now, down pillows in clean cases, he observed\nthat, too, and took note of it.\n\n\"Pashenka must give us some raspberry jam to-day to make him some\nraspberry tea,\" said Razumihin, going back to his chair and attacking\nhis soup and beer again.\n\n\"And where is she to get raspberries for you?\" asked Nastasya, balancing\na saucer on her five outspread fingers and sipping tea through a lump of\nsugar.\n\n\"She'll get it at the shop, my dear. You see, Rodya, all sorts of things\nhave been happening while you have been laid up. When you decamped in\nthat rascally way without leaving your address, I felt so angry that I\nresolved to find you out and punish you. I set to work that very day.\nHow I ran about making inquiries for you! This lodging of yours I had\nforgotten, though I never remembered it, indeed, because I did not know\nit; and as for your old lodgings, I could only remember it was at the\nFive Corners, Harlamov's house. I kept trying to find that Harlamov's\nhouse, and afterwards it turned out that it was not Harlamov's, but\nBuch's. How one muddles up sound sometimes! So I lost my temper, and I\nwent on the chance to the address bureau next day, and only fancy, in\ntwo minutes they looked you up! Your name is down there.\"\n\n\"My name!\"\n\n\"I should think so; and yet a General Kobelev they could not find while\nI was there. Well, it's a long story. But as soon as I did land on this\nplace, I soon got to know all your affairs--all, all, brother, I know\neverything; Nastasya here will tell you. I made the acquaintance of\nNikodim Fomitch and Ilya Petrovitch, and the house-porter and Mr.\nZametov, Alexandr Grigorievitch, the head clerk in the police office,\nand, last, but not least, of Pashenka; Nastasya here knows....\"\n\n\"He's got round her,\" Nastasya murmured, smiling slyly.\n\n\"Why don't you put the sugar in your tea, Nastasya Nikiforovna?\"\n\n\"You are a one!\" Nastasya cried suddenly, going off into a giggle. \"I am\nnot Nikiforovna, but Petrovna,\" she added suddenly, recovering from her\nmirth.\n\n\"I'll make a note of it. Well, brother, to make a long story short,\nI was going in for a regular explosion here to uproot all malignant\ninfluences in the locality, but Pashenka won the day. I had not\nexpected, brother, to find her so... prepossessing. Eh, what do you\nthink?\"\n\nRaskolnikov did not speak, but he still kept his eyes fixed upon him,\nfull of alarm.\n\n\"And all that could be wished, indeed, in every respect,\" Razumihin went\non, not at all embarrassed by his silence.\n\n\"Ah, the sly dog!\" Nastasya shrieked again. This conversation afforded\nher unspeakable delight.\n\n\"It's a pity, brother, that you did not set to work in the right way\nat first. You ought to have approached her differently. She is, so\nto speak, a most unaccountable character. But we will talk about her\ncharacter later.... How could you let things come to such a pass that\nshe gave up sending you your dinner? And that I O U? You must have been\nmad to sign an I O U. And that promise of marriage when her daughter,\nNatalya Yegorovna, was alive?... I know all about it! But I see that's\na delicate matter and I am an ass; forgive me. But, talking of\nfoolishness, do you know Praskovya Pavlovna is not nearly so foolish as\nyou would think at first sight?\"\n\n\"No,\" mumbled Raskolnikov, looking away, but feeling that it was better\nto keep up the conversation.\n\n\"She isn't, is she?\" cried Razumihin, delighted to get an answer out\nof him. \"But she is not very clever either, eh? She is essentially,\nessentially an unaccountable character! I am sometimes quite at a loss,\nI assure you.... She must be forty; she says she is thirty-six, and\nof course she has every right to say so. But I swear I judge her\nintellectually, simply from the metaphysical point of view; there is a\nsort of symbolism sprung up between us, a sort of algebra or what not!\nI don't understand it! Well, that's all nonsense. Only, seeing that you\nare not a student now and have lost your lessons and your clothes, and\nthat through the young lady's death she has no need to treat you as\na relation, she suddenly took fright; and as you hid in your den and\ndropped all your old relations with her, she planned to get rid of you.\nAnd she's been cherishing that design a long time, but was sorry to lose\nthe I O U, for you assured her yourself that your mother would pay.\"\n\n\"It was base of me to say that.... My mother herself is almost\na beggar... and I told a lie to keep my lodging... and be fed,\"\nRaskolnikov said loudly and distinctly.\n\n\"Yes, you did very sensibly. But the worst of it is that at that point\nMr. Tchebarov turns up, a business man. Pashenka would never have\nthought of doing anything on her own account, she is too retiring; but\nthe business man is by no means retiring, and first thing he puts the\nquestion, 'Is there any hope of realising the I O U?' Answer: there is,\nbecause he has a mother who would save her Rodya with her hundred and\ntwenty-five roubles pension, if she has to starve herself; and a sister,\ntoo, who would go into bondage for his sake. That's what he was building\nupon.... Why do you start? I know all the ins and outs of your affairs\nnow, my dear boy--it's not for nothing that you were so open with\nPashenka when you were her prospective son-in-law, and I say all this as\na friend.... But I tell you what it is; an honest and sensitive man is\nopen; and a business man 'listens and goes on eating' you up. Well,\nthen she gave the I O U by way of payment to this Tchebarov, and without\nhesitation he made a formal demand for payment. When I heard of all this\nI wanted to blow him up, too, to clear my conscience, but by that time\nharmony reigned between me and Pashenka, and I insisted on stopping\nthe whole affair, engaging that you would pay. I went security for you,\nbrother. Do you understand? We called Tchebarov, flung him ten\nroubles and got the I O U back from him, and here I have the honour of\npresenting it to you. She trusts your word now. Here, take it, you see I\nhave torn it.\"\n\nRazumihin put the note on the table. Raskolnikov looked at him and\nturned to the wall without uttering a word. Even Razumihin felt a\ntwinge.\n\n\"I see, brother,\" he said a moment later, \"that I have been playing the\nfool again. I thought I should amuse you with my chatter, and I believe\nI have only made you cross.\"\n\n\"Was it you I did not recognise when I was delirious?\" Raskolnikov\nasked, after a moment's pause without turning his head.\n\n\"Yes, and you flew into a rage about it, especially when I brought\nZametov one day.\"\n\n\"Zametov? The head clerk? What for?\" Raskolnikov turned round quickly\nand fixed his eyes on Razumihin.\n\n\"What's the matter with you?... What are you upset about? He wanted to\nmake your acquaintance because I talked to him a lot about you.... How\ncould I have found out so much except from him? He is a capital\nfellow, brother, first-rate... in his own way, of course. Now we are\nfriends--see each other almost every day. I have moved into this part,\nyou know. I have only just moved. I've been with him to Luise Ivanovna\nonce or twice.... Do you remember Luise, Luise Ivanovna?\n\n\"Did I say anything in delirium?\"\n\n\"I should think so! You were beside yourself.\"\n\n\"What did I rave about?\"\n\n\"What next? What did you rave about? What people do rave about.... Well,\nbrother, now I must not lose time. To work.\" He got up from the table\nand took up his cap.\n\n\"What did I rave about?\"\n\n\"How he keeps on! Are you afraid of having let out some secret? Don't\nworry yourself; you said nothing about a countess. But you said a lot\nabout a bulldog, and about ear-rings and chains, and about Krestovsky\nIsland, and some porter, and Nikodim Fomitch and Ilya Petrovitch, the\nassistant superintendent. And another thing that was of special interest\nto you was your own sock. You whined, 'Give me my sock.' Zametov\nhunted all about your room for your socks, and with his own scented,\nring-bedecked fingers he gave you the rag. And only then were you\ncomforted, and for the next twenty-four hours you held the wretched\nthing in your hand; we could not get it from you. It is most likely\nsomewhere under your quilt at this moment. And then you asked so\npiteously for fringe for your trousers. We tried to find out what sort\nof fringe, but we could not make it out. Now to business! Here are\nthirty-five roubles; I take ten of them, and shall give you an account\nof them in an hour or two. I will let Zossimov know at the same time,\nthough he ought to have been here long ago, for it is nearly twelve. And\nyou, Nastasya, look in pretty often while I am away, to see whether he\nwants a drink or anything else. And I will tell Pashenka what is wanted\nmyself. Good-bye!\"\n\n\"He calls her Pashenka! Ah, he's a deep one!\" said Nastasya as he went\nout; then she opened the door and stood listening, but could not resist\nrunning downstairs after him. She was very eager to hear what he would\nsay to the landlady. She was evidently quite fascinated by Razumihin.\n\nNo sooner had she left the room than the sick man flung off the\nbedclothes and leapt out of bed like a madman. With burning, twitching\nimpatience he had waited for them to be gone so that he might set to\nwork. But to what work? Now, as though to spite him, it eluded him.\n\n\"Good God, only tell me one thing: do they know of it yet or not? What\nif they know it and are only pretending, mocking me while I am laid up,\nand then they will come in and tell me that it's been discovered long\nago and that they have only... What am I to do now? That's what I've\nforgotten, as though on purpose; forgotten it all at once, I remembered\na minute ago.\"\n\nHe stood in the middle of the room and gazed in miserable bewilderment\nabout him; he walked to the door, opened it, listened; but that was not\nwhat he wanted. Suddenly, as though recalling something, he rushed to\nthe corner where there was a hole under the paper, began examining it,\nput his hand into the hole, fumbled--but that was not it. He went to the\nstove, opened it and began rummaging in the ashes; the frayed edges of\nhis trousers and the rags cut off his pocket were lying there just as\nhe had thrown them. No one had looked, then! Then he remembered the sock\nabout which Razumihin had just been telling him. Yes, there it lay on\nthe sofa under the quilt, but it was so covered with dust and grime that\nZametov could not have seen anything on it.\n\n\"Bah, Zametov! The police office! And why am I sent for to the police\noffice? Where's the notice? Bah! I am mixing it up; that was then. I\nlooked at my sock then, too, but now... now I have been ill. But\nwhat did Zametov come for? Why did Razumihin bring him?\" he muttered,\nhelplessly sitting on the sofa again. \"What does it mean? Am I still in\ndelirium, or is it real? I believe it is real.... Ah, I remember; I must\nescape! Make haste to escape. Yes, I must, I must escape! Yes... but\nwhere? And where are my clothes? I've no boots. They've taken them away!\nThey've hidden them! I understand! Ah, here is my coat--they passed that\nover! And here is money on the table, thank God! And here's the I O U...\nI'll take the money and go and take another lodging. They won't find\nme!... Yes, but the address bureau? They'll find me, Razumihin will find\nme. Better escape altogether... far away... to America, and let them\ndo their worst! And take the I O U... it would be of use there.... What\nelse shall I take? They think I am ill! They don't know that I can walk,\nha-ha-ha! I could see by their eyes that they know all about it! If\nonly I could get downstairs! And what if they have set a watch\nthere--policemen! What's this tea? Ah, and here is beer left, half a\nbottle, cold!\"\n\nHe snatched up the bottle, which still contained a glassful of beer, and\ngulped it down with relish, as though quenching a flame in his breast.\nBut in another minute the beer had gone to his head, and a faint and\neven pleasant shiver ran down his spine. He lay down and pulled the\nquilt over him. His sick and incoherent thoughts grew more and more\ndisconnected, and soon a light, pleasant drowsiness came upon him. With\na sense of comfort he nestled his head into the pillow, wrapped more\nclosely about him the soft, wadded quilt which had replaced the old,\nragged greatcoat, sighed softly and sank into a deep, sound, refreshing\nsleep.\n\nHe woke up, hearing someone come in. He opened his eyes and saw\nRazumihin standing in the doorway, uncertain whether to come in or\nnot. Raskolnikov sat up quickly on the sofa and gazed at him, as though\ntrying to recall something.\n\n\"Ah, you are not asleep! Here I am! Nastasya, bring in the parcel!\"\nRazumihin shouted down the stairs. \"You shall have the account\ndirectly.\"\n\n\"What time is it?\" asked Raskolnikov, looking round uneasily.\n\n\"Yes, you had a fine sleep, brother, it's almost evening, it will be six\no'clock directly. You have slept more than six hours.\"\n\n\"Good heavens! Have I?\"\n\n\"And why not? It will do you good. What's the hurry? A tryst, is it?\nWe've all time before us. I've been waiting for the last three hours for\nyou; I've been up twice and found you asleep. I've called on Zossimov\ntwice; not at home, only fancy! But no matter, he will turn up. And\nI've been out on my own business, too. You know I've been moving to-day,\nmoving with my uncle. I have an uncle living with me now. But that's\nno matter, to business. Give me the parcel, Nastasya. We will open it\ndirectly. And how do you feel now, brother?\"\n\n\"I am quite well, I am not ill. Razumihin, have you been here long?\"\n\n\"I tell you I've been waiting for the last three hours.\"\n\n\"No, before.\"\n\n\"How do you mean?\"\n\n\"How long have you been coming here?\"\n\n\"Why I told you all about it this morning. Don't you remember?\"\n\nRaskolnikov pondered. The morning seemed like a dream to him. He could\nnot remember alone, and looked inquiringly at Razumihin.\n\n\"Hm!\" said the latter, \"he has forgotten. I fancied then that you were\nnot quite yourself. Now you are better for your sleep.... You really\nlook much better. First-rate! Well, to business. Look here, my dear\nboy.\"\n\nHe began untying the bundle, which evidently interested him.\n\n\"Believe me, brother, this is something specially near my heart. For we\nmust make a man of you. Let's begin from the top. Do you see this\ncap?\" he said, taking out of the bundle a fairly good though cheap and\nordinary cap. \"Let me try it on.\"\n\n\"Presently, afterwards,\" said Raskolnikov, waving it off pettishly.\n\n\"Come, Rodya, my boy, don't oppose it, afterwards will be too late; and\nI shan't sleep all night, for I bought it by guess, without measure.\nJust right!\" he cried triumphantly, fitting it on, \"just your size! A\nproper head-covering is the first thing in dress and a recommendation in\nits own way. Tolstyakov, a friend of mine, is always obliged to take off\nhis pudding basin when he goes into any public place where other\npeople wear their hats or caps. People think he does it from slavish\npoliteness, but it's simply because he is ashamed of his bird's nest;\nhe is such a boastful fellow! Look, Nastasya, here are two specimens of\nheadgear: this Palmerston\"--he took from the corner Raskolnikov's old,\nbattered hat, which for some unknown reason, he called a Palmerston--\"or\nthis jewel! Guess the price, Rodya, what do you suppose I paid for it,\nNastasya!\" he said, turning to her, seeing that Raskolnikov did not\nspeak.\n\n\"Twenty copecks, no more, I dare say,\" answered Nastasya.\n\n\"Twenty copecks, silly!\" he cried, offended. \"Why, nowadays you would\ncost more than that--eighty copecks! And that only because it has been\nworn. And it's bought on condition that when's it's worn out, they will\ngive you another next year. Yes, on my word! Well, now let us pass to\nthe United States of America, as they called them at school. I assure\nyou I am proud of these breeches,\" and he exhibited to Raskolnikov a\npair of light, summer trousers of grey woollen material. \"No holes, no\nspots, and quite respectable, although a little worn; and a waistcoat\nto match, quite in the fashion. And its being worn really is an\nimprovement, it's softer, smoother.... You see, Rodya, to my thinking,\nthe great thing for getting on in the world is always to keep to the\nseasons; if you don't insist on having asparagus in January, you keep\nyour money in your purse; and it's the same with this purchase. It's\nsummer now, so I've been buying summer things--warmer materials will be\nwanted for autumn, so you will have to throw these away in any case...\nespecially as they will be done for by then from their own lack of\ncoherence if not your higher standard of luxury. Come, price them! What\ndo you say? Two roubles twenty-five copecks! And remember the condition:\nif you wear these out, you will have another suit for nothing! They only\ndo business on that system at Fedyaev's; if you've bought a thing once,\nyou are satisfied for life, for you will never go there again of your\nown free will. Now for the boots. What do you say? You see that they are\na bit worn, but they'll last a couple of months, for it's foreign work\nand foreign leather; the secretary of the English Embassy sold them last\nweek--he had only worn them six days, but he was very short of cash.\nPrice--a rouble and a half. A bargain?\"\n\n\"But perhaps they won't fit,\" observed Nastasya.\n\n\"Not fit? Just look!\" and he pulled out of his pocket Raskolnikov's\nold, broken boot, stiffly coated with dry mud. \"I did not go\nempty-handed--they took the size from this monster. We all did our best.\nAnd as to your linen, your landlady has seen to that. Here, to begin\nwith are three shirts, hempen but with a fashionable front.... Well\nnow then, eighty copecks the cap, two roubles twenty-five copecks the\nsuit--together three roubles five copecks--a rouble and a half for the\nboots--for, you see, they are very good--and that makes four roubles\nfifty-five copecks; five roubles for the underclothes--they were\nbought in the lo--which makes exactly nine roubles fifty-five copecks.\nForty-five copecks change in coppers. Will you take it? And so, Rodya,\nyou are set up with a complete new rig-out, for your overcoat will\nserve, and even has a style of its own. That comes from getting one's\nclothes from Sharmer's! As for your socks and other things, I leave them\nto you; we've twenty-five roubles left. And as for Pashenka and paying\nfor your lodging, don't you worry. I tell you she'll trust you for\nanything. And now, brother, let me change your linen, for I daresay you\nwill throw off your illness with your shirt.\"\n\n\"Let me be! I don't want to!\" Raskolnikov waved him off. He had listened\nwith disgust to Razumihin's efforts to be playful about his purchases.\n\n\"Come, brother, don't tell me I've been trudging around for nothing,\"\nRazumihin insisted. \"Nastasya, don't be bashful, but help me--that's\nit,\" and in spite of Raskolnikov's resistance he changed his linen. The\nlatter sank back on the pillows and for a minute or two said nothing.\n\n\"It will be long before I get rid of them,\" he thought. \"What money was\nall that bought with?\" he asked at last, gazing at the wall.\n\n\"Money? Why, your own, what the messenger brought from Vahrushin, your\nmother sent it. Have you forgotten that, too?\"\n\n\"I remember now,\" said Raskolnikov after a long, sullen silence.\nRazumihin looked at him, frowning and uneasy.\n\nThe door opened and a tall, stout man whose appearance seemed familiar\nto Raskolnikov came in.\n\n\n\nCHAPTER IV\n\nZossimov was a tall, fat man with a puffy, colourless, clean-shaven face\nand straight flaxen hair. He wore spectacles, and a big gold ring on\nhis fat finger. He was twenty-seven. He had on a light grey fashionable\nloose coat, light summer trousers, and everything about him loose,\nfashionable and spick and span; his linen was irreproachable, his\nwatch-chain was massive. In manner he was slow and, as it were,\nnonchalant, and at the same time studiously free and easy; he made\nefforts to conceal his self-importance, but it was apparent at every\ninstant. All his acquaintances found him tedious, but said he was clever\nat his work.\n\n\"I've been to you twice to-day, brother. You see, he's come to himself,\"\ncried Razumihin.\n\n\"I see, I see; and how do we feel now, eh?\" said Zossimov to\nRaskolnikov, watching him carefully and, sitting down at the foot of the\nsofa, he settled himself as comfortably as he could.\n\n\"He is still depressed,\" Razumihin went on. \"We've just changed his\nlinen and he almost cried.\"\n\n\"That's very natural; you might have put it off if he did not wish\nit.... His pulse is first-rate. Is your head still aching, eh?\"\n\n\"I am well, I am perfectly well!\" Raskolnikov declared positively\nand irritably. He raised himself on the sofa and looked at them with\nglittering eyes, but sank back on to the pillow at once and turned to\nthe wall. Zossimov watched him intently.\n\n\"Very good.... Going on all right,\" he said lazily. \"Has he eaten\nanything?\"\n\nThey told him, and asked what he might have.\n\n\"He may have anything... soup, tea... mushrooms and cucumbers, of\ncourse, you must not give him; he'd better not have meat either, and...\nbut no need to tell you that!\" Razumihin and he looked at each\nother. \"No more medicine or anything. I'll look at him again to-morrow.\nPerhaps, to-day even... but never mind...\"\n\n\"To-morrow evening I shall take him for a walk,\" said Razumihin. \"We are\ngoing to the Yusupov garden and then to the Palais de Crystal.\"\n\n\"I would not disturb him to-morrow at all, but I don't know... a little,\nmaybe... but we'll see.\"\n\n\"Ach, what a nuisance! I've got a house-warming party to-night; it's\nonly a step from here. Couldn't he come? He could lie on the sofa. You\nare coming?\" Razumihin said to Zossimov. \"Don't forget, you promised.\"\n\n\"All right, only rather later. What are you going to do?\"\n\n\"Oh, nothing--tea, vodka, herrings. There will be a pie... just our\nfriends.\"\n\n\"And who?\"\n\n\"All neighbours here, almost all new friends, except my old uncle, and\nhe is new too--he only arrived in Petersburg yesterday to see to some\nbusiness of his. We meet once in five years.\"\n\n\"What is he?\"\n\n\"He's been stagnating all his life as a district postmaster; gets a\nlittle pension. He is sixty-five--not worth talking about.... But I\nam fond of him. Porfiry Petrovitch, the head of the Investigation\nDepartment here... But you know him.\"\n\n\"Is he a relation of yours, too?\"\n\n\"A very distant one. But why are you scowling? Because you quarrelled\nonce, won't you come then?\"\n\n\"I don't care a damn for him.\"\n\n\"So much the better. Well, there will be some students, a teacher, a\ngovernment clerk, a musician, an officer and Zametov.\"\n\n\"Do tell me, please, what you or he\"--Zossimov nodded at\nRaskolnikov--\"can have in common with this Zametov?\"\n\n\"Oh, you particular gentleman! Principles! You are worked by principles,\nas it were by springs; you won't venture to turn round on your own\naccount. If a man is a nice fellow, that's the only principle I go upon.\nZametov is a delightful person.\"\n\n\"Though he does take bribes.\"\n\n\"Well, he does! and what of it? I don't care if he does take bribes,\"\nRazumihin cried with unnatural irritability. \"I don't praise him for\ntaking bribes. I only say he is a nice man in his own way! But if one\nlooks at men in all ways--are there many good ones left? Why, I am sure\nI shouldn't be worth a baked onion myself... perhaps with you thrown\nin.\"\n\n\"That's too little; I'd give two for you.\"\n\n\"And I wouldn't give more than one for you. No more of your jokes!\nZametov is no more than a boy. I can pull his hair and one must draw him\nnot repel him. You'll never improve a man by repelling him, especially\na boy. One has to be twice as careful with a boy. Oh, you progressive\ndullards! You don't understand. You harm yourselves running another man\ndown.... But if you want to know, we really have something in common.\"\n\n\"I should like to know what.\"\n\n\"Why, it's all about a house-painter.... We are getting him out of\na mess! Though indeed there's nothing to fear now. The matter is\nabsolutely self-evident. We only put on steam.\"\n\n\"A painter?\"\n\n\"Why, haven't I told you about it? I only told you the beginning then\nabout the murder of the old pawnbroker-woman. Well, the painter is mixed\nup in it...\"\n\n\"Oh, I heard about that murder before and was rather interested in it...\npartly... for one reason.... I read about it in the papers, too....\"\n\n\"Lizaveta was murdered, too,\" Nastasya blurted out, suddenly addressing\nRaskolnikov. She remained in the room all the time, standing by the door\nlistening.\n\n\"Lizaveta,\" murmured Raskolnikov hardly audibly.\n\n\"Lizaveta, who sold old clothes. Didn't you know her? She used to come\nhere. She mended a shirt for you, too.\"\n\nRaskolnikov turned to the wall where in the dirty, yellow paper he\npicked out one clumsy, white flower with brown lines on it and began\nexamining how many petals there were in it, how many scallops in the\npetals and how many lines on them. He felt his arms and legs as lifeless\nas though they had been cut off. He did not attempt to move, but stared\nobstinately at the flower.\n\n\"But what about the painter?\" Zossimov interrupted Nastasya's chatter\nwith marked displeasure. She sighed and was silent.\n\n\"Why, he was accused of the murder,\" Razumihin went on hotly.\n\n\"Was there evidence against him then?\"\n\n\"Evidence, indeed! Evidence that was no evidence, and that's what we\nhave to prove. It was just as they pitched on those fellows, Koch and\nPestryakov, at first. Foo! how stupidly it's all done, it makes one\nsick, though it's not one's business! Pestryakov may be coming\nto-night.... By the way, Rodya, you've heard about the business already;\nit happened before you were ill, the day before you fainted at the\npolice office while they were talking about it.\"\n\nZossimov looked curiously at Raskolnikov. He did not stir.\n\n\"But I say, Razumihin, I wonder at you. What a busybody you are!\"\nZossimov observed.\n\n\"Maybe I am, but we will get him off anyway,\" shouted Razumihin,\nbringing his fist down on the table. \"What's the most offensive is not\ntheir lying--one can always forgive lying--lying is a delightful thing,\nfor it leads to truth--what is offensive is that they lie and worship\ntheir own lying.... I respect Porfiry, but... What threw them out at\nfirst? The door was locked, and when they came back with the porter\nit was open. So it followed that Koch and Pestryakov were the\nmurderers--that was their logic!\"\n\n\"But don't excite yourself; they simply detained them, they could not\nhelp that.... And, by the way, I've met that man Koch. He used to buy\nunredeemed pledges from the old woman? Eh?\"\n\n\"Yes, he is a swindler. He buys up bad debts, too. He makes a profession\nof it. But enough of him! Do you know what makes me angry? It's their\nsickening rotten, petrified routine.... And this case might be the means\nof introducing a new method. One can show from the psychological data\nalone how to get on the track of the real man. 'We have facts,' they\nsay. But facts are not everything--at least half the business lies in\nhow you interpret them!\"\n\n\"Can you interpret them, then?\"\n\n\"Anyway, one can't hold one's tongue when one has a feeling, a tangible\nfeeling, that one might be a help if only.... Eh! Do you know the\ndetails of the case?\"\n\n\"I am waiting to hear about the painter.\"\n\n\"Oh, yes! Well, here's the story. Early on the third day after the\nmurder, when they were still dandling Koch and Pestryakov--though they\naccounted for every step they took and it was as plain as a pikestaff--an\nunexpected fact turned up. A peasant called Dushkin, who keeps a\ndram-shop facing the house, brought to the police office a jeweller's\ncase containing some gold ear-rings, and told a long rigamarole. 'The\nday before yesterday, just after eight o'clock'--mark the day and the\nhour!--'a journeyman house-painter, Nikolay, who had been in to see me\nalready that day, brought me this box of gold ear-rings and stones, and\nasked me to give him two roubles for them. When I asked him where he got\nthem, he said that he picked them up in the street. I did not ask him\nanything more.' I am telling you Dushkin's story. 'I gave him a note'--a\nrouble that is--'for I thought if he did not pawn it with me he would\nwith another. It would all come to the same thing--he'd spend it on\ndrink, so the thing had better be with me. The further you hide it\nthe quicker you will find it, and if anything turns up, if I hear any\nrumours, I'll take it to the police.' Of course, that's all taradiddle;\nhe lies like a horse, for I know this Dushkin, he is a pawnbroker and\na receiver of stolen goods, and he did not cheat Nikolay out of a\nthirty-rouble trinket in order to give it to the police. He was simply\nafraid. But no matter, to return to Dushkin's story. 'I've known\nthis peasant, Nikolay Dementyev, from a child; he comes from the same\nprovince and district of Zaraisk, we are both Ryazan men. And though\nNikolay is not a drunkard, he drinks, and I knew he had a job in that\nhouse, painting work with Dmitri, who comes from the same village, too.\nAs soon as he got the rouble he changed it, had a couple of glasses,\ntook his change and went out. But I did not see Dmitri with him then.\nAnd the next day I heard that someone had murdered Alyona Ivanovna and\nher sister, Lizaveta Ivanovna, with an axe. I knew them, and I felt\nsuspicious about the ear-rings at once, for I knew the murdered woman\nlent money on pledges. I went to the house, and began to make careful\ninquiries without saying a word to anyone. First of all I asked, \"Is\nNikolay here?\" Dmitri told me that Nikolay had gone off on the spree; he\nhad come home at daybreak drunk, stayed in the house about ten minutes,\nand went out again. Dmitri didn't see him again and is finishing the\njob alone. And their job is on the same staircase as the murder, on\nthe second floor. When I heard all that I did not say a word to\nanyone'--that's Dushkin's tale--'but I found out what I could about\nthe murder, and went home feeling as suspicious as ever. And at eight\no'clock this morning'--that was the third day, you understand--'I saw\nNikolay coming in, not sober, though not to say very drunk--he could\nunderstand what was said to him. He sat down on the bench and did not\nspeak. There was only one stranger in the bar and a man I knew asleep\non a bench and our two boys. \"Have you seen Dmitri?\" said I. \"No, I\nhaven't,\" said he. \"And you've not been here either?\" \"Not since the day\nbefore yesterday,\" said he. \"And where did you sleep last night?\"\n\"In Peski, with the Kolomensky men.\" \"And where did you get those\near-rings?\" I asked. \"I found them in the street,\" and the way he said\nit was a bit queer; he did not look at me. \"Did you hear what happened\nthat very evening, at that very hour, on that same staircase?\" said I.\n\"No,\" said he, \"I had not heard,\" and all the while he was listening,\nhis eyes were staring out of his head and he turned as white as chalk. I\ntold him all about it and he took his hat and began getting up. I wanted\nto keep him. \"Wait a bit, Nikolay,\" said I, \"won't you have a drink?\"\nAnd I signed to the boy to hold the door, and I came out from behind the\nbar; but he darted out and down the street to the turning at a run.\nI have not seen him since. Then my doubts were at an end--it was his\ndoing, as clear as could be....'\"\n\n\"I should think so,\" said Zossimov.\n\n\"Wait! Hear the end. Of course they sought high and low for Nikolay;\nthey detained Dushkin and searched his house; Dmitri, too, was arrested;\nthe Kolomensky men also were turned inside out. And the day before\nyesterday they arrested Nikolay in a tavern at the end of the town. He\nhad gone there, taken the silver cross off his neck and asked for a dram\nfor it. They gave it to him. A few minutes afterwards the woman went\nto the cowshed, and through a crack in the wall she saw in the stable\nadjoining he had made a noose of his sash from the beam, stood on a\nblock of wood, and was trying to put his neck in the noose. The woman\nscreeched her hardest; people ran in. 'So that's what you are up to!'\n'Take me,' he says, 'to such-and-such a police officer; I'll confess\neverything.' Well, they took him to that police station--that is\nhere--with a suitable escort. So they asked him this and that, how old\nhe is, 'twenty-two,' and so on. At the question, 'When you were working\nwith Dmitri, didn't you see anyone on the staircase at such-and-such a\ntime?'--answer: 'To be sure folks may have gone up and down, but I did\nnot notice them.' 'And didn't you hear anything, any noise, and so on?'\n'We heard nothing special.' 'And did you hear, Nikolay, that on the same\nday Widow So-and-so and her sister were murdered and robbed?' 'I\nnever knew a thing about it. The first I heard of it was from Afanasy\nPavlovitch the day before yesterday.' 'And where did you find the\near-rings?' 'I found them on the pavement.' 'Why didn't you go to work\nwith Dmitri the other day?' 'Because I was drinking.' 'And where were\nyou drinking?' 'Oh, in such-and-such a place.' 'Why did you run away\nfrom Dushkin's?' 'Because I was awfully frightened.' 'What were\nyou frightened of?' 'That I should be accused.' 'How could you be\nfrightened, if you felt free from guilt?' Now, Zossimov, you may not\nbelieve me, that question was put literally in those words. I know it\nfor a fact, it was repeated to me exactly! What do you say to that?\"\n\n\"Well, anyway, there's the evidence.\"\n\n\"I am not talking of the evidence now, I am talking about that question,\nof their own idea of themselves. Well, so they squeezed and squeezed\nhim and he confessed: 'I did not find it in the street, but in the flat\nwhere I was painting with Dmitri.' 'And how was that?' 'Why, Dmitri and\nI were painting there all day, and we were just getting ready to go, and\nDmitri took a brush and painted my face, and he ran off and I after him.\nI ran after him, shouting my hardest, and at the bottom of the stairs I\nran right against the porter and some gentlemen--and how many gentlemen\nwere there I don't remember. And the porter swore at me, and the other\nporter swore, too, and the porter's wife came out, and swore at us, too;\nand a gentleman came into the entry with a lady, and he swore at us,\ntoo, for Dmitri and I lay right across the way. I got hold of Dmitri's\nhair and knocked him down and began beating him. And Dmitri, too, caught\nme by the hair and began beating me. But we did it all not for temper\nbut in a friendly way, for sport. And then Dmitri escaped and ran into\nthe street, and I ran after him; but I did not catch him, and went back\nto the flat alone; I had to clear up my things. I began putting them\ntogether, expecting Dmitri to come, and there in the passage, in the\ncorner by the door, I stepped on the box. I saw it lying there wrapped\nup in paper. I took off the paper, saw some little hooks, undid them,\nand in the box were the ear-rings....'\"\n\n\"Behind the door? Lying behind the door? Behind the door?\" Raskolnikov\ncried suddenly, staring with a blank look of terror at Razumihin, and he\nslowly sat up on the sofa, leaning on his hand.\n\n\"Yes... why? What's the matter? What's wrong?\" Razumihin, too, got up\nfrom his seat.\n\n\"Nothing,\" Raskolnikov answered faintly, turning to the wall. All were\nsilent for a while.\n\n\"He must have waked from a dream,\" Razumihin said at last, looking\ninquiringly at Zossimov. The latter slightly shook his head.\n\n\"Well, go on,\" said Zossimov. \"What next?\"\n\n\"What next? As soon as he saw the ear-rings, forgetting Dmitri and\neverything, he took up his cap and ran to Dushkin and, as we know, got\na rouble from him. He told a lie saying he found them in the street, and\nwent off drinking. He keeps repeating his old story about the murder:\n'I know nothing of it, never heard of it till the day before yesterday.'\n'And why didn't you come to the police till now?' 'I was frightened.'\n'And why did you try to hang yourself?' 'From anxiety.' 'What anxiety?'\n'That I should be accused of it.' Well, that's the whole story. And now\nwhat do you suppose they deduced from that?\"\n\n\"Why, there's no supposing. There's a clue, such as it is, a fact. You\nwouldn't have your painter set free?\"\n\n\"Now they've simply taken him for the murderer. They haven't a shadow of\ndoubt.\"\n\n\"That's nonsense. You are excited. But what about the ear-rings? You\nmust admit that, if on the very same day and hour ear-rings from the old\nwoman's box have come into Nikolay's hands, they must have come there\nsomehow. That's a good deal in such a case.\"\n\n\"How did they get there? How did they get there?\" cried Razumihin.\n\"How can you, a doctor, whose duty it is to study man and who has more\nopportunity than anyone else for studying human nature--how can you fail\nto see the character of the man in the whole story? Don't you see at\nonce that the answers he has given in the examination are the holy\ntruth? They came into his hand precisely as he has told us--he stepped\non the box and picked it up.\"\n\n\"The holy truth! But didn't he own himself that he told a lie at first?\"\n\n\"Listen to me, listen attentively. The porter and Koch and Pestryakov\nand the other porter and the wife of the first porter and the woman who\nwas sitting in the porter's lodge and the man Kryukov, who had just got\nout of a cab at that minute and went in at the entry with a lady on his\narm, that is eight or ten witnesses, agree that Nikolay had Dmitri on\nthe ground, was lying on him beating him, while Dmitri hung on to his\nhair, beating him, too. They lay right across the way, blocking the\nthoroughfare. They were sworn at on all sides while they 'like children'\n(the very words of the witnesses) were falling over one another,\nsquealing, fighting and laughing with the funniest faces, and, chasing\none another like children, they ran into the street. Now take careful\nnote. The bodies upstairs were warm, you understand, warm when they\nfound them! If they, or Nikolay alone, had murdered them and broken open\nthe boxes, or simply taken part in the robbery, allow me to ask you one\nquestion: do their state of mind, their squeals and giggles and childish\nscuffling at the gate fit in with axes, bloodshed, fiendish cunning,\nrobbery? They'd just killed them, not five or ten minutes before, for\nthe bodies were still warm, and at once, leaving the flat open, knowing\nthat people would go there at once, flinging away their booty, they\nrolled about like children, laughing and attracting general attention.\nAnd there are a dozen witnesses to swear to that!\"\n\n\"Of course it is strange! It's impossible, indeed, but...\"\n\n\"No, brother, no _buts_. And if the ear-rings being found in Nikolay's\nhands at the very day and hour of the murder constitutes an important\npiece of circumstantial evidence against him--although the explanation\ngiven by him accounts for it, and therefore it does not tell seriously\nagainst him--one must take into consideration the facts which prove him\ninnocent, especially as they are facts that _cannot be denied_. And\ndo you suppose, from the character of our legal system, that they will\naccept, or that they are in a position to accept, this fact--resting\nsimply on a psychological impossibility--as irrefutable and conclusively\nbreaking down the circumstantial evidence for the prosecution? No, they\nwon't accept it, they certainly won't, because they found the jewel-case\nand the man tried to hang himself, 'which he could not have done if he\nhadn't felt guilty.' That's the point, that's what excites me, you must\nunderstand!\"\n\n\"Oh, I see you are excited! Wait a bit. I forgot to ask you; what proof\nis there that the box came from the old woman?\"\n\n\"That's been proved,\" said Razumihin with apparent reluctance, frowning.\n\"Koch recognised the jewel-case and gave the name of the owner, who\nproved conclusively that it was his.\"\n\n\"That's bad. Now another point. Did anyone see Nikolay at the time\nthat Koch and Pestryakov were going upstairs at first, and is there no\nevidence about that?\"\n\n\"Nobody did see him,\" Razumihin answered with vexation. \"That's the\nworst of it. Even Koch and Pestryakov did not notice them on their way\nupstairs, though, indeed, their evidence could not have been worth much.\nThey said they saw the flat was open, and that there must be work going\non in it, but they took no special notice and could not remember whether\nthere actually were men at work in it.\"\n\n\"Hm!... So the only evidence for the defence is that they were beating\none another and laughing. That constitutes a strong presumption, but...\nHow do you explain the facts yourself?\"\n\n\"How do I explain them? What is there to explain? It's clear. At any\nrate, the direction in which explanation is to be sought is clear, and\nthe jewel-case points to it. The real murderer dropped those ear-rings.\nThe murderer was upstairs, locked in, when Koch and Pestryakov knocked\nat the door. Koch, like an ass, did not stay at the door; so the\nmurderer popped out and ran down, too; for he had no other way of\nescape. He hid from Koch, Pestryakov and the porter in the flat when\nNikolay and Dmitri had just run out of it. He stopped there while the\nporter and others were going upstairs, waited till they were out of\nhearing, and then went calmly downstairs at the very minute when Dmitri\nand Nikolay ran out into the street and there was no one in the entry;\npossibly he was seen, but not noticed. There are lots of people going\nin and out. He must have dropped the ear-rings out of his pocket when\nhe stood behind the door, and did not notice he dropped them, because he\nhad other things to think of. The jewel-case is a conclusive proof that\nhe did stand there.... That's how I explain it.\"\n\n\"Too clever! No, my boy, you're too clever. That beats everything.\"\n\n\"But, why, why?\"\n\n\"Why, because everything fits too well... it's too melodramatic.\"\n\n\"A-ach!\" Razumihin was exclaiming, but at that moment the door opened\nand a personage came in who was a stranger to all present.\n\n\n\nCHAPTER V\n\nThis was a gentleman no longer young, of a stiff and portly appearance,\nand a cautious and sour countenance. He began by stopping short in the\ndoorway, staring about him with offensive and undisguised astonishment,\nas though asking himself what sort of place he had come to.\nMistrustfully and with an affectation of being alarmed and almost\naffronted, he scanned Raskolnikov's low and narrow \"cabin.\" With the\nsame amazement he stared at Raskolnikov, who lay undressed, dishevelled,\nunwashed, on his miserable dirty sofa, looking fixedly at him. Then with\nthe same deliberation he scrutinised the uncouth, unkempt figure and\nunshaven face of Razumihin, who looked him boldly and inquiringly in the\nface without rising from his seat. A constrained silence lasted for a\ncouple of minutes, and then, as might be expected, some scene-shifting\ntook place. Reflecting, probably from certain fairly unmistakable signs,\nthat he would get nothing in this \"cabin\" by attempting to overawe them,\nthe gentleman softened somewhat, and civilly, though with some severity,\nemphasising every syllable of his question, addressed Zossimov:\n\n\"Rodion Romanovitch Raskolnikov, a student, or formerly a student?\"\n\nZossimov made a slight movement, and would have answered, had not\nRazumihin anticipated him.\n\n\"Here he is lying on the sofa! What do you want?\"\n\nThis familiar \"what do you want\" seemed to cut the ground from the\nfeet of the pompous gentleman. He was turning to Razumihin, but checked\nhimself in time and turned to Zossimov again.\n\n\"This is Raskolnikov,\" mumbled Zossimov, nodding towards him. Then he\ngave a prolonged yawn, opening his mouth as wide as possible. Then he\nlazily put his hand into his waistcoat-pocket, pulled out a huge gold\nwatch in a round hunter's case, opened it, looked at it and as slowly\nand lazily proceeded to put it back.\n\nRaskolnikov himself lay without speaking, on his back, gazing\npersistently, though without understanding, at the stranger. Now that\nhis face was turned away from the strange flower on the paper, it\nwas extremely pale and wore a look of anguish, as though he had just\nundergone an agonising operation or just been taken from the rack. But\nthe new-comer gradually began to arouse his attention, then his wonder,\nthen suspicion and even alarm. When Zossimov said \"This is Raskolnikov\"\nhe jumped up quickly, sat on the sofa and with an almost defiant, but\nweak and breaking, voice articulated:\n\n\"Yes, I am Raskolnikov! What do you want?\"\n\nThe visitor scrutinised him and pronounced impressively:\n\n\"Pyotr Petrovitch Luzhin. I believe I have reason to hope that my name\nis not wholly unknown to you?\"\n\nBut Raskolnikov, who had expected something quite different, gazed\nblankly and dreamily at him, making no reply, as though he heard the\nname of Pyotr Petrovitch for the first time.\n\n\"Is it possible that you can up to the present have received no\ninformation?\" asked Pyotr Petrovitch, somewhat disconcerted.\n\nIn reply Raskolnikov sank languidly back on the pillow, put his hands\nbehind his head and gazed at the ceiling. A look of dismay came into\nLuzhin's face. Zossimov and Razumihin stared at him more inquisitively\nthan ever, and at last he showed unmistakable signs of embarrassment.\n\n\"I had presumed and calculated,\" he faltered, \"that a letter posted more\nthan ten days, if not a fortnight ago...\"\n\n\"I say, why are you standing in the doorway?\" Razumihin interrupted\nsuddenly. \"If you've something to say, sit down. Nastasya and you are so\ncrowded. Nastasya, make room. Here's a chair, thread your way in!\"\n\nHe moved his chair back from the table, made a little space between the\ntable and his knees, and waited in a rather cramped position for the\nvisitor to \"thread his way in.\" The minute was so chosen that it was\nimpossible to refuse, and the visitor squeezed his way through, hurrying\nand stumbling. Reaching the chair, he sat down, looking suspiciously at\nRazumihin.\n\n\"No need to be nervous,\" the latter blurted out. \"Rodya has been ill for\nthe last five days and delirious for three, but now he is recovering and\nhas got an appetite. This is his doctor, who has just had a look at him.\nI am a comrade of Rodya's, like him, formerly a student, and now I am\nnursing him; so don't you take any notice of us, but go on with your\nbusiness.\"\n\n\"Thank you. But shall I not disturb the invalid by my presence and\nconversation?\" Pyotr Petrovitch asked of Zossimov.\n\n\"N-no,\" mumbled Zossimov; \"you may amuse him.\" He yawned again.\n\n\"He has been conscious a long time, since the morning,\" went on\nRazumihin, whose familiarity seemed so much like unaffected good-nature\nthat Pyotr Petrovitch began to be more cheerful, partly, perhaps,\nbecause this shabby and impudent person had introduced himself as a\nstudent.\n\n\"Your mamma,\" began Luzhin.\n\n\"Hm!\" Razumihin cleared his throat loudly. Luzhin looked at him\ninquiringly.\n\n\"That's all right, go on.\"\n\nLuzhin shrugged his shoulders.\n\n\"Your mamma had commenced a letter to you while I was sojourning in\nher neighbourhood. On my arrival here I purposely allowed a few days to\nelapse before coming to see you, in order that I might be fully\nassured that you were in full possession of the tidings; but now, to my\nastonishment...\"\n\n\"I know, I know!\" Raskolnikov cried suddenly with impatient vexation.\n\"So you are the _fiance_? I know, and that's enough!\"\n\nThere was no doubt about Pyotr Petrovitch's being offended this time,\nbut he said nothing. He made a violent effort to understand what it all\nmeant. There was a moment's silence.\n\nMeanwhile Raskolnikov, who had turned a little towards him when he\nanswered, began suddenly staring at him again with marked curiosity, as\nthough he had not had a good look at him yet, or as though something\nnew had struck him; he rose from his pillow on purpose to stare at\nhim. There certainly was something peculiar in Pyotr Petrovitch's whole\nappearance, something which seemed to justify the title of \"fiance\" so\nunceremoniously applied to him. In the first place, it was evident, far\ntoo much so indeed, that Pyotr Petrovitch had made eager use of his few\ndays in the capital to get himself up and rig himself out in expectation\nof his betrothed--a perfectly innocent and permissible proceeding,\nindeed. Even his own, perhaps too complacent, consciousness of the\nagreeable improvement in his appearance might have been forgiven in such\ncircumstances, seeing that Pyotr Petrovitch had taken up the role of\nfiance. All his clothes were fresh from the tailor's and were all\nright, except for being too new and too distinctly appropriate. Even\nthe stylish new round hat had the same significance. Pyotr Petrovitch\ntreated it too respectfully and held it too carefully in his hands. The\nexquisite pair of lavender gloves, real Louvain, told the same tale,\nif only from the fact of his not wearing them, but carrying them in\nhis hand for show. Light and youthful colours predominated in Pyotr\nPetrovitch's attire. He wore a charming summer jacket of a fawn shade,\nlight thin trousers, a waistcoat of the same, new and fine linen, a\ncravat of the lightest cambric with pink stripes on it, and the best\nof it was, this all suited Pyotr Petrovitch. His very fresh and even\nhandsome face looked younger than his forty-five years at all times.\nHis dark, mutton-chop whiskers made an agreeable setting on both sides,\ngrowing thickly upon his shining, clean-shaven chin. Even his hair,\ntouched here and there with grey, though it had been combed and curled\nat a hairdresser's, did not give him a stupid appearance, as curled hair\nusually does, by inevitably suggesting a German on his wedding-day.\nIf there really was something unpleasing and repulsive in his rather\ngood-looking and imposing countenance, it was due to quite other\ncauses. After scanning Mr. Luzhin unceremoniously, Raskolnikov smiled\nmalignantly, sank back on the pillow and stared at the ceiling as\nbefore.\n\nBut Mr. Luzhin hardened his heart and seemed to determine to take no\nnotice of their oddities.\n\n\"I feel the greatest regret at finding you in this situation,\" he began,\nagain breaking the silence with an effort. \"If I had been aware of your\nillness I should have come earlier. But you know what business is. I\nhave, too, a very important legal affair in the Senate, not to mention\nother preoccupations which you may well conjecture. I am expecting your\nmamma and sister any minute.\"\n\nRaskolnikov made a movement and seemed about to speak; his face showed\nsome excitement. Pyotr Petrovitch paused, waited, but as nothing\nfollowed, he went on:\n\n\"... Any minute. I have found a lodging for them on their arrival.\"\n\n\"Where?\" asked Raskolnikov weakly.\n\n\"Very near here, in Bakaleyev's house.\"\n\n\"That's in Voskresensky,\" put in Razumihin. \"There are two storeys of\nrooms, let by a merchant called Yushin; I've been there.\"\n\n\"Yes, rooms...\"\n\n\"A disgusting place--filthy, stinking and, what's more, of doubtful\ncharacter. Things have happened there, and there are all sorts of queer\npeople living there. And I went there about a scandalous business. It's\ncheap, though...\"\n\n\"I could not, of course, find out so much about it, for I am a stranger\nin Petersburg myself,\" Pyotr Petrovitch replied huffily. \"However, the\ntwo rooms are exceedingly clean, and as it is for so short a time...\nI have already taken a permanent, that is, our future flat,\" he said,\naddressing Raskolnikov, \"and I am having it done up. And meanwhile I am\nmyself cramped for room in a lodging with my friend Andrey Semyonovitch\nLebeziatnikov, in the flat of Madame Lippevechsel; it was he who told me\nof Bakaleyev's house, too...\"\n\n\"Lebeziatnikov?\" said Raskolnikov slowly, as if recalling something.\n\n\"Yes, Andrey Semyonovitch Lebeziatnikov, a clerk in the Ministry. Do you\nknow him?\"\n\n\"Yes... no,\" Raskolnikov answered.\n\n\"Excuse me, I fancied so from your inquiry. I was once his guardian....\nA very nice young man and advanced. I like to meet young people: one\nlearns new things from them.\" Luzhin looked round hopefully at them all.\n\n\"How do you mean?\" asked Razumihin.\n\n\"In the most serious and essential matters,\" Pyotr Petrovitch replied,\nas though delighted at the question. \"You see, it's ten years since I\nvisited Petersburg. All the novelties, reforms, ideas have reached us in\nthe provinces, but to see it all more clearly one must be in Petersburg.\nAnd it's my notion that you observe and learn most by watching the\nyounger generation. And I confess I am delighted...\"\n\n\"At what?\"\n\n\"Your question is a wide one. I may be mistaken, but I fancy I find\nclearer views, more, so to say, criticism, more practicality...\"\n\n\"That's true,\" Zossimov let drop.\n\n\"Nonsense! There's no practicality.\" Razumihin flew at him.\n\"Practicality is a difficult thing to find; it does not drop down from\nheaven. And for the last two hundred years we have been divorced from\nall practical life. Ideas, if you like, are fermenting,\" he said to\nPyotr Petrovitch, \"and desire for good exists, though it's in a childish\nform, and honesty you may find, although there are crowds of brigands.\nAnyway, there's no practicality. Practicality goes well shod.\"\n\n\"I don't agree with you,\" Pyotr Petrovitch replied, with evident\nenjoyment. \"Of course, people do get carried away and make mistakes,\nbut one must have indulgence; those mistakes are merely evidence of\nenthusiasm for the cause and of abnormal external environment. If little\nhas been done, the time has been but short; of means I will not speak.\nIt's my personal view, if you care to know, that something has been\naccomplished already. New valuable ideas, new valuable works are\ncirculating in the place of our old dreamy and romantic authors.\nLiterature is taking a maturer form, many injurious prejudices have been\nrooted up and turned into ridicule.... In a word, we have cut ourselves\noff irrevocably from the past, and that, to my thinking, is a great\nthing...\"\n\n\"He's learnt it by heart to show off!\" Raskolnikov pronounced suddenly.\n\n\"What?\" asked Pyotr Petrovitch, not catching his words; but he received\nno reply.\n\n\"That's all true,\" Zossimov hastened to interpose.\n\n\"Isn't it so?\" Pyotr Petrovitch went on, glancing affably at Zossimov.\n\"You must admit,\" he went on, addressing Razumihin with a shade of\ntriumph and superciliousness--he almost added \"young man\"--\"that there\nis an advance, or, as they say now, progress in the name of science and\neconomic truth...\"\n\n\"A commonplace.\"\n\n\"No, not a commonplace! Hitherto, for instance, if I were told, 'love\nthy neighbour,' what came of it?\" Pyotr Petrovitch went on, perhaps with\nexcessive haste. \"It came to my tearing my coat in half to share with my\nneighbour and we both were left half naked. As a Russian proverb has\nit, 'Catch several hares and you won't catch one.' Science now tells\nus, love yourself before all men, for everything in the world rests on\nself-interest. You love yourself and manage your own affairs properly\nand your coat remains whole. Economic truth adds that the better private\naffairs are organised in society--the more whole coats, so to say--the\nfirmer are its foundations and the better is the common welfare\norganised too. Therefore, in acquiring wealth solely and exclusively for\nmyself, I am acquiring, so to speak, for all, and helping to bring to\npass my neighbour's getting a little more than a torn coat; and that not\nfrom private, personal liberality, but as a consequence of the general\nadvance. The idea is simple, but unhappily it has been a long time\nreaching us, being hindered by idealism and sentimentality. And yet it\nwould seem to want very little wit to perceive it...\"\n\n\"Excuse me, I've very little wit myself,\" Razumihin cut in sharply,\n\"and so let us drop it. I began this discussion with an object, but I've\ngrown so sick during the last three years of this chattering to amuse\noneself, of this incessant flow of commonplaces, always the same, that,\nby Jove, I blush even when other people talk like that. You are in a\nhurry, no doubt, to exhibit your acquirements; and I don't blame you,\nthat's quite pardonable. I only wanted to find out what sort of man you\nare, for so many unscrupulous people have got hold of the progressive\ncause of late and have so distorted in their own interests everything\nthey touched, that the whole cause has been dragged in the mire. That's\nenough!\"\n\n\"Excuse me, sir,\" said Luzhin, affronted, and speaking with excessive\ndignity. \"Do you mean to suggest so unceremoniously that I too...\"\n\n\"Oh, my dear sir... how could I?... Come, that's enough,\" Razumihin\nconcluded, and he turned abruptly to Zossimov to continue their previous\nconversation.\n\nPyotr Petrovitch had the good sense to accept the disavowal. He made up\nhis mind to take leave in another minute or two.\n\n\"I trust our acquaintance,\" he said, addressing Raskolnikov, \"may, upon\nyour recovery and in view of the circumstances of which you are aware,\nbecome closer... Above all, I hope for your return to health...\"\n\nRaskolnikov did not even turn his head. Pyotr Petrovitch began getting\nup from his chair.\n\n\"One of her customers must have killed her,\" Zossimov declared\npositively.\n\n\"Not a doubt of it,\" replied Razumihin. \"Porfiry doesn't give his\nopinion, but is examining all who have left pledges with her there.\"\n\n\"Examining them?\" Raskolnikov asked aloud.\n\n\"Yes. What then?\"\n\n\"Nothing.\"\n\n\"How does he get hold of them?\" asked Zossimov.\n\n\"Koch has given the names of some of them, other names are on the\nwrappers of the pledges and some have come forward of themselves.\"\n\n\"It must have been a cunning and practised ruffian! The boldness of it!\nThe coolness!\"\n\n\"That's just what it wasn't!\" interposed Razumihin. \"That's what throws\nyou all off the scent. But I maintain that he is not cunning, not\npractised, and probably this was his first crime! The supposition that\nit was a calculated crime and a cunning criminal doesn't work. Suppose\nhim to have been inexperienced, and it's clear that it was only a chance\nthat saved him--and chance may do anything. Why, he did not foresee\nobstacles, perhaps! And how did he set to work? He took jewels worth\nten or twenty roubles, stuffing his pockets with them, ransacked the\nold woman's trunks, her rags--and they found fifteen hundred roubles,\nbesides notes, in a box in the top drawer of the chest! He did not know\nhow to rob; he could only murder. It was his first crime, I assure you,\nhis first crime; he lost his head. And he got off more by luck than good\ncounsel!\"\n\n\"You are talking of the murder of the old pawnbroker, I believe?\" Pyotr\nPetrovitch put in, addressing Zossimov. He was standing, hat and gloves\nin hand, but before departing he felt disposed to throw off a few more\nintellectual phrases. He was evidently anxious to make a favourable\nimpression and his vanity overcame his prudence.\n\n\"Yes. You've heard of it?\"\n\n\"Oh, yes, being in the neighbourhood.\"\n\n\"Do you know the details?\"\n\n\"I can't say that; but another circumstance interests me in the\ncase--the whole question, so to say. Not to speak of the fact that crime\nhas been greatly on the increase among the lower classes during the last\nfive years, not to speak of the cases of robbery and arson everywhere,\nwhat strikes me as the strangest thing is that in the higher classes,\ntoo, crime is increasing proportionately. In one place one hears of a\nstudent's robbing the mail on the high road; in another place people of\ngood social position forge false banknotes; in Moscow of late a whole\ngang has been captured who used to forge lottery tickets, and one of\nthe ringleaders was a lecturer in universal history; then our secretary\nabroad was murdered from some obscure motive of gain.... And if this old\nwoman, the pawnbroker, has been murdered by someone of a higher class\nin society--for peasants don't pawn gold trinkets--how are we to explain\nthis demoralisation of the civilised part of our society?\"\n\n\"There are many economic changes,\" put in Zossimov.\n\n\"How are we to explain it?\" Razumihin caught him up. \"It might be\nexplained by our inveterate impracticality.\"\n\n\"How do you mean?\"\n\n\"What answer had your lecturer in Moscow to make to the question why he\nwas forging notes? 'Everybody is getting rich one way or another, so I\nwant to make haste to get rich too.' I don't remember the exact words,\nbut the upshot was that he wants money for nothing, without waiting or\nworking! We've grown used to having everything ready-made, to walking\non crutches, to having our food chewed for us. Then the great hour\nstruck,[*] and every man showed himself in his true colours.\"\n\n     [*] The emancipation of the serfs in 1861 is meant.\n     --TRANSLATOR'S NOTE.\n\n\"But morality? And so to speak, principles...\"\n\n\"But why do you worry about it?\" Raskolnikov interposed suddenly. \"It's\nin accordance with your theory!\"\n\n\"In accordance with my theory?\"\n\n\"Why, carry out logically the theory you were advocating just now, and\nit follows that people may be killed...\"\n\n\"Upon my word!\" cried Luzhin.\n\n\"No, that's not so,\" put in Zossimov.\n\nRaskolnikov lay with a white face and twitching upper lip, breathing\npainfully.\n\n\"There's a measure in all things,\" Luzhin went on superciliously.\n\"Economic ideas are not an incitement to murder, and one has but to\nsuppose...\"\n\n\"And is it true,\" Raskolnikov interposed once more suddenly, again in a\nvoice quivering with fury and delight in insulting him, \"is it true that\nyou told your _fiancee_... within an hour of her acceptance, that what\npleased you most... was that she was a beggar... because it was better\nto raise a wife from poverty, so that you may have complete control over\nher, and reproach her with your being her benefactor?\"\n\n\"Upon my word,\" Luzhin cried wrathfully and irritably, crimson with\nconfusion, \"to distort my words in this way! Excuse me, allow me to\nassure you that the report which has reached you, or rather, let me say,\nhas been conveyed to you, has no foundation in truth, and I... suspect\nwho... in a word... this arrow... in a word, your mamma... She seemed\nto me in other things, with all her excellent qualities, of a somewhat\nhigh-flown and romantic way of thinking.... But I was a thousand miles\nfrom supposing that she would misunderstand and misrepresent things in\nso fanciful a way.... And indeed... indeed...\"\n\n\"I tell you what,\" cried Raskolnikov, raising himself on his pillow and\nfixing his piercing, glittering eyes upon him, \"I tell you what.\"\n\n\"What?\" Luzhin stood still, waiting with a defiant and offended face.\nSilence lasted for some seconds.\n\n\"Why, if ever again... you dare to mention a single word... about my\nmother... I shall send you flying downstairs!\"\n\n\"What's the matter with you?\" cried Razumihin.\n\n\"So that's how it is?\" Luzhin turned pale and bit his lip. \"Let me tell\nyou, sir,\" he began deliberately, doing his utmost to restrain himself\nbut breathing hard, \"at the first moment I saw you you were ill-disposed\nto me, but I remained here on purpose to find out more. I could forgive\na great deal in a sick man and a connection, but you... never after\nthis...\"\n\n\"I am not ill,\" cried Raskolnikov.\n\n\"So much the worse...\"\n\n\"Go to hell!\"\n\nBut Luzhin was already leaving without finishing his speech, squeezing\nbetween the table and the chair; Razumihin got up this time to let him\npass. Without glancing at anyone, and not even nodding to Zossimov, who\nhad for some time been making signs to him to let the sick man alone,\nhe went out, lifting his hat to the level of his shoulders to avoid\ncrushing it as he stooped to go out of the door. And even the curve of\nhis spine was expressive of the horrible insult he had received.\n\n\"How could you--how could you!\" Razumihin said, shaking his head in\nperplexity.\n\n\"Let me alone--let me alone all of you!\" Raskolnikov cried in a frenzy.\n\"Will you ever leave off tormenting me? I am not afraid of you! I am\nnot afraid of anyone, anyone now! Get away from me! I want to be alone,\nalone, alone!\"\n\n\"Come along,\" said Zossimov, nodding to Razumihin.\n\n\"But we can't leave him like this!\"\n\n\"Come along,\" Zossimov repeated insistently, and he went out. Razumihin\nthought a minute and ran to overtake him.\n\n\"It might be worse not to obey him,\" said Zossimov on the stairs. \"He\nmustn't be irritated.\"\n\n\"What's the matter with him?\"\n\n\"If only he could get some favourable shock, that's what would do it! At\nfirst he was better.... You know he has got something on his mind! Some\nfixed idea weighing on him.... I am very much afraid so; he must have!\"\n\n\"Perhaps it's that gentleman, Pyotr Petrovitch. From his conversation\nI gather he is going to marry his sister, and that he had received a\nletter about it just before his illness....\"\n\n\"Yes, confound the man! he may have upset the case altogether. But have\nyou noticed, he takes no interest in anything, he does not respond to\nanything except one point on which he seems excited--that's the murder?\"\n\n\"Yes, yes,\" Razumihin agreed, \"I noticed that, too. He is interested,\nfrightened. It gave him a shock on the day he was ill in the police\noffice; he fainted.\"\n\n\"Tell me more about that this evening and I'll tell you something\nafterwards. He interests me very much! In half an hour I'll go and see\nhim again.... There'll be no inflammation though.\"\n\n\"Thanks! And I'll wait with Pashenka meantime and will keep watch on him\nthrough Nastasya....\"\n\nRaskolnikov, left alone, looked with impatience and misery at Nastasya,\nbut she still lingered.\n\n\"Won't you have some tea now?\" she asked.\n\n\"Later! I am sleepy! Leave me.\"\n\nHe turned abruptly to the wall; Nastasya went out.\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VI\n\nBut as soon as she went out, he got up, latched the door, undid the\nparcel which Razumihin had brought in that evening and had tied up again\nand began dressing. Strange to say, he seemed immediately to have become\nperfectly calm; not a trace of his recent delirium nor of the panic\nfear that had haunted him of late. It was the first moment of a strange\nsudden calm. His movements were precise and definite; a firm purpose was\nevident in them. \"To-day, to-day,\" he muttered to himself. He understood\nthat he was still weak, but his intense spiritual concentration gave him\nstrength and self-confidence. He hoped, moreover, that he would not\nfall down in the street. When he had dressed in entirely new clothes, he\nlooked at the money lying on the table, and after a moment's thought\nput it in his pocket. It was twenty-five roubles. He took also all the\ncopper change from the ten roubles spent by Razumihin on the clothes.\nThen he softly unlatched the door, went out, slipped downstairs and\nglanced in at the open kitchen door. Nastasya was standing with her back\nto him, blowing up the landlady's samovar. She heard nothing. Who would\nhave dreamed of his going out, indeed? A minute later he was in the\nstreet.\n\nIt was nearly eight o'clock, the sun was setting. It was as stifling as\nbefore, but he eagerly drank in the stinking, dusty town air. His head\nfelt rather dizzy; a sort of savage energy gleamed suddenly in his\nfeverish eyes and his wasted, pale and yellow face. He did not know and\ndid not think where he was going, he had one thought only: \"that all\n_this_ must be ended to-day, once for all, immediately; that he would\nnot return home without it, because he _would not go on living like\nthat_.\" How, with what to make an end? He had not an idea about it,\nhe did not even want to think of it. He drove away thought; thought\ntortured him. All he knew, all he felt was that everything must be\nchanged \"one way or another,\" he repeated with desperate and immovable\nself-confidence and determination.\n\nFrom old habit he took his usual walk in the direction of the Hay\nMarket. A dark-haired young man with a barrel organ was standing in\nthe road in front of a little general shop and was grinding out a very\nsentimental song. He was accompanying a girl of fifteen, who stood\non the pavement in front of him. She was dressed up in a crinoline, a\nmantle and a straw hat with a flame-coloured feather in it, all very\nold and shabby. In a strong and rather agreeable voice, cracked and\ncoarsened by street singing, she sang in hope of getting a copper from\nthe shop. Raskolnikov joined two or three listeners, took out a five\ncopeck piece and put it in the girl's hand. She broke off abruptly on a\nsentimental high note, shouted sharply to the organ grinder \"Come on,\"\nand both moved on to the next shop.\n\n\"Do you like street music?\" said Raskolnikov, addressing a middle-aged\nman standing idly by him. The man looked at him, startled and wondering.\n\n\"I love to hear singing to a street organ,\" said Raskolnikov, and his\nmanner seemed strangely out of keeping with the subject--\"I like it\non cold, dark, damp autumn evenings--they must be damp--when all the\npassers-by have pale green, sickly faces, or better still when wet\nsnow is falling straight down, when there's no wind--you know what I\nmean?--and the street lamps shine through it...\"\n\n\"I don't know.... Excuse me...\" muttered the stranger, frightened by the\nquestion and Raskolnikov's strange manner, and he crossed over to the\nother side of the street.\n\nRaskolnikov walked straight on and came out at the corner of the Hay\nMarket, where the huckster and his wife had talked with Lizaveta; but\nthey were not there now. Recognising the place, he stopped, looked round\nand addressed a young fellow in a red shirt who stood gaping before a\ncorn chandler's shop.\n\n\"Isn't there a man who keeps a booth with his wife at this corner?\"\n\n\"All sorts of people keep booths here,\" answered the young man, glancing\nsuperciliously at Raskolnikov.\n\n\"What's his name?\"\n\n\"What he was christened.\"\n\n\"Aren't you a Zaraisky man, too? Which province?\"\n\nThe young man looked at Raskolnikov again.\n\n\"It's not a province, your excellency, but a district. Graciously\nforgive me, your excellency!\"\n\n\"Is that a tavern at the top there?\"\n\n\"Yes, it's an eating-house and there's a billiard-room and you'll find\nprincesses there too.... La-la!\"\n\nRaskolnikov crossed the square. In that corner there was a dense crowd\nof peasants. He pushed his way into the thickest part of it, looking\nat the faces. He felt an unaccountable inclination to enter into\nconversation with people. But the peasants took no notice of him; they\nwere all shouting in groups together. He stood and thought a little and\ntook a turning to the right in the direction of V.\n\nHe had often crossed that little street which turns at an angle, leading\nfrom the market-place to Sadovy Street. Of late he had often felt drawn\nto wander about this district, when he felt depressed, that he might\nfeel more so.\n\nNow he walked along, thinking of nothing. At that point there is a great\nblock of buildings, entirely let out in dram shops and eating-houses;\nwomen were continually running in and out, bare-headed and in their\nindoor clothes. Here and there they gathered in groups, on the pavement,\nespecially about the entrances to various festive establishments in\nthe lower storeys. From one of these a loud din, sounds of singing, the\ntinkling of a guitar and shouts of merriment, floated into the street.\nA crowd of women were thronging round the door; some were sitting on the\nsteps, others on the pavement, others were standing talking. A drunken\nsoldier, smoking a cigarette, was walking near them in the road,\nswearing; he seemed to be trying to find his way somewhere, but had\nforgotten where. One beggar was quarrelling with another, and a man dead\ndrunk was lying right across the road. Raskolnikov joined the throng of\nwomen, who were talking in husky voices. They were bare-headed and wore\ncotton dresses and goatskin shoes. There were women of forty and some\nnot more than seventeen; almost all had blackened eyes.\n\nHe felt strangely attracted by the singing and all the noise and\nuproar in the saloon below.... someone could be heard within dancing\nfrantically, marking time with his heels to the sounds of the guitar\nand of a thin falsetto voice singing a jaunty air. He listened intently,\ngloomily and dreamily, bending down at the entrance and peeping\ninquisitively in from the pavement.\n\n  \"Oh, my handsome soldier\n   Don't beat me for nothing,\"\n\ntrilled the thin voice of the singer. Raskolnikov felt a great desire to\nmake out what he was singing, as though everything depended on that.\n\n\"Shall I go in?\" he thought. \"They are laughing. From drink. Shall I get\ndrunk?\"\n\n\"Won't you come in?\" one of the women asked him. Her voice was\nstill musical and less thick than the others, she was young and not\nrepulsive--the only one of the group.\n\n\"Why, she's pretty,\" he said, drawing himself up and looking at her.\n\nShe smiled, much pleased at the compliment.\n\n\"You're very nice looking yourself,\" she said.\n\n\"Isn't he thin though!\" observed another woman in a deep bass. \"Have you\njust come out of a hospital?\"\n\n\"They're all generals' daughters, it seems, but they have all snub\nnoses,\" interposed a tipsy peasant with a sly smile on his face, wearing\na loose coat. \"See how jolly they are.\"\n\n\"Go along with you!\"\n\n\"I'll go, sweetie!\"\n\nAnd he darted down into the saloon below. Raskolnikov moved on.\n\n\"I say, sir,\" the girl shouted after him.\n\n\"What is it?\"\n\nShe hesitated.\n\n\"I'll always be pleased to spend an hour with you, kind gentleman, but\nnow I feel shy. Give me six copecks for a drink, there's a nice young\nman!\"\n\nRaskolnikov gave her what came first--fifteen copecks.\n\n\"Ah, what a good-natured gentleman!\"\n\n\"What's your name?\"\n\n\"Ask for Duclida.\"\n\n\"Well, that's too much,\" one of the women observed, shaking her head\nat Duclida. \"I don't know how you can ask like that. I believe I should\ndrop with shame....\"\n\nRaskolnikov looked curiously at the speaker. She was a pock-marked wench\nof thirty, covered with bruises, with her upper lip swollen. She made\nher criticism quietly and earnestly. \"Where is it,\" thought Raskolnikov.\n\"Where is it I've read that someone condemned to death says or thinks,\nan hour before his death, that if he had to live on some high rock,\non such a narrow ledge that he'd only room to stand, and the ocean,\neverlasting darkness, everlasting solitude, everlasting tempest around\nhim, if he had to remain standing on a square yard of space all his\nlife, a thousand years, eternity, it were better to live so than to die\nat once! Only to live, to live and live! Life, whatever it may be!...\nHow true it is! Good God, how true! Man is a vile creature!... And vile\nis he who calls him vile for that,\" he added a moment later.\n\nHe went into another street. \"Bah, the Palais de Cristal! Razumihin\nwas just talking of the Palais de Cristal. But what on earth was it\nI wanted? Yes, the newspapers.... Zossimov said he'd read it in the\npapers. Have you the papers?\" he asked, going into a very spacious and\npositively clean restaurant, consisting of several rooms, which were,\nhowever, rather empty. Two or three people were drinking tea, and in a\nroom further away were sitting four men drinking champagne. Raskolnikov\nfancied that Zametov was one of them, but he could not be sure at that\ndistance. \"What if it is?\" he thought.\n\n\"Will you have vodka?\" asked the waiter.\n\n\"Give me some tea and bring me the papers, the old ones for the last\nfive days, and I'll give you something.\"\n\n\"Yes, sir, here's to-day's. No vodka?\"\n\nThe old newspapers and the tea were brought. Raskolnikov sat down and\nbegan to look through them.\n\n\"Oh, damn... these are the items of intelligence. An accident on a\nstaircase, spontaneous combustion of a shopkeeper from alcohol, a fire\nin Peski... a fire in the Petersburg quarter... another fire in the\nPetersburg quarter... and another fire in the Petersburg quarter....\nAh, here it is!\" He found at last what he was seeking and began to\nread it. The lines danced before his eyes, but he read it all and began\neagerly seeking later additions in the following numbers. His hands\nshook with nervous impatience as he turned the sheets. Suddenly someone\nsat down beside him at his table. He looked up, it was the head clerk\nZametov, looking just the same, with the rings on his fingers and the\nwatch-chain, with the curly, black hair, parted and pomaded, with the\nsmart waistcoat, rather shabby coat and doubtful linen. He was in a good\nhumour, at least he was smiling very gaily and good-humouredly. His dark\nface was rather flushed from the champagne he had drunk.\n\n\"What, you here?\" he began in surprise, speaking as though he'd known\nhim all his life. \"Why, Razumihin told me only yesterday you were\nunconscious. How strange! And do you know I've been to see you?\"\n\nRaskolnikov knew he would come up to him. He laid aside the papers and\nturned to Zametov. There was a smile on his lips, and a new shade of\nirritable impatience was apparent in that smile.\n\n\"I know you have,\" he answered. \"I've heard it. You looked for my\nsock.... And you know Razumihin has lost his heart to you? He says\nyou've been with him to Luise Ivanovna's--you know, the woman you tried\nto befriend, for whom you winked to the Explosive Lieutenant and he\nwould not understand. Do you remember? How could he fail to\nunderstand--it was quite clear, wasn't it?\"\n\n\"What a hot head he is!\"\n\n\"The explosive one?\"\n\n\"No, your friend Razumihin.\"\n\n\"You must have a jolly life, Mr. Zametov; entrance free to the most\nagreeable places. Who's been pouring champagne into you just now?\"\n\n\"We've just been... having a drink together.... You talk about pouring\nit into me!\"\n\n\"By way of a fee! You profit by everything!\" Raskolnikov laughed, \"it's\nall right, my dear boy,\" he added, slapping Zametov on the shoulder. \"I\nam not speaking from temper, but in a friendly way, for sport, as that\nworkman of yours said when he was scuffling with Dmitri, in the case of\nthe old woman....\"\n\n\"How do you know about it?\"\n\n\"Perhaps I know more about it than you do.\"\n\n\"How strange you are.... I am sure you are still very unwell. You\noughtn't to have come out.\"\n\n\"Oh, do I seem strange to you?\"\n\n\"Yes. What are you doing, reading the papers?\"\n\n\"Yes.\"\n\n\"There's a lot about the fires.\"\n\n\"No, I am not reading about the fires.\" Here he looked mysteriously at\nZametov; his lips were twisted again in a mocking smile. \"No, I am not\nreading about the fires,\" he went on, winking at Zametov. \"But confess\nnow, my dear fellow, you're awfully anxious to know what I am reading\nabout?\"\n\n\"I am not in the least. Mayn't I ask a question? Why do you keep\non...?\"\n\n\"Listen, you are a man of culture and education?\"\n\n\"I was in the sixth class at the gymnasium,\" said Zametov with some\ndignity.\n\n\"Sixth class! Ah, my cock-sparrow! With your parting and your rings--you\nare a gentleman of fortune. Foo! what a charming boy!\" Here Raskolnikov\nbroke into a nervous laugh right in Zametov's face. The latter drew\nback, more amazed than offended.\n\n\"Foo! how strange you are!\" Zametov repeated very seriously. \"I can't\nhelp thinking you are still delirious.\"\n\n\"I am delirious? You are fibbing, my cock-sparrow! So I am strange? You\nfind me curious, do you?\"\n\n\"Yes, curious.\"\n\n\"Shall I tell you what I was reading about, what I was looking for? See\nwhat a lot of papers I've made them bring me. Suspicious, eh?\"\n\n\"Well, what is it?\"\n\n\"You prick up your ears?\"\n\n\"How do you mean--'prick up my ears'?\"\n\n\"I'll explain that afterwards, but now, my boy, I declare to you... no,\nbetter 'I confess'... No, that's not right either; 'I make a deposition\nand you take it.' I depose that I was reading, that I was looking and\nsearching....\" he screwed up his eyes and paused. \"I was searching--and\ncame here on purpose to do it--for news of the murder of the old\npawnbroker woman,\" he articulated at last, almost in a whisper, bringing\nhis face exceedingly close to the face of Zametov. Zametov looked at him\nsteadily, without moving or drawing his face away. What struck Zametov\nafterwards as the strangest part of it all was that silence followed for\nexactly a minute, and that they gazed at one another all the while.\n\n\"What if you have been reading about it?\" he cried at last, perplexed\nand impatient. \"That's no business of mine! What of it?\"\n\n\"The same old woman,\" Raskolnikov went on in the same whisper, not\nheeding Zametov's explanation, \"about whom you were talking in the\npolice-office, you remember, when I fainted. Well, do you understand\nnow?\"\n\n\"What do you mean? Understand... what?\" Zametov brought out, almost\nalarmed.\n\nRaskolnikov's set and earnest face was suddenly transformed, and he\nsuddenly went off into the same nervous laugh as before, as though\nutterly unable to restrain himself. And in one flash he recalled with\nextraordinary vividness of sensation a moment in the recent past, that\nmoment when he stood with the axe behind the door, while the latch\ntrembled and the men outside swore and shook it, and he had a sudden\ndesire to shout at them, to swear at them, to put out his tongue at\nthem, to mock them, to laugh, and laugh, and laugh!\n\n\"You are either mad, or...\" began Zametov, and he broke off, as though\nstunned by the idea that had suddenly flashed into his mind.\n\n\"Or? Or what? What? Come, tell me!\"\n\n\"Nothing,\" said Zametov, getting angry, \"it's all nonsense!\"\n\nBoth were silent. After his sudden fit of laughter Raskolnikov became\nsuddenly thoughtful and melancholy. He put his elbow on the table and\nleaned his head on his hand. He seemed to have completely forgotten\nZametov. The silence lasted for some time.\n\n\"Why don't you drink your tea? It's getting cold,\" said Zametov.\n\n\"What! Tea? Oh, yes....\" Raskolnikov sipped the glass, put a morsel of\nbread in his mouth and, suddenly looking at Zametov, seemed to remember\neverything and pulled himself together. At the same moment his face\nresumed its original mocking expression. He went on drinking tea.\n\n\"There have been a great many of these crimes lately,\" said Zametov.\n\"Only the other day I read in the _Moscow News_ that a whole gang of\nfalse coiners had been caught in Moscow. It was a regular society. They\nused to forge tickets!\"\n\n\"Oh, but it was a long time ago! I read about it a month ago,\"\nRaskolnikov answered calmly. \"So you consider them criminals?\" he added,\nsmiling.\n\n\"Of course they are criminals.\"\n\n\"They? They are children, simpletons, not criminals! Why, half a hundred\npeople meeting for such an object--what an idea! Three would be too\nmany, and then they want to have more faith in one another than in\nthemselves! One has only to blab in his cups and it all collapses.\nSimpletons! They engaged untrustworthy people to change the notes--what\na thing to trust to a casual stranger! Well, let us suppose that these\nsimpletons succeed and each makes a million, and what follows for the\nrest of their lives? Each is dependent on the others for the rest of his\nlife! Better hang oneself at once! And they did not know how to change\nthe notes either; the man who changed the notes took five thousand\nroubles, and his hands trembled. He counted the first four thousand,\nbut did not count the fifth thousand--he was in such a hurry to get the\nmoney into his pocket and run away. Of course he roused suspicion. And\nthe whole thing came to a crash through one fool! Is it possible?\"\n\n\"That his hands trembled?\" observed Zametov, \"yes, that's quite\npossible. That, I feel quite sure, is possible. Sometimes one can't\nstand things.\"\n\n\"Can't stand that?\"\n\n\"Why, could you stand it then? No, I couldn't. For the sake of a hundred\nroubles to face such a terrible experience? To go with false notes\ninto a bank where it's their business to spot that sort of thing! No, I\nshould not have the face to do it. Would you?\"\n\nRaskolnikov had an intense desire again \"to put his tongue out.\" Shivers\nkept running down his spine.\n\n\"I should do it quite differently,\" Raskolnikov began. \"This is how I\nwould change the notes: I'd count the first thousand three or four times\nbackwards and forwards, looking at every note and then I'd set to the\nsecond thousand; I'd count that half-way through and then hold some\nfifty-rouble note to the light, then turn it, then hold it to the light\nagain--to see whether it was a good one. 'I am afraid,' I would say, 'a\nrelation of mine lost twenty-five roubles the other day through a\nfalse note,' and then I'd tell them the whole story. And after I began\ncounting the third, 'No, excuse me,' I would say, 'I fancy I made a\nmistake in the seventh hundred in that second thousand, I am not sure.'\nAnd so I would give up the third thousand and go back to the second and\nso on to the end. And when I had finished, I'd pick out one from the\nfifth and one from the second thousand and take them again to the light\nand ask again, 'Change them, please,' and put the clerk into such a stew\nthat he would not know how to get rid of me. When I'd finished and had\ngone out, I'd come back, 'No, excuse me,' and ask for some explanation.\nThat's how I'd do it.\"\n\n\"Foo! what terrible things you say!\" said Zametov, laughing. \"But all\nthat is only talk. I dare say when it came to deeds you'd make a slip.\nI believe that even a practised, desperate man cannot always reckon on\nhimself, much less you and I. To take an example near home--that old\nwoman murdered in our district. The murderer seems to have been a\ndesperate fellow, he risked everything in open daylight, was saved by\na miracle--but his hands shook, too. He did not succeed in robbing the\nplace, he couldn't stand it. That was clear from the...\"\n\nRaskolnikov seemed offended.\n\n\"Clear? Why don't you catch him then?\" he cried, maliciously gibing at\nZametov.\n\n\"Well, they will catch him.\"\n\n\"Who? You? Do you suppose you could catch him? You've a tough job! A\ngreat point for you is whether a man is spending money or not. If he had\nno money and suddenly begins spending, he must be the man. So that any\nchild can mislead you.\"\n\n\"The fact is they always do that, though,\" answered Zametov. \"A man will\ncommit a clever murder at the risk of his life and then at once he goes\ndrinking in a tavern. They are caught spending money, they are not all\nas cunning as you are. You wouldn't go to a tavern, of course?\"\n\nRaskolnikov frowned and looked steadily at Zametov.\n\n\"You seem to enjoy the subject and would like to know how I should\nbehave in that case, too?\" he asked with displeasure.\n\n\"I should like to,\" Zametov answered firmly and seriously. Somewhat too\nmuch earnestness began to appear in his words and looks.\n\n\"Very much?\"\n\n\"Very much!\"\n\n\"All right then. This is how I should behave,\" Raskolnikov began, again\nbringing his face close to Zametov's, again staring at him and speaking\nin a whisper, so that the latter positively shuddered. \"This is what\nI should have done. I should have taken the money and jewels, I should\nhave walked out of there and have gone straight to some deserted place\nwith fences round it and scarcely anyone to be seen, some kitchen garden\nor place of that sort. I should have looked out beforehand some stone\nweighing a hundredweight or more which had been lying in the corner from\nthe time the house was built. I would lift that stone--there would sure\nto be a hollow under it, and I would put the jewels and money in that\nhole. Then I'd roll the stone back so that it would look as before,\nwould press it down with my foot and walk away. And for a year or two,\nthree maybe, I would not touch it. And, well, they could search! There'd\nbe no trace.\"\n\n\"You are a madman,\" said Zametov, and for some reason he too spoke in a\nwhisper, and moved away from Raskolnikov, whose eyes were glittering. He\nhad turned fearfully pale and his upper lip was twitching and quivering.\nHe bent down as close as possible to Zametov, and his lips began to move\nwithout uttering a word. This lasted for half a minute; he knew what he\nwas doing, but could not restrain himself. The terrible word trembled on\nhis lips, like the latch on that door; in another moment it will break\nout, in another moment he will let it go, he will speak out.\n\n\"And what if it was I who murdered the old woman and Lizaveta?\" he said\nsuddenly and--realised what he had done.\n\nZametov looked wildly at him and turned white as the tablecloth. His\nface wore a contorted smile.\n\n\"But is it possible?\" he brought out faintly. Raskolnikov looked\nwrathfully at him.\n\n\"Own up that you believed it, yes, you did?\"\n\n\"Not a bit of it, I believe it less than ever now,\" Zametov cried\nhastily.\n\n\"I've caught my cock-sparrow! So you did believe it before, if now you\nbelieve less than ever?\"\n\n\"Not at all,\" cried Zametov, obviously embarrassed. \"Have you been\nfrightening me so as to lead up to this?\"\n\n\"You don't believe it then? What were you talking about behind my\nback when I went out of the police-office? And why did the explosive\nlieutenant question me after I fainted? Hey, there,\" he shouted to the\nwaiter, getting up and taking his cap, \"how much?\"\n\n\"Thirty copecks,\" the latter replied, running up.\n\n\"And there is twenty copecks for vodka. See what a lot of money!\" he\nheld out his shaking hand to Zametov with notes in it. \"Red notes and\nblue, twenty-five roubles. Where did I get them? And where did my new\nclothes come from? You know I had not a copeck. You've cross-examined my\nlandlady, I'll be bound.... Well, that's enough! _Assez cause!_ Till we\nmeet again!\"\n\nHe went out, trembling all over from a sort of wild hysterical\nsensation, in which there was an element of insufferable rapture. Yet he\nwas gloomy and terribly tired. His face was twisted as after a fit.\nHis fatigue increased rapidly. Any shock, any irritating sensation\nstimulated and revived his energies at once, but his strength failed as\nquickly when the stimulus was removed.\n\nZametov, left alone, sat for a long time in the same place, plunged in\nthought. Raskolnikov had unwittingly worked a revolution in his brain on\na certain point and had made up his mind for him conclusively.\n\n\"Ilya Petrovitch is a blockhead,\" he decided.\n\nRaskolnikov had hardly opened the door of the restaurant when he\nstumbled against Razumihin on the steps. They did not see each other\ntill they almost knocked against each other. For a moment they stood\nlooking each other up and down. Razumihin was greatly astounded, then\nanger, real anger gleamed fiercely in his eyes.\n\n\"So here you are!\" he shouted at the top of his voice--\"you ran away\nfrom your bed! And here I've been looking for you under the sofa! We\nwent up to the garret. I almost beat Nastasya on your account. And here\nhe is after all. Rodya! What is the meaning of it? Tell me the whole\ntruth! Confess! Do you hear?\"\n\n\"It means that I'm sick to death of you all and I want to be alone,\"\nRaskolnikov answered calmly.\n\n\"Alone? When you are not able to walk, when your face is as white as a\nsheet and you are gasping for breath! Idiot!... What have you been doing\nin the Palais de Cristal? Own up at once!\"\n\n\"Let me go!\" said Raskolnikov and tried to pass him. This was too much\nfor Razumihin; he gripped him firmly by the shoulder.\n\n\"Let you go? You dare tell me to let you go? Do you know what I'll do\nwith you directly? I'll pick you up, tie you up in a bundle, carry you\nhome under my arm and lock you up!\"\n\n\"Listen, Razumihin,\" Raskolnikov began quietly, apparently calm--\"can't\nyou see that I don't want your benevolence? A strange desire you have to\nshower benefits on a man who... curses them, who feels them a burden in\nfact! Why did you seek me out at the beginning of my illness? Maybe I\nwas very glad to die. Didn't I tell you plainly enough to-day that\nyou were torturing me, that I was... sick of you! You seem to want to\ntorture people! I assure you that all that is seriously hindering my\nrecovery, because it's continually irritating me. You saw Zossimov\nwent away just now to avoid irritating me. You leave me alone too, for\ngoodness' sake! What right have you, indeed, to keep me by force? Don't\nyou see that I am in possession of all my faculties now? How, how can\nI persuade you not to persecute me with your kindness? I may be\nungrateful, I may be mean, only let me be, for God's sake, let me be!\nLet me be, let me be!\"\n\nHe began calmly, gloating beforehand over the venomous phrases he was\nabout to utter, but finished, panting for breath, in a frenzy, as he had\nbeen with Luzhin.\n\nRazumihin stood a moment, thought and let his hand drop.\n\n\"Well, go to hell then,\" he said gently and thoughtfully. \"Stay,\" he\nroared, as Raskolnikov was about to move. \"Listen to me. Let me tell\nyou, that you are all a set of babbling, posing idiots! If you've any\nlittle trouble you brood over it like a hen over an egg. And you are\nplagiarists even in that! There isn't a sign of independent life in\nyou! You are made of spermaceti ointment and you've lymph in your veins\ninstead of blood. I don't believe in anyone of you! In any circumstances\nthe first thing for all of you is to be unlike a human being! Stop!\" he\ncried with redoubled fury, noticing that Raskolnikov was again making\na movement--\"hear me out! You know I'm having a house-warming this\nevening, I dare say they've arrived by now, but I left my uncle there--I\njust ran in--to receive the guests. And if you weren't a fool, a common\nfool, a perfect fool, if you were an original instead of a translation...\nyou see, Rodya, I recognise you're a clever fellow, but you're a\nfool!--and if you weren't a fool you'd come round to me this evening\ninstead of wearing out your boots in the street! Since you have gone\nout, there's no help for it! I'd give you a snug easy chair, my landlady\nhas one... a cup of tea, company.... Or you could lie on the sofa--any\nway you would be with us.... Zossimov will be there too. Will you come?\"\n\n\"No.\"\n\n\"R-rubbish!\" Razumihin shouted, out of patience. \"How do you know?\nYou can't answer for yourself! You don't know anything about it....\nThousands of times I've fought tooth and nail with people and run back\nto them afterwards.... One feels ashamed and goes back to a man! So\nremember, Potchinkov's house on the third storey....\"\n\n\"Why, Mr. Razumihin, I do believe you'd let anybody beat you from sheer\nbenevolence.\"\n\n\"Beat? Whom? Me? I'd twist his nose off at the mere idea! Potchinkov's\nhouse, 47, Babushkin's flat....\"\n\n\"I shall not come, Razumihin.\" Raskolnikov turned and walked away.\n\n\"I bet you will,\" Razumihin shouted after him. \"I refuse to know you if\nyou don't! Stay, hey, is Zametov in there?\"\n\n\"Yes.\"\n\n\"Did you see him?\"\n\n\"Yes.\"\n\n\"Talked to him?\"\n\n\"Yes.\"\n\n\"What about? Confound you, don't tell me then. Potchinkov's house, 47,\nBabushkin's flat, remember!\"\n\nRaskolnikov walked on and turned the corner into Sadovy Street.\nRazumihin looked after him thoughtfully. Then with a wave of his hand he\nwent into the house but stopped short of the stairs.\n\n\"Confound it,\" he went on almost aloud. \"He talked sensibly but yet...\nI am a fool! As if madmen didn't talk sensibly! And this was just what\nZossimov seemed afraid of.\" He struck his finger on his forehead. \"What\nif... how could I let him go off alone? He may drown himself.... Ach,\nwhat a blunder! I can't.\" And he ran back to overtake Raskolnikov, but\nthere was no trace of him. With a curse he returned with rapid steps to\nthe Palais de Cristal to question Zametov.\n\nRaskolnikov walked straight to X---- Bridge, stood in the middle, and\nleaning both elbows on the rail stared into the distance. On parting\nwith Razumihin, he felt so much weaker that he could scarcely reach this\nplace. He longed to sit or lie down somewhere in the street. Bending\nover the water, he gazed mechanically at the last pink flush of the\nsunset, at the row of houses growing dark in the gathering twilight, at\none distant attic window on the left bank, flashing as though on fire in\nthe last rays of the setting sun, at the darkening water of the canal,\nand the water seemed to catch his attention. At last red circles flashed\nbefore his eyes, the houses seemed moving, the passers-by, the canal\nbanks, the carriages, all danced before his eyes. Suddenly he started,\nsaved again perhaps from swooning by an uncanny and hideous sight. He\nbecame aware of someone standing on the right side of him; he looked\nand saw a tall woman with a kerchief on her head, with a long, yellow,\nwasted face and red sunken eyes. She was looking straight at him, but\nobviously she saw nothing and recognised no one. Suddenly she leaned her\nright hand on the parapet, lifted her right leg over the railing, then\nher left and threw herself into the canal. The filthy water parted and\nswallowed up its victim for a moment, but an instant later the drowning\nwoman floated to the surface, moving slowly with the current, her head\nand legs in the water, her skirt inflated like a balloon over her back.\n\n\"A woman drowning! A woman drowning!\" shouted dozens of voices; people\nran up, both banks were thronged with spectators, on the bridge people\ncrowded about Raskolnikov, pressing up behind him.\n\n\"Mercy on it! it's our Afrosinya!\" a woman cried tearfully close by.\n\"Mercy! save her! kind people, pull her out!\"\n\n\"A boat, a boat\" was shouted in the crowd. But there was no need of a\nboat; a policeman ran down the steps to the canal, threw off his great\ncoat and his boots and rushed into the water. It was easy to reach her:\nshe floated within a couple of yards from the steps, he caught hold of\nher clothes with his right hand and with his left seized a pole which a\ncomrade held out to him; the drowning woman was pulled out at once. They\nlaid her on the granite pavement of the embankment. She soon recovered\nconsciousness, raised her head, sat up and began sneezing and coughing,\nstupidly wiping her wet dress with her hands. She said nothing.\n\n\"She's drunk herself out of her senses,\" the same woman's voice wailed\nat her side. \"Out of her senses. The other day she tried to hang\nherself, we cut her down. I ran out to the shop just now, left my little\ngirl to look after her--and here she's in trouble again! A neighbour,\ngentleman, a neighbour, we live close by, the second house from the end,\nsee yonder....\"\n\nThe crowd broke up. The police still remained round the woman, someone\nmentioned the police station.... Raskolnikov looked on with a strange\nsensation of indifference and apathy. He felt disgusted. \"No, that's\nloathsome... water... it's not good enough,\" he muttered to himself.\n\"Nothing will come of it,\" he added, \"no use to wait. What about the\npolice office...? And why isn't Zametov at the police office? The police\noffice is open till ten o'clock....\" He turned his back to the railing\nand looked about him.\n\n\"Very well then!\" he said resolutely; he moved from the bridge and\nwalked in the direction of the police office. His heart felt hollow and\nempty. He did not want to think. Even his depression had passed, there\nwas not a trace now of the energy with which he had set out \"to make an\nend of it all.\" Complete apathy had succeeded to it.\n\n\"Well, it's a way out of it,\" he thought, walking slowly and listlessly\nalong the canal bank. \"Anyway I'll make an end, for I want to.... But\nis it a way out? What does it matter! There'll be the square yard of\nspace--ha! But what an end! Is it really the end? Shall I tell them or\nnot? Ah... damn! How tired I am! If I could find somewhere to sit or lie\ndown soon! What I am most ashamed of is its being so stupid. But I don't\ncare about that either! What idiotic ideas come into one's head.\"\n\nTo reach the police office he had to go straight forward and take the\nsecond turning to the left. It was only a few paces away. But at the\nfirst turning he stopped and, after a minute's thought, turned into a\nside street and went two streets out of his way, possibly without any\nobject, or possibly to delay a minute and gain time. He walked, looking\nat the ground; suddenly someone seemed to whisper in his ear; he lifted\nhis head and saw that he was standing at the very gate of _the_ house.\nHe had not passed it, he had not been near it since _that_ evening.\nAn overwhelming, unaccountable prompting drew him on. He went into the\nhouse, passed through the gateway, then into the first entrance on the\nright, and began mounting the familiar staircase to the fourth storey.\nThe narrow, steep staircase was very dark. He stopped at each landing\nand looked round him with curiosity; on the first landing the framework\nof the window had been taken out. \"That wasn't so then,\" he thought.\nHere was the flat on the second storey where Nikolay and Dmitri had been\nworking. \"It's shut up and the door newly painted. So it's to let.\" Then\nthe third storey and the fourth. \"Here!\" He was perplexed to find the\ndoor of the flat wide open. There were men there, he could hear voices;\nhe had not expected that. After brief hesitation he mounted the last\nstairs and went into the flat. It, too, was being done up; there were\nworkmen in it. This seemed to amaze him; he somehow fancied that he\nwould find everything as he left it, even perhaps the corpses in the\nsame places on the floor. And now, bare walls, no furniture; it seemed\nstrange. He walked to the window and sat down on the window-sill. There\nwere two workmen, both young fellows, but one much younger than the\nother. They were papering the walls with a new white paper covered with\nlilac flowers, instead of the old, dirty, yellow one. Raskolnikov for\nsome reason felt horribly annoyed by this. He looked at the new paper\nwith dislike, as though he felt sorry to have it all so changed.\nThe workmen had obviously stayed beyond their time and now they were\nhurriedly rolling up their paper and getting ready to go home. They took\nno notice of Raskolnikov's coming in; they were talking. Raskolnikov\nfolded his arms and listened.\n\n\"She comes to me in the morning,\" said the elder to the younger, \"very\nearly, all dressed up. 'Why are you preening and prinking?' says I. 'I\nam ready to do anything to please you, Tit Vassilitch!' That's a way of\ngoing on! And she dressed up like a regular fashion book!\"\n\n\"And what is a fashion book?\" the younger one asked. He obviously\nregarded the other as an authority.\n\n\"A fashion book is a lot of pictures, coloured, and they come to the\ntailors here every Saturday, by post from abroad, to show folks how\nto dress, the male sex as well as the female. They're pictures. The\ngentlemen are generally wearing fur coats and for the ladies' fluffles,\nthey're beyond anything you can fancy.\"\n\n\"There's nothing you can't find in Petersburg,\" the younger cried\nenthusiastically, \"except father and mother, there's everything!\"\n\n\"Except them, there's everything to be found, my boy,\" the elder\ndeclared sententiously.\n\nRaskolnikov got up and walked into the other room where the strong box,\nthe bed, and the chest of drawers had been; the room seemed to him very\ntiny without furniture in it. The paper was the same; the paper in the\ncorner showed where the case of ikons had stood. He looked at it and\nwent to the window. The elder workman looked at him askance.\n\n\"What do you want?\" he asked suddenly.\n\nInstead of answering Raskolnikov went into the passage and pulled the\nbell. The same bell, the same cracked note. He rang it a second and\na third time; he listened and remembered. The hideous and agonisingly\nfearful sensation he had felt then began to come back more and more\nvividly. He shuddered at every ring and it gave him more and more\nsatisfaction.\n\n\"Well, what do you want? Who are you?\" the workman shouted, going out to\nhim. Raskolnikov went inside again.\n\n\"I want to take a flat,\" he said. \"I am looking round.\"\n\n\"It's not the time to look at rooms at night! and you ought to come up\nwith the porter.\"\n\n\"The floors have been washed, will they be painted?\" Raskolnikov went\non. \"Is there no blood?\"\n\n\"What blood?\"\n\n\"Why, the old woman and her sister were murdered here. There was a\nperfect pool there.\"\n\n\"But who are you?\" the workman cried, uneasy.\n\n\"Who am I?\"\n\n\"Yes.\"\n\n\"You want to know? Come to the police station, I'll tell you.\"\n\nThe workmen looked at him in amazement.\n\n\"It's time for us to go, we are late. Come along, Alyoshka. We must lock\nup,\" said the elder workman.\n\n\"Very well, come along,\" said Raskolnikov indifferently, and going\nout first, he went slowly downstairs. \"Hey, porter,\" he cried in the\ngateway.\n\nAt the entrance several people were standing, staring at the passers-by;\nthe two porters, a peasant woman, a man in a long coat and a few others.\nRaskolnikov went straight up to them.\n\n\"What do you want?\" asked one of the porters.\n\n\"Have you been to the police office?\"\n\n\"I've just been there. What do you want?\"\n\n\"Is it open?\"\n\n\"Of course.\"\n\n\"Is the assistant there?\"\n\n\"He was there for a time. What do you want?\"\n\nRaskolnikov made no reply, but stood beside them lost in thought.\n\n\"He's been to look at the flat,\" said the elder workman, coming forward.\n\n\"Which flat?\"\n\n\"Where we are at work. 'Why have you washed away the blood?' says he.\n'There has been a murder here,' says he, 'and I've come to take it.'\nAnd he began ringing at the bell, all but broke it. 'Come to the police\nstation,' says he. 'I'll tell you everything there.' He wouldn't leave\nus.\"\n\nThe porter looked at Raskolnikov, frowning and perplexed.\n\n\"Who are you?\" he shouted as impressively as he could.\n\n\"I am Rodion Romanovitch Raskolnikov, formerly a student, I live in\nShil's house, not far from here, flat Number 14, ask the porter, he\nknows me.\" Raskolnikov said all this in a lazy, dreamy voice, not\nturning round, but looking intently into the darkening street.\n\n\"Why have you been to the flat?\"\n\n\"To look at it.\"\n\n\"What is there to look at?\"\n\n\"Take him straight to the police station,\" the man in the long coat\njerked in abruptly.\n\nRaskolnikov looked intently at him over his shoulder and said in the\nsame slow, lazy tones:\n\n\"Come along.\"\n\n\"Yes, take him,\" the man went on more confidently. \"Why was he going\ninto _that_, what's in his mind, eh?\"\n\n\"He's not drunk, but God knows what's the matter with him,\" muttered the\nworkman.\n\n\"But what do you want?\" the porter shouted again, beginning to get angry\nin earnest--\"Why are you hanging about?\"\n\n\"You funk the police station then?\" said Raskolnikov jeeringly.\n\n\"How funk it? Why are you hanging about?\"\n\n\"He's a rogue!\" shouted the peasant woman.\n\n\"Why waste time talking to him?\" cried the other porter, a huge peasant\nin a full open coat and with keys on his belt. \"Get along! He is a rogue\nand no mistake. Get along!\"\n\nAnd seizing Raskolnikov by the shoulder he flung him into the street. He\nlurched forward, but recovered his footing, looked at the spectators in\nsilence and walked away.\n\n\"Strange man!\" observed the workman.\n\n\"There are strange folks about nowadays,\" said the woman.\n\n\"You should have taken him to the police station all the same,\" said the\nman in the long coat.\n\n\"Better have nothing to do with him,\" decided the big porter. \"A regular\nrogue! Just what he wants, you may be sure, but once take him up, you\nwon't get rid of him.... We know the sort!\"\n\n\"Shall I go there or not?\" thought Raskolnikov, standing in the middle\nof the thoroughfare at the cross-roads, and he looked about him, as\nthough expecting from someone a decisive word. But no sound came, all\nwas dead and silent like the stones on which he walked, dead to him, to\nhim alone.... All at once at the end of the street, two hundred yards\naway, in the gathering dusk he saw a crowd and heard talk and shouts.\nIn the middle of the crowd stood a carriage.... A light gleamed in the\nmiddle of the street. \"What is it?\" Raskolnikov turned to the right\nand went up to the crowd. He seemed to clutch at everything and smiled\ncoldly when he recognised it, for he had fully made up his mind to go to\nthe police station and knew that it would all soon be over.\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VII\n\nAn elegant carriage stood in the middle of the road with a pair of\nspirited grey horses; there was no one in it, and the coachman had got\noff his box and stood by; the horses were being held by the bridle....\nA mass of people had gathered round, the police standing in front. One\nof them held a lighted lantern which he was turning on something lying\nclose to the wheels. Everyone was talking, shouting, exclaiming; the\ncoachman seemed at a loss and kept repeating:\n\n\"What a misfortune! Good Lord, what a misfortune!\"\n\nRaskolnikov pushed his way in as far as he could, and succeeded at last\nin seeing the object of the commotion and interest. On the ground a\nman who had been run over lay apparently unconscious, and covered with\nblood; he was very badly dressed, but not like a workman. Blood was\nflowing from his head and face; his face was crushed, mutilated and\ndisfigured. He was evidently badly injured.\n\n\"Merciful heaven!\" wailed the coachman, \"what more could I do? If I'd\nbeen driving fast or had not shouted to him, but I was going quietly,\nnot in a hurry. Everyone could see I was going along just like everybody\nelse. A drunken man can't walk straight, we all know.... I saw him\ncrossing the street, staggering and almost falling. I shouted again\nand a second and a third time, then I held the horses in, but he fell\nstraight under their feet! Either he did it on purpose or he was very\ntipsy.... The horses are young and ready to take fright... they started,\nhe screamed... that made them worse. That's how it happened!\"\n\n\"That's just how it was,\" a voice in the crowd confirmed.\n\n\"He shouted, that's true, he shouted three times,\" another voice\ndeclared.\n\n\"Three times it was, we all heard it,\" shouted a third.\n\nBut the coachman was not very much distressed and frightened. It was\nevident that the carriage belonged to a rich and important person who\nwas awaiting it somewhere; the police, of course, were in no little\nanxiety to avoid upsetting his arrangements. All they had to do was to\ntake the injured man to the police station and the hospital. No one knew\nhis name.\n\nMeanwhile Raskolnikov had squeezed in and stooped closer over him. The\nlantern suddenly lighted up the unfortunate man's face. He recognised\nhim.\n\n\"I know him! I know him!\" he shouted, pushing to the front. \"It's a\ngovernment clerk retired from the service, Marmeladov. He lives close\nby in Kozel's house.... Make haste for a doctor! I will pay, see?\" He\npulled money out of his pocket and showed it to the policeman. He was in\nviolent agitation.\n\nThe police were glad that they had found out who the man was.\nRaskolnikov gave his own name and address, and, as earnestly as if it\nhad been his father, he besought the police to carry the unconscious\nMarmeladov to his lodging at once.\n\n\"Just here, three houses away,\" he said eagerly, \"the house belongs to\nKozel, a rich German. He was going home, no doubt drunk. I know him,\nhe is a drunkard. He has a family there, a wife, children, he has one\ndaughter.... It will take time to take him to the hospital, and there is\nsure to be a doctor in the house. I'll pay, I'll pay! At least he will\nbe looked after at home... they will help him at once. But he'll die\nbefore you get him to the hospital.\" He managed to slip something\nunseen into the policeman's hand. But the thing was straightforward\nand legitimate, and in any case help was closer here. They raised the\ninjured man; people volunteered to help.\n\nKozel's house was thirty yards away. Raskolnikov walked behind,\ncarefully holding Marmeladov's head and showing the way.\n\n\"This way, this way! We must take him upstairs head foremost. Turn\nround! I'll pay, I'll make it worth your while,\" he muttered.\n\nKaterina Ivanovna had just begun, as she always did at every free\nmoment, walking to and fro in her little room from window to stove and\nback again, with her arms folded across her chest, talking to herself\nand coughing. Of late she had begun to talk more than ever to her eldest\ngirl, Polenka, a child of ten, who, though there was much she did not\nunderstand, understood very well that her mother needed her, and so\nalways watched her with her big clever eyes and strove her utmost\nto appear to understand. This time Polenka was undressing her little\nbrother, who had been unwell all day and was going to bed. The boy was\nwaiting for her to take off his shirt, which had to be washed at night.\nHe was sitting straight and motionless on a chair, with a silent,\nserious face, with his legs stretched out straight before him--heels\ntogether and toes turned out.\n\nHe was listening to what his mother was saying to his sister, sitting\nperfectly still with pouting lips and wide-open eyes, just as all good\nlittle boys have to sit when they are undressed to go to bed. A little\ngirl, still younger, dressed literally in rags, stood at the screen,\nwaiting for her turn. The door on to the stairs was open to relieve\nthem a little from the clouds of tobacco smoke which floated in from the\nother rooms and brought on long terrible fits of coughing in the poor,\nconsumptive woman. Katerina Ivanovna seemed to have grown even thinner\nduring that week and the hectic flush on her face was brighter than\never.\n\n\"You wouldn't believe, you can't imagine, Polenka,\" she said, walking\nabout the room, \"what a happy luxurious life we had in my papa's house\nand how this drunkard has brought me, and will bring you all, to ruin!\nPapa was a civil colonel and only a step from being a governor; so that\neveryone who came to see him said, 'We look upon you, Ivan Mihailovitch,\nas our governor!' When I... when...\" she coughed violently, \"oh, cursed\nlife,\" she cried, clearing her throat and pressing her hands to her\nbreast, \"when I... when at the last ball... at the marshal's...\nPrincess Bezzemelny saw me--who gave me the blessing when your father\nand I were married, Polenka--she asked at once 'Isn't that the pretty\ngirl who danced the shawl dance at the breaking-up?' (You must mend\nthat tear, you must take your needle and darn it as I showed you, or\nto-morrow--cough, cough, cough--he will make the hole bigger,\" she\narticulated with effort.) \"Prince Schegolskoy, a kammerjunker, had just\ncome from Petersburg then... he danced the mazurka with me and wanted to\nmake me an offer next day; but I thanked him in flattering expressions\nand told him that my heart had long been another's. That other was your\nfather, Polya; papa was fearfully angry.... Is the water ready? Give me\nthe shirt, and the stockings! Lida,\" said she to the youngest one, \"you\nmust manage without your chemise to-night... and lay your stockings out\nwith it... I'll wash them together.... How is it that drunken vagabond\ndoesn't come in? He has worn his shirt till it looks like a dish-clout,\nhe has torn it to rags! I'd do it all together, so as not to have to\nwork two nights running! Oh, dear! (Cough, cough, cough, cough!) Again!\nWhat's this?\" she cried, noticing a crowd in the passage and the men,\nwho were pushing into her room, carrying a burden. \"What is it? What are\nthey bringing? Mercy on us!\"\n\n\"Where are we to put him?\" asked the policeman, looking round when\nMarmeladov, unconscious and covered with blood, had been carried in.\n\n\"On the sofa! Put him straight on the sofa, with his head this way,\"\nRaskolnikov showed him.\n\n\"Run over in the road! Drunk!\" someone shouted in the passage.\n\nKaterina Ivanovna stood, turning white and gasping for breath. The\nchildren were terrified. Little Lida screamed, rushed to Polenka and\nclutched at her, trembling all over.\n\nHaving laid Marmeladov down, Raskolnikov flew to Katerina Ivanovna.\n\n\"For God's sake be calm, don't be frightened!\" he said, speaking\nquickly, \"he was crossing the road and was run over by a carriage, don't\nbe frightened, he will come to, I told them bring him here... I've been\nhere already, you remember? He will come to; I'll pay!\"\n\n\"He's done it this time!\" Katerina Ivanovna cried despairingly and she\nrushed to her husband.\n\nRaskolnikov noticed at once that she was not one of those women who\nswoon easily. She instantly placed under the luckless man's head a\npillow, which no one had thought of and began undressing and examining\nhim. She kept her head, forgetting herself, biting her trembling lips\nand stifling the screams which were ready to break from her.\n\nRaskolnikov meanwhile induced someone to run for a doctor. There was a\ndoctor, it appeared, next door but one.\n\n\"I've sent for a doctor,\" he kept assuring Katerina Ivanovna, \"don't be\nuneasy, I'll pay. Haven't you water?... and give me a napkin or a towel,\nanything, as quick as you can.... He is injured, but not killed, believe\nme.... We shall see what the doctor says!\"\n\nKaterina Ivanovna ran to the window; there, on a broken chair in the\ncorner, a large earthenware basin full of water had been stood, in\nreadiness for washing her children's and husband's linen that night.\nThis washing was done by Katerina Ivanovna at night at least twice a\nweek, if not oftener. For the family had come to such a pass that they\nwere practically without change of linen, and Katerina Ivanovna could\nnot endure uncleanliness and, rather than see dirt in the house, she\npreferred to wear herself out at night, working beyond her strength when\nthe rest were asleep, so as to get the wet linen hung on a line and dry\nby the morning. She took up the basin of water at Raskolnikov's request,\nbut almost fell down with her burden. But the latter had already\nsucceeded in finding a towel, wetted it and began washing the blood off\nMarmeladov's face.\n\nKaterina Ivanovna stood by, breathing painfully and pressing her hands\nto her breast. She was in need of attention herself. Raskolnikov began\nto realise that he might have made a mistake in having the injured man\nbrought here. The policeman, too, stood in hesitation.\n\n\"Polenka,\" cried Katerina Ivanovna, \"run to Sonia, make haste. If you\ndon't find her at home, leave word that her father has been run over\nand that she is to come here at once... when she comes in. Run, Polenka!\nthere, put on the shawl.\"\n\n\"Run your fastest!\" cried the little boy on the chair suddenly, after\nwhich he relapsed into the same dumb rigidity, with round eyes, his\nheels thrust forward and his toes spread out.\n\nMeanwhile the room had become so full of people that you couldn't have\ndropped a pin. The policemen left, all except one, who remained for a\ntime, trying to drive out the people who came in from the stairs. Almost\nall Madame Lippevechsel's lodgers had streamed in from the inner rooms\nof the flat; at first they were squeezed together in the doorway, but\nafterwards they overflowed into the room. Katerina Ivanovna flew into a\nfury.\n\n\"You might let him die in peace, at least,\" she shouted at the crowd,\n\"is it a spectacle for you to gape at? With cigarettes! (Cough, cough,\ncough!) You might as well keep your hats on.... And there is one in his\nhat!... Get away! You should respect the dead, at least!\"\n\nHer cough choked her--but her reproaches were not without result. They\nevidently stood in some awe of Katerina Ivanovna. The lodgers, one after\nanother, squeezed back into the doorway with that strange inner feeling\nof satisfaction which may be observed in the presence of a sudden\naccident, even in those nearest and dearest to the victim, from which\nno living man is exempt, even in spite of the sincerest sympathy and\ncompassion.\n\nVoices outside were heard, however, speaking of the hospital and saying\nthat they'd no business to make a disturbance here.\n\n\"No business to die!\" cried Katerina Ivanovna, and she was rushing to\nthe door to vent her wrath upon them, but in the doorway came face to\nface with Madame Lippevechsel who had only just heard of the accident\nand ran in to restore order. She was a particularly quarrelsome and\nirresponsible German.\n\n\"Ah, my God!\" she cried, clasping her hands, \"your husband drunken\nhorses have trampled! To the hospital with him! I am the landlady!\"\n\n\"Amalia Ludwigovna, I beg you to recollect what you are saying,\"\nKaterina Ivanovna began haughtily (she always took a haughty tone with\nthe landlady that she might \"remember her place\" and even now could not\ndeny herself this satisfaction). \"Amalia Ludwigovna...\"\n\n\"I have you once before told that you to call me Amalia Ludwigovna may\nnot dare; I am Amalia Ivanovna.\"\n\n\"You are not Amalia Ivanovna, but Amalia Ludwigovna, and as I am not\none of your despicable flatterers like Mr. Lebeziatnikov, who's laughing\nbehind the door at this moment (a laugh and a cry of 'they are at it\nagain' was in fact audible at the door) so I shall always call you\nAmalia Ludwigovna, though I fail to understand why you dislike that\nname. You can see for yourself what has happened to Semyon Zaharovitch;\nhe is dying. I beg you to close that door at once and to admit no one.\nLet him at least die in peace! Or I warn you the Governor-General,\nhimself, shall be informed of your conduct to-morrow. The prince knew\nme as a girl; he remembers Semyon Zaharovitch well and has often been\na benefactor to him. Everyone knows that Semyon Zaharovitch had many\nfriends and protectors, whom he abandoned himself from an honourable\npride, knowing his unhappy weakness, but now (she pointed to\nRaskolnikov) a generous young man has come to our assistance, who has\nwealth and connections and whom Semyon Zaharovitch has known from a\nchild. You may rest assured, Amalia Ludwigovna...\"\n\nAll this was uttered with extreme rapidity, getting quicker and quicker,\nbut a cough suddenly cut short Katerina Ivanovna's eloquence. At that\ninstant the dying man recovered consciousness and uttered a groan; she\nran to him. The injured man opened his eyes and without recognition or\nunderstanding gazed at Raskolnikov who was bending over him. He drew\ndeep, slow, painful breaths; blood oozed at the corners of his mouth\nand drops of perspiration came out on his forehead. Not recognising\nRaskolnikov, he began looking round uneasily. Katerina Ivanovna looked\nat him with a sad but stern face, and tears trickled from her eyes.\n\n\"My God! His whole chest is crushed! How he is bleeding,\" she said\nin despair. \"We must take off his clothes. Turn a little, Semyon\nZaharovitch, if you can,\" she cried to him.\n\nMarmeladov recognised her.\n\n\"A priest,\" he articulated huskily.\n\nKaterina Ivanovna walked to the window, laid her head against the window\nframe and exclaimed in despair:\n\n\"Oh, cursed life!\"\n\n\"A priest,\" the dying man said again after a moment's silence.\n\n\"They've gone for him,\" Katerina Ivanovna shouted to him, he obeyed her\nshout and was silent. With sad and timid eyes he looked for her; she\nreturned and stood by his pillow. He seemed a little easier but not for\nlong.\n\nSoon his eyes rested on little Lida, his favourite, who was shaking in\nthe corner, as though she were in a fit, and staring at him with her\nwondering childish eyes.\n\n\"A-ah,\" he signed towards her uneasily. He wanted to say something.\n\n\"What now?\" cried Katerina Ivanovna.\n\n\"Barefoot, barefoot!\" he muttered, indicating with frenzied eyes the\nchild's bare feet.\n\n\"Be silent,\" Katerina Ivanovna cried irritably, \"you know why she is\nbarefooted.\"\n\n\"Thank God, the doctor,\" exclaimed Raskolnikov, relieved.\n\nThe doctor came in, a precise little old man, a German, looking about\nhim mistrustfully; he went up to the sick man, took his pulse, carefully\nfelt his head and with the help of Katerina Ivanovna he unbuttoned the\nblood-stained shirt, and bared the injured man's chest. It was gashed,\ncrushed and fractured, several ribs on the right side were broken.\nOn the left side, just over the heart, was a large, sinister-looking\nyellowish-black bruise--a cruel kick from the horse's hoof. The doctor\nfrowned. The policeman told him that he was caught in the wheel and\nturned round with it for thirty yards on the road.\n\n\"It's wonderful that he has recovered consciousness,\" the doctor\nwhispered softly to Raskolnikov.\n\n\"What do you think of him?\" he asked.\n\n\"He will die immediately.\"\n\n\"Is there really no hope?\"\n\n\"Not the faintest! He is at the last gasp.... His head is badly injured,\ntoo... Hm... I could bleed him if you like, but... it would be useless.\nHe is bound to die within the next five or ten minutes.\"\n\n\"Better bleed him then.\"\n\n\"If you like.... But I warn you it will be perfectly useless.\"\n\nAt that moment other steps were heard; the crowd in the passage parted,\nand the priest, a little, grey old man, appeared in the doorway bearing\nthe sacrament. A policeman had gone for him at the time of the accident.\nThe doctor changed places with him, exchanging glances with him.\nRaskolnikov begged the doctor to remain a little while. He shrugged his\nshoulders and remained.\n\nAll stepped back. The confession was soon over. The dying man probably\nunderstood little; he could only utter indistinct broken sounds.\nKaterina Ivanovna took little Lida, lifted the boy from the chair, knelt\ndown in the corner by the stove and made the children kneel in front of\nher. The little girl was still trembling; but the boy, kneeling on his\nlittle bare knees, lifted his hand rhythmically, crossing himself with\nprecision and bowed down, touching the floor with his forehead, which\nseemed to afford him especial satisfaction. Katerina Ivanovna bit her\nlips and held back her tears; she prayed, too, now and then pulling\nstraight the boy's shirt, and managed to cover the girl's bare shoulders\nwith a kerchief, which she took from the chest without rising from her\nknees or ceasing to pray. Meanwhile the door from the inner rooms was\nopened inquisitively again. In the passage the crowd of spectators from\nall the flats on the staircase grew denser and denser, but they did not\nventure beyond the threshold. A single candle-end lighted up the scene.\n\nAt that moment Polenka forced her way through the crowd at the door. She\ncame in panting from running so fast, took off her kerchief, looked for\nher mother, went up to her and said, \"She's coming, I met her in the\nstreet.\" Her mother made her kneel beside her.\n\nTimidly and noiselessly a young girl made her way through the crowd,\nand strange was her appearance in that room, in the midst of want, rags,\ndeath and despair. She, too, was in rags, her attire was all of\nthe cheapest, but decked out in gutter finery of a special stamp,\nunmistakably betraying its shameful purpose. Sonia stopped short in the\ndoorway and looked about her bewildered, unconscious of everything.\nShe forgot her fourth-hand, gaudy silk dress, so unseemly here with\nits ridiculous long train, and her immense crinoline that filled up the\nwhole doorway, and her light-coloured shoes, and the parasol she brought\nwith her, though it was no use at night, and the absurd round straw hat\nwith its flaring flame-coloured feather. Under this rakishly-tilted hat\nwas a pale, frightened little face with lips parted and eyes staring in\nterror. Sonia was a small thin girl of eighteen with fair hair, rather\npretty, with wonderful blue eyes. She looked intently at the bed and the\npriest; she too was out of breath with running. At last whispers, some\nwords in the crowd probably, reached her. She looked down and took a\nstep forward into the room, still keeping close to the door.\n\nThe service was over. Katerina Ivanovna went up to her husband again.\nThe priest stepped back and turned to say a few words of admonition and\nconsolation to Katerina Ivanovna on leaving.\n\n\"What am I to do with these?\" she interrupted sharply and irritably,\npointing to the little ones.\n\n\"God is merciful; look to the Most High for succour,\" the priest began.\n\n\"Ach! He is merciful, but not to us.\"\n\n\"That's a sin, a sin, madam,\" observed the priest, shaking his head.\n\n\"And isn't that a sin?\" cried Katerina Ivanovna, pointing to the dying\nman.\n\n\"Perhaps those who have involuntarily caused the accident will agree to\ncompensate you, at least for the loss of his earnings.\"\n\n\"You don't understand!\" cried Katerina Ivanovna angrily waving her hand.\n\"And why should they compensate me? Why, he was drunk and threw himself\nunder the horses! What earnings? He brought us in nothing but misery.\nHe drank everything away, the drunkard! He robbed us to get drink, he\nwasted their lives and mine for drink! And thank God he's dying! One\nless to keep!\"\n\n\"You must forgive in the hour of death, that's a sin, madam, such\nfeelings are a great sin.\"\n\nKaterina Ivanovna was busy with the dying man; she was giving him water,\nwiping the blood and sweat from his head, setting his pillow straight,\nand had only turned now and then for a moment to address the priest. Now\nshe flew at him almost in a frenzy.\n\n\"Ah, father! That's words and only words! Forgive! If he'd not been run\nover, he'd have come home to-day drunk and his only shirt dirty and\nin rags and he'd have fallen asleep like a log, and I should have been\nsousing and rinsing till daybreak, washing his rags and the children's\nand then drying them by the window and as soon as it was daylight I\nshould have been darning them. That's how I spend my nights!... What's\nthe use of talking of forgiveness! I have forgiven as it is!\"\n\nA terrible hollow cough interrupted her words. She put her handkerchief\nto her lips and showed it to the priest, pressing her other hand to her\naching chest. The handkerchief was covered with blood. The priest bowed\nhis head and said nothing.\n\nMarmeladov was in the last agony; he did not take his eyes off the face\nof Katerina Ivanovna, who was bending over him again. He kept trying\nto say something to her; he began moving his tongue with difficulty and\narticulating indistinctly, but Katerina Ivanovna, understanding that he\nwanted to ask her forgiveness, called peremptorily to him:\n\n\"Be silent! No need! I know what you want to say!\" And the sick man\nwas silent, but at the same instant his wandering eyes strayed to the\ndoorway and he saw Sonia.\n\nTill then he had not noticed her: she was standing in the shadow in a\ncorner.\n\n\"Who's that? Who's that?\" he said suddenly in a thick gasping voice,\nin agitation, turning his eyes in horror towards the door where his\ndaughter was standing, and trying to sit up.\n\n\"Lie down! Lie do-own!\" cried Katerina Ivanovna.\n\nWith unnatural strength he had succeeded in propping himself on his\nelbow. He looked wildly and fixedly for some time on his daughter, as\nthough not recognising her. He had never seen her before in such attire.\nSuddenly he recognised her, crushed and ashamed in her humiliation and\ngaudy finery, meekly awaiting her turn to say good-bye to her dying\nfather. His face showed intense suffering.\n\n\"Sonia! Daughter! Forgive!\" he cried, and he tried to hold out his hand\nto her, but losing his balance, he fell off the sofa, face downwards on\nthe floor. They rushed to pick him up, they put him on the sofa; but he\nwas dying. Sonia with a faint cry ran up, embraced him and remained so\nwithout moving. He died in her arms.\n\n\"He's got what he wanted,\" Katerina Ivanovna cried, seeing her husband's\ndead body. \"Well, what's to be done now? How am I to bury him! What can\nI give them to-morrow to eat?\"\n\nRaskolnikov went up to Katerina Ivanovna.\n\n\"Katerina Ivanovna,\" he began, \"last week your husband told me all his\nlife and circumstances.... Believe me, he spoke of you with passionate\nreverence. From that evening, when I learnt how devoted he was to you\nall and how he loved and respected you especially, Katerina Ivanovna,\nin spite of his unfortunate weakness, from that evening we became\nfriends.... Allow me now... to do something... to repay my debt to my\ndead friend. Here are twenty roubles, I think--and if that can be of any\nassistance to you, then... I... in short, I will come again, I will\nbe sure to come again... I shall, perhaps, come again to-morrow....\nGood-bye!\"\n\nAnd he went quickly out of the room, squeezing his way through the crowd\nto the stairs. But in the crowd he suddenly jostled against Nikodim\nFomitch, who had heard of the accident and had come to give instructions\nin person. They had not met since the scene at the police station, but\nNikodim Fomitch knew him instantly.\n\n\"Ah, is that you?\" he asked him.\n\n\"He's dead,\" answered Raskolnikov. \"The doctor and the priest have been,\nall as it should have been. Don't worry the poor woman too much, she is\nin consumption as it is. Try and cheer her up, if possible... you are a\nkind-hearted man, I know...\" he added with a smile, looking straight in\nhis face.\n\n\"But you are spattered with blood,\" observed Nikodim Fomitch, noticing\nin the lamplight some fresh stains on Raskolnikov's waistcoat.\n\n\"Yes... I'm covered with blood,\" Raskolnikov said with a peculiar air;\nthen he smiled, nodded and went downstairs.\n\nHe walked down slowly and deliberately, feverish but not conscious\nof it, entirely absorbed in a new overwhelming sensation of life and\nstrength that surged up suddenly within him. This sensation might be\ncompared to that of a man condemned to death who has suddenly been\npardoned. Halfway down the staircase he was overtaken by the priest on\nhis way home; Raskolnikov let him pass, exchanging a silent greeting\nwith him. He was just descending the last steps when he heard rapid\nfootsteps behind him. Someone overtook him; it was Polenka. She was\nrunning after him, calling \"Wait! wait!\"\n\nHe turned round. She was at the bottom of the staircase and stopped\nshort a step above him. A dim light came in from the yard. Raskolnikov\ncould distinguish the child's thin but pretty little face, looking at\nhim with a bright childish smile. She had run after him with a message\nwhich she was evidently glad to give.\n\n\"Tell me, what is your name?... and where do you live?\" she said\nhurriedly in a breathless voice.\n\nHe laid both hands on her shoulders and looked at her with a sort of\nrapture. It was such a joy to him to look at her, he could not have said\nwhy.\n\n\"Who sent you?\"\n\n\"Sister Sonia sent me,\" answered the girl, smiling still more brightly.\n\n\"I knew it was sister Sonia sent you.\"\n\n\"Mamma sent me, too... when sister Sonia was sending me, mamma came up,\ntoo, and said 'Run fast, Polenka.'\"\n\n\"Do you love sister Sonia?\"\n\n\"I love her more than anyone,\" Polenka answered with a peculiar\nearnestness, and her smile became graver.\n\n\"And will you love me?\"\n\nBy way of answer he saw the little girl's face approaching him, her full\nlips naively held out to kiss him. Suddenly her arms as thin as sticks\nheld him tightly, her head rested on his shoulder and the little girl\nwept softly, pressing her face against him.\n\n\"I am sorry for father,\" she said a moment later, raising her\ntear-stained face and brushing away the tears with her hands. \"It's\nnothing but misfortunes now,\" she added suddenly with that peculiarly\nsedate air which children try hard to assume when they want to speak\nlike grown-up people.\n\n\"Did your father love you?\"\n\n\"He loved Lida most,\" she went on very seriously without a smile,\nexactly like grown-up people, \"he loved her because she is little and\nbecause she is ill, too. And he always used to bring her presents. But\nhe taught us to read and me grammar and scripture, too,\" she added with\ndignity. \"And mother never used to say anything, but we knew that she\nliked it and father knew it, too. And mother wants to teach me French,\nfor it's time my education began.\"\n\n\"And do you know your prayers?\"\n\n\"Of course, we do! We knew them long ago. I say my prayers to myself\nas I am a big girl now, but Kolya and Lida say them aloud with mother.\nFirst they repeat the 'Ave Maria' and then another prayer: 'Lord,\nforgive and bless sister Sonia,' and then another, 'Lord, forgive and\nbless our second father.' For our elder father is dead and this is\nanother one, but we do pray for the other as well.\"\n\n\"Polenka, my name is Rodion. Pray sometimes for me, too. 'And Thy\nservant Rodion,' nothing more.\"\n\n\"I'll pray for you all the rest of my life,\" the little girl declared\nhotly, and suddenly smiling again she rushed at him and hugged him\nwarmly once more.\n\nRaskolnikov told her his name and address and promised to be sure to\ncome next day. The child went away quite enchanted with him. It was past\nten when he came out into the street. In five minutes he was standing on\nthe bridge at the spot where the woman had jumped in.\n\n\"Enough,\" he pronounced resolutely and triumphantly. \"I've done with\nfancies, imaginary terrors and phantoms! Life is real! haven't I lived\njust now? My life has not yet died with that old woman! The Kingdom of\nHeaven to her--and now enough, madam, leave me in peace! Now for the\nreign of reason and light... and of will, and of strength... and now\nwe will see! We will try our strength!\" he added defiantly, as though\nchallenging some power of darkness. \"And I was ready to consent to live\nin a square of space!\n\n\"I am very weak at this moment, but... I believe my illness is all over.\nI knew it would be over when I went out. By the way, Potchinkov's house\nis only a few steps away. I certainly must go to Razumihin even if\nit were not close by... let him win his bet! Let us give him some\nsatisfaction, too--no matter! Strength, strength is what one wants, you\ncan get nothing without it, and strength must be won by strength--that's\nwhat they don't know,\" he added proudly and self-confidently and\nhe walked with flagging footsteps from the bridge. Pride and\nself-confidence grew continually stronger in him; he was becoming\na different man every moment. What was it had happened to work this\nrevolution in him? He did not know himself; like a man catching at a\nstraw, he suddenly felt that he, too, 'could live, that there was still\nlife for him, that his life had not died with the old woman.' Perhaps he\nwas in too great a hurry with his conclusions, but he did not think of\nthat.\n\n\"But I did ask her to remember 'Thy servant Rodion' in her prayers,\" the\nidea struck him. \"Well, that was... in case of emergency,\" he added and\nlaughed himself at his boyish sally. He was in the best of spirits.\n\nHe easily found Razumihin; the new lodger was already known at\nPotchinkov's and the porter at once showed him the way. Half-way\nupstairs he could hear the noise and animated conversation of a big\ngathering of people. The door was wide open on the stairs; he could\nhear exclamations and discussion. Razumihin's room was fairly large; the\ncompany consisted of fifteen people. Raskolnikov stopped in the entry,\nwhere two of the landlady's servants were busy behind a screen with two\nsamovars, bottles, plates and dishes of pie and savouries, brought up\nfrom the landlady's kitchen. Raskolnikov sent in for Razumihin. He ran\nout delighted. At the first glance it was apparent that he had had a\ngreat deal to drink and, though no amount of liquor made Razumihin quite\ndrunk, this time he was perceptibly affected by it.\n\n\"Listen,\" Raskolnikov hastened to say, \"I've only just come to tell you\nyou've won your bet and that no one really knows what may not happen to\nhim. I can't come in; I am so weak that I shall fall down directly. And\nso good evening and good-bye! Come and see me to-morrow.\"\n\n\"Do you know what? I'll see you home. If you say you're weak yourself,\nyou must...\"\n\n\"And your visitors? Who is the curly-headed one who has just peeped\nout?\"\n\n\"He? Goodness only knows! Some friend of uncle's, I expect, or perhaps\nhe has come without being invited... I'll leave uncle with them, he\nis an invaluable person, pity I can't introduce you to him now. But\nconfound them all now! They won't notice me, and I need a little fresh\nair, for you've come just in the nick of time--another two minutes and I\nshould have come to blows! They are talking such a lot of wild stuff...\nyou simply can't imagine what men will say! Though why shouldn't you\nimagine? Don't we talk nonsense ourselves? And let them... that's the\nway to learn not to!... Wait a minute, I'll fetch Zossimov.\"\n\nZossimov pounced upon Raskolnikov almost greedily; he showed a special\ninterest in him; soon his face brightened.\n\n\"You must go to bed at once,\" he pronounced, examining the patient as\nfar as he could, \"and take something for the night. Will you take it? I\ngot it ready some time ago... a powder.\"\n\n\"Two, if you like,\" answered Raskolnikov. The powder was taken at once.\n\n\"It's a good thing you are taking him home,\" observed Zossimov to\nRazumihin--\"we shall see how he is to-morrow, to-day he's not at all\namiss--a considerable change since the afternoon. Live and learn...\"\n\n\"Do you know what Zossimov whispered to me when we were coming out?\"\nRazumihin blurted out, as soon as they were in the street. \"I won't tell\nyou everything, brother, because they are such fools. Zossimov told me\nto talk freely to you on the way and get you to talk freely to me, and\nafterwards I am to tell him about it, for he's got a notion in his head\nthat you are... mad or close on it. Only fancy! In the first place,\nyou've three times the brains he has; in the second, if you are not mad,\nyou needn't care a hang that he has got such a wild idea; and thirdly,\nthat piece of beef whose specialty is surgery has gone mad on mental\ndiseases, and what's brought him to this conclusion about you was your\nconversation to-day with Zametov.\"\n\n\"Zametov told you all about it?\"\n\n\"Yes, and he did well. Now I understand what it all means and so does\nZametov.... Well, the fact is, Rodya... the point is... I am a little\ndrunk now.... But that's... no matter... the point is that this\nidea... you understand? was just being hatched in their brains... you\nunderstand? That is, no one ventured to say it aloud, because the idea\nis too absurd and especially since the arrest of that painter, that\nbubble's burst and gone for ever. But why are they such fools? I gave\nZametov a bit of a thrashing at the time--that's between ourselves,\nbrother; please don't let out a hint that you know of it; I've noticed\nhe is a ticklish subject; it was at Luise Ivanovna's. But to-day, to-day\nit's all cleared up. That Ilya Petrovitch is at the bottom of it! He\ntook advantage of your fainting at the police station, but he is ashamed\nof it himself now; I know that...\"\n\nRaskolnikov listened greedily. Razumihin was drunk enough to talk too\nfreely.\n\n\"I fainted then because it was so close and the smell of paint,\" said\nRaskolnikov.\n\n\"No need to explain that! And it wasn't the paint only: the fever had\nbeen coming on for a month; Zossimov testifies to that! But how crushed\nthat boy is now, you wouldn't believe! 'I am not worth his little\nfinger,' he says. Yours, he means. He has good feelings at times,\nbrother. But the lesson, the lesson you gave him to-day in the Palais\nde Cristal, that was too good for anything! You frightened him at first,\nyou know, he nearly went into convulsions! You almost convinced\nhim again of the truth of all that hideous nonsense, and then you\nsuddenly--put out your tongue at him: 'There now, what do you make of\nit?' It was perfect! He is crushed, annihilated now! It was masterly, by\nJove, it's what they deserve! Ah, that I wasn't there! He was hoping to\nsee you awfully. Porfiry, too, wants to make your acquaintance...\"\n\n\"Ah!... he too... but why did they put me down as mad?\"\n\n\"Oh, not mad. I must have said too much, brother.... What struck him,\nyou see, was that only that subject seemed to interest you; now it's\nclear why it did interest you; knowing all the circumstances... and\nhow that irritated you and worked in with your illness... I am a little\ndrunk, brother, only, confound him, he has some idea of his own... I\ntell you, he's mad on mental diseases. But don't you mind him...\"\n\nFor half a minute both were silent.\n\n\"Listen, Razumihin,\" began Raskolnikov, \"I want to tell you plainly:\nI've just been at a death-bed, a clerk who died... I gave them all my\nmoney... and besides I've just been kissed by someone who, if I had\nkilled anyone, would just the same... in fact I saw someone else\nthere... with a flame-coloured feather... but I am talking nonsense; I\nam very weak, support me... we shall be at the stairs directly...\"\n\n\"What's the matter? What's the matter with you?\" Razumihin asked\nanxiously.\n\n\"I am a little giddy, but that's not the point, I am so sad, so sad...\nlike a woman. Look, what's that? Look, look!\"\n\n\"What is it?\"\n\n\"Don't you see? A light in my room, you see? Through the crack...\"\n\nThey were already at the foot of the last flight of stairs, at the level\nof the landlady's door, and they could, as a fact, see from below that\nthere was a light in Raskolnikov's garret.\n\n\"Queer! Nastasya, perhaps,\" observed Razumihin.\n\n\"She is never in my room at this time and she must be in bed long ago,\nbut... I don't care! Good-bye!\"\n\n\"What do you mean? I am coming with you, we'll come in together!\"\n\n\"I know we are going in together, but I want to shake hands here and say\ngood-bye to you here. So give me your hand, good-bye!\"\n\n\"What's the matter with you, Rodya?\"\n\n\"Nothing... come along... you shall be witness.\"\n\nThey began mounting the stairs, and the idea struck Razumihin that\nperhaps Zossimov might be right after all. \"Ah, I've upset him with my\nchatter!\" he muttered to himself.\n\nWhen they reached the door they heard voices in the room.\n\n\"What is it?\" cried Razumihin. Raskolnikov was the first to open the\ndoor; he flung it wide and stood still in the doorway, dumbfoundered.\n\nHis mother and sister were sitting on his sofa and had been waiting an\nhour and a half for him. Why had he never expected, never thought of\nthem, though the news that they had started, were on their way and would\narrive immediately, had been repeated to him only that day? They had\nspent that hour and a half plying Nastasya with questions. She was\nstanding before them and had told them everything by now. They were\nbeside themselves with alarm when they heard of his \"running away\"\nto-day, ill and, as they understood from her story, delirious! \"Good\nHeavens, what had become of him?\" Both had been weeping, both had been\nin anguish for that hour and a half.\n\nA cry of joy, of ecstasy, greeted Raskolnikov's entrance. Both rushed to\nhim. But he stood like one dead; a sudden intolerable sensation struck\nhim like a thunderbolt. He did not lift his arms to embrace them, he\ncould not. His mother and sister clasped him in their arms, kissed him,\nlaughed and cried. He took a step, tottered and fell to the ground,\nfainting.\n\nAnxiety, cries of horror, moans... Razumihin who was standing in the\ndoorway flew into the room, seized the sick man in his strong arms and\nin a moment had him on the sofa.\n\n\"It's nothing, nothing!\" he cried to the mother and sister--\"it's only a\nfaint, a mere trifle! Only just now the doctor said he was much better,\nthat he is perfectly well! Water! See, he is coming to himself, he is\nall right again!\"\n\nAnd seizing Dounia by the arm so that he almost dislocated it, he made\nher bend down to see that \"he is all right again.\" The mother and sister\nlooked on him with emotion and gratitude, as their Providence. They\nhad heard already from Nastasya all that had been done for their Rodya\nduring his illness, by this \"very competent young man,\" as Pulcheria\nAlexandrovna Raskolnikov called him that evening in conversation with\nDounia.\n\n\n\n\nPART III\n\n\n\nCHAPTER I\n\nRaskolnikov got up, and sat down on the sofa. He waved his hand weakly\nto Razumihin to cut short the flow of warm and incoherent consolations\nhe was addressing to his mother and sister, took them both by the hand\nand for a minute or two gazed from one to the other without speaking.\nHis mother was alarmed by his expression. It revealed an emotion\nagonisingly poignant, and at the same time something immovable, almost\ninsane. Pulcheria Alexandrovna began to cry.\n\nAvdotya Romanovna was pale; her hand trembled in her brother's.\n\n\"Go home... with him,\" he said in a broken voice, pointing to Razumihin,\n\"good-bye till to-morrow; to-morrow everything... Is it long since you\narrived?\"\n\n\"This evening, Rodya,\" answered Pulcheria Alexandrovna, \"the train was\nawfully late. But, Rodya, nothing would induce me to leave you now! I\nwill spend the night here, near you...\"\n\n\"Don't torture me!\" he said with a gesture of irritation.\n\n\"I will stay with him,\" cried Razumihin, \"I won't leave him for a\nmoment. Bother all my visitors! Let them rage to their hearts' content!\nMy uncle is presiding there.\"\n\n\"How, how can I thank you!\" Pulcheria Alexandrovna was beginning, once\nmore pressing Razumihin's hands, but Raskolnikov interrupted her again.\n\n\"I can't have it! I can't have it!\" he repeated irritably, \"don't worry\nme! Enough, go away... I can't stand it!\"\n\n\"Come, mamma, come out of the room at least for a minute,\" Dounia\nwhispered in dismay; \"we are distressing him, that's evident.\"\n\n\"Mayn't I look at him after three years?\" wept Pulcheria Alexandrovna.\n\n\"Stay,\" he stopped them again, \"you keep interrupting me, and my ideas\nget muddled.... Have you seen Luzhin?\"\n\n\"No, Rodya, but he knows already of our arrival. We have heard, Rodya,\nthat Pyotr Petrovitch was so kind as to visit you today,\" Pulcheria\nAlexandrovna added somewhat timidly.\n\n\"Yes... he was so kind... Dounia, I promised Luzhin I'd throw him\ndownstairs and told him to go to hell....\"\n\n\"Rodya, what are you saying! Surely, you don't mean to tell us...\"\nPulcheria Alexandrovna began in alarm, but she stopped, looking at\nDounia.\n\nAvdotya Romanovna was looking attentively at her brother, waiting\nfor what would come next. Both of them had heard of the quarrel from\nNastasya, so far as she had succeeded in understanding and reporting it,\nand were in painful perplexity and suspense.\n\n\"Dounia,\" Raskolnikov continued with an effort, \"I don't want that\nmarriage, so at the first opportunity to-morrow you must refuse Luzhin,\nso that we may never hear his name again.\"\n\n\"Good Heavens!\" cried Pulcheria Alexandrovna.\n\n\"Brother, think what you are saying!\" Avdotya Romanovna began\nimpetuously, but immediately checked herself. \"You are not fit to talk\nnow, perhaps; you are tired,\" she added gently.\n\n\"You think I am delirious? No... You are marrying Luzhin for _my_\nsake. But I won't accept the sacrifice. And so write a letter before\nto-morrow, to refuse him... Let me read it in the morning and that will\nbe the end of it!\"\n\n\"That I can't do!\" the girl cried, offended, \"what right have you...\"\n\n\"Dounia, you are hasty, too, be quiet, to-morrow... Don't you see...\"\nthe mother interposed in dismay. \"Better come away!\"\n\n\"He is raving,\" Razumihin cried tipsily, \"or how would he dare!\nTo-morrow all this nonsense will be over... to-day he certainly did\ndrive him away. That was so. And Luzhin got angry, too.... He made\nspeeches here, wanted to show off his learning and he went out\ncrest-fallen....\"\n\n\"Then it's true?\" cried Pulcheria Alexandrovna.\n\n\"Good-bye till to-morrow, brother,\" said Dounia compassionately--\"let us\ngo, mother... Good-bye, Rodya.\"\n\n\"Do you hear, sister,\" he repeated after them, making a last effort,\n\"I am not delirious; this marriage is--an infamy. Let me act like\na scoundrel, but you mustn't... one is enough... and though I am a\nscoundrel, I wouldn't own such a sister. It's me or Luzhin! Go now....\"\n\n\"But you're out of your mind! Despot!\" roared Razumihin; but Raskolnikov\ndid not and perhaps could not answer. He lay down on the sofa, and\nturned to the wall, utterly exhausted. Avdotya Romanovna looked with\ninterest at Razumihin; her black eyes flashed; Razumihin positively\nstarted at her glance.\n\nPulcheria Alexandrovna stood overwhelmed.\n\n\"Nothing would induce me to go,\" she whispered in despair to Razumihin.\n\"I will stay somewhere here... escort Dounia home.\"\n\n\"You'll spoil everything,\" Razumihin answered in the same whisper,\nlosing patience--\"come out on to the stairs, anyway. Nastasya, show a\nlight! I assure you,\" he went on in a half whisper on the stairs--\"that\nhe was almost beating the doctor and me this afternoon! Do you\nunderstand? The doctor himself! Even he gave way and left him, so as not\nto irritate him. I remained downstairs on guard, but he dressed at once\nand slipped off. And he will slip off again if you irritate him, at this\ntime of night, and will do himself some mischief....\"\n\n\"What are you saying?\"\n\n\"And Avdotya Romanovna can't possibly be left in those lodgings without\nyou. Just think where you are staying! That blackguard Pyotr Petrovitch\ncouldn't find you better lodgings... But you know I've had a little to\ndrink, and that's what makes me... swear; don't mind it....\"\n\n\"But I'll go to the landlady here,\" Pulcheria Alexandrovna insisted,\n\"I'll beseech her to find some corner for Dounia and me for the night. I\ncan't leave him like that, I cannot!\"\n\nThis conversation took place on the landing just before the landlady's\ndoor. Nastasya lighted them from a step below. Razumihin was in\nextraordinary excitement. Half an hour earlier, while he was bringing\nRaskolnikov home, he had indeed talked too freely, but he was aware of\nit himself, and his head was clear in spite of the vast quantities he\nhad imbibed. Now he was in a state bordering on ecstasy, and all that he\nhad drunk seemed to fly to his head with redoubled effect. He stood with\nthe two ladies, seizing both by their hands, persuading them, and giving\nthem reasons with astonishing plainness of speech, and at almost every\nword he uttered, probably to emphasise his arguments, he squeezed their\nhands painfully as in a vise. He stared at Avdotya Romanovna without the\nleast regard for good manners. They sometimes pulled their hands out of\nhis huge bony paws, but far from noticing what was the matter, he drew\nthem all the closer to him. If they'd told him to jump head foremost\nfrom the staircase, he would have done it without thought or hesitation\nin their service. Though Pulcheria Alexandrovna felt that the young man\nwas really too eccentric and pinched her hand too much, in her anxiety\nover her Rodya she looked on his presence as providential, and was\nunwilling to notice all his peculiarities. But though Avdotya Romanovna\nshared her anxiety, and was not of timorous disposition, she could not\nsee the glowing light in his eyes without wonder and almost alarm. It\nwas only the unbounded confidence inspired by Nastasya's account of her\nbrother's queer friend, which prevented her from trying to run away from\nhim, and to persuade her mother to do the same. She realised, too,\nthat even running away was perhaps impossible now. Ten minutes later,\nhowever, she was considerably reassured; it was characteristic of\nRazumihin that he showed his true nature at once, whatever mood he might\nbe in, so that people quickly saw the sort of man they had to deal with.\n\n\"You can't go to the landlady, that's perfect nonsense!\" he cried. \"If\nyou stay, though you are his mother, you'll drive him to a frenzy, and\nthen goodness knows what will happen! Listen, I'll tell you what I'll\ndo: Nastasya will stay with him now, and I'll conduct you both home, you\ncan't be in the streets alone; Petersburg is an awful place in that\nway.... But no matter! Then I'll run straight back here and a quarter of\nan hour later, on my word of honour, I'll bring you news how he is,\nwhether he is asleep, and all that. Then, listen! Then I'll run home in\na twinkling--I've a lot of friends there, all drunk--I'll fetch\nZossimov--that's the doctor who is looking after him, he is there, too,\nbut he is not drunk; he is not drunk, he is never drunk! I'll drag him\nto Rodya, and then to you, so that you'll get two reports in the\nhour--from the doctor, you understand, from the doctor himself, that's a\nvery different thing from my account of him! If there's anything wrong,\nI swear I'll bring you here myself, but, if it's all right, you go to\nbed. And I'll spend the night here, in the passage, he won't hear me,\nand I'll tell Zossimov to sleep at the landlady's, to be at hand. Which\nis better for him: you or the doctor? So come home then! But the\nlandlady is out of the question; it's all right for me, but it's out of\nthe question for you: she wouldn't take you, for she's... for she's a\nfool... She'd be jealous on my account of Avdotya Romanovna and of you,\ntoo, if you want to know... of Avdotya Romanovna certainly. She is an\nabsolutely, absolutely unaccountable character! But I am a fool, too!...\nNo matter! Come along! Do you trust me? Come, do you trust me or not?\"\n\n\"Let us go, mother,\" said Avdotya Romanovna, \"he will certainly do what\nhe has promised. He has saved Rodya already, and if the doctor really\nwill consent to spend the night here, what could be better?\"\n\n\"You see, you... you... understand me, because you are an angel!\"\nRazumihin cried in ecstasy, \"let us go! Nastasya! Fly upstairs and sit\nwith him with a light; I'll come in a quarter of an hour.\"\n\nThough Pulcheria Alexandrovna was not perfectly convinced, she made no\nfurther resistance. Razumihin gave an arm to each and drew them down\nthe stairs. He still made her uneasy, as though he was competent and\ngood-natured, was he capable of carrying out his promise? He seemed in\nsuch a condition....\n\n\"Ah, I see you think I am in such a condition!\" Razumihin broke in upon\nher thoughts, guessing them, as he strolled along the pavement with huge\nsteps, so that the two ladies could hardly keep up with him, a fact he\ndid not observe, however. \"Nonsense! That is... I am drunk like a fool,\nbut that's not it; I am not drunk from wine. It's seeing you has turned\nmy head... But don't mind me! Don't take any notice: I am talking\nnonsense, I am not worthy of you.... I am utterly unworthy of you! The\nminute I've taken you home, I'll pour a couple of pailfuls of water over\nmy head in the gutter here, and then I shall be all right.... If only\nyou knew how I love you both! Don't laugh, and don't be angry! You may\nbe angry with anyone, but not with me! I am his friend, and therefore I\nam your friend, too, I want to be... I had a presentiment... Last year\nthere was a moment... though it wasn't a presentiment really, for\nyou seem to have fallen from heaven. And I expect I shan't sleep all\nnight... Zossimov was afraid a little time ago that he would go mad...\nthat's why he mustn't be irritated.\"\n\n\"What do you say?\" cried the mother.\n\n\"Did the doctor really say that?\" asked Avdotya Romanovna, alarmed.\n\n\"Yes, but it's not so, not a bit of it. He gave him some medicine, a\npowder, I saw it, and then your coming here.... Ah! It would have been\nbetter if you had come to-morrow. It's a good thing we went away. And in\nan hour Zossimov himself will report to you about everything. He is not\ndrunk! And I shan't be drunk.... And what made me get so tight? Because\nthey got me into an argument, damn them! I've sworn never to argue! They\ntalk such trash! I almost came to blows! I've left my uncle to preside.\nWould you believe, they insist on complete absence of individualism\nand that's just what they relish! Not to be themselves, to be as unlike\nthemselves as they can. That's what they regard as the highest point of\nprogress. If only their nonsense were their own, but as it is...\"\n\n\"Listen!\" Pulcheria Alexandrovna interrupted timidly, but it only added\nfuel to the flames.\n\n\"What do you think?\" shouted Razumihin, louder than ever, \"you think I\nam attacking them for talking nonsense? Not a bit! I like them to talk\nnonsense. That's man's one privilege over all creation. Through error\nyou come to the truth! I am a man because I err! You never reach any\ntruth without making fourteen mistakes and very likely a hundred and\nfourteen. And a fine thing, too, in its way; but we can't even make\nmistakes on our own account! Talk nonsense, but talk your own nonsense,\nand I'll kiss you for it. To go wrong in one's own way is better than\nto go right in someone else's. In the first case you are a man, in the\nsecond you're no better than a bird. Truth won't escape you, but life\ncan be cramped. There have been examples. And what are we doing now?\nIn science, development, thought, invention, ideals, aims, liberalism,\njudgment, experience and everything, everything, everything, we are\nstill in the preparatory class at school. We prefer to live on other\npeople's ideas, it's what we are used to! Am I right, am I right?\" cried\nRazumihin, pressing and shaking the two ladies' hands.\n\n\"Oh, mercy, I do not know,\" cried poor Pulcheria Alexandrovna.\n\n\"Yes, yes... though I don't agree with you in everything,\" added Avdotya\nRomanovna earnestly and at once uttered a cry, for he squeezed her hand\nso painfully.\n\n\"Yes, you say yes... well after that you... you...\" he cried in\na transport, \"you are a fount of goodness, purity, sense... and\nperfection. Give me your hand... you give me yours, too! I want to kiss\nyour hands here at once, on my knees...\" and he fell on his knees on the\npavement, fortunately at that time deserted.\n\n\"Leave off, I entreat you, what are you doing?\" Pulcheria Alexandrovna\ncried, greatly distressed.\n\n\"Get up, get up!\" said Dounia laughing, though she, too, was upset.\n\n\"Not for anything till you let me kiss your hands! That's it! Enough! I\nget up and we'll go on! I am a luckless fool, I am unworthy of you and\ndrunk... and I am ashamed.... I am not worthy to love you, but to do\nhomage to you is the duty of every man who is not a perfect beast! And\nI've done homage.... Here are your lodgings, and for that alone Rodya\nwas right in driving your Pyotr Petrovitch away.... How dare he! how\ndare he put you in such lodgings! It's a scandal! Do you know the\nsort of people they take in here? And you his betrothed! You are\nhis betrothed? Yes? Well, then, I'll tell you, your _fiance_ is a\nscoundrel.\"\n\n\"Excuse me, Mr. Razumihin, you are forgetting...\" Pulcheria Alexandrovna\nwas beginning.\n\n\"Yes, yes, you are right, I did forget myself, I am ashamed of it,\"\nRazumihin made haste to apologise. \"But... but you can't be angry with\nme for speaking so! For I speak sincerely and not because... hm, hm!\nThat would be disgraceful; in fact not because I'm in... hm! Well,\nanyway, I won't say why, I daren't.... But we all saw to-day when he\ncame in that that man is not of our sort. Not because he had his hair\ncurled at the barber's, not because he was in such a hurry to show his\nwit, but because he is a spy, a speculator, because he is a skin-flint\nand a buffoon. That's evident. Do you think him clever? No, he is a\nfool, a fool. And is he a match for you? Good heavens! Do you see,\nladies?\" he stopped suddenly on the way upstairs to their rooms, \"though\nall my friends there are drunk, yet they are all honest, and though we\ndo talk a lot of trash, and I do, too, yet we shall talk our way to the\ntruth at last, for we are on the right path, while Pyotr Petrovitch...\nis not on the right path. Though I've been calling them all sorts of\nnames just now, I do respect them all... though I don't respect Zametov,\nI like him, for he is a puppy, and that bullock Zossimov, because he\nis an honest man and knows his work. But enough, it's all said and\nforgiven. Is it forgiven? Well, then, let's go on. I know this corridor,\nI've been here, there was a scandal here at Number 3.... Where are you\nhere? Which number? eight? Well, lock yourselves in for the night, then.\nDon't let anybody in. In a quarter of an hour I'll come back with news,\nand half an hour later I'll bring Zossimov, you'll see! Good-bye, I'll\nrun.\"\n\n\"Good heavens, Dounia, what is going to happen?\" said Pulcheria\nAlexandrovna, addressing her daughter with anxiety and dismay.\n\n\"Don't worry yourself, mother,\" said Dounia, taking off her hat and\ncape. \"God has sent this gentleman to our aid, though he has come from a\ndrinking party. We can depend on him, I assure you. And all that he has\ndone for Rodya....\"\n\n\"Ah. Dounia, goodness knows whether he will come! How could I bring\nmyself to leave Rodya?... And how different, how different I had fancied\nour meeting! How sullen he was, as though not pleased to see us....\"\n\nTears came into her eyes.\n\n\"No, it's not that, mother. You didn't see, you were crying all the\ntime. He is quite unhinged by serious illness--that's the reason.\"\n\n\"Ah, that illness! What will happen, what will happen? And how he talked\nto you, Dounia!\" said the mother, looking timidly at her daughter,\ntrying to read her thoughts and, already half consoled by Dounia's\nstanding up for her brother, which meant that she had already forgiven\nhim. \"I am sure he will think better of it to-morrow,\" she added,\nprobing her further.\n\n\"And I am sure that he will say the same to-morrow... about that,\"\nAvdotya Romanovna said finally. And, of course, there was no going\nbeyond that, for this was a point which Pulcheria Alexandrovna was\nafraid to discuss. Dounia went up and kissed her mother. The latter\nwarmly embraced her without speaking. Then she sat down to wait\nanxiously for Razumihin's return, timidly watching her daughter who\nwalked up and down the room with her arms folded, lost in thought.\nThis walking up and down when she was thinking was a habit of Avdotya\nRomanovna's and the mother was always afraid to break in on her\ndaughter's mood at such moments.\n\nRazumihin, of course, was ridiculous in his sudden drunken infatuation\nfor Avdotya Romanovna. Yet apart from his eccentric condition, many\npeople would have thought it justified if they had seen Avdotya\nRomanovna, especially at that moment when she was walking to and\nfro with folded arms, pensive and melancholy. Avdotya Romanovna was\nremarkably good-looking; she was tall, strikingly well-proportioned,\nstrong and self-reliant--the latter quality was apparent in every\ngesture, though it did not in the least detract from the grace and\nsoftness of her movements. In face she resembled her brother, but she\nmight be described as really beautiful. Her hair was dark brown, a\nlittle lighter than her brother's; there was a proud light in her almost\nblack eyes and yet at times a look of extraordinary kindness. She was\npale, but it was a healthy pallor; her face was radiant with freshness\nand vigour. Her mouth was rather small; the full red lower lip projected\na little as did her chin; it was the only irregularity in her beautiful\nface, but it gave it a peculiarly individual and almost haughty\nexpression. Her face was always more serious and thoughtful than gay;\nbut how well smiles, how well youthful, lighthearted, irresponsible,\nlaughter suited her face! It was natural enough that a warm, open,\nsimple-hearted, honest giant like Razumihin, who had never seen anyone\nlike her and was not quite sober at the time, should lose his head\nimmediately. Besides, as chance would have it, he saw Dounia for the\nfirst time transfigured by her love for her brother and her joy at\nmeeting him. Afterwards he saw her lower lip quiver with indignation\nat her brother's insolent, cruel and ungrateful words--and his fate was\nsealed.\n\nHe had spoken the truth, moreover, when he blurted out in his drunken\ntalk on the stairs that Praskovya Pavlovna, Raskolnikov's eccentric\nlandlady, would be jealous of Pulcheria Alexandrovna as well as of\nAvdotya Romanovna on his account. Although Pulcheria Alexandrovna was\nforty-three, her face still retained traces of her former beauty; she\nlooked much younger than her age, indeed, which is almost always the\ncase with women who retain serenity of spirit, sensitiveness and pure\nsincere warmth of heart to old age. We may add in parenthesis that to\npreserve all this is the only means of retaining beauty to old age. Her\nhair had begun to grow grey and thin, there had long been little crow's\nfoot wrinkles round her eyes, her cheeks were hollow and sunken from\nanxiety and grief, and yet it was a handsome face. She was Dounia\nover again, twenty years older, but without the projecting underlip.\nPulcheria Alexandrovna was emotional, but not sentimental, timid and\nyielding, but only to a certain point. She could give way and accept a\ngreat deal even of what was contrary to her convictions, but there was a\ncertain barrier fixed by honesty, principle and the deepest convictions\nwhich nothing would induce her to cross.\n\nExactly twenty minutes after Razumihin's departure, there came two\nsubdued but hurried knocks at the door: he had come back.\n\n\"I won't come in, I haven't time,\" he hastened to say when the door was\nopened. \"He sleeps like a top, soundly, quietly, and God grant he may\nsleep ten hours. Nastasya's with him; I told her not to leave till I\ncame. Now I am fetching Zossimov, he will report to you and then you'd\nbetter turn in; I can see you are too tired to do anything....\"\n\nAnd he ran off down the corridor.\n\n\"What a very competent and... devoted young man!\" cried Pulcheria\nAlexandrovna exceedingly delighted.\n\n\"He seems a splendid person!\" Avdotya Romanovna replied with some\nwarmth, resuming her walk up and down the room.\n\nIt was nearly an hour later when they heard footsteps in the corridor\nand another knock at the door. Both women waited this time completely\nrelying on Razumihin's promise; he actually had succeeded in bringing\nZossimov. Zossimov had agreed at once to desert the drinking party to\ngo to Raskolnikov's, but he came reluctantly and with the greatest\nsuspicion to see the ladies, mistrusting Razumihin in his exhilarated\ncondition. But his vanity was at once reassured and flattered; he saw\nthat they were really expecting him as an oracle. He stayed just ten\nminutes and succeeded in completely convincing and comforting Pulcheria\nAlexandrovna. He spoke with marked sympathy, but with the reserve and\nextreme seriousness of a young doctor at an important consultation.\nHe did not utter a word on any other subject and did not display the\nslightest desire to enter into more personal relations with the two\nladies. Remarking at his first entrance the dazzling beauty of Avdotya\nRomanovna, he endeavoured not to notice her at all during his visit and\naddressed himself solely to Pulcheria Alexandrovna. All this gave him\nextraordinary inward satisfaction. He declared that he thought the\ninvalid at this moment going on very satisfactorily. According to his\nobservations the patient's illness was due partly to his unfortunate\nmaterial surroundings during the last few months, but it had partly also\na moral origin, \"was, so to speak, the product of several material and\nmoral influences, anxieties, apprehensions, troubles, certain ideas...\nand so on.\" Noticing stealthily that Avdotya Romanovna was following his\nwords with close attention, Zossimov allowed himself to enlarge on this\ntheme. On Pulcheria Alexandrovna's anxiously and timidly inquiring as\nto \"some suspicion of insanity,\" he replied with a composed and candid\nsmile that his words had been exaggerated; that certainly the patient\nhad some fixed idea, something approaching a monomania--he, Zossimov,\nwas now particularly studying this interesting branch of medicine--but\nthat it must be recollected that until to-day the patient had been in\ndelirium and... and that no doubt the presence of his family would have\na favourable effect on his recovery and distract his mind, \"if only all\nfresh shocks can be avoided,\" he added significantly. Then he got up,\ntook leave with an impressive and affable bow, while blessings, warm\ngratitude, and entreaties were showered upon him, and Avdotya Romanovna\nspontaneously offered her hand to him. He went out exceedingly pleased\nwith his visit and still more so with himself.\n\n\"We'll talk to-morrow; go to bed at once!\" Razumihin said in conclusion,\nfollowing Zossimov out. \"I'll be with you to-morrow morning as early as\npossible with my report.\"\n\n\"That's a fetching little girl, Avdotya Romanovna,\" remarked Zossimov,\nalmost licking his lips as they both came out into the street.\n\n\"Fetching? You said fetching?\" roared Razumihin and he flew at Zossimov\nand seized him by the throat. \"If you ever dare.... Do you understand?\nDo you understand?\" he shouted, shaking him by the collar and squeezing\nhim against the wall. \"Do you hear?\"\n\n\"Let me go, you drunken devil,\" said Zossimov, struggling and when he\nhad let him go, he stared at him and went off into a sudden guffaw.\nRazumihin stood facing him in gloomy and earnest reflection.\n\n\"Of course, I am an ass,\" he observed, sombre as a storm cloud, \"but\nstill... you are another.\"\n\n\"No, brother, not at all such another. I am not dreaming of any folly.\"\n\nThey walked along in silence and only when they were close to\nRaskolnikov's lodgings, Razumihin broke the silence in considerable\nanxiety.\n\n\"Listen,\" he said, \"you're a first-rate fellow, but among your other\nfailings, you're a loose fish, that I know, and a dirty one, too. You\nare a feeble, nervous wretch, and a mass of whims, you're getting fat\nand lazy and can't deny yourself anything--and I call that dirty because\nit leads one straight into the dirt. You've let yourself get so slack\nthat I don't know how it is you are still a good, even a devoted doctor.\nYou--a doctor--sleep on a feather bed and get up at night to your\npatients! In another three or four years you won't get up for your\npatients... But hang it all, that's not the point!... You are going\nto spend to-night in the landlady's flat here. (Hard work I've had to\npersuade her!) And I'll be in the kitchen. So here's a chance for you to\nget to know her better.... It's not as you think! There's not a trace of\nanything of the sort, brother...!\"\n\n\"But I don't think!\"\n\n\"Here you have modesty, brother, silence, bashfulness, a savage\nvirtue... and yet she's sighing and melting like wax, simply melting!\nSave me from her, by all that's unholy! She's most prepossessing... I'll\nrepay you, I'll do anything....\"\n\nZossimov laughed more violently than ever.\n\n\"Well, you are smitten! But what am I to do with her?\"\n\n\"It won't be much trouble, I assure you. Talk any rot you like to her,\nas long as you sit by her and talk. You're a doctor, too; try curing\nher of something. I swear you won't regret it. She has a piano, and you\nknow, I strum a little. I have a song there, a genuine Russian one: 'I\nshed hot tears.' She likes the genuine article--and well, it all\nbegan with that song; Now you're a regular performer, a _maitre_, a\nRubinstein.... I assure you, you won't regret it!\"\n\n\"But have you made her some promise? Something signed? A promise of\nmarriage, perhaps?\"\n\n\"Nothing, nothing, absolutely nothing of the kind! Besides she is not\nthat sort at all.... Tchebarov tried that....\"\n\n\"Well then, drop her!\"\n\n\"But I can't drop her like that!\"\n\n\"Why can't you?\"\n\n\"Well, I can't, that's all about it! There's an element of attraction\nhere, brother.\"\n\n\"Then why have you fascinated her?\"\n\n\"I haven't fascinated her; perhaps I was fascinated myself in my folly.\nBut she won't care a straw whether it's you or I, so long as somebody\nsits beside her, sighing.... I can't explain the position, brother...\nlook here, you are good at mathematics, and working at it now... begin\nteaching her the integral calculus; upon my soul, I'm not joking, I'm\nin earnest, it'll be just the same to her. She will gaze at you and sigh\nfor a whole year together. I talked to her once for two days at a time\nabout the Prussian House of Lords (for one must talk of something)--she\njust sighed and perspired! And you mustn't talk of love--she's bashful\nto hysterics--but just let her see you can't tear yourself away--that's\nenough. It's fearfully comfortable; you're quite at home, you can\nread, sit, lie about, write. You may even venture on a kiss, if you're\ncareful.\"\n\n\"But what do I want with her?\"\n\n\"Ach, I can't make you understand! You see, you are made for each other!\nI have often been reminded of you!... You'll come to it in the end! So\ndoes it matter whether it's sooner or later? There's the feather-bed\nelement here, brother--ach! and not only that! There's an attraction\nhere--here you have the end of the world, an anchorage, a quiet haven,\nthe navel of the earth, the three fishes that are the foundation of the\nworld, the essence of pancakes, of savoury fish-pies, of the evening\nsamovar, of soft sighs and warm shawls, and hot stoves to sleep on--as\nsnug as though you were dead, and yet you're alive--the advantages\nof both at once! Well, hang it, brother, what stuff I'm talking, it's\nbedtime! Listen. I sometimes wake up at night; so I'll go in and look at\nhim. But there's no need, it's all right. Don't you worry yourself,\nyet if you like, you might just look in once, too. But if you notice\nanything--delirium or fever--wake me at once. But there can't be....\"\n\n\n\nCHAPTER II\n\nRazumihin waked up next morning at eight o'clock, troubled and serious.\nHe found himself confronted with many new and unlooked-for perplexities.\nHe had never expected that he would ever wake up feeling like that. He\nremembered every detail of the previous day and he knew that a perfectly\nnovel experience had befallen him, that he had received an impression\nunlike anything he had known before. At the same time he recognised\nclearly that the dream which had fired his imagination was hopelessly\nunattainable--so unattainable that he felt positively ashamed of it, and\nhe hastened to pass to the other more practical cares and difficulties\nbequeathed him by that \"thrice accursed yesterday.\"\n\nThe most awful recollection of the previous day was the way he had shown\nhimself \"base and mean,\" not only because he had been drunk, but\nbecause he had taken advantage of the young girl's position to abuse\nher _fiance_ in his stupid jealousy, knowing nothing of their mutual\nrelations and obligations and next to nothing of the man himself. And\nwhat right had he to criticise him in that hasty and unguarded manner?\nWho had asked for his opinion? Was it thinkable that such a creature as\nAvdotya Romanovna would be marrying an unworthy man for money? So there\nmust be something in him. The lodgings? But after all how could he know\nthe character of the lodgings? He was furnishing a flat... Foo! how\ndespicable it all was! And what justification was it that he was drunk?\nSuch a stupid excuse was even more degrading! In wine is truth, and the\ntruth had all come out, \"that is, all the uncleanness of his coarse\nand envious heart\"! And would such a dream ever be permissible to\nhim, Razumihin? What was he beside such a girl--he, the drunken noisy\nbraggart of last night? Was it possible to imagine so absurd and cynical\na juxtaposition? Razumihin blushed desperately at the very idea and\nsuddenly the recollection forced itself vividly upon him of how he had\nsaid last night on the stairs that the landlady would be jealous of\nAvdotya Romanovna... that was simply intolerable. He brought his fist\ndown heavily on the kitchen stove, hurt his hand and sent one of the\nbricks flying.\n\n\"Of course,\" he muttered to himself a minute later with a feeling of\nself-abasement, \"of course, all these infamies can never be wiped out or\nsmoothed over... and so it's useless even to think of it, and I must\ngo to them in silence and do my duty... in silence, too... and not ask\nforgiveness, and say nothing... for all is lost now!\"\n\nAnd yet as he dressed he examined his attire more carefully than usual.\nHe hadn't another suit--if he had had, perhaps he wouldn't have put it\non. \"I would have made a point of not putting it on.\" But in any case he\ncould not remain a cynic and a dirty sloven; he had no right to offend\nthe feelings of others, especially when they were in need of his\nassistance and asking him to see them. He brushed his clothes carefully.\nHis linen was always decent; in that respect he was especially clean.\n\nHe washed that morning scrupulously--he got some soap from Nastasya--he\nwashed his hair, his neck and especially his hands. When it came to the\nquestion whether to shave his stubbly chin or not (Praskovya Pavlovna\nhad capital razors that had been left by her late husband), the question\nwas angrily answered in the negative. \"Let it stay as it is! What if\nthey think that I shaved on purpose to...? They certainly would think\nso! Not on any account!\"\n\n\"And... the worst of it was he was so coarse, so dirty, he had the\nmanners of a pothouse; and... and even admitting that he knew he had\nsome of the essentials of a gentleman... what was there in that to be\nproud of? Everyone ought to be a gentleman and more than that... and all\nthe same (he remembered) he, too, had done little things... not exactly\ndishonest, and yet.... And what thoughts he sometimes had; hm... and to\nset all that beside Avdotya Romanovna! Confound it! So be it! Well, he'd\nmake a point then of being dirty, greasy, pothouse in his manners and he\nwouldn't care! He'd be worse!\"\n\nHe was engaged in such monologues when Zossimov, who had spent the night\nin Praskovya Pavlovna's parlour, came in.\n\nHe was going home and was in a hurry to look at the invalid first.\nRazumihin informed him that Raskolnikov was sleeping like a dormouse.\nZossimov gave orders that they shouldn't wake him and promised to see\nhim again about eleven.\n\n\"If he is still at home,\" he added. \"Damn it all! If one can't control\none's patients, how is one to cure them? Do you know whether _he_ will\ngo to them, or whether _they_ are coming here?\"\n\n\"They are coming, I think,\" said Razumihin, understanding the object\nof the question, \"and they will discuss their family affairs, no doubt.\nI'll be off. You, as the doctor, have more right to be here than I.\"\n\n\"But I am not a father confessor; I shall come and go away; I've plenty\nto do besides looking after them.\"\n\n\"One thing worries me,\" interposed Razumihin, frowning. \"On the way home\nI talked a lot of drunken nonsense to him... all sorts of things... and\namongst them that you were afraid that he... might become insane.\"\n\n\"You told the ladies so, too.\"\n\n\"I know it was stupid! You may beat me if you like! Did you think so\nseriously?\"\n\n\"That's nonsense, I tell you, how could I think it seriously? You,\nyourself, described him as a monomaniac when you fetched me to\nhim... and we added fuel to the fire yesterday, you did, that is, with\nyour story about the painter; it was a nice conversation, when he was,\nperhaps, mad on that very point! If only I'd known what happened then\nat the police station and that some wretch... had insulted him with this\nsuspicion! Hm... I would not have allowed that conversation yesterday.\nThese monomaniacs will make a mountain out of a mole-hill... and\nsee their fancies as solid realities.... As far as I remember, it was\nZametov's story that cleared up half the mystery, to my mind. Why, I\nknow one case in which a hypochondriac, a man of forty, cut the throat\nof a little boy of eight, because he couldn't endure the jokes he made\nevery day at table! And in this case his rags, the insolent police\nofficer, the fever and this suspicion! All that working upon a man half\nfrantic with hypochondria, and with his morbid exceptional vanity! That\nmay well have been the starting-point of illness. Well, bother it\nall!... And, by the way, that Zametov certainly is a nice fellow, but\nhm... he shouldn't have told all that last night. He is an awful\nchatterbox!\"\n\n\"But whom did he tell it to? You and me?\"\n\n\"And Porfiry.\"\n\n\"What does that matter?\"\n\n\"And, by the way, have you any influence on them, his mother and sister?\nTell them to be more careful with him to-day....\"\n\n\"They'll get on all right!\" Razumihin answered reluctantly.\n\n\"Why is he so set against this Luzhin? A man with money and she doesn't\nseem to dislike him... and they haven't a farthing, I suppose? eh?\"\n\n\"But what business is it of yours?\" Razumihin cried with annoyance. \"How\ncan I tell whether they've a farthing? Ask them yourself and perhaps\nyou'll find out....\"\n\n\"Foo! what an ass you are sometimes! Last night's wine has not gone off\nyet.... Good-bye; thank your Praskovya Pavlovna from me for my night's\nlodging. She locked herself in, made no reply to my _bonjour_ through\nthe door; she was up at seven o'clock, the samovar was taken into her\nfrom the kitchen. I was not vouchsafed a personal interview....\"\n\nAt nine o'clock precisely Razumihin reached the lodgings at Bakaleyev's\nhouse. Both ladies were waiting for him with nervous impatience. They\nhad risen at seven o'clock or earlier. He entered looking as black as\nnight, bowed awkwardly and was at once furious with himself for it. He\nhad reckoned without his host: Pulcheria Alexandrovna fairly rushed at\nhim, seized him by both hands and was almost kissing them. He glanced\ntimidly at Avdotya Romanovna, but her proud countenance wore at that\nmoment an expression of such gratitude and friendliness, such\ncomplete and unlooked-for respect (in place of the sneering looks and\nill-disguised contempt he had expected), that it threw him into greater\nconfusion than if he had been met with abuse. Fortunately there was a\nsubject for conversation, and he made haste to snatch at it.\n\nHearing that everything was going well and that Rodya had not yet waked,\nPulcheria Alexandrovna declared that she was glad to hear it, because\n\"she had something which it was very, very necessary to talk over\nbeforehand.\" Then followed an inquiry about breakfast and an invitation\nto have it with them; they had waited to have it with him. Avdotya\nRomanovna rang the bell: it was answered by a ragged dirty waiter, and\nthey asked him to bring tea which was served at last, but in such\na dirty and disorderly way that the ladies were ashamed. Razumihin\nvigorously attacked the lodgings, but, remembering Luzhin, stopped\nin embarrassment and was greatly relieved by Pulcheria Alexandrovna's\nquestions, which showered in a continual stream upon him.\n\nHe talked for three quarters of an hour, being constantly interrupted\nby their questions, and succeeded in describing to them all the\nmost important facts he knew of the last year of Raskolnikov's life,\nconcluding with a circumstantial account of his illness. He omitted,\nhowever, many things, which were better omitted, including the scene at\nthe police station with all its consequences. They listened eagerly\nto his story, and, when he thought he had finished and satisfied his\nlisteners, he found that they considered he had hardly begun.\n\n\"Tell me, tell me! What do you think...? Excuse me, I still don't know\nyour name!\" Pulcheria Alexandrovna put in hastily.\n\n\"Dmitri Prokofitch.\"\n\n\"I should like very, very much to know, Dmitri Prokofitch... how he\nlooks... on things in general now, that is, how can I explain, what are\nhis likes and dislikes? Is he always so irritable? Tell me, if you can,\nwhat are his hopes and, so to say, his dreams? Under what influences is\nhe now? In a word, I should like...\"\n\n\"Ah, mother, how can he answer all that at once?\" observed Dounia.\n\n\"Good heavens, I had not expected to find him in the least like this,\nDmitri Prokofitch!\"\n\n\"Naturally,\" answered Razumihin. \"I have no mother, but my uncle comes\nevery year and almost every time he can scarcely recognise me, even in\nappearance, though he is a clever man; and your three years' separation\nmeans a great deal. What am I to tell you? I have known Rodion for\na year and a half; he is morose, gloomy, proud and haughty, and of\nlate--and perhaps for a long time before--he has been suspicious and\nfanciful. He has a noble nature and a kind heart. He does not like\nshowing his feelings and would rather do a cruel thing than open his\nheart freely. Sometimes, though, he is not at all morbid, but simply\ncold and inhumanly callous; it's as though he were alternating between\ntwo characters. Sometimes he is fearfully reserved! He says he is\nso busy that everything is a hindrance, and yet he lies in bed doing\nnothing. He doesn't jeer at things, not because he hasn't the wit, but\nas though he hadn't time to waste on such trifles. He never listens\nto what is said to him. He is never interested in what interests other\npeople at any given moment. He thinks very highly of himself and perhaps\nhe is right. Well, what more? I think your arrival will have a most\nbeneficial influence upon him.\"\n\n\"God grant it may,\" cried Pulcheria Alexandrovna, distressed by\nRazumihin's account of her Rodya.\n\nAnd Razumihin ventured to look more boldly at Avdotya Romanovna at last.\nHe glanced at her often while he was talking, but only for a moment and\nlooked away again at once. Avdotya Romanovna sat at the table, listening\nattentively, then got up again and began walking to and fro with her\narms folded and her lips compressed, occasionally putting in a question,\nwithout stopping her walk. She had the same habit of not listening to\nwhat was said. She was wearing a dress of thin dark stuff and she had a\nwhite transparent scarf round her neck. Razumihin soon detected signs of\nextreme poverty in their belongings. Had Avdotya Romanovna been dressed\nlike a queen, he felt that he would not be afraid of her, but perhaps\njust because she was poorly dressed and that he noticed all the misery\nof her surroundings, his heart was filled with dread and he began to be\nafraid of every word he uttered, every gesture he made, which was very\ntrying for a man who already felt diffident.\n\n\"You've told us a great deal that is interesting about my brother's\ncharacter... and have told it impartially. I am glad. I thought that you\nwere too uncritically devoted to him,\" observed Avdotya Romanovna with\na smile. \"I think you are right that he needs a woman's care,\" she added\nthoughtfully.\n\n\"I didn't say so; but I daresay you are right, only...\"\n\n\"What?\"\n\n\"He loves no one and perhaps he never will,\" Razumihin declared\ndecisively.\n\n\"You mean he is not capable of love?\"\n\n\"Do you know, Avdotya Romanovna, you are awfully like your brother, in\neverything, indeed!\" he blurted out suddenly to his own surprise, but\nremembering at once what he had just before said of her brother,\nhe turned as red as a crab and was overcome with confusion. Avdotya\nRomanovna couldn't help laughing when she looked at him.\n\n\"You may both be mistaken about Rodya,\" Pulcheria Alexandrovna remarked,\nslightly piqued. \"I am not talking of our present difficulty, Dounia.\nWhat Pyotr Petrovitch writes in this letter and what you and I have\nsupposed may be mistaken, but you can't imagine, Dmitri Prokofitch, how\nmoody and, so to say, capricious he is. I never could depend on what\nhe would do when he was only fifteen. And I am sure that he might\ndo something now that nobody else would think of doing... Well, for\ninstance, do you know how a year and a half ago he astounded me and gave\nme a shock that nearly killed me, when he had the idea of marrying that\ngirl--what was her name--his landlady's daughter?\"\n\n\"Did you hear about that affair?\" asked Avdotya Romanovna.\n\n\"Do you suppose----\" Pulcheria Alexandrovna continued warmly. \"Do you\nsuppose that my tears, my entreaties, my illness, my possible death from\ngrief, our poverty would have made him pause? No, he would calmly have\ndisregarded all obstacles. And yet it isn't that he doesn't love us!\"\n\n\"He has never spoken a word of that affair to me,\" Razumihin answered\ncautiously. \"But I did hear something from Praskovya Pavlovna herself,\nthough she is by no means a gossip. And what I heard certainly was\nrather strange.\"\n\n\"And what did you hear?\" both the ladies asked at once.\n\n\"Well, nothing very special. I only learned that the marriage, which\nonly failed to take place through the girl's death, was not at all to\nPraskovya Pavlovna's liking. They say, too, the girl was not at all\npretty, in fact I am told positively ugly... and such an invalid... and\nqueer. But she seems to have had some good qualities. She must have\nhad some good qualities or it's quite inexplicable.... She had no money\neither and he wouldn't have considered her money.... But it's always\ndifficult to judge in such matters.\"\n\n\"I am sure she was a good girl,\" Avdotya Romanovna observed briefly.\n\n\"God forgive me, I simply rejoiced at her death. Though I don't know\nwhich of them would have caused most misery to the other--he to her\nor she to him,\" Pulcheria Alexandrovna concluded. Then she began\ntentatively questioning him about the scene on the previous day with\nLuzhin, hesitating and continually glancing at Dounia, obviously to\nthe latter's annoyance. This incident more than all the rest evidently\ncaused her uneasiness, even consternation. Razumihin described it in\ndetail again, but this time he added his own conclusions: he openly\nblamed Raskolnikov for intentionally insulting Pyotr Petrovitch, not\nseeking to excuse him on the score of his illness.\n\n\"He had planned it before his illness,\" he added.\n\n\"I think so, too,\" Pulcheria Alexandrovna agreed with a dejected air.\nBut she was very much surprised at hearing Razumihin express himself\nso carefully and even with a certain respect about Pyotr Petrovitch.\nAvdotya Romanovna, too, was struck by it.\n\n\"So this is your opinion of Pyotr Petrovitch?\" Pulcheria Alexandrovna\ncould not resist asking.\n\n\"I can have no other opinion of your daughter's future husband,\"\nRazumihin answered firmly and with warmth, \"and I don't say it simply\nfrom vulgar politeness, but because... simply because Avdotya Romanovna\nhas of her own free will deigned to accept this man. If I spoke so\nrudely of him last night, it was because I was disgustingly drunk and...\nmad besides; yes, mad, crazy, I lost my head completely... and this\nmorning I am ashamed of it.\"\n\nHe crimsoned and ceased speaking. Avdotya Romanovna flushed, but did not\nbreak the silence. She had not uttered a word from the moment they began\nto speak of Luzhin.\n\nWithout her support Pulcheria Alexandrovna obviously did not know what\nto do. At last, faltering and continually glancing at her daughter, she\nconfessed that she was exceedingly worried by one circumstance.\n\n\"You see, Dmitri Prokofitch,\" she began. \"I'll be perfectly open with\nDmitri Prokofitch, Dounia?\"\n\n\"Of course, mother,\" said Avdotya Romanovna emphatically.\n\n\"This is what it is,\" she began in haste, as though the permission to\nspeak of her trouble lifted a weight off her mind. \"Very early this\nmorning we got a note from Pyotr Petrovitch in reply to our letter\nannouncing our arrival. He promised to meet us at the station, you\nknow; instead of that he sent a servant to bring us the address of these\nlodgings and to show us the way; and he sent a message that he would\nbe here himself this morning. But this morning this note came from him.\nYou'd better read it yourself; there is one point in it which worries me\nvery much... you will soon see what that is, and... tell me your candid\nopinion, Dmitri Prokofitch! You know Rodya's character better than\nanyone and no one can advise us better than you can. Dounia, I must tell\nyou, made her decision at once, but I still don't feel sure how to act\nand I... I've been waiting for your opinion.\"\n\nRazumihin opened the note which was dated the previous evening and read\nas follows:\n\n\"Dear Madam, Pulcheria Alexandrovna, I have the honour to inform you\nthat owing to unforeseen obstacles I was rendered unable to meet you at\nthe railway station; I sent a very competent person with the same object\nin view. I likewise shall be deprived of the honour of an interview with\nyou to-morrow morning by business in the Senate that does not admit of\ndelay, and also that I may not intrude on your family circle while you\nare meeting your son, and Avdotya Romanovna her brother. I shall have\nthe honour of visiting you and paying you my respects at your lodgings\nnot later than to-morrow evening at eight o'clock precisely, and\nherewith I venture to present my earnest and, I may add, imperative\nrequest that Rodion Romanovitch may not be present at our interview--as\nhe offered me a gross and unprecedented affront on the occasion of my\nvisit to him in his illness yesterday, and, moreover, since I desire\nfrom you personally an indispensable and circumstantial explanation\nupon a certain point, in regard to which I wish to learn your own\ninterpretation. I have the honour to inform you, in anticipation,\nthat if, in spite of my request, I meet Rodion Romanovitch, I shall be\ncompelled to withdraw immediately and then you have only yourself to\nblame. I write on the assumption that Rodion Romanovitch who appeared so\nill at my visit, suddenly recovered two hours later and so, being able\nto leave the house, may visit you also. I was confirmed in that belief\nby the testimony of my own eyes in the lodging of a drunken man who\nwas run over and has since died, to whose daughter, a young woman of\nnotorious behaviour, he gave twenty-five roubles on the pretext of the\nfuneral, which gravely surprised me knowing what pains you were at to\nraise that sum. Herewith expressing my special respect to your estimable\ndaughter, Avdotya Romanovna, I beg you to accept the respectful homage\nof\n\n\"Your humble servant,\n\n\"P. LUZHIN.\"\n\n\n\"What am I to do now, Dmitri Prokofitch?\" began Pulcheria Alexandrovna,\nalmost weeping. \"How can I ask Rodya not to come? Yesterday he insisted\nso earnestly on our refusing Pyotr Petrovitch and now we are ordered not\nto receive Rodya! He will come on purpose if he knows, and... what will\nhappen then?\"\n\n\"Act on Avdotya Romanovna's decision,\" Razumihin answered calmly at\nonce.\n\n\"Oh, dear me! She says... goodness knows what she says, she doesn't\nexplain her object! She says that it would be best, at least, not that\nit would be best, but that it's absolutely necessary that Rodya should\nmake a point of being here at eight o'clock and that they must meet....\nI didn't want even to show him the letter, but to prevent him\nfrom coming by some stratagem with your help... because he is so\nirritable.... Besides I don't understand about that drunkard who died\nand that daughter, and how he could have given the daughter all the\nmoney... which...\"\n\n\"Which cost you such sacrifice, mother,\" put in Avdotya Romanovna.\n\n\"He was not himself yesterday,\" Razumihin said thoughtfully, \"if you\nonly knew what he was up to in a restaurant yesterday, though there\nwas sense in it too.... Hm! He did say something, as we were going home\nyesterday evening, about a dead man and a girl, but I didn't understand\na word.... But last night, I myself...\"\n\n\"The best thing, mother, will be for us to go to him ourselves and\nthere I assure you we shall see at once what's to be done. Besides,\nit's getting late--good heavens, it's past ten,\" she cried looking at\na splendid gold enamelled watch which hung round her neck on a thin\nVenetian chain, and looked entirely out of keeping with the rest of her\ndress. \"A present from her _fiance_,\" thought Razumihin.\n\n\"We must start, Dounia, we must start,\" her mother cried in a flutter.\n\"He will be thinking we are still angry after yesterday, from our coming\nso late. Merciful heavens!\"\n\nWhile she said this she was hurriedly putting on her hat and mantle;\nDounia, too, put on her things. Her gloves, as Razumihin noticed, were\nnot merely shabby but had holes in them, and yet this evident poverty\ngave the two ladies an air of special dignity, which is always found in\npeople who know how to wear poor clothes. Razumihin looked reverently\nat Dounia and felt proud of escorting her. \"The queen who mended her\nstockings in prison,\" he thought, \"must have looked then every inch a\nqueen and even more a queen than at sumptuous banquets and levees.\"\n\n\"My God!\" exclaimed Pulcheria Alexandrovna, \"little did I think that I\nshould ever fear seeing my son, my darling, darling Rodya! I am afraid,\nDmitri Prokofitch,\" she added, glancing at him timidly.\n\n\"Don't be afraid, mother,\" said Dounia, kissing her, \"better have faith\nin him.\"\n\n\"Oh, dear, I have faith in him, but I haven't slept all night,\"\nexclaimed the poor woman.\n\nThey came out into the street.\n\n\"Do you know, Dounia, when I dozed a little this morning I dreamed of\nMarfa Petrovna... she was all in white... she came up to me, took\nmy hand, and shook her head at me, but so sternly as though she were\nblaming me.... Is that a good omen? Oh, dear me! You don't know, Dmitri\nProkofitch, that Marfa Petrovna's dead!\"\n\n\"No, I didn't know; who is Marfa Petrovna?\"\n\n\"She died suddenly; and only fancy...\"\n\n\"Afterwards, mamma,\" put in Dounia. \"He doesn't know who Marfa Petrovna\nis.\"\n\n\"Ah, you don't know? And I was thinking that you knew all about us.\nForgive me, Dmitri Prokofitch, I don't know what I am thinking about\nthese last few days. I look upon you really as a providence for us, and\nso I took it for granted that you knew all about us. I look on you as a\nrelation.... Don't be angry with me for saying so. Dear me, what's the\nmatter with your right hand? Have you knocked it?\"\n\n\"Yes, I bruised it,\" muttered Razumihin overjoyed.\n\n\"I sometimes speak too much from the heart, so that Dounia finds fault\nwith me.... But, dear me, what a cupboard he lives in! I wonder whether\nhe is awake? Does this woman, his landlady, consider it a room? Listen,\nyou say he does not like to show his feelings, so perhaps I shall annoy\nhim with my... weaknesses? Do advise me, Dmitri Prokofitch, how am I to\ntreat him? I feel quite distracted, you know.\"\n\n\"Don't question him too much about anything if you see him frown; don't\nask him too much about his health; he doesn't like that.\"\n\n\"Ah, Dmitri Prokofitch, how hard it is to be a mother! But here are the\nstairs.... What an awful staircase!\"\n\n\"Mother, you are quite pale, don't distress yourself, darling,\" said\nDounia caressing her, then with flashing eyes she added: \"He ought to be\nhappy at seeing you, and you are tormenting yourself so.\"\n\n\"Wait, I'll peep in and see whether he has waked up.\"\n\nThe ladies slowly followed Razumihin, who went on before, and when they\nreached the landlady's door on the fourth storey, they noticed that her\ndoor was a tiny crack open and that two keen black eyes were watching\nthem from the darkness within. When their eyes met, the door was\nsuddenly shut with such a slam that Pulcheria Alexandrovna almost cried\nout.\n\n\n\nCHAPTER III\n\n\"He is well, quite well!\" Zossimov cried cheerfully as they entered.\n\nHe had come in ten minutes earlier and was sitting in the same place\nas before, on the sofa. Raskolnikov was sitting in the opposite corner,\nfully dressed and carefully washed and combed, as he had not been for\nsome time past. The room was immediately crowded, yet Nastasya managed\nto follow the visitors in and stayed to listen.\n\nRaskolnikov really was almost well, as compared with his condition the\nday before, but he was still pale, listless, and sombre. He looked like\na wounded man or one who has undergone some terrible physical suffering.\nHis brows were knitted, his lips compressed, his eyes feverish. He spoke\nlittle and reluctantly, as though performing a duty, and there was a\nrestlessness in his movements.\n\nHe only wanted a sling on his arm or a bandage on his finger to complete\nthe impression of a man with a painful abscess or a broken arm. The\npale, sombre face lighted up for a moment when his mother and sister\nentered, but this only gave it a look of more intense suffering, in\nplace of its listless dejection. The light soon died away, but the look\nof suffering remained, and Zossimov, watching and studying his patient\nwith all the zest of a young doctor beginning to practise, noticed\nin him no joy at the arrival of his mother and sister, but a sort of\nbitter, hidden determination to bear another hour or two of inevitable\ntorture. He saw later that almost every word of the following\nconversation seemed to touch on some sore place and irritate it. But\nat the same time he marvelled at the power of controlling himself\nand hiding his feelings in a patient who the previous day had, like a\nmonomaniac, fallen into a frenzy at the slightest word.\n\n\"Yes, I see myself now that I am almost well,\" said Raskolnikov,\ngiving his mother and sister a kiss of welcome which made Pulcheria\nAlexandrovna radiant at once. \"And I don't say this _as I did\nyesterday_,\" he said, addressing Razumihin, with a friendly pressure of\nhis hand.\n\n\"Yes, indeed, I am quite surprised at him to-day,\" began Zossimov, much\ndelighted at the ladies' entrance, for he had not succeeded in keeping\nup a conversation with his patient for ten minutes. \"In another three or\nfour days, if he goes on like this, he will be just as before, that is,\nas he was a month ago, or two... or perhaps even three. This has been\ncoming on for a long while.... eh? Confess, now, that it has been\nperhaps your own fault?\" he added, with a tentative smile, as though\nstill afraid of irritating him.\n\n\"It is very possible,\" answered Raskolnikov coldly.\n\n\"I should say, too,\" continued Zossimov with zest, \"that your complete\nrecovery depends solely on yourself. Now that one can talk to you,\nI should like to impress upon you that it is essential to avoid the\nelementary, so to speak, fundamental causes tending to produce your\nmorbid condition: in that case you will be cured, if not, it will go\nfrom bad to worse. These fundamental causes I don't know, but they must\nbe known to you. You are an intelligent man, and must have observed\nyourself, of course. I fancy the first stage of your derangement\ncoincides with your leaving the university. You must not be left without\noccupation, and so, work and a definite aim set before you might, I\nfancy, be very beneficial.\"\n\n\"Yes, yes; you are perfectly right.... I will make haste and return to\nthe university: and then everything will go smoothly....\"\n\nZossimov, who had begun his sage advice partly to make an effect before\nthe ladies, was certainly somewhat mystified, when, glancing at his\npatient, he observed unmistakable mockery on his face. This lasted\nan instant, however. Pulcheria Alexandrovna began at once thanking\nZossimov, especially for his visit to their lodging the previous night.\n\n\"What! he saw you last night?\" Raskolnikov asked, as though startled.\n\"Then you have not slept either after your journey.\"\n\n\"Ach, Rodya, that was only till two o'clock. Dounia and I never go to\nbed before two at home.\"\n\n\"I don't know how to thank him either,\" Raskolnikov went on,\nsuddenly frowning and looking down. \"Setting aside the question of\npayment--forgive me for referring to it (he turned to Zossimov)--I\nreally don't know what I have done to deserve such special attention\nfrom you! I simply don't understand it... and... and... it weighs upon\nme, indeed, because I don't understand it. I tell you so candidly.\"\n\n\"Don't be irritated.\" Zossimov forced himself to laugh. \"Assume that you\nare my first patient--well--we fellows just beginning to practise love\nour first patients as if they were our children, and some almost fall in\nlove with them. And, of course, I am not rich in patients.\"\n\n\"I say nothing about him,\" added Raskolnikov, pointing to Razumihin,\n\"though he has had nothing from me either but insult and trouble.\"\n\n\"What nonsense he is talking! Why, you are in a sentimental mood to-day,\nare you?\" shouted Razumihin.\n\nIf he had had more penetration he would have seen that there was no\ntrace of sentimentality in him, but something indeed quite the opposite.\nBut Avdotya Romanovna noticed it. She was intently and uneasily watching\nher brother.\n\n\"As for you, mother, I don't dare to speak,\" he went on, as though\nrepeating a lesson learned by heart. \"It is only to-day that I have\nbeen able to realise a little how distressed you must have been here\nyesterday, waiting for me to come back.\"\n\nWhen he had said this, he suddenly held out his hand to his sister,\nsmiling without a word. But in this smile there was a flash of real\nunfeigned feeling. Dounia caught it at once, and warmly pressed his\nhand, overjoyed and thankful. It was the first time he had addressed her\nsince their dispute the previous day. The mother's face lighted up\nwith ecstatic happiness at the sight of this conclusive unspoken\nreconciliation. \"Yes, that is what I love him for,\" Razumihin,\nexaggerating it all, muttered to himself, with a vigorous turn in his\nchair. \"He has these movements.\"\n\n\"And how well he does it all,\" the mother was thinking to herself. \"What\ngenerous impulses he has, and how simply, how delicately he put an end\nto all the misunderstanding with his sister--simply by holding out his\nhand at the right minute and looking at her like that.... And what\nfine eyes he has, and how fine his whole face is!... He is even better\nlooking than Dounia.... But, good heavens, what a suit--how terribly\nhe's dressed!... Vasya, the messenger boy in Afanasy Ivanitch's shop, is\nbetter dressed! I could rush at him and hug him... weep over him--but\nI am afraid.... Oh, dear, he's so strange! He's talking kindly, but I'm\nafraid! Why, what am I afraid of?...\"\n\n\"Oh, Rodya, you wouldn't believe,\" she began suddenly, in haste to\nanswer his words to her, \"how unhappy Dounia and I were yesterday! Now\nthat it's all over and done with and we are quite happy again--I can\ntell you. Fancy, we ran here almost straight from the train to embrace\nyou and that woman--ah, here she is! Good morning, Nastasya!... She told\nus at once that you were lying in a high fever and had just run away\nfrom the doctor in delirium, and they were looking for you in the\nstreets. You can't imagine how we felt! I couldn't help thinking of the\ntragic end of Lieutenant Potanchikov, a friend of your father's--you\ncan't remember him, Rodya--who ran out in the same way in a high fever\nand fell into the well in the court-yard and they couldn't pull him out\ntill next day. Of course, we exaggerated things. We were on the point of\nrushing to find Pyotr Petrovitch to ask him to help.... Because we were\nalone, utterly alone,\" she said plaintively and stopped short,\nsuddenly, recollecting it was still somewhat dangerous to speak of Pyotr\nPetrovitch, although \"we are quite happy again.\"\n\n\"Yes, yes.... Of course it's very annoying....\" Raskolnikov muttered in\nreply, but with such a preoccupied and inattentive air that Dounia gazed\nat him in perplexity.\n\n\"What else was it I wanted to say?\" He went on trying to recollect. \"Oh,\nyes; mother, and you too, Dounia, please don't think that I didn't mean\nto come and see you to-day and was waiting for you to come first.\"\n\n\"What are you saying, Rodya?\" cried Pulcheria Alexandrovna. She, too,\nwas surprised.\n\n\"Is he answering us as a duty?\" Dounia wondered. \"Is he being reconciled\nand asking forgiveness as though he were performing a rite or repeating\na lesson?\"\n\n\"I've only just waked up, and wanted to go to you, but was delayed owing\nto my clothes; I forgot yesterday to ask her... Nastasya... to wash out\nthe blood... I've only just dressed.\"\n\n\"Blood! What blood?\" Pulcheria Alexandrovna asked in alarm.\n\n\"Oh, nothing--don't be uneasy. It was when I was wandering about\nyesterday, rather delirious, I chanced upon a man who had been run\nover... a clerk...\"\n\n\"Delirious? But you remember everything!\" Razumihin interrupted.\n\n\"That's true,\" Raskolnikov answered with special carefulness. \"I\nremember everything even to the slightest detail, and yet--why I did\nthat and went there and said that, I can't clearly explain now.\"\n\n\"A familiar phenomenon,\" interposed Zossimov, \"actions are sometimes\nperformed in a masterly and most cunning way, while the direction of the\nactions is deranged and dependent on various morbid impressions--it's\nlike a dream.\"\n\n\"Perhaps it's a good thing really that he should think me almost a\nmadman,\" thought Raskolnikov.\n\n\"Why, people in perfect health act in the same way too,\" observed\nDounia, looking uneasily at Zossimov.\n\n\"There is some truth in your observation,\" the latter replied. \"In that\nsense we are certainly all not infrequently like madmen, but with the\nslight difference that the deranged are somewhat madder, for we\nmust draw a line. A normal man, it is true, hardly exists. Among\ndozens--perhaps hundreds of thousands--hardly one is to be met with.\"\n\nAt the word \"madman,\" carelessly dropped by Zossimov in his chatter on\nhis favourite subject, everyone frowned.\n\nRaskolnikov sat seeming not to pay attention, plunged in thought with a\nstrange smile on his pale lips. He was still meditating on something.\n\n\"Well, what about the man who was run over? I interrupted you!\"\nRazumihin cried hastily.\n\n\"What?\" Raskolnikov seemed to wake up. \"Oh... I got spattered with\nblood helping to carry him to his lodging. By the way, mamma, I did an\nunpardonable thing yesterday. I was literally out of my mind. I gave\naway all the money you sent me... to his wife for the funeral. She's\na widow now, in consumption, a poor creature... three little children,\nstarving... nothing in the house... there's a daughter, too... perhaps\nyou'd have given it yourself if you'd seen them. But I had no right to\ndo it I admit, especially as I knew how you needed the money yourself.\nTo help others one must have the right to do it, or else _Crevez,\nchiens, si vous n'etes pas contents_.\" He laughed, \"That's right, isn't\nit, Dounia?\"\n\n\"No, it's not,\" answered Dounia firmly.\n\n\"Bah! you, too, have ideals,\" he muttered, looking at her almost with\nhatred, and smiling sarcastically. \"I ought to have considered that....\nWell, that's praiseworthy, and it's better for you... and if you reach a\nline you won't overstep, you will be unhappy... and if you overstep it,\nmaybe you will be still unhappier.... But all that's nonsense,\" he added\nirritably, vexed at being carried away. \"I only meant to say that I beg\nyour forgiveness, mother,\" he concluded, shortly and abruptly.\n\n\"That's enough, Rodya, I am sure that everything you do is very good,\"\nsaid his mother, delighted.\n\n\"Don't be too sure,\" he answered, twisting his mouth into a smile.\n\nA silence followed. There was a certain constraint in all this\nconversation, and in the silence, and in the reconciliation, and in the\nforgiveness, and all were feeling it.\n\n\"It is as though they were afraid of me,\" Raskolnikov was thinking\nto himself, looking askance at his mother and sister. Pulcheria\nAlexandrovna was indeed growing more timid the longer she kept silent.\n\n\"Yet in their absence I seemed to love them so much,\" flashed through\nhis mind.\n\n\"Do you know, Rodya, Marfa Petrovna is dead,\" Pulcheria Alexandrovna\nsuddenly blurted out.\n\n\"What Marfa Petrovna?\"\n\n\"Oh, mercy on us--Marfa Petrovna Svidrigailov. I wrote you so much about\nher.\"\n\n\"A-a-h! Yes, I remember.... So she's dead! Oh, really?\" he roused\nhimself suddenly, as if waking up. \"What did she die of?\"\n\n\"Only imagine, quite suddenly,\" Pulcheria Alexandrovna answered\nhurriedly, encouraged by his curiosity. \"On the very day I was sending\nyou that letter! Would you believe it, that awful man seems to have been\nthe cause of her death. They say he beat her dreadfully.\"\n\n\"Why, were they on such bad terms?\" he asked, addressing his sister.\n\n\"Not at all. Quite the contrary indeed. With her, he was always very\npatient, considerate even. In fact, all those seven years of their\nmarried life he gave way to her, too much so indeed, in many cases. All\nof a sudden he seems to have lost patience.\"\n\n\"Then he could not have been so awful if he controlled himself for seven\nyears? You seem to be defending him, Dounia?\"\n\n\"No, no, he's an awful man! I can imagine nothing more awful!\" Dounia\nanswered, almost with a shudder, knitting her brows, and sinking into\nthought.\n\n\"That had happened in the morning,\" Pulcheria Alexandrovna went on\nhurriedly. \"And directly afterwards she ordered the horses to be\nharnessed to drive to the town immediately after dinner. She always used\nto drive to the town in such cases. She ate a very good dinner, I am\ntold....\"\n\n\"After the beating?\"\n\n\"That was always her... habit; and immediately after dinner, so as not\nto be late in starting, she went to the bath-house.... You see, she was\nundergoing some treatment with baths. They have a cold spring there, and\nshe used to bathe in it regularly every day, and no sooner had she got\ninto the water when she suddenly had a stroke!\"\n\n\"I should think so,\" said Zossimov.\n\n\"And did he beat her badly?\"\n\n\"What does that matter!\" put in Dounia.\n\n\"H'm! But I don't know why you want to tell us such gossip, mother,\"\nsaid Raskolnikov irritably, as it were in spite of himself.\n\n\"Ah, my dear, I don't know what to talk about,\" broke from Pulcheria\nAlexandrovna.\n\n\"Why, are you all afraid of me?\" he asked, with a constrained smile.\n\n\"That's certainly true,\" said Dounia, looking directly and sternly at\nher brother. \"Mother was crossing herself with terror as she came up the\nstairs.\"\n\nHis face worked, as though in convulsion.\n\n\"Ach, what are you saying, Dounia! Don't be angry, please, Rodya....\nWhy did you say that, Dounia?\" Pulcheria Alexandrovna began,\noverwhelmed--\"You see, coming here, I was dreaming all the way, in the\ntrain, how we should meet, how we should talk over everything\ntogether.... And I was so happy, I did not notice the journey! But what\nam I saying? I am happy now.... You should not, Dounia.... I am happy\nnow--simply in seeing you, Rodya....\"\n\n\"Hush, mother,\" he muttered in confusion, not looking at her, but\npressing her hand. \"We shall have time to speak freely of everything!\"\n\nAs he said this, he was suddenly overwhelmed with confusion and turned\npale. Again that awful sensation he had known of late passed with deadly\nchill over his soul. Again it became suddenly plain and perceptible to\nhim that he had just told a fearful lie--that he would never now be\nable to speak freely of everything--that he would never again be able to\n_speak_ of anything to anyone. The anguish of this thought was such that\nfor a moment he almost forgot himself. He got up from his seat, and not\nlooking at anyone walked towards the door.\n\n\"What are you about?\" cried Razumihin, clutching him by the arm.\n\nHe sat down again, and began looking about him, in silence. They were\nall looking at him in perplexity.\n\n\"But what are you all so dull for?\" he shouted, suddenly and quite\nunexpectedly. \"Do say something! What's the use of sitting like this?\nCome, do speak. Let us talk.... We meet together and sit in silence....\nCome, anything!\"\n\n\"Thank God; I was afraid the same thing as yesterday was beginning\nagain,\" said Pulcheria Alexandrovna, crossing herself.\n\n\"What is the matter, Rodya?\" asked Avdotya Romanovna, distrustfully.\n\n\"Oh, nothing! I remembered something,\" he answered, and suddenly\nlaughed.\n\n\"Well, if you remembered something; that's all right!... I was beginning\nto think...\" muttered Zossimov, getting up from the sofa. \"It is time\nfor me to be off. I will look in again perhaps... if I can...\" He made\nhis bows, and went out.\n\n\"What an excellent man!\" observed Pulcheria Alexandrovna.\n\n\"Yes, excellent, splendid, well-educated, intelligent,\" Raskolnikov\nbegan, suddenly speaking with surprising rapidity, and a liveliness he\nhad not shown till then. \"I can't remember where I met him before my\nillness.... I believe I have met him somewhere----... And this is a good\nman, too,\" he nodded at Razumihin. \"Do you like him, Dounia?\" he asked\nher; and suddenly, for some unknown reason, laughed.\n\n\"Very much,\" answered Dounia.\n\n\"Foo!--what a pig you are!\" Razumihin protested, blushing in terrible\nconfusion, and he got up from his chair. Pulcheria Alexandrovna smiled\nfaintly, but Raskolnikov laughed aloud.\n\n\"Where are you off to?\"\n\n\"I must go.\"\n\n\"You need not at all. Stay. Zossimov has gone, so you must. Don't go.\nWhat's the time? Is it twelve o'clock? What a pretty watch you have got,\nDounia. But why are you all silent again? I do all the talking.\"\n\n\"It was a present from Marfa Petrovna,\" answered Dounia.\n\n\"And a very expensive one!\" added Pulcheria Alexandrovna.\n\n\"A-ah! What a big one! Hardly like a lady's.\"\n\n\"I like that sort,\" said Dounia.\n\n\"So it is not a present from her _fiance_,\" thought Razumihin, and was\nunreasonably delighted.\n\n\"I thought it was Luzhin's present,\" observed Raskolnikov.\n\n\"No, he has not made Dounia any presents yet.\"\n\n\"A-ah! And do you remember, mother, I was in love and wanted to get\nmarried?\" he said suddenly, looking at his mother, who was disconcerted\nby the sudden change of subject and the way he spoke of it.\n\n\"Oh, yes, my dear.\"\n\nPulcheria Alexandrovna exchanged glances with Dounia and Razumihin.\n\n\"H'm, yes. What shall I tell you? I don't remember much indeed. She was\nsuch a sickly girl,\" he went on, growing dreamy and looking down again.\n\"Quite an invalid. She was fond of giving alms to the poor, and was\nalways dreaming of a nunnery, and once she burst into tears when she\nbegan talking to me about it. Yes, yes, I remember. I remember very\nwell. She was an ugly little thing. I really don't know what drew me\nto her then--I think it was because she was always ill. If she had been\nlame or hunchback, I believe I should have liked her better still,\" he\nsmiled dreamily. \"Yes, it was a sort of spring delirium.\"\n\n\"No, it was not only spring delirium,\" said Dounia, with warm feeling.\n\nHe fixed a strained intent look on his sister, but did not hear or did\nnot understand her words. Then, completely lost in thought, he got up,\nwent up to his mother, kissed her, went back to his place and sat down.\n\n\"You love her even now?\" said Pulcheria Alexandrovna, touched.\n\n\"Her? Now? Oh, yes.... You ask about her? No... that's all now, as\nit were, in another world... and so long ago. And indeed everything\nhappening here seems somehow far away.\" He looked attentively at them.\n\"You, now... I seem to be looking at you from a thousand miles away...\nbut, goodness knows why we are talking of that! And what's the use of\nasking about it?\" he added with annoyance, and biting his nails, fell\ninto dreamy silence again.\n\n\"What a wretched lodging you have, Rodya! It's like a tomb,\" said\nPulcheria Alexandrovna, suddenly breaking the oppressive silence. \"I\nam sure it's quite half through your lodging you have become so\nmelancholy.\"\n\n\"My lodging,\" he answered, listlessly. \"Yes, the lodging had a great\ndeal to do with it.... I thought that, too.... If only you knew, though,\nwhat a strange thing you said just now, mother,\" he said, laughing\nstrangely.\n\nA little more, and their companionship, this mother and this sister,\nwith him after three years' absence, this intimate tone of conversation,\nin face of the utter impossibility of really speaking about anything,\nwould have been beyond his power of endurance. But there was one urgent\nmatter which must be settled one way or the other that day--so he had\ndecided when he woke. Now he was glad to remember it, as a means of\nescape.\n\n\"Listen, Dounia,\" he began, gravely and drily, \"of course I beg your\npardon for yesterday, but I consider it my duty to tell you again that\nI do not withdraw from my chief point. It is me or Luzhin. If I am a\nscoundrel, you must not be. One is enough. If you marry Luzhin, I cease\nat once to look on you as a sister.\"\n\n\"Rodya, Rodya! It is the same as yesterday again,\" Pulcheria\nAlexandrovna cried, mournfully. \"And why do you call yourself a\nscoundrel? I can't bear it. You said the same yesterday.\"\n\n\"Brother,\" Dounia answered firmly and with the same dryness. \"In all\nthis there is a mistake on your part. I thought it over at night,\nand found out the mistake. It is all because you seem to fancy I am\nsacrificing myself to someone and for someone. That is not the case at\nall. I am simply marrying for my own sake, because things are hard for\nme. Though, of course, I shall be glad if I succeed in being useful to\nmy family. But that is not the chief motive for my decision....\"\n\n\"She is lying,\" he thought to himself, biting his nails vindictively.\n\"Proud creature! She won't admit she wants to do it out of charity! Too\nhaughty! Oh, base characters! They even love as though they hate.... Oh,\nhow I... hate them all!\"\n\n\"In fact,\" continued Dounia, \"I am marrying Pyotr Petrovitch because of\ntwo evils I choose the less. I intend to do honestly all he expects of\nme, so I am not deceiving him.... Why did you smile just now?\" She, too,\nflushed, and there was a gleam of anger in her eyes.\n\n\"All?\" he asked, with a malignant grin.\n\n\"Within certain limits. Both the manner and form of Pyotr Petrovitch's\ncourtship showed me at once what he wanted. He may, of course, think too\nwell of himself, but I hope he esteems me, too.... Why are you laughing\nagain?\"\n\n\"And why are you blushing again? You are lying, sister. You are\nintentionally lying, simply from feminine obstinacy, simply to hold your\nown against me.... You cannot respect Luzhin. I have seen him and talked\nwith him. So you are selling yourself for money, and so in any case you\nare acting basely, and I am glad at least that you can blush for it.\"\n\n\"It is not true. I am not lying,\" cried Dounia, losing her composure.\n\"I would not marry him if I were not convinced that he esteems me\nand thinks highly of me. I would not marry him if I were not firmly\nconvinced that I can respect him. Fortunately, I can have convincing\nproof of it this very day... and such a marriage is not a vileness, as\nyou say! And even if you were right, if I really had determined on a\nvile action, is it not merciless on your part to speak to me like that?\nWhy do you demand of me a heroism that perhaps you have not either? It\nis despotism; it is tyranny. If I ruin anyone, it is only myself.... I\nam not committing a murder. Why do you look at me like that? Why are you\nso pale? Rodya, darling, what's the matter?\"\n\n\"Good heavens! You have made him faint,\" cried Pulcheria Alexandrovna.\n\n\"No, no, nonsense! It's nothing. A little giddiness--not fainting. You\nhave fainting on the brain. H'm, yes, what was I saying? Oh, yes. In\nwhat way will you get convincing proof to-day that you can respect him,\nand that he... esteems you, as you said. I think you said to-day?\"\n\n\"Mother, show Rodya Pyotr Petrovitch's letter,\" said Dounia.\n\nWith trembling hands, Pulcheria Alexandrovna gave him the letter. He\ntook it with great interest, but, before opening it, he suddenly looked\nwith a sort of wonder at Dounia.\n\n\"It is strange,\" he said, slowly, as though struck by a new idea. \"What\nam I making such a fuss for? What is it all about? Marry whom you like!\"\n\nHe said this as though to himself, but said it aloud, and looked for\nsome time at his sister, as though puzzled. He opened the letter at\nlast, still with the same look of strange wonder on his face. Then,\nslowly and attentively, he began reading, and read it through twice.\nPulcheria Alexandrovna showed marked anxiety, and all indeed expected\nsomething particular.\n\n\"What surprises me,\" he began, after a short pause, handing the letter\nto his mother, but not addressing anyone in particular, \"is that he is a\nbusiness man, a lawyer, and his conversation is pretentious indeed, and\nyet he writes such an uneducated letter.\"\n\nThey all started. They had expected something quite different.\n\n\"But they all write like that, you know,\" Razumihin observed, abruptly.\n\n\"Have you read it?\"\n\n\"Yes.\"\n\n\"We showed him, Rodya. We... consulted him just now,\" Pulcheria\nAlexandrovna began, embarrassed.\n\n\"That's just the jargon of the courts,\" Razumihin put in. \"Legal\ndocuments are written like that to this day.\"\n\n\"Legal? Yes, it's just legal--business language--not so very uneducated,\nand not quite educated--business language!\"\n\n\"Pyotr Petrovitch makes no secret of the fact that he had a cheap\neducation, he is proud indeed of having made his own way,\" Avdotya\nRomanovna observed, somewhat offended by her brother's tone.\n\n\"Well, if he's proud of it, he has reason, I don't deny it. You seem to\nbe offended, sister, at my making only such a frivolous criticism on the\nletter, and to think that I speak of such trifling matters on purpose to\nannoy you. It is quite the contrary, an observation apropos of the style\noccurred to me that is by no means irrelevant as things stand. There\nis one expression, 'blame yourselves' put in very significantly and\nplainly, and there is besides a threat that he will go away at once if I\nam present. That threat to go away is equivalent to a threat to abandon\nyou both if you are disobedient, and to abandon you now after summoning\nyou to Petersburg. Well, what do you think? Can one resent such an\nexpression from Luzhin, as we should if he (he pointed to Razumihin) had\nwritten it, or Zossimov, or one of us?\"\n\n\"N-no,\" answered Dounia, with more animation. \"I saw clearly that it\nwas too naively expressed, and that perhaps he simply has no skill\nin writing... that is a true criticism, brother. I did not expect,\nindeed...\"\n\n\"It is expressed in legal style, and sounds coarser than perhaps he\nintended. But I must disillusion you a little. There is one expression\nin the letter, one slander about me, and rather a contemptible one. I\ngave the money last night to the widow, a woman in consumption, crushed\nwith trouble, and not 'on the pretext of the funeral,' but simply to pay\nfor the funeral, and not to the daughter--a young woman, as he writes,\nof notorious behaviour (whom I saw last night for the first time in my\nlife)--but to the widow. In all this I see a too hasty desire to slander\nme and to raise dissension between us. It is expressed again in legal\njargon, that is to say, with a too obvious display of the aim, and\nwith a very naive eagerness. He is a man of intelligence, but to act\nsensibly, intelligence is not enough. It all shows the man and... I\ndon't think he has a great esteem for you. I tell you this simply to\nwarn you, because I sincerely wish for your good...\"\n\nDounia did not reply. Her resolution had been taken. She was only\nawaiting the evening.\n\n\"Then what is your decision, Rodya?\" asked Pulcheria Alexandrovna, who\nwas more uneasy than ever at the sudden, new businesslike tone of his\ntalk.\n\n\"What decision?\"\n\n\"You see Pyotr Petrovitch writes that you are not to be with us this\nevening, and that he will go away if you come. So will you... come?\"\n\n\"That, of course, is not for me to decide, but for you first, if you are\nnot offended by such a request; and secondly, by Dounia, if she, too, is\nnot offended. I will do what you think best,\" he added, drily.\n\n\"Dounia has already decided, and I fully agree with her,\" Pulcheria\nAlexandrovna hastened to declare.\n\n\"I decided to ask you, Rodya, to urge you not to fail to be with us at\nthis interview,\" said Dounia. \"Will you come?\"\n\n\"Yes.\"\n\n\"I will ask you, too, to be with us at eight o'clock,\" she said,\naddressing Razumihin. \"Mother, I am inviting him, too.\"\n\n\"Quite right, Dounia. Well, since you have decided,\" added Pulcheria\nAlexandrovna, \"so be it. I shall feel easier myself. I do not like\nconcealment and deception. Better let us have the whole truth.... Pyotr\nPetrovitch may be angry or not, now!\"\n\n\n\nCHAPTER IV\n\nAt that moment the door was softly opened, and a young girl walked into\nthe room, looking timidly about her. Everyone turned towards her with\nsurprise and curiosity. At first sight, Raskolnikov did not recognise\nher. It was Sofya Semyonovna Marmeladov. He had seen her yesterday for\nthe first time, but at such a moment, in such surroundings and in such\na dress, that his memory retained a very different image of her. Now she\nwas a modestly and poorly-dressed young girl, very young, indeed,\nalmost like a child, with a modest and refined manner, with a candid but\nsomewhat frightened-looking face. She was wearing a very plain indoor\ndress, and had on a shabby old-fashioned hat, but she still carried a\nparasol. Unexpectedly finding the room full of people, she was not so\nmuch embarrassed as completely overwhelmed with shyness, like a\nlittle child. She was even about to retreat. \"Oh... it's you!\" said\nRaskolnikov, extremely astonished, and he, too, was confused. He at once\nrecollected that his mother and sister knew through Luzhin's letter\nof \"some young woman of notorious behaviour.\" He had only just been\nprotesting against Luzhin's calumny and declaring that he had seen the\ngirl last night for the first time, and suddenly she had walked in. He\nremembered, too, that he had not protested against the expression \"of\nnotorious behaviour.\" All this passed vaguely and fleetingly through\nhis brain, but looking at her more intently, he saw that the humiliated\ncreature was so humiliated that he felt suddenly sorry for her. When she\nmade a movement to retreat in terror, it sent a pang to his heart.\n\n\"I did not expect you,\" he said, hurriedly, with a look that made her\nstop. \"Please sit down. You come, no doubt, from Katerina Ivanovna.\nAllow me--not there. Sit here....\"\n\nAt Sonia's entrance, Razumihin, who had been sitting on one of\nRaskolnikov's three chairs, close to the door, got up to allow her to\nenter. Raskolnikov had at first shown her the place on the sofa where\nZossimov had been sitting, but feeling that the sofa which served him\nas a bed, was too _familiar_ a place, he hurriedly motioned her to\nRazumihin's chair.\n\n\"You sit here,\" he said to Razumihin, putting him on the sofa.\n\nSonia sat down, almost shaking with terror, and looked timidly at the\ntwo ladies. It was evidently almost inconceivable to herself that she\ncould sit down beside them. At the thought of it, she was so frightened\nthat she hurriedly got up again, and in utter confusion addressed\nRaskolnikov.\n\n\"I... I... have come for one minute. Forgive me for disturbing you,\" she\nbegan falteringly. \"I come from Katerina Ivanovna, and she had no one to\nsend. Katerina Ivanovna told me to beg you... to be at the service... in\nthe morning... at Mitrofanievsky... and then... to us... to her...\nto do her the honour... she told me to beg you...\" Sonia stammered and\nceased speaking.\n\n\"I will try, certainly, most certainly,\" answered Raskolnikov. He,\ntoo, stood up, and he, too, faltered and could not finish his sentence.\n\"Please sit down,\" he said, suddenly. \"I want to talk to you. You are\nperhaps in a hurry, but please, be so kind, spare me two minutes,\" and\nhe drew up a chair for her.\n\nSonia sat down again, and again timidly she took a hurried, frightened\nlook at the two ladies, and dropped her eyes. Raskolnikov's pale face\nflushed, a shudder passed over him, his eyes glowed.\n\n\"Mother,\" he said, firmly and insistently, \"this is Sofya Semyonovna\nMarmeladov, the daughter of that unfortunate Mr. Marmeladov, who was run\nover yesterday before my eyes, and of whom I was just telling you.\"\n\nPulcheria Alexandrovna glanced at Sonia, and slightly screwed up\nher eyes. In spite of her embarrassment before Rodya's urgent and\nchallenging look, she could not deny herself that satisfaction. Dounia\ngazed gravely and intently into the poor girl's face, and scrutinised\nher with perplexity. Sonia, hearing herself introduced, tried to raise\nher eyes again, but was more embarrassed than ever.\n\n\"I wanted to ask you,\" said Raskolnikov, hastily, \"how things were\narranged yesterday. You were not worried by the police, for instance?\"\n\n\"No, that was all right... it was too evident, the cause of death...\nthey did not worry us... only the lodgers are angry.\"\n\n\"Why?\"\n\n\"At the body's remaining so long. You see it is hot now. So that,\nto-day, they will carry it to the cemetery, into the chapel, until\nto-morrow. At first Katerina Ivanovna was unwilling, but now she sees\nherself that it's necessary...\"\n\n\"To-day, then?\"\n\n\"She begs you to do us the honour to be in the church to-morrow for the\nservice, and then to be present at the funeral lunch.\"\n\n\"She is giving a funeral lunch?\"\n\n\"Yes... just a little.... She told me to thank you very much for helping\nus yesterday. But for you, we should have had nothing for the funeral.\"\n\nAll at once her lips and chin began trembling, but, with an effort, she\ncontrolled herself, looking down again.\n\nDuring the conversation, Raskolnikov watched her carefully. She had a\nthin, very thin, pale little face, rather irregular and angular, with a\nsharp little nose and chin. She could not have been called pretty, but\nher blue eyes were so clear, and when they lighted up, there was such\na kindliness and simplicity in her expression that one could not help\nbeing attracted. Her face, and her whole figure indeed, had another\npeculiar characteristic. In spite of her eighteen years, she looked\nalmost a little girl--almost a child. And in some of her gestures, this\nchildishness seemed almost absurd.\n\n\"But has Katerina Ivanovna been able to manage with such small means?\nDoes she even mean to have a funeral lunch?\" Raskolnikov asked,\npersistently keeping up the conversation.\n\n\"The coffin will be plain, of course... and everything will be plain, so\nit won't cost much. Katerina Ivanovna and I have reckoned it all out, so\nthat there will be enough left... and Katerina Ivanovna was very anxious\nit should be so. You know one can't... it's a comfort to her... she is\nlike that, you know....\"\n\n\"I understand, I understand... of course... why do you look at my room\nlike that? My mother has just said it is like a tomb.\"\n\n\"You gave us everything yesterday,\" Sonia said suddenly, in reply, in a\nloud rapid whisper; and again she looked down in confusion. Her lips\nand chin were trembling once more. She had been struck at once\nby Raskolnikov's poor surroundings, and now these words broke out\nspontaneously. A silence followed. There was a light in Dounia's eyes,\nand even Pulcheria Alexandrovna looked kindly at Sonia.\n\n\"Rodya,\" she said, getting up, \"we shall have dinner together, of\ncourse. Come, Dounia.... And you, Rodya, had better go for a little\nwalk, and then rest and lie down before you come to see us.... I am\nafraid we have exhausted you....\"\n\n\"Yes, yes, I'll come,\" he answered, getting up fussily. \"But I have\nsomething to see to.\"\n\n\"But surely you will have dinner together?\" cried Razumihin, looking in\nsurprise at Raskolnikov. \"What do you mean?\"\n\n\"Yes, yes, I am coming... of course, of course! And you stay a minute.\nYou do not want him just now, do you, mother? Or perhaps I am taking him\nfrom you?\"\n\n\"Oh, no, no. And will you, Dmitri Prokofitch, do us the favour of dining\nwith us?\"\n\n\"Please do,\" added Dounia.\n\nRazumihin bowed, positively radiant. For one moment, they were all\nstrangely embarrassed.\n\n\"Good-bye, Rodya, that is till we meet. I do not like saying good-bye.\nGood-bye, Nastasya. Ah, I have said good-bye again.\"\n\nPulcheria Alexandrovna meant to greet Sonia, too; but it somehow failed\nto come off, and she went in a flutter out of the room.\n\nBut Avdotya Romanovna seemed to await her turn, and following her mother\nout, gave Sonia an attentive, courteous bow. Sonia, in confusion, gave\na hurried, frightened curtsy. There was a look of poignant discomfort\nin her face, as though Avdotya Romanovna's courtesy and attention were\noppressive and painful to her.\n\n\"Dounia, good-bye,\" called Raskolnikov, in the passage. \"Give me your\nhand.\"\n\n\"Why, I did give it to you. Have you forgotten?\" said Dounia, turning\nwarmly and awkwardly to him.\n\n\"Never mind, give it to me again.\" And he squeezed her fingers warmly.\n\nDounia smiled, flushed, pulled her hand away, and went off quite happy.\n\n\"Come, that's capital,\" he said to Sonia, going back and looking\nbrightly at her. \"God give peace to the dead, the living have still to\nlive. That is right, isn't it?\"\n\nSonia looked surprised at the sudden brightness of his face. He looked\nat her for some moments in silence. The whole history of the dead father\nfloated before his memory in those moments....\n\n*****\n\n\"Heavens, Dounia,\" Pulcheria Alexandrovna began, as soon as they were in\nthe street, \"I really feel relieved myself at coming away--more at ease.\nHow little did I think yesterday in the train that I could ever be glad\nof that.\"\n\n\"I tell you again, mother, he is still very ill. Don't you see it?\nPerhaps worrying about us upset him. We must be patient, and much, much\ncan be forgiven.\"\n\n\"Well, you were not very patient!\" Pulcheria Alexandrovna caught her up,\nhotly and jealously. \"Do you know, Dounia, I was looking at you two. You\nare the very portrait of him, and not so much in face as in soul. You\nare both melancholy, both morose and hot-tempered, both haughty and both\ngenerous.... Surely he can't be an egoist, Dounia. Eh? When I think of\nwhat is in store for us this evening, my heart sinks!\"\n\n\"Don't be uneasy, mother. What must be, will be.\"\n\n\"Dounia, only think what a position we are in! What if Pyotr Petrovitch\nbreaks it off?\" poor Pulcheria Alexandrovna blurted out, incautiously.\n\n\"He won't be worth much if he does,\" answered Dounia, sharply and\ncontemptuously.\n\n\"We did well to come away,\" Pulcheria Alexandrovna hurriedly broke in.\n\"He was in a hurry about some business or other. If he gets out and has\na breath of air... it is fearfully close in his room.... But where is\none to get a breath of air here? The very streets here feel like shut-up\nrooms. Good heavens! what a town!... stay... this side... they will\ncrush you--carrying something. Why, it is a piano they have got, I\ndeclare... how they push!... I am very much afraid of that young woman,\ntoo.\"\n\n\"What young woman, mother?\n\n\"Why, that Sofya Semyonovna, who was there just now.\"\n\n\"Why?\"\n\n\"I have a presentiment, Dounia. Well, you may believe it or not, but\nas soon as she came in, that very minute, I felt that she was the chief\ncause of the trouble....\"\n\n\"Nothing of the sort!\" cried Dounia, in vexation. \"What nonsense, with\nyour presentiments, mother! He only made her acquaintance the evening\nbefore, and he did not know her when she came in.\"\n\n\"Well, you will see.... She worries me; but you will see, you will\nsee! I was so frightened. She was gazing at me with those eyes. I could\nscarcely sit still in my chair when he began introducing her, do you\nremember? It seems so strange, but Pyotr Petrovitch writes like that\nabout her, and he introduces her to us--to you! So he must think a great\ndeal of her.\"\n\n\"People will write anything. We were talked about and written about,\ntoo. Have you forgotten? I am sure that she is a good girl, and that it\nis all nonsense.\"\n\n\"God grant it may be!\"\n\n\"And Pyotr Petrovitch is a contemptible slanderer,\" Dounia snapped out,\nsuddenly.\n\nPulcheria Alexandrovna was crushed; the conversation was not resumed.\n\n*****\n\n\"I will tell you what I want with you,\" said Raskolnikov, drawing\nRazumihin to the window.\n\n\"Then I will tell Katerina Ivanovna that you are coming,\" Sonia said\nhurriedly, preparing to depart.\n\n\"One minute, Sofya Semyonovna. We have no secrets. You are not in our\nway. I want to have another word or two with you. Listen!\" he turned\nsuddenly to Razumihin again. \"You know that... what's his name...\nPorfiry Petrovitch?\"\n\n\"I should think so! He is a relation. Why?\" added the latter, with\ninterest.\n\n\"Is not he managing that case... you know, about that murder?... You\nwere speaking about it yesterday.\"\n\n\"Yes... well?\" Razumihin's eyes opened wide.\n\n\"He was inquiring for people who had pawned things, and I have some\npledges there, too--trifles--a ring my sister gave me as a keepsake when\nI left home, and my father's silver watch--they are only worth five or\nsix roubles altogether... but I value them. So what am I to do now? I\ndo not want to lose the things, especially the watch. I was quaking just\nnow, for fear mother would ask to look at it, when we spoke of Dounia's\nwatch. It is the only thing of father's left us. She would be ill if\nit were lost. You know what women are. So tell me what to do. I know I\nought to have given notice at the police station, but would it not be\nbetter to go straight to Porfiry? Eh? What do you think? The matter\nmight be settled more quickly. You see, mother may ask for it before\ndinner.\"\n\n\"Certainly not to the police station. Certainly to Porfiry,\" Razumihin\nshouted in extraordinary excitement. \"Well, how glad I am. Let us go at\nonce. It is a couple of steps. We shall be sure to find him.\"\n\n\"Very well, let us go.\"\n\n\"And he will be very, very glad to make your acquaintance. I have\noften talked to him of you at different times. I was speaking of you\nyesterday. Let us go. So you knew the old woman? So that's it! It is all\nturning out splendidly.... Oh, yes, Sofya Ivanovna...\"\n\n\"Sofya Semyonovna,\" corrected Raskolnikov. \"Sofya Semyonovna, this is my\nfriend Razumihin, and he is a good man.\"\n\n\"If you have to go now,\" Sonia was beginning, not looking at Razumihin\nat all, and still more embarrassed.\n\n\"Let us go,\" decided Raskolnikov. \"I will come to you to-day, Sofya\nSemyonovna. Only tell me where you live.\"\n\nHe was not exactly ill at ease, but seemed hurried, and avoided her\neyes. Sonia gave her address, and flushed as she did so. They all went\nout together.\n\n\"Don't you lock up?\" asked Razumihin, following him on to the stairs.\n\n\"Never,\" answered Raskolnikov. \"I have been meaning to buy a lock for\nthese two years. People are happy who have no need of locks,\" he said,\nlaughing, to Sonia. They stood still in the gateway.\n\n\"Do you go to the right, Sofya Semyonovna? How did you find me, by the\nway?\" he added, as though he wanted to say something quite different. He\nwanted to look at her soft clear eyes, but this was not easy.\n\n\"Why, you gave your address to Polenka yesterday.\"\n\n\"Polenka? Oh, yes; Polenka, that is the little girl. She is your sister?\nDid I give her the address?\"\n\n\"Why, had you forgotten?\"\n\n\"No, I remember.\"\n\n\"I had heard my father speak of you... only I did not know your name,\nand he did not know it. And now I came... and as I had learnt your name,\nI asked to-day, 'Where does Mr. Raskolnikov live?' I did not know you\nhad only a room too.... Good-bye, I will tell Katerina Ivanovna.\"\n\nShe was extremely glad to escape at last; she went away looking down,\nhurrying to get out of sight as soon as possible, to walk the twenty\nsteps to the turning on the right and to be at last alone, and then\nmoving rapidly along, looking at no one, noticing nothing, to think, to\nremember, to meditate on every word, every detail. Never, never had she\nfelt anything like this. Dimly and unconsciously a whole new world was\nopening before her. She remembered suddenly that Raskolnikov meant to\ncome to her that day, perhaps at once!\n\n\"Only not to-day, please, not to-day!\" she kept muttering with a sinking\nheart, as though entreating someone, like a frightened child. \"Mercy! to\nme... to that room... he will see... oh, dear!\"\n\nShe was not capable at that instant of noticing an unknown gentleman who\nwas watching her and following at her heels. He had accompanied her from\nthe gateway. At the moment when Razumihin, Raskolnikov, and she stood\nstill at parting on the pavement, this gentleman, who was just passing,\nstarted on hearing Sonia's words: \"and I asked where Mr. Raskolnikov\nlived?\" He turned a rapid but attentive look upon all three, especially\nupon Raskolnikov, to whom Sonia was speaking; then looked back and noted\nthe house. All this was done in an instant as he passed, and trying not\nto betray his interest, he walked on more slowly as though waiting for\nsomething. He was waiting for Sonia; he saw that they were parting, and\nthat Sonia was going home.\n\n\"Home? Where? I've seen that face somewhere,\" he thought. \"I must find\nout.\"\n\nAt the turning he crossed over, looked round, and saw Sonia coming the\nsame way, noticing nothing. She turned the corner. He followed her on\nthe other side. After about fifty paces he crossed over again, overtook\nher and kept two or three yards behind her.\n\nHe was a man about fifty, rather tall and thickly set, with broad high\nshoulders which made him look as though he stooped a little. He wore\ngood and fashionable clothes, and looked like a gentleman of position.\nHe carried a handsome cane, which he tapped on the pavement at each\nstep; his gloves were spotless. He had a broad, rather pleasant face\nwith high cheek-bones and a fresh colour, not often seen in Petersburg.\nHis flaxen hair was still abundant, and only touched here and there with\ngrey, and his thick square beard was even lighter than his hair.\nHis eyes were blue and had a cold and thoughtful look; his lips were\ncrimson. He was a remarkedly well-preserved man and looked much younger\nthan his years.\n\nWhen Sonia came out on the canal bank, they were the only two persons on\nthe pavement. He observed her dreaminess and preoccupation. On reaching\nthe house where she lodged, Sonia turned in at the gate; he followed\nher, seeming rather surprised. In the courtyard she turned to the right\ncorner. \"Bah!\" muttered the unknown gentleman, and mounted the stairs\nbehind her. Only then Sonia noticed him. She reached the third storey,\nturned down the passage, and rang at No. 9. On the door was inscribed\nin chalk, \"Kapernaumov, Tailor.\" \"Bah!\" the stranger repeated again,\nwondering at the strange coincidence, and he rang next door, at No. 8.\nThe doors were two or three yards apart.\n\n\"You lodge at Kapernaumov's,\" he said, looking at Sonia and laughing.\n\"He altered a waistcoat for me yesterday. I am staying close here at\nMadame Resslich's. How odd!\" Sonia looked at him attentively.\n\n\"We are neighbours,\" he went on gaily. \"I only came to town the day\nbefore yesterday. Good-bye for the present.\"\n\nSonia made no reply; the door opened and she slipped in. She felt for\nsome reason ashamed and uneasy.\n\n*****\n\nOn the way to Porfiry's, Razumihin was obviously excited.\n\n\"That's capital, brother,\" he repeated several times, \"and I am glad! I\nam glad!\"\n\n\"What are you glad about?\" Raskolnikov thought to himself.\n\n\"I didn't know that you pledged things at the old woman's, too. And...\nwas it long ago? I mean, was it long since you were there?\"\n\n\"What a simple-hearted fool he is!\"\n\n\"When was it?\" Raskolnikov stopped still to recollect. \"Two or three\ndays before her death it must have been. But I am not going to redeem\nthe things now,\" he put in with a sort of hurried and conspicuous\nsolicitude about the things. \"I've not more than a silver rouble\nleft... after last night's accursed delirium!\"\n\nHe laid special emphasis on the delirium.\n\n\"Yes, yes,\" Razumihin hastened to agree--with what was not clear. \"Then\nthat's why you... were stuck... partly... you know in your delirium you\nwere continually mentioning some rings or chains! Yes, yes... that's\nclear, it's all clear now.\"\n\n\"Hullo! How that idea must have got about among them. Here this man will\ngo to the stake for me, and I find him delighted at having it _cleared\nup_ why I spoke of rings in my delirium! What a hold the idea must have\non all of them!\"\n\n\"Shall we find him?\" he asked suddenly.\n\n\"Oh, yes,\" Razumihin answered quickly. \"He is a nice fellow, you will\nsee, brother. Rather clumsy, that is to say, he is a man of polished\nmanners, but I mean clumsy in a different sense. He is an intelligent\nfellow, very much so indeed, but he has his own range of ideas.... He\nis incredulous, sceptical, cynical... he likes to impose on people, or\nrather to make fun of them. His is the old, circumstantial method....\nBut he understands his work... thoroughly.... Last year he cleared up a\ncase of murder in which the police had hardly a clue. He is very, very\nanxious to make your acquaintance!\"\n\n\"On what grounds is he so anxious?\"\n\n\"Oh, it's not exactly... you see, since you've been ill I happen to have\nmentioned you several times.... So, when he heard about you... about\nyour being a law student and not able to finish your studies, he said,\n'What a pity!' And so I concluded... from everything together, not only\nthat; yesterday Zametov... you know, Rodya, I talked some nonsense on\nthe way home to you yesterday, when I was drunk... I am afraid, brother,\nof your exaggerating it, you see.\"\n\n\"What? That they think I am a madman? Maybe they are right,\" he said\nwith a constrained smile.\n\n\"Yes, yes.... That is, pooh, no!... But all that I said (and there was\nsomething else too) it was all nonsense, drunken nonsense.\"\n\n\"But why are you apologising? I am so sick of it all!\" Raskolnikov cried\nwith exaggerated irritability. It was partly assumed, however.\n\n\"I know, I know, I understand. Believe me, I understand. One's ashamed\nto speak of it.\"\n\n\"If you are ashamed, then don't speak of it.\"\n\nBoth were silent. Razumihin was more than ecstatic and Raskolnikov\nperceived it with repulsion. He was alarmed, too, by what Razumihin had\njust said about Porfiry.\n\n\"I shall have to pull a long face with him too,\" he thought, with a\nbeating heart, and he turned white, \"and do it naturally, too. But the\nmost natural thing would be to do nothing at all. Carefully do nothing\nat all! No, _carefully_ would not be natural again.... Oh, well, we\nshall see how it turns out.... We shall see... directly. Is it a good\nthing to go or not? The butterfly flies to the light. My heart is\nbeating, that's what's bad!\"\n\n\"In this grey house,\" said Razumihin.\n\n\"The most important thing, does Porfiry know that I was at the old\nhag's flat yesterday... and asked about the blood? I must find that out\ninstantly, as soon as I go in, find out from his face; otherwise... I'll\nfind out, if it's my ruin.\"\n\n\"I say, brother,\" he said suddenly, addressing Razumihin, with a sly\nsmile, \"I have been noticing all day that you seem to be curiously\nexcited. Isn't it so?\"\n\n\"Excited? Not a bit of it,\" said Razumihin, stung to the quick.\n\n\"Yes, brother, I assure you it's noticeable. Why, you sat on your chair\nin a way you never do sit, on the edge somehow, and you seemed to be\nwrithing all the time. You kept jumping up for nothing. One moment you\nwere angry, and the next your face looked like a sweetmeat. You even\nblushed; especially when you were invited to dinner, you blushed\nawfully.\"\n\n\"Nothing of the sort, nonsense! What do you mean?\"\n\n\"But why are you wriggling out of it, like a schoolboy? By Jove, there\nhe's blushing again.\"\n\n\"What a pig you are!\"\n\n\"But why are you so shamefaced about it? Romeo! Stay, I'll tell of you\nto-day. Ha-ha-ha! I'll make mother laugh, and someone else, too...\"\n\n\"Listen, listen, listen, this is serious.... What next, you fiend!\"\nRazumihin was utterly overwhelmed, turning cold with horror. \"What will\nyou tell them? Come, brother... foo! what a pig you are!\"\n\n\"You are like a summer rose. And if only you knew how it suits you; a\nRomeo over six foot high! And how you've washed to-day--you cleaned your\nnails, I declare. Eh? That's something unheard of! Why, I do believe\nyou've got pomatum on your hair! Bend down.\"\n\n\"Pig!\"\n\nRaskolnikov laughed as though he could not restrain himself. So\nlaughing, they entered Porfiry Petrovitch's flat. This is what\nRaskolnikov wanted: from within they could be heard laughing as they\ncame in, still guffawing in the passage.\n\n\"Not a word here or I'll... brain you!\" Razumihin whispered furiously,\nseizing Raskolnikov by the shoulder.\n\n\n\nCHAPTER V\n\nRaskolnikov was already entering the room. He came in looking as though\nhe had the utmost difficulty not to burst out laughing again. Behind him\nRazumihin strode in gawky and awkward, shamefaced and red as a peony,\nwith an utterly crestfallen and ferocious expression. His face and\nwhole figure really were ridiculous at that moment and amply justified\nRaskolnikov's laughter. Raskolnikov, not waiting for an introduction,\nbowed to Porfiry Petrovitch, who stood in the middle of the room\nlooking inquiringly at them. He held out his hand and shook hands, still\napparently making desperate efforts to subdue his mirth and utter a few\nwords to introduce himself. But he had no sooner succeeded in assuming\na serious air and muttering something when he suddenly glanced again as\nthough accidentally at Razumihin, and could no longer control himself:\nhis stifled laughter broke out the more irresistibly the more he tried\nto restrain it. The extraordinary ferocity with which Razumihin received\nthis \"spontaneous\" mirth gave the whole scene the appearance of most\ngenuine fun and naturalness. Razumihin strengthened this impression as\nthough on purpose.\n\n\"Fool! You fiend,\" he roared, waving his arm which at once struck a\nlittle round table with an empty tea-glass on it. Everything was sent\nflying and crashing.\n\n\"But why break chairs, gentlemen? You know it's a loss to the Crown,\"\nPorfiry Petrovitch quoted gaily.\n\nRaskolnikov was still laughing, with his hand in Porfiry Petrovitch's,\nbut anxious not to overdo it, awaited the right moment to put a natural\nend to it. Razumihin, completely put to confusion by upsetting the table\nand smashing the glass, gazed gloomily at the fragments, cursed and\nturned sharply to the window where he stood looking out with his back\nto the company with a fiercely scowling countenance, seeing nothing.\nPorfiry Petrovitch laughed and was ready to go on laughing, but\nobviously looked for explanations. Zametov had been sitting in the\ncorner, but he rose at the visitors' entrance and was standing in\nexpectation with a smile on his lips, though he looked with surprise and\neven it seemed incredulity at the whole scene and at Raskolnikov with a\ncertain embarrassment. Zametov's unexpected presence struck Raskolnikov\nunpleasantly.\n\n\"I've got to think of that,\" he thought. \"Excuse me, please,\" he began,\naffecting extreme embarrassment. \"Raskolnikov.\"\n\n\"Not at all, very pleasant to see you... and how pleasantly you've come\nin.... Why, won't he even say good-morning?\" Porfiry Petrovitch nodded\nat Razumihin.\n\n\"Upon my honour I don't know why he is in such a rage with me. I only\ntold him as we came along that he was like Romeo... and proved it. And\nthat was all, I think!\"\n\n\"Pig!\" ejaculated Razumihin, without turning round.\n\n\"There must have been very grave grounds for it, if he is so furious at\nthe word,\" Porfiry laughed.\n\n\"Oh, you sharp lawyer!... Damn you all!\" snapped Razumihin, and suddenly\nbursting out laughing himself, he went up to Porfiry with a more\ncheerful face as though nothing had happened. \"That'll do! We are\nall fools. To come to business. This is my friend Rodion Romanovitch\nRaskolnikov; in the first place he has heard of you and wants to make\nyour acquaintance, and secondly, he has a little matter of business with\nyou. Bah! Zametov, what brought you here? Have you met before? Have you\nknown each other long?\"\n\n\"What does this mean?\" thought Raskolnikov uneasily.\n\nZametov seemed taken aback, but not very much so.\n\n\"Why, it was at your rooms we met yesterday,\" he said easily.\n\n\"Then I have been spared the trouble. All last week he was begging me\nto introduce him to you. Porfiry and you have sniffed each other out\nwithout me. Where is your tobacco?\"\n\nPorfiry Petrovitch was wearing a dressing-gown, very clean linen, and\ntrodden-down slippers. He was a man of about five and thirty, short,\nstout even to corpulence, and clean shaven. He wore his hair cut short\nand had a large round head, particularly prominent at the back. His\nsoft, round, rather snub-nosed face was of a sickly yellowish colour,\nbut had a vigorous and rather ironical expression. It would have been\ngood-natured except for a look in the eyes, which shone with a watery,\nmawkish light under almost white, blinking eyelashes. The expression\nof those eyes was strangely out of keeping with his somewhat womanish\nfigure, and gave it something far more serious than could be guessed at\nfirst sight.\n\nAs soon as Porfiry Petrovitch heard that his visitor had a little matter\nof business with him, he begged him to sit down on the sofa and sat down\nhimself on the other end, waiting for him to explain his business, with\nthat careful and over-serious attention which is at once oppressive and\nembarrassing, especially to a stranger, and especially if what you are\ndiscussing is in your opinion of far too little importance for such\nexceptional solemnity. But in brief and coherent phrases Raskolnikov\nexplained his business clearly and exactly, and was so well satisfied\nwith himself that he even succeeded in taking a good look at Porfiry.\nPorfiry Petrovitch did not once take his eyes off him. Razumihin,\nsitting opposite at the same table, listened warmly and impatiently,\nlooking from one to the other every moment with rather excessive\ninterest.\n\n\"Fool,\" Raskolnikov swore to himself.\n\n\"You have to give information to the police,\" Porfiry replied, with a\nmost businesslike air, \"that having learnt of this incident, that is of\nthe murder, you beg to inform the lawyer in charge of the case that such\nand such things belong to you, and that you desire to redeem them...\nor... but they will write to you.\"\n\n\"That's just the point, that at the present moment,\" Raskolnikov tried\nhis utmost to feign embarrassment, \"I am not quite in funds... and\neven this trifling sum is beyond me... I only wanted, you see, for\nthe present to declare that the things are mine, and that when I have\nmoney....\"\n\n\"That's no matter,\" answered Porfiry Petrovitch, receiving his\nexplanation of his pecuniary position coldly, \"but you can, if you\nprefer, write straight to me, to say, that having been informed of the\nmatter, and claiming such and such as your property, you beg...\"\n\n\"On an ordinary sheet of paper?\" Raskolnikov interrupted eagerly, again\ninterested in the financial side of the question.\n\n\"Oh, the most ordinary,\" and suddenly Porfiry Petrovitch looked with\nobvious irony at him, screwing up his eyes and, as it were, winking at\nhim. But perhaps it was Raskolnikov's fancy, for it all lasted but a\nmoment. There was certainly something of the sort, Raskolnikov could\nhave sworn he winked at him, goodness knows why.\n\n\"He knows,\" flashed through his mind like lightning.\n\n\"Forgive my troubling you about such trifles,\" he went on, a little\ndisconcerted, \"the things are only worth five roubles, but I prize them\nparticularly for the sake of those from whom they came to me, and I must\nconfess that I was alarmed when I heard...\"\n\n\"That's why you were so much struck when I mentioned to Zossimov that\nPorfiry was inquiring for everyone who had pledges!\" Razumihin put in\nwith obvious intention.\n\nThis was really unbearable. Raskolnikov could not help glancing at him\nwith a flash of vindictive anger in his black eyes, but immediately\nrecollected himself.\n\n\"You seem to be jeering at me, brother?\" he said to him, with a\nwell-feigned irritability. \"I dare say I do seem to you absurdly anxious\nabout such trash; but you mustn't think me selfish or grasping for that,\nand these two things may be anything but trash in my eyes. I told you\njust now that the silver watch, though it's not worth a cent, is the\nonly thing left us of my father's. You may laugh at me, but my mother is\nhere,\" he turned suddenly to Porfiry, \"and if she knew,\" he turned again\nhurriedly to Razumihin, carefully making his voice tremble, \"that the\nwatch was lost, she would be in despair! You know what women are!\"\n\n\"Not a bit of it! I didn't mean that at all! Quite the contrary!\"\nshouted Razumihin distressed.\n\n\"Was it right? Was it natural? Did I overdo it?\" Raskolnikov asked\nhimself in a tremor. \"Why did I say that about women?\"\n\n\"Oh, your mother is with you?\" Porfiry Petrovitch inquired.\n\n\"Yes.\"\n\n\"When did she come?\"\n\n\"Last night.\"\n\nPorfiry paused as though reflecting.\n\n\"Your things would not in any case be lost,\" he went on calmly and\ncoldly. \"I have been expecting you here for some time.\"\n\nAnd as though that was a matter of no importance, he carefully offered\nthe ash-tray to Razumihin, who was ruthlessly scattering cigarette ash\nover the carpet. Raskolnikov shuddered, but Porfiry did not seem to be\nlooking at him, and was still concerned with Razumihin's cigarette.\n\n\"What? Expecting him? Why, did you know that he had pledges _there_?\"\ncried Razumihin.\n\nPorfiry Petrovitch addressed himself to Raskolnikov.\n\n\"Your things, the ring and the watch, were wrapped up together, and on\nthe paper your name was legibly written in pencil, together with the\ndate on which you left them with her...\"\n\n\"How observant you are!\" Raskolnikov smiled awkwardly, doing his very\nutmost to look him straight in the face, but he failed, and suddenly\nadded:\n\n\"I say that because I suppose there were a great many pledges... that it\nmust be difficult to remember them all.... But you remember them all so\nclearly, and... and...\"\n\n\"Stupid! Feeble!\" he thought. \"Why did I add that?\"\n\n\"But we know all who had pledges, and you are the only one who hasn't\ncome forward,\" Porfiry answered with hardly perceptible irony.\n\n\"I haven't been quite well.\"\n\n\"I heard that too. I heard, indeed, that you were in great distress\nabout something. You look pale still.\"\n\n\"I am not pale at all.... No, I am quite well,\" Raskolnikov snapped\nout rudely and angrily, completely changing his tone. His anger was\nmounting, he could not repress it. \"And in my anger I shall betray\nmyself,\" flashed through his mind again. \"Why are they torturing me?\"\n\n\"Not quite well!\" Razumihin caught him up. \"What next! He was\nunconscious and delirious all yesterday. Would you believe, Porfiry, as\nsoon as our backs were turned, he dressed, though he could hardly stand,\nand gave us the slip and went off on a spree somewhere till midnight,\ndelirious all the time! Would you believe it! Extraordinary!\"\n\n\"Really delirious? You don't say so!\" Porfiry shook his head in a\nwomanish way.\n\n\"Nonsense! Don't you believe it! But you don't believe it anyway,\"\nRaskolnikov let slip in his anger. But Porfiry Petrovitch did not seem\nto catch those strange words.\n\n\"But how could you have gone out if you hadn't been delirious?\"\nRazumihin got hot suddenly. \"What did you go out for? What was the\nobject of it? And why on the sly? Were you in your senses when you did\nit? Now that all danger is over I can speak plainly.\"\n\n\"I was awfully sick of them yesterday.\" Raskolnikov addressed Porfiry\nsuddenly with a smile of insolent defiance, \"I ran away from them to\ntake lodgings where they wouldn't find me, and took a lot of money with\nme. Mr. Zametov there saw it. I say, Mr. Zametov, was I sensible or\ndelirious yesterday; settle our dispute.\"\n\nHe could have strangled Zametov at that moment, so hateful were his\nexpression and his silence to him.\n\n\"In my opinion you talked sensibly and even artfully, but you were\nextremely irritable,\" Zametov pronounced dryly.\n\n\"And Nikodim Fomitch was telling me to-day,\" put in Porfiry Petrovitch,\n\"that he met you very late last night in the lodging of a man who had\nbeen run over.\"\n\n\"And there,\" said Razumihin, \"weren't you mad then? You gave your last\npenny to the widow for the funeral. If you wanted to help, give fifteen\nor twenty even, but keep three roubles for yourself at least, but he\nflung away all the twenty-five at once!\"\n\n\"Maybe I found a treasure somewhere and you know nothing of it? So\nthat's why I was liberal yesterday.... Mr. Zametov knows I've found a\ntreasure! Excuse us, please, for disturbing you for half an hour\nwith such trivialities,\" he said, turning to Porfiry Petrovitch, with\ntrembling lips. \"We are boring you, aren't we?\"\n\n\"Oh no, quite the contrary, quite the contrary! If only you knew how you\ninterest me! It's interesting to look on and listen... and I am really\nglad you have come forward at last.\"\n\n\"But you might give us some tea! My throat's dry,\" cried Razumihin.\n\n\"Capital idea! Perhaps we will all keep you company. Wouldn't you\nlike... something more essential before tea?\"\n\n\"Get along with you!\"\n\nPorfiry Petrovitch went out to order tea.\n\nRaskolnikov's thoughts were in a whirl. He was in terrible exasperation.\n\n\"The worst of it is they don't disguise it; they don't care to stand on\nceremony! And how if you didn't know me at all, did you come to talk\nto Nikodim Fomitch about me? So they don't care to hide that they are\ntracking me like a pack of dogs. They simply spit in my face.\" He was\nshaking with rage. \"Come, strike me openly, don't play with me like a\ncat with a mouse. It's hardly civil, Porfiry Petrovitch, but perhaps I\nwon't allow it! I shall get up and throw the whole truth in your ugly\nfaces, and you'll see how I despise you.\" He could hardly breathe.\n\"And what if it's only my fancy? What if I am mistaken, and through\ninexperience I get angry and don't keep up my nasty part? Perhaps it's\nall unintentional. All their phrases are the usual ones, but there is\nsomething about them.... It all might be said, but there is something.\nWhy did he say bluntly, 'With her'? Why did Zametov add that I spoke\nartfully? Why do they speak in that tone? Yes, the tone.... Razumihin\nis sitting here, why does he see nothing? That innocent blockhead never\ndoes see anything! Feverish again! Did Porfiry wink at me just now? Of\ncourse it's nonsense! What could he wink for? Are they trying to upset\nmy nerves or are they teasing me? Either it's ill fancy or they know!\nEven Zametov is rude.... Is Zametov rude? Zametov has changed his mind.\nI foresaw he would change his mind! He is at home here, while it's my\nfirst visit. Porfiry does not consider him a visitor; sits with his back\nto him. They're as thick as thieves, no doubt, over me! Not a doubt they\nwere talking about me before we came. Do they know about the flat? If\nonly they'd make haste! When I said that I ran away to take a flat he\nlet it pass.... I put that in cleverly about a flat, it may be of use\nafterwards.... Delirious, indeed... ha-ha-ha! He knows all about last\nnight! He didn't know of my mother's arrival! The hag had written the\ndate on in pencil! You are wrong, you won't catch me! There are no\nfacts... it's all supposition! You produce facts! The flat even isn't a\nfact but delirium. I know what to say to them.... Do they know about the\nflat? I won't go without finding out. What did I come for? But my being\nangry now, maybe is a fact! Fool, how irritable I am! Perhaps that's\nright; to play the invalid.... He is feeling me. He will try to catch\nme. Why did I come?\"\n\nAll this flashed like lightning through his mind.\n\nPorfiry Petrovitch returned quickly. He became suddenly more jovial.\n\n\"Your party yesterday, brother, has left my head rather.... And I am out\nof sorts altogether,\" he began in quite a different tone, laughing to\nRazumihin.\n\n\"Was it interesting? I left you yesterday at the most interesting point.\nWho got the best of it?\"\n\n\"Oh, no one, of course. They got on to everlasting questions, floated\noff into space.\"\n\n\"Only fancy, Rodya, what we got on to yesterday. Whether there is such a\nthing as crime. I told you that we talked our heads off.\"\n\n\"What is there strange? It's an everyday social question,\" Raskolnikov\nanswered casually.\n\n\"The question wasn't put quite like that,\" observed Porfiry.\n\n\"Not quite, that's true,\" Razumihin agreed at once, getting warm and\nhurried as usual. \"Listen, Rodion, and tell us your opinion, I want to\nhear it. I was fighting tooth and nail with them and wanted you to\nhelp me. I told them you were coming.... It began with the socialist\ndoctrine. You know their doctrine; crime is a protest against the\nabnormality of the social organisation and nothing more, and nothing\nmore; no other causes admitted!...\"\n\n\"You are wrong there,\" cried Porfiry Petrovitch; he was noticeably\nanimated and kept laughing as he looked at Razumihin, which made him\nmore excited than ever.\n\n\"Nothing is admitted,\" Razumihin interrupted with heat.\n\n\"I am not wrong. I'll show you their pamphlets. Everything with them\nis 'the influence of environment,' and nothing else. Their favourite\nphrase! From which it follows that, if society is normally organised,\nall crime will cease at once, since there will be nothing to protest\nagainst and all men will become righteous in one instant. Human nature\nis not taken into account, it is excluded, it's not supposed to exist!\nThey don't recognise that humanity, developing by a historical living\nprocess, will become at last a normal society, but they believe that a\nsocial system that has come out of some mathematical brain is going\nto organise all humanity at once and make it just and sinless in an\ninstant, quicker than any living process! That's why they instinctively\ndislike history, 'nothing but ugliness and stupidity in it,' and they\nexplain it all as stupidity! That's why they so dislike the _living_\nprocess of life; they don't want a _living soul_! The living soul\ndemands life, the soul won't obey the rules of mechanics, the soul is an\nobject of suspicion, the soul is retrograde! But what they want though\nit smells of death and can be made of India-rubber, at least is not\nalive, has no will, is servile and won't revolt! And it comes in the end\nto their reducing everything to the building of walls and the planning\nof rooms and passages in a phalanstery! The phalanstery is ready,\nindeed, but your human nature is not ready for the phalanstery--it\nwants life, it hasn't completed its vital process, it's too soon for the\ngraveyard! You can't skip over nature by logic. Logic presupposes three\npossibilities, but there are millions! Cut away a million, and reduce\nit all to the question of comfort! That's the easiest solution of the\nproblem! It's seductively clear and you musn't think about it. That's\nthe great thing, you mustn't think! The whole secret of life in two\npages of print!\"\n\n\"Now he is off, beating the drum! Catch hold of him, do!\" laughed\nPorfiry. \"Can you imagine,\" he turned to Raskolnikov, \"six people\nholding forth like that last night, in one room, with punch as a\npreliminary! No, brother, you are wrong, environment accounts for a\ngreat deal in crime; I can assure you of that.\"\n\n\"Oh, I know it does, but just tell me: a man of forty violates a child\nof ten; was it environment drove him to it?\"\n\n\"Well, strictly speaking, it did,\" Porfiry observed with noteworthy\ngravity; \"a crime of that nature may be very well ascribed to the\ninfluence of environment.\"\n\nRazumihin was almost in a frenzy. \"Oh, if you like,\" he roared. \"I'll\nprove to you that your white eyelashes may very well be ascribed to the\nChurch of Ivan the Great's being two hundred and fifty feet high, and I\nwill prove it clearly, exactly, progressively, and even with a Liberal\ntendency! I undertake to! Will you bet on it?\"\n\n\"Done! Let's hear, please, how he will prove it!\"\n\n\"He is always humbugging, confound him,\" cried Razumihin, jumping up and\ngesticulating. \"What's the use of talking to you? He does all that\non purpose; you don't know him, Rodion! He took their side yesterday,\nsimply to make fools of them. And the things he said yesterday! And they\nwere delighted! He can keep it up for a fortnight together. Last year he\npersuaded us that he was going into a monastery: he stuck to it for two\nmonths. Not long ago he took it into his head to declare he was going\nto get married, that he had everything ready for the wedding. He ordered\nnew clothes indeed. We all began to congratulate him. There was no\nbride, nothing, all pure fantasy!\"\n\n\"Ah, you are wrong! I got the clothes before. It was the new clothes in\nfact that made me think of taking you in.\"\n\n\"Are you such a good dissembler?\" Raskolnikov asked carelessly.\n\n\"You wouldn't have supposed it, eh? Wait a bit, I shall take you in,\ntoo. Ha-ha-ha! No, I'll tell you the truth. All these questions about\ncrime, environment, children, recall to my mind an article of yours\nwhich interested me at the time. 'On Crime'... or something of the\nsort, I forget the title, I read it with pleasure two months ago in the\n_Periodical Review_.\"\n\n\"My article? In the _Periodical Review_?\" Raskolnikov asked in\nastonishment. \"I certainly did write an article upon a book six months\nago when I left the university, but I sent it to the _Weekly Review_.\"\n\n\"But it came out in the _Periodical_.\"\n\n\"And the _Weekly Review_ ceased to exist, so that's why it wasn't\nprinted at the time.\"\n\n\"That's true; but when it ceased to exist, the _Weekly Review_ was\namalgamated with the _Periodical_, and so your article appeared two\nmonths ago in the latter. Didn't you know?\"\n\nRaskolnikov had not known.\n\n\"Why, you might get some money out of them for the article! What a\nstrange person you are! You lead such a solitary life that you know\nnothing of matters that concern you directly. It's a fact, I assure\nyou.\"\n\n\"Bravo, Rodya! I knew nothing about it either!\" cried Razumihin. \"I'll\nrun to-day to the reading-room and ask for the number. Two months ago?\nWhat was the date? It doesn't matter though, I will find it. Think of\nnot telling us!\"\n\n\"How did you find out that the article was mine? It's only signed with\nan initial.\"\n\n\"I only learnt it by chance, the other day. Through the editor; I know\nhim.... I was very much interested.\"\n\n\"I analysed, if I remember, the psychology of a criminal before and\nafter the crime.\"\n\n\"Yes, and you maintained that the perpetration of a crime is always\naccompanied by illness. Very, very original, but... it was not that part\nof your article that interested me so much, but an idea at the end of\nthe article which I regret to say you merely suggested without working\nit out clearly. There is, if you recollect, a suggestion that there are\ncertain persons who can... that is, not precisely are able to, but have\na perfect right to commit breaches of morality and crimes, and that the\nlaw is not for them.\"\n\nRaskolnikov smiled at the exaggerated and intentional distortion of his\nidea.\n\n\"What? What do you mean? A right to crime? But not because of the\ninfluence of environment?\" Razumihin inquired with some alarm even.\n\n\"No, not exactly because of it,\" answered Porfiry. \"In his article all\nmen are divided into 'ordinary' and 'extraordinary.' Ordinary men have\nto live in submission, have no right to transgress the law, because,\ndon't you see, they are ordinary. But extraordinary men have a right to\ncommit any crime and to transgress the law in any way, just because they\nare extraordinary. That was your idea, if I am not mistaken?\"\n\n\"What do you mean? That can't be right?\" Razumihin muttered in\nbewilderment.\n\nRaskolnikov smiled again. He saw the point at once, and knew where they\nwanted to drive him. He decided to take up the challenge.\n\n\"That wasn't quite my contention,\" he began simply and modestly. \"Yet\nI admit that you have stated it almost correctly; perhaps, if you like,\nperfectly so.\" (It almost gave him pleasure to admit this.) \"The only\ndifference is that I don't contend that extraordinary people are always\nbound to commit breaches of morals, as you call it. In fact, I doubt\nwhether such an argument could be published. I simply hinted that an\n'extraordinary' man has the right... that is not an official right, but\nan inner right to decide in his own conscience to overstep... certain\nobstacles, and only in case it is essential for the practical fulfilment\nof his idea (sometimes, perhaps, of benefit to the whole of humanity).\nYou say that my article isn't definite; I am ready to make it as clear\nas I can. Perhaps I am right in thinking you want me to; very well. I\nmaintain that if the discoveries of Kepler and Newton could not have\nbeen made known except by sacrificing the lives of one, a dozen, a\nhundred, or more men, Newton would have had the right, would indeed have\nbeen in duty-bound... to _eliminate_ the dozen or the hundred men for\nthe sake of making his discoveries known to the whole of humanity. But\nit does not follow from that that Newton had a right to murder people\nright and left and to steal every day in the market. Then, I remember, I\nmaintain in my article that all... well, legislators and leaders of men,\nsuch as Lycurgus, Solon, Mahomet, Napoleon, and so on, were all without\nexception criminals, from the very fact that, making a new law, they\ntransgressed the ancient one, handed down from their ancestors and held\nsacred by the people, and they did not stop short at bloodshed either,\nif that bloodshed--often of innocent persons fighting bravely in defence\nof ancient law--were of use to their cause. It's remarkable, in fact,\nthat the majority, indeed, of these benefactors and leaders of humanity\nwere guilty of terrible carnage. In short, I maintain that all great men\nor even men a little out of the common, that is to say capable of giving\nsome new word, must from their very nature be criminals--more or less,\nof course. Otherwise it's hard for them to get out of the common rut;\nand to remain in the common rut is what they can't submit to, from their\nvery nature again, and to my mind they ought not, indeed, to submit to\nit. You see that there is nothing particularly new in all that. The\nsame thing has been printed and read a thousand times before. As for my\ndivision of people into ordinary and extraordinary, I acknowledge that\nit's somewhat arbitrary, but I don't insist upon exact numbers. I only\nbelieve in my leading idea that men are _in general_ divided by a law\nof nature into two categories, inferior (ordinary), that is, so to say,\nmaterial that serves only to reproduce its kind, and men who have\nthe gift or the talent to utter _a new word_. There are, of course,\ninnumerable sub-divisions, but the distinguishing features of both\ncategories are fairly well marked. The first category, generally\nspeaking, are men conservative in temperament and law-abiding; they live\nunder control and love to be controlled. To my thinking it is their duty\nto be controlled, because that's their vocation, and there is nothing\nhumiliating in it for them. The second category all transgress the\nlaw; they are destroyers or disposed to destruction according to their\ncapacities. The crimes of these men are of course relative and varied;\nfor the most part they seek in very varied ways the destruction of the\npresent for the sake of the better. But if such a one is forced for the\nsake of his idea to step over a corpse or wade through blood, he can, I\nmaintain, find within himself, in his conscience, a sanction for wading\nthrough blood--that depends on the idea and its dimensions, note that.\nIt's only in that sense I speak of their right to crime in my article\n(you remember it began with the legal question). There's no need for\nsuch anxiety, however; the masses will scarcely ever admit this right,\nthey punish them or hang them (more or less), and in doing so fulfil\nquite justly their conservative vocation. But the same masses set these\ncriminals on a pedestal in the next generation and worship them (more or\nless). The first category is always the man of the present, the second\nthe man of the future. The first preserve the world and people it, the\nsecond move the world and lead it to its goal. Each class has an equal\nright to exist. In fact, all have equal rights with me--and _vive la\nguerre eternelle_--till the New Jerusalem, of course!\"\n\n\"Then you believe in the New Jerusalem, do you?\"\n\n\"I do,\" Raskolnikov answered firmly; as he said these words and during\nthe whole preceding tirade he kept his eyes on one spot on the carpet.\n\n\"And... and do you believe in God? Excuse my curiosity.\"\n\n\"I do,\" repeated Raskolnikov, raising his eyes to Porfiry.\n\n\"And... do you believe in Lazarus' rising from the dead?\"\n\n\"I... I do. Why do you ask all this?\"\n\n\"You believe it literally?\"\n\n\"Literally.\"\n\n\"You don't say so.... I asked from curiosity. Excuse me. But let us\ngo back to the question; they are not always executed. Some, on the\ncontrary...\"\n\n\"Triumph in their lifetime? Oh, yes, some attain their ends in this\nlife, and then...\"\n\n\"They begin executing other people?\"\n\n\"If it's necessary; indeed, for the most part they do. Your remark is\nvery witty.\"\n\n\"Thank you. But tell me this: how do you distinguish those extraordinary\npeople from the ordinary ones? Are there signs at their birth? I feel\nthere ought to be more exactitude, more external definition. Excuse the\nnatural anxiety of a practical law-abiding citizen, but couldn't they\nadopt a special uniform, for instance, couldn't they wear something, be\nbranded in some way? For you know if confusion arises and a member of\none category imagines that he belongs to the other, begins to 'eliminate\nobstacles' as you so happily expressed it, then...\"\n\n\"Oh, that very often happens! That remark is wittier than the other.\"\n\n\"Thank you.\"\n\n\"No reason to; but take note that the mistake can only arise in\nthe first category, that is among the ordinary people (as I perhaps\nunfortunately called them). In spite of their predisposition to\nobedience very many of them, through a playfulness of nature, sometimes\nvouchsafed even to the cow, like to imagine themselves advanced people,\n'destroyers,' and to push themselves into the 'new movement,' and\nthis quite sincerely. Meanwhile the really _new_ people are very often\nunobserved by them, or even despised as reactionaries of grovelling\ntendencies. But I don't think there is any considerable danger here,\nand you really need not be uneasy for they never go very far. Of course,\nthey might have a thrashing sometimes for letting their fancy run away\nwith them and to teach them their place, but no more; in fact, even\nthis isn't necessary as they castigate themselves, for they are very\nconscientious: some perform this service for one another and others\nchastise themselves with their own hands.... They will impose various\npublic acts of penitence upon themselves with a beautiful and edifying\neffect; in fact you've nothing to be uneasy about.... It's a law of\nnature.\"\n\n\"Well, you have certainly set my mind more at rest on that score; but\nthere's another thing worries me. Tell me, please, are there many people\nwho have the right to kill others, these extraordinary people? I am\nready to bow down to them, of course, but you must admit it's alarming\nif there are a great many of them, eh?\"\n\n\"Oh, you needn't worry about that either,\" Raskolnikov went on in the\nsame tone. \"People with new ideas, people with the faintest capacity for\nsaying something _new_, are extremely few in number, extraordinarily\nso in fact. One thing only is clear, that the appearance of all these\ngrades and sub-divisions of men must follow with unfailing regularity\nsome law of nature. That law, of course, is unknown at present, but I am\nconvinced that it exists, and one day may become known. The vast mass of\nmankind is mere material, and only exists in order by some great effort,\nby some mysterious process, by means of some crossing of races and\nstocks, to bring into the world at last perhaps one man out of a\nthousand with a spark of independence. One in ten thousand perhaps--I\nspeak roughly, approximately--is born with some independence, and with\nstill greater independence one in a hundred thousand. The man of genius\nis one of millions, and the great geniuses, the crown of humanity,\nappear on earth perhaps one in many thousand millions. In fact I have\nnot peeped into the retort in which all this takes place. But there\ncertainly is and must be a definite law, it cannot be a matter of\nchance.\"\n\n\"Why, are you both joking?\" Razumihin cried at last. \"There you sit,\nmaking fun of one another. Are you serious, Rodya?\"\n\nRaskolnikov raised his pale and almost mournful face and made no reply.\nAnd the unconcealed, persistent, nervous, and _discourteous_ sarcasm of\nPorfiry seemed strange to Razumihin beside that quiet and mournful face.\n\n\"Well, brother, if you are really serious... You are right, of course,\nin saying that it's not new, that it's like what we've read and heard a\nthousand times already; but what is really original in all this, and is\nexclusively your own, to my horror, is that you sanction bloodshed\n_in the name of conscience_, and, excuse my saying so, with such\nfanaticism.... That, I take it, is the point of your article. But that\nsanction of bloodshed _by conscience_ is to my mind... more terrible\nthan the official, legal sanction of bloodshed....\"\n\n\"You are quite right, it is more terrible,\" Porfiry agreed.\n\n\"Yes, you must have exaggerated! There is some mistake, I shall read it.\nYou can't think that! I shall read it.\"\n\n\"All that is not in the article, there's only a hint of it,\" said\nRaskolnikov.\n\n\"Yes, yes.\" Porfiry couldn't sit still. \"Your attitude to crime is\npretty clear to me now, but... excuse me for my impertinence (I am\nreally ashamed to be worrying you like this), you see, you've removed\nmy anxiety as to the two grades getting mixed, but... there are various\npractical possibilities that make me uneasy! What if some man or youth\nimagines that he is a Lycurgus or Mahomet--a future one of course--and\nsuppose he begins to remove all obstacles.... He has some great\nenterprise before him and needs money for it... and tries to get it...\ndo you see?\"\n\nZametov gave a sudden guffaw in his corner. Raskolnikov did not even\nraise his eyes to him.\n\n\"I must admit,\" he went on calmly, \"that such cases certainly must\narise. The vain and foolish are particularly apt to fall into that\nsnare; young people especially.\"\n\n\"Yes, you see. Well then?\"\n\n\"What then?\" Raskolnikov smiled in reply; \"that's not my fault. So it is\nand so it always will be. He said just now (he nodded at Razumihin)\nthat I sanction bloodshed. Society is too well protected by prisons,\nbanishment, criminal investigators, penal servitude. There's no need to\nbe uneasy. You have but to catch the thief.\"\n\n\"And what if we do catch him?\"\n\n\"Then he gets what he deserves.\"\n\n\"You are certainly logical. But what of his conscience?\"\n\n\"Why do you care about that?\"\n\n\"Simply from humanity.\"\n\n\"If he has a conscience he will suffer for his mistake. That will be his\npunishment--as well as the prison.\"\n\n\"But the real geniuses,\" asked Razumihin frowning, \"those who have\nthe right to murder? Oughtn't they to suffer at all even for the blood\nthey've shed?\"\n\n\"Why the word _ought_? It's not a matter of permission or prohibition.\nHe will suffer if he is sorry for his victim. Pain and suffering are\nalways inevitable for a large intelligence and a deep heart. The\nreally great men must, I think, have great sadness on earth,\" he added\ndreamily, not in the tone of the conversation.\n\nHe raised his eyes, looked earnestly at them all, smiled, and took his\ncap. He was too quiet by comparison with his manner at his entrance, and\nhe felt this. Everyone got up.\n\n\"Well, you may abuse me, be angry with me if you like,\" Porfiry\nPetrovitch began again, \"but I can't resist. Allow me one little\nquestion (I know I am troubling you). There is just one little notion I\nwant to express, simply that I may not forget it.\"\n\n\"Very good, tell me your little notion,\" Raskolnikov stood waiting, pale\nand grave before him.\n\n\"Well, you see... I really don't know how to express it properly....\nIt's a playful, psychological idea.... When you were writing your\narticle, surely you couldn't have helped, he-he! fancying yourself...\njust a little, an 'extraordinary' man, uttering a _new word_ in your\nsense.... That's so, isn't it?\"\n\n\"Quite possibly,\" Raskolnikov answered contemptuously.\n\nRazumihin made a movement.\n\n\"And, if so, could you bring yourself in case of worldly difficulties\nand hardship or for some service to humanity--to overstep obstacles?...\nFor instance, to rob and murder?\"\n\nAnd again he winked with his left eye, and laughed noiselessly just as\nbefore.\n\n\"If I did I certainly should not tell you,\" Raskolnikov answered with\ndefiant and haughty contempt.\n\n\"No, I was only interested on account of your article, from a literary\npoint of view...\"\n\n\"Foo! how obvious and insolent that is!\" Raskolnikov thought with\nrepulsion.\n\n\"Allow me to observe,\" he answered dryly, \"that I don't consider myself\na Mahomet or a Napoleon, nor any personage of that kind, and not being\none of them I cannot tell you how I should act.\"\n\n\"Oh, come, don't we all think ourselves Napoleons now in Russia?\"\nPorfiry Petrovitch said with alarming familiarity.\n\nSomething peculiar betrayed itself in the very intonation of his voice.\n\n\"Perhaps it was one of these future Napoleons who did for Alyona\nIvanovna last week?\" Zametov blurted out from the corner.\n\nRaskolnikov did not speak, but looked firmly and intently at Porfiry.\nRazumihin was scowling gloomily. He seemed before this to be noticing\nsomething. He looked angrily around. There was a minute of gloomy\nsilence. Raskolnikov turned to go.\n\n\"Are you going already?\" Porfiry said amiably, holding out his hand with\nexcessive politeness. \"Very, very glad of your acquaintance. As for your\nrequest, have no uneasiness, write just as I told you, or, better still,\ncome to me there yourself in a day or two... to-morrow, indeed. I shall\nbe there at eleven o'clock for certain. We'll arrange it all; we'll have\na talk. As one of the last to be _there_, you might perhaps be able to\ntell us something,\" he added with a most good-natured expression.\n\n\"You want to cross-examine me officially in due form?\" Raskolnikov asked\nsharply.\n\n\"Oh, why? That's not necessary for the present. You misunderstand me.\nI lose no opportunity, you see, and... I've talked with all who had\npledges.... I obtained evidence from some of them, and you are the\nlast.... Yes, by the way,\" he cried, seemingly suddenly delighted, \"I\njust remember, what was I thinking of?\" he turned to Razumihin, \"you\nwere talking my ears off about that Nikolay... of course, I know, I know\nvery well,\" he turned to Raskolnikov, \"that the fellow is innocent, but\nwhat is one to do? We had to trouble Dmitri too.... This is the point,\nthis is all: when you went up the stairs it was past seven, wasn't it?\"\n\n\"Yes,\" answered Raskolnikov, with an unpleasant sensation at the very\nmoment he spoke that he need not have said it.\n\n\"Then when you went upstairs between seven and eight, didn't you see in\na flat that stood open on a second storey, do you remember? two workmen\nor at least one of them? They were painting there, didn't you notice\nthem? It's very, very important for them.\"\n\n\"Painters? No, I didn't see them,\" Raskolnikov answered slowly, as\nthough ransacking his memory, while at the same instant he was racking\nevery nerve, almost swooning with anxiety to conjecture as quickly as\npossible where the trap lay and not to overlook anything. \"No, I didn't\nsee them, and I don't think I noticed a flat like that open.... But on\nthe fourth storey\" (he had mastered the trap now and was triumphant)\n\"I remember now that someone was moving out of the flat opposite Alyona\nIvanovna's.... I remember... I remember it clearly. Some porters\nwere carrying out a sofa and they squeezed me against the wall. But\npainters... no, I don't remember that there were any painters, and I\ndon't think that there was a flat open anywhere, no, there wasn't.\"\n\n\"What do you mean?\" Razumihin shouted suddenly, as though he had\nreflected and realised. \"Why, it was on the day of the murder the\npainters were at work, and he was there three days before? What are you\nasking?\"\n\n\"Foo! I have muddled it!\" Porfiry slapped himself on the forehead.\n\"Deuce take it! This business is turning my brain!\" he addressed\nRaskolnikov somewhat apologetically. \"It would be such a great thing for\nus to find out whether anyone had seen them between seven and eight at\nthe flat, so I fancied you could perhaps have told us something.... I\nquite muddled it.\"\n\n\"Then you should be more careful,\" Razumihin observed grimly.\n\nThe last words were uttered in the passage. Porfiry Petrovitch saw them\nto the door with excessive politeness.\n\nThey went out into the street gloomy and sullen, and for some steps they\ndid not say a word. Raskolnikov drew a deep breath.\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VI\n\n\"I don't believe it, I can't believe it!\" repeated Razumihin, trying in\nperplexity to refute Raskolnikov's arguments.\n\nThey were by now approaching Bakaleyev's lodgings, where Pulcheria\nAlexandrovna and Dounia had been expecting them a long while. Razumihin\nkept stopping on the way in the heat of discussion, confused and excited\nby the very fact that they were for the first time speaking openly about\n_it_.\n\n\"Don't believe it, then!\" answered Raskolnikov, with a cold, careless\nsmile. \"You were noticing nothing as usual, but I was weighing every\nword.\"\n\n\"You are suspicious. That is why you weighed their words... h'm...\ncertainly, I agree, Porfiry's tone was rather strange, and still\nmore that wretch Zametov!... You are right, there was something about\nhim--but why? Why?\"\n\n\"He has changed his mind since last night.\"\n\n\"Quite the contrary! If they had that brainless idea, they would do\ntheir utmost to hide it, and conceal their cards, so as to catch you\nafterwards.... But it was all impudent and careless.\"\n\n\"If they had had facts--I mean, real facts--or at least grounds for\nsuspicion, then they would certainly have tried to hide their game,\nin the hope of getting more (they would have made a search long ago\nbesides). But they have no facts, not one. It is all mirage--all\nambiguous. Simply a floating idea. So they try to throw me out by\nimpudence. And perhaps, he was irritated at having no facts, and blurted\nit out in his vexation--or perhaps he has some plan... he seems an\nintelligent man. Perhaps he wanted to frighten me by pretending to\nknow. They have a psychology of their own, brother. But it is loathsome\nexplaining it all. Stop!\"\n\n\"And it's insulting, insulting! I understand you. But... since we have\nspoken openly now (and it is an excellent thing that we have at last--I\nam glad) I will own now frankly that I noticed it in them long ago,\nthis idea. Of course the merest hint only--an insinuation--but why an\ninsinuation even? How dare they? What foundation have they? If only you\nknew how furious I have been. Think only! Simply because a poor student,\nunhinged by poverty and hypochondria, on the eve of a severe delirious\nillness (note that), suspicious, vain, proud, who has not seen a soul to\nspeak to for six months, in rags and in boots without soles, has to\nface some wretched policemen and put up with their insolence; and\nthe unexpected debt thrust under his nose, the I.O.U. presented\nby Tchebarov, the new paint, thirty degrees Reaumur and a stifling\natmosphere, a crowd of people, the talk about the murder of a person\nwhere he had been just before, and all that on an empty stomach--he\nmight well have a fainting fit! And that, that is what they found it\nall on! Damn them! I understand how annoying it is, but in your place,\nRodya, I would laugh at them, or better still, spit in their ugly faces,\nand spit a dozen times in all directions. I'd hit out in all\ndirections, neatly too, and so I'd put an end to it. Damn them! Don't be\ndownhearted. It's a shame!\"\n\n\"He really has put it well, though,\" Raskolnikov thought.\n\n\"Damn them? But the cross-examination again, to-morrow?\" he said with\nbitterness. \"Must I really enter into explanations with them? I feel\nvexed as it is, that I condescended to speak to Zametov yesterday in the\nrestaurant....\"\n\n\"Damn it! I will go myself to Porfiry. I will squeeze it out of him, as\none of the family: he must let me know the ins and outs of it all! And\nas for Zametov...\"\n\n\"At last he sees through him!\" thought Raskolnikov.\n\n\"Stay!\" cried Razumihin, seizing him by the shoulder again. \"Stay! you\nwere wrong. I have thought it out. You are wrong! How was that a trap?\nYou say that the question about the workmen was a trap. But if you had\ndone _that_, could you have said you had seen them painting the flat...\nand the workmen? On the contrary, you would have seen nothing, even if\nyou had seen it. Who would own it against himself?\"\n\n\"If I had done _that thing_, I should certainly have said that I had\nseen the workmen and the flat,\" Raskolnikov answered, with reluctance\nand obvious disgust.\n\n\"But why speak against yourself?\"\n\n\"Because only peasants, or the most inexperienced novices deny\neverything flatly at examinations. If a man is ever so little developed\nand experienced, he will certainly try to admit all the external facts\nthat can't be avoided, but will seek other explanations of them, will\nintroduce some special, unexpected turn, that will give them another\nsignificance and put them in another light. Porfiry might well reckon\nthat I should be sure to answer so, and say I had seen them to give an\nair of truth, and then make some explanation.\"\n\n\"But he would have told you at once that the workmen could not have been\nthere two days before, and that therefore you must have been there on\nthe day of the murder at eight o'clock. And so he would have caught you\nover a detail.\"\n\n\"Yes, that is what he was reckoning on, that I should not have time to\nreflect, and should be in a hurry to make the most likely answer, and\nso would forget that the workmen could not have been there two days\nbefore.\"\n\n\"But how could you forget it?\"\n\n\"Nothing easier. It is in just such stupid things clever people are most\neasily caught. The more cunning a man is, the less he suspects that he\nwill be caught in a simple thing. The more cunning a man is, the simpler\nthe trap he must be caught in. Porfiry is not such a fool as you\nthink....\"\n\n\"He is a knave then, if that is so!\"\n\nRaskolnikov could not help laughing. But at the very moment, he was\nstruck by the strangeness of his own frankness, and the eagerness\nwith which he had made this explanation, though he had kept up all the\npreceding conversation with gloomy repulsion, obviously with a motive,\nfrom necessity.\n\n\"I am getting a relish for certain aspects!\" he thought to himself.\nBut almost at the same instant he became suddenly uneasy, as though an\nunexpected and alarming idea had occurred to him. His uneasiness kept on\nincreasing. They had just reached the entrance to Bakaleyev's.\n\n\"Go in alone!\" said Raskolnikov suddenly. \"I will be back directly.\"\n\n\"Where are you going? Why, we are just here.\"\n\n\"I can't help it.... I will come in half an hour. Tell them.\"\n\n\"Say what you like, I will come with you.\"\n\n\"You, too, want to torture me!\" he screamed, with such bitter\nirritation, such despair in his eyes that Razumihin's hands dropped.\nHe stood for some time on the steps, looking gloomily at Raskolnikov\nstriding rapidly away in the direction of his lodging. At last, gritting\nhis teeth and clenching his fist, he swore he would squeeze Porfiry\nlike a lemon that very day, and went up the stairs to reassure Pulcheria\nAlexandrovna, who was by now alarmed at their long absence.\n\nWhen Raskolnikov got home, his hair was soaked with sweat and he was\nbreathing heavily. He went rapidly up the stairs, walked into his\nunlocked room and at once fastened the latch. Then in senseless terror\nhe rushed to the corner, to that hole under the paper where he had put\nthe things; put his hand in, and for some minutes felt carefully in the\nhole, in every crack and fold of the paper. Finding nothing, he got up\nand drew a deep breath. As he was reaching the steps of Bakaleyev's, he\nsuddenly fancied that something, a chain, a stud or even a bit of paper\nin which they had been wrapped with the old woman's handwriting on it,\nmight somehow have slipped out and been lost in some crack, and then\nmight suddenly turn up as unexpected, conclusive evidence against him.\n\nHe stood as though lost in thought, and a strange, humiliated, half\nsenseless smile strayed on his lips. He took his cap at last and went\nquietly out of the room. His ideas were all tangled. He went dreamily\nthrough the gateway.\n\n\"Here he is himself,\" shouted a loud voice.\n\nHe raised his head.\n\nThe porter was standing at the door of his little room and was pointing\nhim out to a short man who looked like an artisan, wearing a long coat\nand a waistcoat, and looking at a distance remarkably like a woman. He\nstooped, and his head in a greasy cap hung forward. From his wrinkled\nflabby face he looked over fifty; his little eyes were lost in fat and\nthey looked out grimly, sternly and discontentedly.\n\n\"What is it?\" Raskolnikov asked, going up to the porter.\n\nThe man stole a look at him from under his brows and he looked at him\nattentively, deliberately; then he turned slowly and went out of the\ngate into the street without saying a word.\n\n\"What is it?\" cried Raskolnikov.\n\n\"Why, he there was asking whether a student lived here, mentioned your\nname and whom you lodged with. I saw you coming and pointed you out and\nhe went away. It's funny.\"\n\nThe porter too seemed rather puzzled, but not much so, and after\nwondering for a moment he turned and went back to his room.\n\nRaskolnikov ran after the stranger, and at once caught sight of\nhim walking along the other side of the street with the same even,\ndeliberate step with his eyes fixed on the ground, as though in\nmeditation. He soon overtook him, but for some time walked behind him.\nAt last, moving on to a level with him, he looked at his face. The man\nnoticed him at once, looked at him quickly, but dropped his eyes again;\nand so they walked for a minute side by side without uttering a word.\n\n\"You were inquiring for me... of the porter?\" Raskolnikov said at last,\nbut in a curiously quiet voice.\n\nThe man made no answer; he didn't even look at him. Again they were both\nsilent.\n\n\"Why do you... come and ask for me... and say nothing.... What's the\nmeaning of it?\"\n\nRaskolnikov's voice broke and he seemed unable to articulate the words\nclearly.\n\nThe man raised his eyes this time and turned a gloomy sinister look at\nRaskolnikov.\n\n\"Murderer!\" he said suddenly in a quiet but clear and distinct voice.\n\nRaskolnikov went on walking beside him. His legs felt suddenly weak, a\ncold shiver ran down his spine, and his heart seemed to stand still for\na moment, then suddenly began throbbing as though it were set free. So\nthey walked for about a hundred paces, side by side in silence.\n\nThe man did not look at him.\n\n\"What do you mean... what is.... Who is a murderer?\" muttered\nRaskolnikov hardly audibly.\n\n\"_You_ are a murderer,\" the man answered still more articulately and\nemphatically, with a smile of triumphant hatred, and again he looked\nstraight into Raskolnikov's pale face and stricken eyes.\n\nThey had just reached the cross-roads. The man turned to the left\nwithout looking behind him. Raskolnikov remained standing, gazing after\nhim. He saw him turn round fifty paces away and look back at him still\nstanding there. Raskolnikov could not see clearly, but he fancied that\nhe was again smiling the same smile of cold hatred and triumph.\n\nWith slow faltering steps, with shaking knees, Raskolnikov made his way\nback to his little garret, feeling chilled all over. He took off his cap\nand put it on the table, and for ten minutes he stood without moving.\nThen he sank exhausted on the sofa and with a weak moan of pain he\nstretched himself on it. So he lay for half an hour.\n\nHe thought of nothing. Some thoughts or fragments of thoughts, some\nimages without order or coherence floated before his mind--faces of\npeople he had seen in his childhood or met somewhere once, whom he would\nnever have recalled, the belfry of the church at V., the billiard table\nin a restaurant and some officers playing billiards, the smell of cigars\nin some underground tobacco shop, a tavern room, a back staircase quite\ndark, all sloppy with dirty water and strewn with egg-shells, and the\nSunday bells floating in from somewhere.... The images followed one\nanother, whirling like a hurricane. Some of them he liked and tried\nto clutch at, but they faded and all the while there was an oppression\nwithin him, but it was not overwhelming, sometimes it was even\npleasant.... The slight shivering still persisted, but that too\nwas an almost pleasant sensation.\n\nHe heard the hurried footsteps of Razumihin; he closed his eyes and\npretended to be asleep. Razumihin opened the door and stood for some\ntime in the doorway as though hesitating, then he stepped softly into\nthe room and went cautiously to the sofa. Raskolnikov heard Nastasya's\nwhisper:\n\n\"Don't disturb him! Let him sleep. He can have his dinner later.\"\n\n\"Quite so,\" answered Razumihin. Both withdrew carefully and closed the\ndoor. Another half-hour passed. Raskolnikov opened his eyes, turned on\nhis back again, clasping his hands behind his head.\n\n\"Who is he? Who is that man who sprang out of the earth? Where was he,\nwhat did he see? He has seen it all, that's clear. Where was he then?\nAnd from where did he see? Why has he only now sprung out of the earth?\nAnd how could he see? Is it possible? Hm...\" continued Raskolnikov,\nturning cold and shivering, \"and the jewel case Nikolay found behind the\ndoor--was that possible? A clue? You miss an infinitesimal line and you\ncan build it into a pyramid of evidence! A fly flew by and saw it! Is it\npossible?\" He felt with sudden loathing how weak, how physically weak he\nhad become. \"I ought to have known it,\" he thought with a bitter smile.\n\"And how dared I, knowing myself, knowing how I should be, take up an\naxe and shed blood! I ought to have known beforehand.... Ah, but I did\nknow!\" he whispered in despair. At times he came to a standstill at some\nthought.\n\n\"No, those men are not made so. The real _Master_ to whom all is\npermitted storms Toulon, makes a massacre in Paris, _forgets_ an army in\nEgypt, _wastes_ half a million men in the Moscow expedition and gets off\nwith a jest at Vilna. And altars are set up to him after his death, and\nso _all_ is permitted. No, such people, it seems, are not of flesh but\nof bronze!\"\n\nOne sudden irrelevant idea almost made him laugh. Napoleon, the\npyramids, Waterloo, and a wretched skinny old woman, a pawnbroker with\na red trunk under her bed--it's a nice hash for Porfiry Petrovitch to\ndigest! How can they digest it! It's too inartistic. \"A Napoleon creep\nunder an old woman's bed! Ugh, how loathsome!\"\n\nAt moments he felt he was raving. He sank into a state of feverish\nexcitement. \"The old woman is of no consequence,\" he thought, hotly and\nincoherently. \"The old woman was a mistake perhaps, but she is not\nwhat matters! The old woman was only an illness.... I was in a hurry to\noverstep.... I didn't kill a human being, but a principle! I killed the\nprinciple, but I didn't overstep, I stopped on this side.... I was\nonly capable of killing. And it seems I wasn't even capable of that...\nPrinciple? Why was that fool Razumihin abusing the socialists? They are\nindustrious, commercial people; 'the happiness of all' is their case.\nNo, life is only given to me once and I shall never have it again; I\ndon't want to wait for 'the happiness of all.' I want to live myself,\nor else better not live at all. I simply couldn't pass by my mother\nstarving, keeping my rouble in my pocket while I waited for the\n'happiness of all.' I am putting my little brick into the happiness of\nall and so my heart is at peace. Ha-ha! Why have you let me slip? I only\nlive once, I too want.... Ech, I am an aesthetic louse and nothing\nmore,\" he added suddenly, laughing like a madman. \"Yes, I am certainly a\nlouse,\" he went on, clutching at the idea, gloating over it and playing\nwith it with vindictive pleasure. \"In the first place, because I can\nreason that I am one, and secondly, because for a month past I have been\ntroubling benevolent Providence, calling it to witness that not for\nmy own fleshly lusts did I undertake it, but with a grand and noble\nobject--ha-ha! Thirdly, because I aimed at carrying it out as justly as\npossible, weighing, measuring and calculating. Of all the lice I picked\nout the most useless one and proposed to take from her only as much as I\nneeded for the first step, no more nor less (so the rest would have gone\nto a monastery, according to her will, ha-ha!). And what shows that I\nam utterly a louse,\" he added, grinding his teeth, \"is that I am\nperhaps viler and more loathsome than the louse I killed, and _I felt\nbeforehand_ that I should tell myself so _after_ killing her. Can\nanything be compared with the horror of that? The vulgarity! The\nabjectness! I understand the 'prophet' with his sabre, on his steed:\nAllah commands and 'trembling' creation must obey! The 'prophet' is\nright, he is right when he sets a battery across the street and blows up\nthe innocent and the guilty without deigning to explain! It's for you to\nobey, trembling creation, and not _to have desires_, for that's not for\nyou!... I shall never, never forgive the old woman!\"\n\nHis hair was soaked with sweat, his quivering lips were parched, his\neyes were fixed on the ceiling.\n\n\"Mother, sister--how I loved them! Why do I hate them now? Yes, I hate\nthem, I feel a physical hatred for them, I can't bear them near me....\nI went up to my mother and kissed her, I remember.... To embrace her\nand think if she only knew... shall I tell her then? That's just what\nI might do.... _She_ must be the same as I am,\" he added, straining\nhimself to think, as it were struggling with delirium. \"Ah, how I hate\nthe old woman now! I feel I should kill her again if she came to life!\nPoor Lizaveta! Why did she come in?... It's strange though, why is it\nI scarcely ever think of her, as though I hadn't killed her? Lizaveta!\nSonia! Poor gentle things, with gentle eyes.... Dear women! Why don't\nthey weep? Why don't they moan? They give up everything... their eyes\nare soft and gentle.... Sonia, Sonia! Gentle Sonia!\"\n\nHe lost consciousness; it seemed strange to him that he didn't remember\nhow he got into the street. It was late evening. The twilight had fallen\nand the full moon was shining more and more brightly; but there was a\npeculiar breathlessness in the air. There were crowds of people in the\nstreet; workmen and business people were making their way home; other\npeople had come out for a walk; there was a smell of mortar, dust and\nstagnant water. Raskolnikov walked along, mournful and anxious; he was\ndistinctly aware of having come out with a purpose, of having to do\nsomething in a hurry, but what it was he had forgotten. Suddenly he\nstood still and saw a man standing on the other side of the street,\nbeckoning to him. He crossed over to him, but at once the man turned and\nwalked away with his head hanging, as though he had made no sign to\nhim. \"Stay, did he really beckon?\" Raskolnikov wondered, but he tried\nto overtake him. When he was within ten paces he recognised him and\nwas frightened; it was the same man with stooping shoulders in the long\ncoat. Raskolnikov followed him at a distance; his heart was beating;\nthey went down a turning; the man still did not look round. \"Does he\nknow I am following him?\" thought Raskolnikov. The man went into the\ngateway of a big house. Raskolnikov hastened to the gate and looked in\nto see whether he would look round and sign to him. In the court-yard\nthe man did turn round and again seemed to beckon him. Raskolnikov at\nonce followed him into the yard, but the man was gone. He must have\ngone up the first staircase. Raskolnikov rushed after him. He heard\nslow measured steps two flights above. The staircase seemed strangely\nfamiliar. He reached the window on the first floor; the moon shone\nthrough the panes with a melancholy and mysterious light; then he\nreached the second floor. Bah! this is the flat where the painters were\nat work... but how was it he did not recognise it at once? The steps\nof the man above had died away. \"So he must have stopped or hidden\nsomewhere.\" He reached the third storey, should he go on? There was a\nstillness that was dreadful.... But he went on. The sound of his own\nfootsteps scared and frightened him. How dark it was! The man must be\nhiding in some corner here. Ah! the flat was standing wide open, he\nhesitated and went in. It was very dark and empty in the passage, as\nthough everything had been removed; he crept on tiptoe into the parlour\nwhich was flooded with moonlight. Everything there was as before, the\nchairs, the looking-glass, the yellow sofa and the pictures in the\nframes. A huge, round, copper-red moon looked in at the windows.\n\"It's the moon that makes it so still, weaving some mystery,\" thought\nRaskolnikov. He stood and waited, waited a long while, and the more\nsilent the moonlight, the more violently his heart beat, till it was\npainful. And still the same hush. Suddenly he heard a momentary sharp\ncrack like the snapping of a splinter and all was still again. A fly\nflew up suddenly and struck the window pane with a plaintive buzz. At\nthat moment he noticed in the corner between the window and the little\ncupboard something like a cloak hanging on the wall. \"Why is that cloak\nhere?\" he thought, \"it wasn't there before....\" He went up to it quietly\nand felt that there was someone hiding behind it. He cautiously moved\nthe cloak and saw, sitting on a chair in the corner, the old woman bent\ndouble so that he couldn't see her face; but it was she. He stood over\nher. \"She is afraid,\" he thought. He stealthily took the axe from the\nnoose and struck her one blow, then another on the skull. But strange\nto say she did not stir, as though she were made of wood. He was\nfrightened, bent down nearer and tried to look at her; but she, too,\nbent her head lower. He bent right down to the ground and peeped up\ninto her face from below, he peeped and turned cold with horror: the old\nwoman was sitting and laughing, shaking with noiseless laughter, doing\nher utmost that he should not hear it. Suddenly he fancied that the door\nfrom the bedroom was opened a little and that there was laughter and\nwhispering within. He was overcome with frenzy and he began hitting the\nold woman on the head with all his force, but at every blow of the axe\nthe laughter and whispering from the bedroom grew louder and the old\nwoman was simply shaking with mirth. He was rushing away, but the\npassage was full of people, the doors of the flats stood open and on the\nlanding, on the stairs and everywhere below there were people, rows of\nheads, all looking, but huddled together in silence and expectation.\nSomething gripped his heart, his legs were rooted to the spot, they\nwould not move.... He tried to scream and woke up.\n\nHe drew a deep breath--but his dream seemed strangely to persist:\nhis door was flung open and a man whom he had never seen stood in the\ndoorway watching him intently.\n\nRaskolnikov had hardly opened his eyes and he instantly closed them\nagain. He lay on his back without stirring.\n\n\"Is it still a dream?\" he wondered and again raised his eyelids hardly\nperceptibly; the stranger was standing in the same place, still watching\nhim.\n\nHe stepped cautiously into the room, carefully closing the door after\nhim, went up to the table, paused a moment, still keeping his eyes on\nRaskolnikov, and noiselessly seated himself on the chair by the sofa; he\nput his hat on the floor beside him and leaned his hands on his cane\nand his chin on his hands. It was evident that he was prepared to wait\nindefinitely. As far as Raskolnikov could make out from his stolen\nglances, he was a man no longer young, stout, with a full, fair, almost\nwhitish beard.\n\nTen minutes passed. It was still light, but beginning to get dusk. There\nwas complete stillness in the room. Not a sound came from the stairs.\nOnly a big fly buzzed and fluttered against the window pane. It was\nunbearable at last. Raskolnikov suddenly got up and sat on the sofa.\n\n\"Come, tell me what you want.\"\n\n\"I knew you were not asleep, but only pretending,\" the stranger answered\noddly, laughing calmly. \"Arkady Ivanovitch Svidrigailov, allow me to\nintroduce myself....\"\n\n\n\n\nPART IV\n\n\n\nCHAPTER I\n\n\"Can this be still a dream?\" Raskolnikov thought once more.\n\nHe looked carefully and suspiciously at the unexpected visitor.\n\n\"Svidrigailov! What nonsense! It can't be!\" he said at last aloud in\nbewilderment.\n\nHis visitor did not seem at all surprised at this exclamation.\n\n\"I've come to you for two reasons. In the first place, I wanted to make\nyour personal acquaintance, as I have already heard a great deal about\nyou that is interesting and flattering; secondly, I cherish the hope\nthat you may not refuse to assist me in a matter directly concerning the\nwelfare of your sister, Avdotya Romanovna. For without your support she\nmight not let me come near her now, for she is prejudiced against me,\nbut with your assistance I reckon on...\"\n\n\"You reckon wrongly,\" interrupted Raskolnikov.\n\n\"They only arrived yesterday, may I ask you?\"\n\nRaskolnikov made no reply.\n\n\"It was yesterday, I know. I only arrived myself the day before. Well,\nlet me tell you this, Rodion Romanovitch, I don't consider it necessary\nto justify myself, but kindly tell me what was there particularly\ncriminal on my part in all this business, speaking without prejudice,\nwith common sense?\"\n\nRaskolnikov continued to look at him in silence.\n\n\"That in my own house I persecuted a defenceless girl and 'insulted her\nwith my infamous proposals'--is that it? (I am anticipating you.) But\nyou've only to assume that I, too, am a man _et nihil humanum_... in a\nword, that I am capable of being attracted and falling in love (which\ndoes not depend on our will), then everything can be explained in the\nmost natural manner. The question is, am I a monster, or am I myself\na victim? And what if I am a victim? In proposing to the object of my\npassion to elope with me to America or Switzerland, I may have cherished\nthe deepest respect for her and may have thought that I was promoting\nour mutual happiness! Reason is the slave of passion, you know; why,\nprobably, I was doing more harm to myself than anyone!\"\n\n\"But that's not the point,\" Raskolnikov interrupted with disgust. \"It's\nsimply that whether you are right or wrong, we dislike you. We don't\nwant to have anything to do with you. We show you the door. Go out!\"\n\nSvidrigailov broke into a sudden laugh.\n\n\"But you're... but there's no getting round you,\" he said, laughing in\nthe frankest way. \"I hoped to get round you, but you took up the right\nline at once!\"\n\n\"But you are trying to get round me still!\"\n\n\"What of it? What of it?\" cried Svidrigailov, laughing openly. \"But this\nis what the French call _bonne guerre_, and the most innocent form of\ndeception!... But still you have interrupted me; one way or another, I\nrepeat again: there would never have been any unpleasantness except for\nwhat happened in the garden. Marfa Petrovna...\"\n\n\"You have got rid of Marfa Petrovna, too, so they say?\" Raskolnikov\ninterrupted rudely.\n\n\"Oh, you've heard that, too, then? You'd be sure to, though.... But\nas for your question, I really don't know what to say, though my own\nconscience is quite at rest on that score. Don't suppose that I am in\nany apprehension about it. All was regular and in order; the medical\ninquiry diagnosed apoplexy due to bathing immediately after a heavy\ndinner and a bottle of wine, and indeed it could have proved nothing\nelse. But I'll tell you what I have been thinking to myself of late, on\nmy way here in the train, especially: didn't I contribute to all that...\ncalamity, morally, in a way, by irritation or something of the\nsort. But I came to the conclusion that that, too, was quite out of the\nquestion.\"\n\nRaskolnikov laughed.\n\n\"I wonder you trouble yourself about it!\"\n\n\"But what are you laughing at? Only consider, I struck her just twice\nwith a switch--there were no marks even... don't regard me as a cynic,\nplease; I am perfectly aware how atrocious it was of me and all that;\nbut I know for certain, too, that Marfa Petrovna was very likely pleased\nat my, so to say, warmth. The story of your sister had been wrung out to\nthe last drop; for the last three days Marfa Petrovna had been forced to\nsit at home; she had nothing to show herself with in the town. Besides,\nshe had bored them so with that letter (you heard about her reading the\nletter). And all of a sudden those two switches fell from heaven! Her\nfirst act was to order the carriage to be got out.... Not to speak\nof the fact that there are cases when women are very, very glad to be\ninsulted in spite of all their show of indignation. There are instances\nof it with everyone; human beings in general, indeed, greatly love to\nbe insulted, have you noticed that? But it's particularly so with women.\nOne might even say it's their only amusement.\"\n\nAt one time Raskolnikov thought of getting up and walking out and so\nfinishing the interview. But some curiosity and even a sort of prudence\nmade him linger for a moment.\n\n\"You are fond of fighting?\" he asked carelessly.\n\n\"No, not very,\" Svidrigailov answered, calmly. \"And Marfa Petrovna and\nI scarcely ever fought. We lived very harmoniously, and she was always\npleased with me. I only used the whip twice in all our seven years (not\ncounting a third occasion of a very ambiguous character). The first\ntime, two months after our marriage, immediately after we arrived in the\ncountry, and the last time was that of which we are speaking. Did you\nsuppose I was such a monster, such a reactionary, such a slave driver?\nHa, ha! By the way, do you remember, Rodion Romanovitch, how a few years\nago, in those days of beneficent publicity, a nobleman, I've forgotten\nhis name, was put to shame everywhere, in all the papers, for having\nthrashed a German woman in the railway train. You remember? It was in\nthose days, that very year I believe, the 'disgraceful action of the\n_Age_' took place (you know, 'The Egyptian Nights,' that public reading,\nyou remember? The dark eyes, you know! Ah, the golden days of our youth,\nwhere are they?). Well, as for the gentleman who thrashed the German,\nI feel no sympathy with him, because after all what need is there\nfor sympathy? But I must say that there are sometimes such provoking\n'Germans' that I don't believe there is a progressive who could quite\nanswer for himself. No one looked at the subject from that point of view\nthen, but that's the truly humane point of view, I assure you.\"\n\nAfter saying this, Svidrigailov broke into a sudden laugh again.\nRaskolnikov saw clearly that this was a man with a firm purpose in his\nmind and able to keep it to himself.\n\n\"I expect you've not talked to anyone for some days?\" he asked.\n\n\"Scarcely anyone. I suppose you are wondering at my being such an\nadaptable man?\"\n\n\"No, I am only wondering at your being too adaptable a man.\"\n\n\"Because I am not offended at the rudeness of your questions? Is that\nit? But why take offence? As you asked, so I answered,\" he replied,\nwith a surprising expression of simplicity. \"You know, there's\nhardly anything I take interest in,\" he went on, as it were dreamily,\n\"especially now, I've nothing to do.... You are quite at liberty to\nimagine though that I am making up to you with a motive, particularly as\nI told you I want to see your sister about something. But I'll confess\nfrankly, I am very much bored. The last three days especially, so I am\ndelighted to see you.... Don't be angry, Rodion Romanovitch, but you\nseem to be somehow awfully strange yourself. Say what you like, there's\nsomething wrong with you, and now, too... not this very minute, I mean,\nbut now, generally.... Well, well, I won't, I won't, don't scowl! I am\nnot such a bear, you know, as you think.\"\n\nRaskolnikov looked gloomily at him.\n\n\"You are not a bear, perhaps, at all,\" he said. \"I fancy indeed that\nyou are a man of very good breeding, or at least know how on occasion to\nbehave like one.\"\n\n\"I am not particularly interested in anyone's opinion,\" Svidrigailov\nanswered, dryly and even with a shade of haughtiness, \"and therefore why\nnot be vulgar at times when vulgarity is such a convenient cloak for our\nclimate... and especially if one has a natural propensity that way,\" he\nadded, laughing again.\n\n\"But I've heard you have many friends here. You are, as they say, 'not\nwithout connections.' What can you want with me, then, unless you've\nsome special object?\"\n\n\"That's true that I have friends here,\" Svidrigailov admitted, not\nreplying to the chief point. \"I've met some already. I've been lounging\nabout for the last three days, and I've seen them, or they've seen me.\nThat's a matter of course. I am well dressed and reckoned not a poor\nman; the emancipation of the serfs hasn't affected me; my property\nconsists chiefly of forests and water meadows. The revenue has not\nfallen off; but... I am not going to see them, I was sick of them long\nago. I've been here three days and have called on no one.... What a town\nit is! How has it come into existence among us, tell me that? A town of\nofficials and students of all sorts. Yes, there's a great deal I didn't\nnotice when I was here eight years ago, kicking up my heels.... My only\nhope now is in anatomy, by Jove, it is!\"\n\n\"Anatomy?\"\n\n\"But as for these clubs, Dussauts, parades, or progress, indeed,\nmaybe--well, all that can go on without me,\" he went on, again without\nnoticing the question. \"Besides, who wants to be a card-sharper?\"\n\n\"Why, have you been a card-sharper then?\"\n\n\"How could I help being? There was a regular set of us, men of the best\nsociety, eight years ago; we had a fine time. And all men of breeding,\nyou know, poets, men of property. And indeed as a rule in our Russian\nsociety the best manners are found among those who've been thrashed,\nhave you noticed that? I've deteriorated in the country. But I did get\ninto prison for debt, through a low Greek who came from Nezhin. Then\nMarfa Petrovna turned up; she bargained with him and bought me off for\nthirty thousand silver pieces (I owed seventy thousand). We were united\nin lawful wedlock and she bore me off into the country like a treasure.\nYou know she was five years older than I. She was very fond of me. For\nseven years I never left the country. And, take note, that all my life\nshe held a document over me, the IOU for thirty thousand roubles, so\nif I were to elect to be restive about anything I should be trapped at\nonce! And she would have done it! Women find nothing incompatible in\nthat.\"\n\n\"If it hadn't been for that, would you have given her the slip?\"\n\n\"I don't know what to say. It was scarcely the document restrained me. I\ndidn't want to go anywhere else. Marfa Petrovna herself invited me to go\nabroad, seeing I was bored, but I've been abroad before, and always\nfelt sick there. For no reason, but the sunrise, the bay of Naples, the\nsea--you look at them and it makes you sad. What's most revolting is\nthat one is really sad! No, it's better at home. Here at least one\nblames others for everything and excuses oneself. I should have gone\nperhaps on an expedition to the North Pole, because _j'ai le vin\nmauvais_ and hate drinking, and there's nothing left but wine. I have\ntried it. But, I say, I've been told Berg is going up in a great balloon\nnext Sunday from the Yusupov Garden and will take up passengers at a\nfee. Is it true?\"\n\n\"Why, would you go up?\"\n\n\"I... No, oh, no,\" muttered Svidrigailov really seeming to be deep in\nthought.\n\n\"What does he mean? Is he in earnest?\" Raskolnikov wondered.\n\n\"No, the document didn't restrain me,\" Svidrigailov went on,\nmeditatively. \"It was my own doing, not leaving the country, and nearly\na year ago Marfa Petrovna gave me back the document on my name-day\nand made me a present of a considerable sum of money, too. She had a\nfortune, you know. 'You see how I trust you, Arkady Ivanovitch'--that\nwas actually her expression. You don't believe she used it? But do\nyou know I managed the estate quite decently, they know me in the\nneighbourhood. I ordered books, too. Marfa Petrovna at first approved,\nbut afterwards she was afraid of my over-studying.\"\n\n\"You seem to be missing Marfa Petrovna very much?\"\n\n\"Missing her? Perhaps. Really, perhaps I am. And, by the way, do you\nbelieve in ghosts?\"\n\n\"What ghosts?\"\n\n\"Why, ordinary ghosts.\"\n\n\"Do you believe in them?\"\n\n\"Perhaps not, _pour vous plaire_.... I wouldn't say no exactly.\"\n\n\"Do you see them, then?\"\n\nSvidrigailov looked at him rather oddly.\n\n\"Marfa Petrovna is pleased to visit me,\" he said, twisting his mouth\ninto a strange smile.\n\n\"How do you mean 'she is pleased to visit you'?\"\n\n\"She has been three times. I saw her first on the very day of the\nfuneral, an hour after she was buried. It was the day before I left to\ncome here. The second time was the day before yesterday, at daybreak, on\nthe journey at the station of Malaya Vishera, and the third time was two\nhours ago in the room where I am staying. I was alone.\"\n\n\"Were you awake?\"\n\n\"Quite awake. I was wide awake every time. She comes, speaks to me for\na minute and goes out at the door--always at the door. I can almost hear\nher.\"\n\n\"What made me think that something of the sort must be happening to\nyou?\" Raskolnikov said suddenly.\n\nAt the same moment he was surprised at having said it. He was much\nexcited.\n\n\"What! Did you think so?\" Svidrigailov asked in astonishment. \"Did you\nreally? Didn't I say that there was something in common between us, eh?\"\n\n\"You never said so!\" Raskolnikov cried sharply and with heat.\n\n\"Didn't I?\"\n\n\"No!\"\n\n\"I thought I did. When I came in and saw you lying with your eyes shut,\npretending, I said to myself at once, 'Here's the man.'\"\n\n\"What do you mean by 'the man?' What are you talking about?\" cried\nRaskolnikov.\n\n\"What do I mean? I really don't know....\" Svidrigailov muttered\ningenuously, as though he, too, were puzzled.\n\nFor a minute they were silent. They stared in each other's faces.\n\n\"That's all nonsense!\" Raskolnikov shouted with vexation. \"What does she\nsay when she comes to you?\"\n\n\"She! Would you believe it, she talks of the silliest trifles and--man\nis a strange creature--it makes me angry. The first time she came in (I\nwas tired you know: the funeral service, the funeral ceremony, the lunch\nafterwards. At last I was left alone in my study. I lighted a cigar and\nbegan to think), she came in at the door. 'You've been so busy to-day,\nArkady Ivanovitch, you have forgotten to wind the dining-room clock,'\nshe said. All those seven years I've wound that clock every week, and if\nI forgot it she would always remind me. The next day I set off on my way\nhere. I got out at the station at daybreak; I'd been asleep, tired out,\nwith my eyes half open, I was drinking some coffee. I looked up and\nthere was suddenly Marfa Petrovna sitting beside me with a pack of\ncards in her hands. 'Shall I tell your fortune for the journey, Arkady\nIvanovitch?' She was a great hand at telling fortunes. I shall never\nforgive myself for not asking her to. I ran away in a fright, and,\nbesides, the bell rang. I was sitting to-day, feeling very heavy after a\nmiserable dinner from a cookshop; I was sitting smoking, all of a sudden\nMarfa Petrovna again. She came in very smart in a new green silk dress\nwith a long train. 'Good day, Arkady Ivanovitch! How do you like my\ndress? Aniska can't make like this.' (Aniska was a dressmaker in the\ncountry, one of our former serf girls who had been trained in Moscow, a\npretty wench.) She stood turning round before me. I looked at the dress,\nand then I looked carefully, very carefully, at her face. 'I wonder\nyou trouble to come to me about such trifles, Marfa Petrovna.' 'Good\ngracious, you won't let one disturb you about anything!' To tease her\nI said, 'I want to get married, Marfa Petrovna.' 'That's just like you,\nArkady Ivanovitch; it does you very little credit to come looking for a\nbride when you've hardly buried your wife. And if you could make a good\nchoice, at least, but I know it won't be for your happiness or hers, you\nwill only be a laughing-stock to all good people.' Then she went out and\nher train seemed to rustle. Isn't it nonsense, eh?\"\n\n\"But perhaps you are telling lies?\" Raskolnikov put in.\n\n\"I rarely lie,\" answered Svidrigailov thoughtfully, apparently not\nnoticing the rudeness of the question.\n\n\"And in the past, have you ever seen ghosts before?\"\n\n\"Y-yes, I have seen them, but only once in my life, six years ago. I had\na serf, Filka; just after his burial I called out forgetting 'Filka, my\npipe!' He came in and went to the cupboard where my pipes were. I sat\nstill and thought 'he is doing it out of revenge,' because we had a\nviolent quarrel just before his death. 'How dare you come in with a hole\nin your elbow?' I said. 'Go away, you scamp!' He turned and went out,\nand never came again. I didn't tell Marfa Petrovna at the time. I wanted\nto have a service sung for him, but I was ashamed.\"\n\n\"You should go to a doctor.\"\n\n\"I know I am not well, without your telling me, though I don't know\nwhat's wrong; I believe I am five times as strong as you are. I didn't\nask you whether you believe that ghosts are seen, but whether you\nbelieve that they exist.\"\n\n\"No, I won't believe it!\" Raskolnikov cried, with positive anger.\n\n\"What do people generally say?\" muttered Svidrigailov, as though\nspeaking to himself, looking aside and bowing his head. \"They say, 'You\nare ill, so what appears to you is only unreal fantasy.' But that's not\nstrictly logical. I agree that ghosts only appear to the sick, but that\nonly proves that they are unable to appear except to the sick, not that\nthey don't exist.\"\n\n\"Nothing of the sort,\" Raskolnikov insisted irritably.\n\n\"No? You don't think so?\" Svidrigailov went on, looking at him\ndeliberately. \"But what do you say to this argument (help me with\nit): ghosts are, as it were, shreds and fragments of other worlds, the\nbeginning of them. A man in health has, of course, no reason to see\nthem, because he is above all a man of this earth and is bound for the\nsake of completeness and order to live only in this life. But as soon\nas one is ill, as soon as the normal earthly order of the organism is\nbroken, one begins to realise the possibility of another world; and the\nmore seriously ill one is, the closer becomes one's contact with that\nother world, so that as soon as the man dies he steps straight into that\nworld. I thought of that long ago. If you believe in a future life, you\ncould believe in that, too.\"\n\n\"I don't believe in a future life,\" said Raskolnikov.\n\nSvidrigailov sat lost in thought.\n\n\"And what if there are only spiders there, or something of that sort,\"\nhe said suddenly.\n\n\"He is a madman,\" thought Raskolnikov.\n\n\"We always imagine eternity as something beyond our conception,\nsomething vast, vast! But why must it be vast? Instead of all that, what\nif it's one little room, like a bath house in the country, black\nand grimy and spiders in every corner, and that's all eternity is? I\nsometimes fancy it like that.\"\n\n\"Can it be you can imagine nothing juster and more comforting than\nthat?\" Raskolnikov cried, with a feeling of anguish.\n\n\"Juster? And how can we tell, perhaps that is just, and do you know\nit's what I would certainly have made it,\" answered Svidrigailov, with a\nvague smile.\n\nThis horrible answer sent a cold chill through Raskolnikov. Svidrigailov\nraised his head, looked at him, and suddenly began laughing.\n\n\"Only think,\" he cried, \"half an hour ago we had never seen each other,\nwe regarded each other as enemies; there is a matter unsettled between\nus; we've thrown it aside, and away we've gone into the abstract! Wasn't\nI right in saying that we were birds of a feather?\"\n\n\"Kindly allow me,\" Raskolnikov went on irritably, \"to ask you to explain\nwhy you have honoured me with your visit... and... and I am in a hurry,\nI have no time to waste. I want to go out.\"\n\n\"By all means, by all means. Your sister, Avdotya Romanovna, is going to\nbe married to Mr. Luzhin, Pyotr Petrovitch?\"\n\n\"Can you refrain from any question about my sister and from mentioning\nher name? I can't understand how you dare utter her name in my presence,\nif you really are Svidrigailov.\"\n\n\"Why, but I've come here to speak about her; how can I avoid mentioning\nher?\"\n\n\"Very good, speak, but make haste.\"\n\n\"I am sure that you must have formed your own opinion of this Mr.\nLuzhin, who is a connection of mine through my wife, if you have only\nseen him for half an hour, or heard any facts about him. He is no\nmatch for Avdotya Romanovna. I believe Avdotya Romanovna is sacrificing\nherself generously and imprudently for the sake of... for the sake of\nher family. I fancied from all I had heard of you that you would be very\nglad if the match could be broken off without the sacrifice of worldly\nadvantages. Now I know you personally, I am convinced of it.\"\n\n\"All this is very naive... excuse me, I should have said impudent on\nyour part,\" said Raskolnikov.\n\n\"You mean to say that I am seeking my own ends. Don't be uneasy, Rodion\nRomanovitch, if I were working for my own advantage, I would not have\nspoken out so directly. I am not quite a fool. I will confess something\npsychologically curious about that: just now, defending my love for\nAvdotya Romanovna, I said I was myself the victim. Well, let me tell you\nthat I've no feeling of love now, not the slightest, so that I wonder\nmyself indeed, for I really did feel something...\"\n\n\"Through idleness and depravity,\" Raskolnikov put in.\n\n\"I certainly am idle and depraved, but your sister has such qualities\nthat even I could not help being impressed by them. But that's all\nnonsense, as I see myself now.\"\n\n\"Have you seen that long?\"\n\n\"I began to be aware of it before, but was only perfectly sure of it the\nday before yesterday, almost at the moment I arrived in Petersburg. I\nstill fancied in Moscow, though, that I was coming to try to get Avdotya\nRomanovna's hand and to cut out Mr. Luzhin.\"\n\n\"Excuse me for interrupting you; kindly be brief, and come to the object\nof your visit. I am in a hurry, I want to go out...\"\n\n\"With the greatest pleasure. On arriving here and determining on a\ncertain... journey, I should like to make some necessary preliminary\narrangements. I left my children with an aunt; they are well provided\nfor; and they have no need of me personally. And a nice father I should\nmake, too! I have taken nothing but what Marfa Petrovna gave me a year\nago. That's enough for me. Excuse me, I am just coming to the point.\nBefore the journey which may come off, I want to settle Mr. Luzhin, too.\nIt's not that I detest him so much, but it was through him I quarrelled\nwith Marfa Petrovna when I learned that she had dished up this marriage.\nI want now to see Avdotya Romanovna through your mediation, and if you\nlike in your presence, to explain to her that in the first place she\nwill never gain anything but harm from Mr. Luzhin. Then, begging\nher pardon for all past unpleasantness, to make her a present of ten\nthousand roubles and so assist the rupture with Mr. Luzhin, a rupture to\nwhich I believe she is herself not disinclined, if she could see the way\nto it.\"\n\n\"You are certainly mad,\" cried Raskolnikov not so much angered as\nastonished. \"How dare you talk like that!\"\n\n\"I knew you would scream at me; but in the first place, though I am not\nrich, this ten thousand roubles is perfectly free; I have absolutely no\nneed for it. If Avdotya Romanovna does not accept it, I shall waste\nit in some more foolish way. That's the first thing. Secondly, my\nconscience is perfectly easy; I make the offer with no ulterior motive.\nYou may not believe it, but in the end Avdotya Romanovna and you will\nknow. The point is, that I did actually cause your sister, whom I\ngreatly respect, some trouble and unpleasantness, and so, sincerely\nregretting it, I want--not to compensate, not to repay her for the\nunpleasantness, but simply to do something to her advantage, to show\nthat I am not, after all, privileged to do nothing but harm. If there\nwere a millionth fraction of self-interest in my offer, I should not\nhave made it so openly; and I should not have offered her ten thousand\nonly, when five weeks ago I offered her more, Besides, I may, perhaps,\nvery soon marry a young lady, and that alone ought to prevent suspicion\nof any design on Avdotya Romanovna. In conclusion, let me say that\nin marrying Mr. Luzhin, she is taking money just the same, only from\nanother man. Don't be angry, Rodion Romanovitch, think it over coolly\nand quietly.\"\n\nSvidrigailov himself was exceedingly cool and quiet as he was saying\nthis.\n\n\"I beg you to say no more,\" said Raskolnikov. \"In any case this is\nunpardonable impertinence.\"\n\n\"Not in the least. Then a man may do nothing but harm to his neighbour\nin this world, and is prevented from doing the tiniest bit of good\nby trivial conventional formalities. That's absurd. If I died, for\ninstance, and left that sum to your sister in my will, surely she\nwouldn't refuse it?\"\n\n\"Very likely she would.\"\n\n\"Oh, no, indeed. However, if you refuse it, so be it, though ten\nthousand roubles is a capital thing to have on occasion. In any case I\nbeg you to repeat what I have said to Avdotya Romanovna.\"\n\n\"No, I won't.\"\n\n\"In that case, Rodion Romanovitch, I shall be obliged to try and see her\nmyself and worry her by doing so.\"\n\n\"And if I do tell her, will you not try to see her?\"\n\n\"I don't know really what to say. I should like very much to see her\nonce more.\"\n\n\"Don't hope for it.\"\n\n\"I'm sorry. But you don't know me. Perhaps we may become better\nfriends.\"\n\n\"You think we may become friends?\"\n\n\"And why not?\" Svidrigailov said, smiling. He stood up and took his hat.\n\"I didn't quite intend to disturb you and I came here without reckoning\non it... though I was very much struck by your face this morning.\"\n\n\"Where did you see me this morning?\" Raskolnikov asked uneasily.\n\n\"I saw you by chance.... I kept fancying there is something about you\nlike me.... But don't be uneasy. I am not intrusive; I used to get on\nall right with card-sharpers, and I never bored Prince Svirbey, a great\npersonage who is a distant relation of mine, and I could write about\nRaphael's _Madonna_ in Madam Prilukov's album, and I never left Marfa\nPetrovna's side for seven years, and I used to stay the night at\nViazemsky's house in the Hay Market in the old days, and I may go up in\na balloon with Berg, perhaps.\"\n\n\"Oh, all right. Are you starting soon on your travels, may I ask?\"\n\n\"What travels?\"\n\n\"Why, on that 'journey'; you spoke of it yourself.\"\n\n\"A journey? Oh, yes. I did speak of a journey. Well, that's a wide\nsubject.... if only you knew what you are asking,\" he added, and gave\na sudden, loud, short laugh. \"Perhaps I'll get married instead of the\njourney. They're making a match for me.\"\n\n\"Here?\"\n\n\"Yes.\"\n\n\"How have you had time for that?\"\n\n\"But I am very anxious to see Avdotya Romanovna once. I earnestly beg\nit. Well, good-bye for the present. Oh, yes. I have forgotten something.\nTell your sister, Rodion Romanovitch, that Marfa Petrovna remembered\nher in her will and left her three thousand roubles. That's absolutely\ncertain. Marfa Petrovna arranged it a week before her death, and it was\ndone in my presence. Avdotya Romanovna will be able to receive the money\nin two or three weeks.\"\n\n\"Are you telling the truth?\"\n\n\"Yes, tell her. Well, your servant. I am staying very near you.\"\n\nAs he went out, Svidrigailov ran up against Razumihin in the doorway.\n\n\n\nCHAPTER II\n\nIt was nearly eight o'clock. The two young men hurried to Bakaleyev's,\nto arrive before Luzhin.\n\n\"Why, who was that?\" asked Razumihin, as soon as they were in the\nstreet.\n\n\"It was Svidrigailov, that landowner in whose house my sister was\ninsulted when she was their governess. Through his persecuting her with\nhis attentions, she was turned out by his wife, Marfa Petrovna. This\nMarfa Petrovna begged Dounia's forgiveness afterwards, and she's just\ndied suddenly. It was of her we were talking this morning. I don't\nknow why I'm afraid of that man. He came here at once after his wife's\nfuneral. He is very strange, and is determined on doing something.... We\nmust guard Dounia from him... that's what I wanted to tell you, do you\nhear?\"\n\n\"Guard her! What can he do to harm Avdotya Romanovna? Thank you, Rodya,\nfor speaking to me like that.... We will, we will guard her. Where does\nhe live?\"\n\n\"I don't know.\"\n\n\"Why didn't you ask? What a pity! I'll find out, though.\"\n\n\"Did you see him?\" asked Raskolnikov after a pause.\n\n\"Yes, I noticed him, I noticed him well.\"\n\n\"You did really see him? You saw him clearly?\" Raskolnikov insisted.\n\n\"Yes, I remember him perfectly, I should know him in a thousand; I have\na good memory for faces.\"\n\nThey were silent again.\n\n\"Hm!... that's all right,\" muttered Raskolnikov. \"Do you know, I\nfancied... I keep thinking that it may have been an hallucination.\"\n\n\"What do you mean? I don't understand you.\"\n\n\"Well, you all say,\" Raskolnikov went on, twisting his mouth into a\nsmile, \"that I am mad. I thought just now that perhaps I really am mad,\nand have only seen a phantom.\"\n\n\"What do you mean?\"\n\n\"Why, who can tell? Perhaps I am really mad, and perhaps everything that\nhappened all these days may be only imagination.\"\n\n\"Ach, Rodya, you have been upset again!... But what did he say, what did\nhe come for?\"\n\nRaskolnikov did not answer. Razumihin thought a minute.\n\n\"Now let me tell you my story,\" he began, \"I came to you, you were\nasleep. Then we had dinner and then I went to Porfiry's, Zametov was\nstill with him. I tried to begin, but it was no use. I couldn't speak in\nthe right way. They don't seem to understand and can't understand, but\nare not a bit ashamed. I drew Porfiry to the window, and began talking\nto him, but it was still no use. He looked away and I looked away. At\nlast I shook my fist in his ugly face, and told him as a cousin I'd\nbrain him. He merely looked at me, I cursed and came away. That was\nall. It was very stupid. To Zametov I didn't say a word. But, you see, I\nthought I'd made a mess of it, but as I went downstairs a brilliant idea\nstruck me: why should we trouble? Of course if you were in any danger\nor anything, but why need you care? You needn't care a hang for them. We\nshall have a laugh at them afterwards, and if I were in your place I'd\nmystify them more than ever. How ashamed they'll be afterwards! Hang\nthem! We can thrash them afterwards, but let's laugh at them now!\"\n\n\"To be sure,\" answered Raskolnikov. \"But what will you say to-morrow?\"\nhe thought to himself. Strange to say, till that moment it had never\noccurred to him to wonder what Razumihin would think when he knew. As he\nthought it, Raskolnikov looked at him. Razumihin's account of his visit\nto Porfiry had very little interest for him, so much had come and gone\nsince then.\n\nIn the corridor they came upon Luzhin; he had arrived punctually\nat eight, and was looking for the number, so that all three went in\ntogether without greeting or looking at one another. The young men\nwalked in first, while Pyotr Petrovitch, for good manners, lingered a\nlittle in the passage, taking off his coat. Pulcheria Alexandrovna came\nforward at once to greet him in the doorway, Dounia was welcoming her\nbrother. Pyotr Petrovitch walked in and quite amiably, though with\nredoubled dignity, bowed to the ladies. He looked, however, as though\nhe were a little put out and could not yet recover himself. Pulcheria\nAlexandrovna, who seemed also a little embarrassed, hastened to make\nthem all sit down at the round table where a samovar was boiling. Dounia\nand Luzhin were facing one another on opposite sides of the table.\nRazumihin and Raskolnikov were facing Pulcheria Alexandrovna, Razumihin\nwas next to Luzhin and Raskolnikov was beside his sister.\n\nA moment's silence followed. Pyotr Petrovitch deliberately drew out a\ncambric handkerchief reeking of scent and blew his nose with an air of\na benevolent man who felt himself slighted, and was firmly resolved to\ninsist on an explanation. In the passage the idea had occurred to him to\nkeep on his overcoat and walk away, and so give the two ladies a sharp\nand emphatic lesson and make them feel the gravity of the position.\nBut he could not bring himself to do this. Besides, he could not endure\nuncertainty, and he wanted an explanation: if his request had been so\nopenly disobeyed, there was something behind it, and in that case it was\nbetter to find it out beforehand; it rested with him to punish them and\nthere would always be time for that.\n\n\"I trust you had a favourable journey,\" he inquired officially of\nPulcheria Alexandrovna.\n\n\"Oh, very, Pyotr Petrovitch.\"\n\n\"I am gratified to hear it. And Avdotya Romanovna is not over-fatigued\neither?\"\n\n\"I am young and strong, I don't get tired, but it was a great strain for\nmother,\" answered Dounia.\n\n\"That's unavoidable! our national railways are of terrible length.\n'Mother Russia,' as they say, is a vast country.... In spite of all my\ndesire to do so, I was unable to meet you yesterday. But I trust all\npassed off without inconvenience?\"\n\n\"Oh, no, Pyotr Petrovitch, it was all terribly disheartening,\" Pulcheria\nAlexandrovna hastened to declare with peculiar intonation, \"and if\nDmitri Prokofitch had not been sent us, I really believe by God Himself,\nwe should have been utterly lost. Here, he is! Dmitri Prokofitch\nRazumihin,\" she added, introducing him to Luzhin.\n\n\"I had the pleasure... yesterday,\" muttered Pyotr Petrovitch with a\nhostile glance sidelong at Razumihin; then he scowled and was silent.\n\nPyotr Petrovitch belonged to that class of persons, on the surface very\npolite in society, who make a great point of punctiliousness, but who,\ndirectly they are crossed in anything, are completely disconcerted, and\nbecome more like sacks of flour than elegant and lively men of society.\nAgain all was silent; Raskolnikov was obstinately mute, Avdotya\nRomanovna was unwilling to open the conversation too soon. Razumihin had\nnothing to say, so Pulcheria Alexandrovna was anxious again.\n\n\"Marfa Petrovna is dead, have you heard?\" she began having recourse to\nher leading item of conversation.\n\n\"To be sure, I heard so. I was immediately informed, and I have come to\nmake you acquainted with the fact that Arkady Ivanovitch Svidrigailov\nset off in haste for Petersburg immediately after his wife's funeral. So\nat least I have excellent authority for believing.\"\n\n\"To Petersburg? here?\" Dounia asked in alarm and looked at her mother.\n\n\"Yes, indeed, and doubtless not without some design, having in view the\nrapidity of his departure, and all the circumstances preceding it.\"\n\n\"Good heavens! won't he leave Dounia in peace even here?\" cried\nPulcheria Alexandrovna.\n\n\"I imagine that neither you nor Avdotya Romanovna have any grounds for\nuneasiness, unless, of course, you are yourselves desirous of getting\ninto communication with him. For my part I am on my guard, and am now\ndiscovering where he is lodging.\"\n\n\"Oh, Pyotr Petrovitch, you would not believe what a fright you have\ngiven me,\" Pulcheria Alexandrovna went on: \"I've only seen him twice,\nbut I thought him terrible, terrible! I am convinced that he was the\ncause of Marfa Petrovna's death.\"\n\n\"It's impossible to be certain about that. I have precise information. I\ndo not dispute that he may have contributed to accelerate the course of\nevents by the moral influence, so to say, of the affront; but as to the\ngeneral conduct and moral characteristics of that personage, I am\nin agreement with you. I do not know whether he is well off now, and\nprecisely what Marfa Petrovna left him; this will be known to me within\na very short period; but no doubt here in Petersburg, if he has any\npecuniary resources, he will relapse at once into his old ways. He is\nthe most depraved, and abjectly vicious specimen of that class of men.\nI have considerable reason to believe that Marfa Petrovna, who was so\nunfortunate as to fall in love with him and to pay his debts eight years\nago, was of service to him also in another way. Solely by her exertions\nand sacrifices, a criminal charge, involving an element of fantastic\nand homicidal brutality for which he might well have been sentenced to\nSiberia, was hushed up. That's the sort of man he is, if you care to\nknow.\"\n\n\"Good heavens!\" cried Pulcheria Alexandrovna. Raskolnikov listened\nattentively.\n\n\"Are you speaking the truth when you say that you have good evidence of\nthis?\" Dounia asked sternly and emphatically.\n\n\"I only repeat what I was told in secret by Marfa Petrovna. I must\nobserve that from the legal point of view the case was far from clear.\nThere was, and I believe still is, living here a woman called Resslich,\na foreigner, who lent small sums of money at interest, and did other\ncommissions, and with this woman Svidrigailov had for a long while close\nand mysterious relations. She had a relation, a niece I believe, living\nwith her, a deaf and dumb girl of fifteen, or perhaps not more than\nfourteen. Resslich hated this girl, and grudged her every crust; she\nused to beat her mercilessly. One day the girl was found hanging in\nthe garret. At the inquest the verdict was suicide. After the usual\nproceedings the matter ended, but, later on, information was given that\nthe child had been... cruelly outraged by Svidrigailov. It is true, this\nwas not clearly established, the information was given by another German\nwoman of loose character whose word could not be trusted; no statement\nwas actually made to the police, thanks to Marfa Petrovna's money and\nexertions; it did not get beyond gossip. And yet the story is a very\nsignificant one. You heard, no doubt, Avdotya Romanovna, when you were\nwith them the story of the servant Philip who died of ill treatment he\nreceived six years ago, before the abolition of serfdom.\"\n\n\"I heard, on the contrary, that this Philip hanged himself.\"\n\n\"Quite so, but what drove him, or rather perhaps disposed him,\nto suicide was the systematic persecution and severity of Mr.\nSvidrigailov.\"\n\n\"I don't know that,\" answered Dounia, dryly. \"I only heard a queer story\nthat Philip was a sort of hypochondriac, a sort of domestic philosopher,\nthe servants used to say, 'he read himself silly,' and that he hanged\nhimself partly on account of Mr. Svidrigailov's mockery of him and not\nhis blows. When I was there he behaved well to the servants, and they\nwere actually fond of him, though they certainly did blame him for\nPhilip's death.\"\n\n\"I perceive, Avdotya Romanovna, that you seem disposed to undertake his\ndefence all of a sudden,\" Luzhin observed, twisting his lips into\nan ambiguous smile, \"there's no doubt that he is an astute man, and\ninsinuating where ladies are concerned, of which Marfa Petrovna, who has\ndied so strangely, is a terrible instance. My only desire has been to be\nof service to you and your mother with my advice, in view of the renewed\nefforts which may certainly be anticipated from him. For my part it's\nmy firm conviction, that he will end in a debtor's prison again.\nMarfa Petrovna had not the slightest intention of settling anything\nsubstantial on him, having regard for his children's interests, and,\nif she left him anything, it would only be the merest sufficiency,\nsomething insignificant and ephemeral, which would not last a year for a\nman of his habits.\"\n\n\"Pyotr Petrovitch, I beg you,\" said Dounia, \"say no more of Mr.\nSvidrigailov. It makes me miserable.\"\n\n\"He has just been to see me,\" said Raskolnikov, breaking his silence for\nthe first time.\n\nThere were exclamations from all, and they all turned to him. Even Pyotr\nPetrovitch was roused.\n\n\"An hour and a half ago, he came in when I was asleep, waked me, and\nintroduced himself,\" Raskolnikov continued. \"He was fairly cheerful\nand at ease, and quite hopes that we shall become friends. He is\nparticularly anxious, by the way, Dounia, for an interview with you, at\nwhich he asked me to assist. He has a proposition to make to you, and\nhe told me about it. He told me, too, that a week before her death Marfa\nPetrovna left you three thousand roubles in her will, Dounia, and that\nyou can receive the money very shortly.\"\n\n\"Thank God!\" cried Pulcheria Alexandrovna, crossing herself. \"Pray for\nher soul, Dounia!\"\n\n\"It's a fact!\" broke from Luzhin.\n\n\"Tell us, what more?\" Dounia urged Raskolnikov.\n\n\"Then he said that he wasn't rich and all the estate was left to his\nchildren who are now with an aunt, then that he was staying somewhere\nnot far from me, but where, I don't know, I didn't ask....\"\n\n\"But what, what does he want to propose to Dounia?\" cried Pulcheria\nAlexandrovna in a fright. \"Did he tell you?\"\n\n\"Yes.\"\n\n\"What was it?\"\n\n\"I'll tell you afterwards.\"\n\nRaskolnikov ceased speaking and turned his attention to his tea.\n\nPyotr Petrovitch looked at his watch.\n\n\"I am compelled to keep a business engagement, and so I shall not be in\nyour way,\" he added with an air of some pique and he began getting up.\n\n\"Don't go, Pyotr Petrovitch,\" said Dounia, \"you intended to spend\nthe evening. Besides, you wrote yourself that you wanted to have an\nexplanation with mother.\"\n\n\"Precisely so, Avdotya Romanovna,\" Pyotr Petrovitch answered\nimpressively, sitting down again, but still holding his hat. \"I\ncertainly desired an explanation with you and your honoured mother upon\na very important point indeed. But as your brother cannot speak openly\nin my presence of some proposals of Mr. Svidrigailov, I, too, do not\ndesire and am not able to speak openly... in the presence of others...\nof certain matters of the greatest gravity. Moreover, my most weighty\nand urgent request has been disregarded....\"\n\nAssuming an aggrieved air, Luzhin relapsed into dignified silence.\n\n\"Your request that my brother should not be present at our meeting was\ndisregarded solely at my insistance,\" said Dounia. \"You wrote that you\nhad been insulted by my brother; I think that this must be explained at\nonce, and you must be reconciled. And if Rodya really has insulted you,\nthen he _should_ and _will_ apologise.\"\n\nPyotr Petrovitch took a stronger line.\n\n\"There are insults, Avdotya Romanovna, which no goodwill can make us\nforget. There is a line in everything which it is dangerous to overstep;\nand when it has been overstepped, there is no return.\"\n\n\"That wasn't what I was speaking of exactly, Pyotr Petrovitch,\" Dounia\ninterrupted with some impatience. \"Please understand that our whole\nfuture depends now on whether all this is explained and set right as\nsoon as possible. I tell you frankly at the start that I cannot look at\nit in any other light, and if you have the least regard for me, all this\nbusiness must be ended to-day, however hard that may be. I repeat that\nif my brother is to blame he will ask your forgiveness.\"\n\n\"I am surprised at your putting the question like that,\" said Luzhin,\ngetting more and more irritated. \"Esteeming, and so to say, adoring you,\nI may at the same time, very well indeed, be able to dislike some member\nof your family. Though I lay claim to the happiness of your hand, I\ncannot accept duties incompatible with...\"\n\n\"Ah, don't be so ready to take offence, Pyotr Petrovitch,\" Dounia\ninterrupted with feeling, \"and be the sensible and generous man I have\nalways considered, and wish to consider, you to be. I've given you a\ngreat promise, I am your betrothed. Trust me in this matter and, believe\nme, I shall be capable of judging impartially. My assuming the part of\njudge is as much a surprise for my brother as for you. When I insisted\non his coming to our interview to-day after your letter, I told\nhim nothing of what I meant to do. Understand that, if you are not\nreconciled, I must choose between you--it must be either you or he. That\nis how the question rests on your side and on his. I don't want to be\nmistaken in my choice, and I must not be. For your sake I must break off\nwith my brother, for my brother's sake I must break off with you. I can\nfind out for certain now whether he is a brother to me, and I want to\nknow it; and of you, whether I am dear to you, whether you esteem me,\nwhether you are the husband for me.\"\n\n\"Avdotya Romanovna,\" Luzhin declared huffily, \"your words are of too\nmuch consequence to me; I will say more, they are offensive in view\nof the position I have the honour to occupy in relation to you. To say\nnothing of your strange and offensive setting me on a level with an\nimpertinent boy, you admit the possibility of breaking your promise to\nme. You say 'you or he,' showing thereby of how little consequence I\nam in your eyes... I cannot let this pass considering the relationship\nand... the obligations existing between us.\"\n\n\"What!\" cried Dounia, flushing. \"I set your interest beside all that has\nhitherto been most precious in my life, what has made up the _whole_ of\nmy life, and here you are offended at my making too _little_ account of\nyou.\"\n\nRaskolnikov smiled sarcastically, Razumihin fidgeted, but Pyotr\nPetrovitch did not accept the reproof; on the contrary, at every word he\nbecame more persistent and irritable, as though he relished it.\n\n\"Love for the future partner of your life, for your husband, ought to\noutweigh your love for your brother,\" he pronounced sententiously, \"and\nin any case I cannot be put on the same level.... Although I said so\nemphatically that I would not speak openly in your brother's presence,\nnevertheless, I intend now to ask your honoured mother for a necessary\nexplanation on a point of great importance closely affecting my dignity.\nYour son,\" he turned to Pulcheria Alexandrovna, \"yesterday in the\npresence of Mr. Razsudkin (or... I think that's it? excuse me I have\nforgotten your surname,\" he bowed politely to Razumihin) \"insulted me by\nmisrepresenting the idea I expressed to you in a private conversation,\ndrinking coffee, that is, that marriage with a poor girl who has had\nexperience of trouble is more advantageous from the conjugal point of\nview than with one who has lived in luxury, since it is more profitable\nfor the moral character. Your son intentionally exaggerated the\nsignificance of my words and made them ridiculous, accusing me of\nmalicious intentions, and, as far as I could see, relied upon your\ncorrespondence with him. I shall consider myself happy, Pulcheria\nAlexandrovna, if it is possible for you to convince me of an opposite\nconclusion, and thereby considerately reassure me. Kindly let me know\nin what terms precisely you repeated my words in your letter to Rodion\nRomanovitch.\"\n\n\"I don't remember,\" faltered Pulcheria Alexandrovna. \"I repeated them as\nI understood them. I don't know how Rodya repeated them to you, perhaps\nhe exaggerated.\"\n\n\"He could not have exaggerated them, except at your instigation.\"\n\n\"Pyotr Petrovitch,\" Pulcheria Alexandrovna declared with dignity, \"the\nproof that Dounia and I did not take your words in a very bad sense is\nthe fact that we are here.\"\n\n\"Good, mother,\" said Dounia approvingly.\n\n\"Then this is my fault again,\" said Luzhin, aggrieved.\n\n\"Well, Pyotr Petrovitch, you keep blaming Rodion, but you yourself have\njust written what was false about him,\" Pulcheria Alexandrovna added,\ngaining courage.\n\n\"I don't remember writing anything false.\"\n\n\"You wrote,\" Raskolnikov said sharply, not turning to Luzhin, \"that I\ngave money yesterday not to the widow of the man who was killed, as was\nthe fact, but to his daughter (whom I had never seen till yesterday).\nYou wrote this to make dissension between me and my family, and for that\nobject added coarse expressions about the conduct of a girl whom you\ndon't know. All that is mean slander.\"\n\n\"Excuse me, sir,\" said Luzhin, quivering with fury. \"I enlarged upon\nyour qualities and conduct in my letter solely in response to your\nsister's and mother's inquiries, how I found you, and what impression\nyou made on me. As for what you've alluded to in my letter, be so good\nas to point out one word of falsehood, show, that is, that you didn't\nthrow away your money, and that there are not worthless persons in that\nfamily, however unfortunate.\"\n\n\"To my thinking, you, with all your virtues, are not worth the little\nfinger of that unfortunate girl at whom you throw stones.\"\n\n\"Would you go so far then as to let her associate with your mother and\nsister?\"\n\n\"I have done so already, if you care to know. I made her sit down to-day\nwith mother and Dounia.\"\n\n\"Rodya!\" cried Pulcheria Alexandrovna. Dounia crimsoned, Razumihin\nknitted his brows. Luzhin smiled with lofty sarcasm.\n\n\"You may see for yourself, Avdotya Romanovna,\" he said, \"whether it is\npossible for us to agree. I hope now that this question is at an end,\nonce and for all. I will withdraw, that I may not hinder the pleasures\nof family intimacy, and the discussion of secrets.\" He got up from his\nchair and took his hat. \"But in withdrawing, I venture to request\nthat for the future I may be spared similar meetings, and, so to\nsay, compromises. I appeal particularly to you, honoured Pulcheria\nAlexandrovna, on this subject, the more as my letter was addressed to\nyou and to no one else.\"\n\nPulcheria Alexandrovna was a little offended.\n\n\"You seem to think we are completely under your authority, Pyotr\nPetrovitch. Dounia has told you the reason your desire was disregarded,\nshe had the best intentions. And indeed you write as though you were\nlaying commands upon me. Are we to consider every desire of yours as\na command? Let me tell you on the contrary that you ought to show\nparticular delicacy and consideration for us now, because we have thrown\nup everything, and have come here relying on you, and so we are in any\ncase in a sense in your hands.\"\n\n\"That is not quite true, Pulcheria Alexandrovna, especially at the\npresent moment, when the news has come of Marfa Petrovna's legacy, which\nseems indeed very apropos, judging from the new tone you take to me,\" he\nadded sarcastically.\n\n\"Judging from that remark, we may certainly presume that you were\nreckoning on our helplessness,\" Dounia observed irritably.\n\n\"But now in any case I cannot reckon on it, and I particularly desire\nnot to hinder your discussion of the secret proposals of Arkady\nIvanovitch Svidrigailov, which he has entrusted to your brother and\nwhich have, I perceive, a great and possibly a very agreeable interest\nfor you.\"\n\n\"Good heavens!\" cried Pulcheria Alexandrovna.\n\nRazumihin could not sit still on his chair.\n\n\"Aren't you ashamed now, sister?\" asked Raskolnikov.\n\n\"I am ashamed, Rodya,\" said Dounia. \"Pyotr Petrovitch, go away,\" she\nturned to him, white with anger.\n\nPyotr Petrovitch had apparently not at all expected such a conclusion.\nHe had too much confidence in himself, in his power and in the\nhelplessness of his victims. He could not believe it even now. He turned\npale, and his lips quivered.\n\n\"Avdotya Romanovna, if I go out of this door now, after such a\ndismissal, then, you may reckon on it, I will never come back. Consider\nwhat you are doing. My word is not to be shaken.\"\n\n\"What insolence!\" cried Dounia, springing up from her seat. \"I don't\nwant you to come back again.\"\n\n\"What! So that's how it stands!\" cried Luzhin, utterly unable to the\nlast moment to believe in the rupture and so completely thrown out of\nhis reckoning now. \"So that's how it stands! But do you know, Avdotya\nRomanovna, that I might protest?\"\n\n\"What right have you to speak to her like that?\" Pulcheria Alexandrovna\nintervened hotly. \"And what can you protest about? What rights have you?\nAm I to give my Dounia to a man like you? Go away, leave us altogether!\nWe are to blame for having agreed to a wrong action, and I above\nall....\"\n\n\"But you have bound me, Pulcheria Alexandrovna,\" Luzhin stormed in a\nfrenzy, \"by your promise, and now you deny it and... besides... I have\nbeen led on account of that into expenses....\"\n\nThis last complaint was so characteristic of Pyotr Petrovitch, that\nRaskolnikov, pale with anger and with the effort of restraining it,\ncould not help breaking into laughter. But Pulcheria Alexandrovna was\nfurious.\n\n\"Expenses? What expenses? Are you speaking of our trunk? But the\nconductor brought it for nothing for you. Mercy on us, we have bound\nyou! What are you thinking about, Pyotr Petrovitch, it was you bound us,\nhand and foot, not we!\"\n\n\"Enough, mother, no more please,\" Avdotya Romanovna implored. \"Pyotr\nPetrovitch, do be kind and go!\"\n\n\"I am going, but one last word,\" he said, quite unable to control\nhimself. \"Your mamma seems to have entirely forgotten that I made up my\nmind to take you, so to speak, after the gossip of the town had spread\nall over the district in regard to your reputation. Disregarding public\nopinion for your sake and reinstating your reputation, I certainly\nmight very well reckon on a fitting return, and might indeed look for\ngratitude on your part. And my eyes have only now been opened! I see\nmyself that I may have acted very, very recklessly in disregarding the\nuniversal verdict....\"\n\n\"Does the fellow want his head smashed?\" cried Razumihin, jumping up.\n\n\"You are a mean and spiteful man!\" cried Dounia.\n\n\"Not a word! Not a movement!\" cried Raskolnikov, holding Razumihin back;\nthen going close up to Luzhin, \"Kindly leave the room!\" he said quietly\nand distinctly, \"and not a word more or...\"\n\nPyotr Petrovitch gazed at him for some seconds with a pale face that\nworked with anger, then he turned, went out, and rarely has any man\ncarried away in his heart such vindictive hatred as he felt against\nRaskolnikov. Him, and him alone, he blamed for everything. It is\nnoteworthy that as he went downstairs he still imagined that his case\nwas perhaps not utterly lost, and that, so far as the ladies were\nconcerned, all might \"very well indeed\" be set right again.\n\n\n\nCHAPTER III\n\nThe fact was that up to the last moment he had never expected such an\nending; he had been overbearing to the last degree, never dreaming that\ntwo destitute and defenceless women could escape from his control. This\nconviction was strengthened by his vanity and conceit, a conceit to\nthe point of fatuity. Pyotr Petrovitch, who had made his way up from\ninsignificance, was morbidly given to self-admiration, had the highest\nopinion of his intelligence and capacities, and sometimes even gloated\nin solitude over his image in the glass. But what he loved and valued\nabove all was the money he had amassed by his labour, and by all sorts\nof devices: that money made him the equal of all who had been his\nsuperiors.\n\nWhen he had bitterly reminded Dounia that he had decided to take her in\nspite of evil report, Pyotr Petrovitch had spoken with perfect sincerity\nand had, indeed, felt genuinely indignant at such \"black ingratitude.\"\nAnd yet, when he made Dounia his offer, he was fully aware of the\ngroundlessness of all the gossip. The story had been everywhere\ncontradicted by Marfa Petrovna, and was by then disbelieved by all the\ntownspeople, who were warm in Dounia'a defence. And he would not have\ndenied that he knew all that at the time. Yet he still thought highly\nof his own resolution in lifting Dounia to his level and regarded it as\nsomething heroic. In speaking of it to Dounia, he had let out the secret\nfeeling he cherished and admired, and he could not understand that\nothers should fail to admire it too. He had called on Raskolnikov with\nthe feelings of a benefactor who is about to reap the fruits of his good\ndeeds and to hear agreeable flattery. And as he went downstairs now, he\nconsidered himself most undeservedly injured and unrecognised.\n\nDounia was simply essential to him; to do without her was unthinkable.\nFor many years he had had voluptuous dreams of marriage, but he had\ngone on waiting and amassing money. He brooded with relish, in profound\nsecret, over the image of a girl--virtuous, poor (she must be poor),\nvery young, very pretty, of good birth and education, very timid, one\nwho had suffered much, and was completely humbled before him, one who\nwould all her life look on him as her saviour, worship him, admire him\nand only him. How many scenes, how many amorous episodes he had imagined\non this seductive and playful theme, when his work was over! And,\nbehold, the dream of so many years was all but realised; the beauty and\neducation of Avdotya Romanovna had impressed him; her helpless position\nhad been a great allurement; in her he had found even more than he\ndreamed of. Here was a girl of pride, character, virtue, of education\nand breeding superior to his own (he felt that), and this creature would\nbe slavishly grateful all her life for his heroic condescension, and\nwould humble herself in the dust before him, and he would have absolute,\nunbounded power over her!... Not long before, he had, too, after long\nreflection and hesitation, made an important change in his career and\nwas now entering on a wider circle of business. With this change his\ncherished dreams of rising into a higher class of society seemed likely\nto be realised.... He was, in fact, determined to try his fortune\nin Petersburg. He knew that women could do a very great deal. The\nfascination of a charming, virtuous, highly educated woman might make\nhis way easier, might do wonders in attracting people to him, throwing\nan aureole round him, and now everything was in ruins! This sudden\nhorrible rupture affected him like a clap of thunder; it was like a\nhideous joke, an absurdity. He had only been a tiny bit masterful,\nhad not even time to speak out, had simply made a joke, been carried\naway--and it had ended so seriously. And, of course, too, he did love\nDounia in his own way; he already possessed her in his dreams--and all\nat once! No! The next day, the very next day, it must all be set right,\nsmoothed over, settled. Above all he must crush that conceited milksop\nwho was the cause of it all. With a sick feeling he could not help\nrecalling Razumihin too, but, he soon reassured himself on that score;\nas though a fellow like that could be put on a level with him! The man\nhe really dreaded in earnest was Svidrigailov.... He had, in short, a\ngreat deal to attend to....\n\n*****\n\n\"No, I, I am more to blame than anyone!\" said Dounia, kissing and\nembracing her mother. \"I was tempted by his money, but on my honour,\nbrother, I had no idea he was such a base man. If I had seen through him\nbefore, nothing would have tempted me! Don't blame me, brother!\"\n\n\"God has delivered us! God has delivered us!\" Pulcheria Alexandrovna\nmuttered, but half consciously, as though scarcely able to realise what\nhad happened.\n\nThey were all relieved, and in five minutes they were laughing. Only now\nand then Dounia turned white and frowned, remembering what had passed.\nPulcheria Alexandrovna was surprised to find that she, too, was glad:\nshe had only that morning thought rupture with Luzhin a terrible\nmisfortune. Razumihin was delighted. He did not yet dare to express his\njoy fully, but he was in a fever of excitement as though a ton-weight\nhad fallen off his heart. Now he had the right to devote his life to\nthem, to serve them.... Anything might happen now! But he felt afraid to\nthink of further possibilities and dared not let his imagination\nrange. But Raskolnikov sat still in the same place, almost sullen and\nindifferent. Though he had been the most insistent on getting rid of\nLuzhin, he seemed now the least concerned at what had happened. Dounia\ncould not help thinking that he was still angry with her, and Pulcheria\nAlexandrovna watched him timidly.\n\n\"What did Svidrigailov say to you?\" said Dounia, approaching him.\n\n\"Yes, yes!\" cried Pulcheria Alexandrovna.\n\nRaskolnikov raised his head.\n\n\"He wants to make you a present of ten thousand roubles and he desires\nto see you once in my presence.\"\n\n\"See her! On no account!\" cried Pulcheria Alexandrovna. \"And how dare he\noffer her money!\"\n\nThen Raskolnikov repeated (rather dryly) his conversation with\nSvidrigailov, omitting his account of the ghostly visitations of Marfa\nPetrovna, wishing to avoid all unnecessary talk.\n\n\"What answer did you give him?\" asked Dounia.\n\n\"At first I said I would not take any message to you. Then he said that\nhe would do his utmost to obtain an interview with you without my help.\nHe assured me that his passion for you was a passing infatuation, now he\nhas no feeling for you. He doesn't want you to marry Luzhin.... His talk\nwas altogether rather muddled.\"\n\n\"How do you explain him to yourself, Rodya? How did he strike you?\"\n\n\"I must confess I don't quite understand him. He offers you ten\nthousand, and yet says he is not well off. He says he is going away, and\nin ten minutes he forgets he has said it. Then he says he is going to be\nmarried and has already fixed on the girl.... No doubt he has a motive,\nand probably a bad one. But it's odd that he should be so clumsy about\nit if he had any designs against you.... Of course, I refused this\nmoney on your account, once for all. Altogether, I thought him very\nstrange.... One might almost think he was mad. But I may be mistaken;\nthat may only be the part he assumes. The death of Marfa Petrovna seems\nto have made a great impression on him.\"\n\n\"God rest her soul,\" exclaimed Pulcheria Alexandrovna. \"I shall always,\nalways pray for her! Where should we be now, Dounia, without this three\nthousand! It's as though it had fallen from heaven! Why, Rodya, this\nmorning we had only three roubles in our pocket and Dounia and I were\njust planning to pawn her watch, so as to avoid borrowing from that man\nuntil he offered help.\"\n\nDounia seemed strangely impressed by Svidrigailov's offer. She still\nstood meditating.\n\n\"He has got some terrible plan,\" she said in a half whisper to herself,\nalmost shuddering.\n\nRaskolnikov noticed this disproportionate terror.\n\n\"I fancy I shall have to see him more than once again,\" he said to\nDounia.\n\n\"We will watch him! I will track him out!\" cried Razumihin, vigorously.\n\"I won't lose sight of him. Rodya has given me leave. He said to me\nhimself just now. 'Take care of my sister.' Will you give me leave, too,\nAvdotya Romanovna?\"\n\nDounia smiled and held out her hand, but the look of anxiety did not\nleave her face. Pulcheria Alexandrovna gazed at her timidly, but the\nthree thousand roubles had obviously a soothing effect on her.\n\nA quarter of an hour later, they were all engaged in a lively\nconversation. Even Raskolnikov listened attentively for some time,\nthough he did not talk. Razumihin was the speaker.\n\n\"And why, why should you go away?\" he flowed on ecstatically. \"And what\nare you to do in a little town? The great thing is, you are all here\ntogether and you need one another--you do need one another, believe me.\nFor a time, anyway.... Take me into partnership, and I assure you we'll\nplan a capital enterprise. Listen! I'll explain it all in detail to\nyou, the whole project! It all flashed into my head this morning,\nbefore anything had happened... I tell you what; I have an uncle, I must\nintroduce him to you (a most accommodating and respectable old man).\nThis uncle has got a capital of a thousand roubles, and he lives on his\npension and has no need of that money. For the last two years he has\nbeen bothering me to borrow it from him and pay him six per cent.\ninterest. I know what that means; he simply wants to help me. Last year\nI had no need of it, but this year I resolved to borrow it as soon as\nhe arrived. Then you lend me another thousand of your three and we have\nenough for a start, so we'll go into partnership, and what are we going\nto do?\"\n\nThen Razumihin began to unfold his project, and he explained at length\nthat almost all our publishers and booksellers know nothing at all\nof what they are selling, and for that reason they are usually bad\npublishers, and that any decent publications pay as a rule and give\na profit, sometimes a considerable one. Razumihin had, indeed, been\ndreaming of setting up as a publisher. For the last two years he had\nbeen working in publishers' offices, and knew three European languages\nwell, though he had told Raskolnikov six days before that he was\n\"schwach\" in German with an object of persuading him to take half his\ntranslation and half the payment for it. He had told a lie then, and\nRaskolnikov knew he was lying.\n\n\"Why, why should we let our chance slip when we have one of the chief\nmeans of success--money of our own!\" cried Razumihin warmly. \"Of course\nthere will be a lot of work, but we will work, you, Avdotya Romanovna,\nI, Rodion.... You get a splendid profit on some books nowadays! And\nthe great point of the business is that we shall know just what wants\ntranslating, and we shall be translating, publishing, learning all at\nonce. I can be of use because I have experience. For nearly two years\nI've been scuttling about among the publishers, and now I know every\ndetail of their business. You need not be a saint to make pots, believe\nme! And why, why should we let our chance slip! Why, I know--and I kept\nthe secret--two or three books which one might get a hundred roubles\nsimply for thinking of translating and publishing. Indeed, and I would\nnot take five hundred for the very idea of one of them. And what do you\nthink? If I were to tell a publisher, I dare say he'd hesitate--they are\nsuch blockheads! And as for the business side, printing, paper, selling,\nyou trust to me, I know my way about. We'll begin in a small way and go\non to a large. In any case it will get us our living and we shall get\nback our capital.\"\n\nDounia's eyes shone.\n\n\"I like what you are saying, Dmitri Prokofitch!\" she said.\n\n\"I know nothing about it, of course,\" put in Pulcheria Alexandrovna,\n\"it may be a good idea, but again God knows. It's new and untried. Of\ncourse, we must remain here at least for a time.\" She looked at Rodya.\n\n\"What do you think, brother?\" said Dounia.\n\n\"I think he's got a very good idea,\" he answered. \"Of course, it's too\nsoon to dream of a publishing firm, but we certainly might bring out\nfive or six books and be sure of success. I know of one book myself\nwhich would be sure to go well. And as for his being able to manage it,\nthere's no doubt about that either. He knows the business.... But we can\ntalk it over later....\"\n\n\"Hurrah!\" cried Razumihin. \"Now, stay, there's a flat here in this\nhouse, belonging to the same owner. It's a special flat apart, not\ncommunicating with these lodgings. It's furnished, rent moderate,\nthree rooms. Suppose you take them to begin with. I'll pawn your watch\nto-morrow and bring you the money, and everything can be arranged then.\nYou can all three live together, and Rodya will be with you. But where\nare you off to, Rodya?\"\n\n\"What, Rodya, you are going already?\" Pulcheria Alexandrovna asked in\ndismay.\n\n\"At such a minute?\" cried Razumihin.\n\nDounia looked at her brother with incredulous wonder. He held his cap in\nhis hand, he was preparing to leave them.\n\n\"One would think you were burying me or saying good-bye for ever,\" he\nsaid somewhat oddly. He attempted to smile, but it did not turn out a\nsmile. \"But who knows, perhaps it is the last time we shall see each\nother...\" he let slip accidentally. It was what he was thinking, and it\nsomehow was uttered aloud.\n\n\"What is the matter with you?\" cried his mother.\n\n\"Where are you going, Rodya?\" asked Dounia rather strangely.\n\n\"Oh, I'm quite obliged to...\" he answered vaguely, as though hesitating\nwhat he would say. But there was a look of sharp determination in his\nwhite face.\n\n\"I meant to say... as I was coming here... I meant to tell you, mother,\nand you, Dounia, that it would be better for us to part for a time. I\nfeel ill, I am not at peace.... I will come afterwards, I will come of\nmyself... when it's possible. I remember you and love you.... Leave me,\nleave me alone. I decided this even before... I'm absolutely resolved on\nit. Whatever may come to me, whether I come to ruin or not, I want to be\nalone. Forget me altogether, it's better. Don't inquire about me. When\nI can, I'll come of myself or... I'll send for you. Perhaps it will all\ncome back, but now if you love me, give me up... else I shall begin to\nhate you, I feel it.... Good-bye!\"\n\n\"Good God!\" cried Pulcheria Alexandrovna. Both his mother and his sister\nwere terribly alarmed. Razumihin was also.\n\n\"Rodya, Rodya, be reconciled with us! Let us be as before!\" cried his\npoor mother.\n\nHe turned slowly to the door and slowly went out of the room. Dounia\novertook him.\n\n\"Brother, what are you doing to mother?\" she whispered, her eyes\nflashing with indignation.\n\nHe looked dully at her.\n\n\"No matter, I shall come.... I'm coming,\" he muttered in an undertone,\nas though not fully conscious of what he was saying, and he went out of\nthe room.\n\n\"Wicked, heartless egoist!\" cried Dounia.\n\n\"He is insane, but not heartless. He is mad! Don't you see it? You're\nheartless after that!\" Razumihin whispered in her ear, squeezing\nher hand tightly. \"I shall be back directly,\" he shouted to the\nhorror-stricken mother, and he ran out of the room.\n\nRaskolnikov was waiting for him at the end of the passage.\n\n\"I knew you would run after me,\" he said. \"Go back to them--be with\nthem... be with them to-morrow and always.... I... perhaps I shall\ncome... if I can. Good-bye.\"\n\nAnd without holding out his hand he walked away.\n\n\"But where are you going? What are you doing? What's the matter with\nyou? How can you go on like this?\" Razumihin muttered, at his wits' end.\n\nRaskolnikov stopped once more.\n\n\"Once for all, never ask me about anything. I have nothing to tell you.\nDon't come to see me. Maybe I'll come here.... Leave me, but _don't\nleave_ them. Do you understand me?\"\n\nIt was dark in the corridor, they were standing near the lamp. For a\nminute they were looking at one another in silence. Razumihin remembered\nthat minute all his life. Raskolnikov's burning and intent eyes\ngrew more penetrating every moment, piercing into his soul, into his\nconsciousness. Suddenly Razumihin started. Something strange, as it\nwere, passed between them.... Some idea, some hint, as it were, slipped,\nsomething awful, hideous, and suddenly understood on both sides....\nRazumihin turned pale.\n\n\"Do you understand now?\" said Raskolnikov, his face twitching nervously.\n\"Go back, go to them,\" he said suddenly, and turning quickly, he went\nout of the house.\n\nI will not attempt to describe how Razumihin went back to the ladies,\nhow he soothed them, how he protested that Rodya needed rest in his\nillness, protested that Rodya was sure to come, that he would come every\nday, that he was very, very much upset, that he must not be irritated,\nthat he, Razumihin, would watch over him, would get him a doctor, the\nbest doctor, a consultation.... In fact from that evening Razumihin took\nhis place with them as a son and a brother.\n\n\n\nCHAPTER IV\n\nRaskolnikov went straight to the house on the canal bank where Sonia\nlived. It was an old green house of three storeys. He found the\nporter and obtained from him vague directions as to the whereabouts of\nKapernaumov, the tailor. Having found in the corner of the courtyard\nthe entrance to the dark and narrow staircase, he mounted to the second\nfloor and came out into a gallery that ran round the whole second storey\nover the yard. While he was wandering in the darkness, uncertain where\nto turn for Kapernaumov's door, a door opened three paces from him; he\nmechanically took hold of it.\n\n\"Who is there?\" a woman's voice asked uneasily.\n\n\"It's I... come to see you,\" answered Raskolnikov and he walked into the\ntiny entry.\n\nOn a broken chair stood a candle in a battered copper candlestick.\n\n\"It's you! Good heavens!\" cried Sonia weakly, and she stood rooted to\nthe spot.\n\n\"Which is your room? This way?\" and Raskolnikov, trying not to look at\nher, hastened in.\n\nA minute later Sonia, too, came in with the candle, set down the\ncandlestick and, completely disconcerted, stood before him inexpressibly\nagitated and apparently frightened by his unexpected visit. The colour\nrushed suddenly to her pale face and tears came into her eyes... She\nfelt sick and ashamed and happy, too.... Raskolnikov turned away quickly\nand sat on a chair by the table. He scanned the room in a rapid glance.\n\nIt was a large but exceedingly low-pitched room, the only one let by the\nKapernaumovs, to whose rooms a closed door led in the wall on the left.\nIn the opposite side on the right hand wall was another door, always\nkept locked. That led to the next flat, which formed a separate lodging.\nSonia's room looked like a barn; it was a very irregular quadrangle and\nthis gave it a grotesque appearance. A wall with three windows looking\nout on to the canal ran aslant so that one corner formed a very acute\nangle, and it was difficult to see in it without very strong light.\nThe other corner was disproportionately obtuse. There was scarcely any\nfurniture in the big room: in the corner on the right was a bedstead,\nbeside it, nearest the door, a chair. A plain, deal table covered by a\nblue cloth stood against the same wall, close to the door into the other\nflat. Two rush-bottom chairs stood by the table. On the opposite\nwall near the acute angle stood a small plain wooden chest of drawers\nlooking, as it were, lost in a desert. That was all there was in the\nroom. The yellow, scratched and shabby wall-paper was black in the\ncorners. It must have been damp and full of fumes in the winter. There\nwas every sign of poverty; even the bedstead had no curtain.\n\nSonia looked in silence at her visitor, who was so attentively and\nunceremoniously scrutinising her room, and even began at last to tremble\nwith terror, as though she was standing before her judge and the arbiter\nof her destinies.\n\n\"I am late.... It's eleven, isn't it?\" he asked, still not lifting his\neyes.\n\n\"Yes,\" muttered Sonia, \"oh yes, it is,\" she added, hastily, as though in\nthat lay her means of escape. \"My landlady's clock has just struck... I\nheard it myself....\"\n\n\"I've come to you for the last time,\" Raskolnikov went on gloomily,\nalthough this was the first time. \"I may perhaps not see you again...\"\n\n\"Are you... going away?\"\n\n\"I don't know... to-morrow....\"\n\n\"Then you are not coming to Katerina Ivanovna to-morrow?\" Sonia's voice\nshook.\n\n\"I don't know. I shall know to-morrow morning.... Never mind that: I've\ncome to say one word....\"\n\nHe raised his brooding eyes to her and suddenly noticed that he was\nsitting down while she was all the while standing before him.\n\n\"Why are you standing? Sit down,\" he said in a changed voice, gentle and\nfriendly.\n\nShe sat down. He looked kindly and almost compassionately at her.\n\n\"How thin you are! What a hand! Quite transparent, like a dead hand.\"\n\nHe took her hand. Sonia smiled faintly.\n\n\"I have always been like that,\" she said.\n\n\"Even when you lived at home?\"\n\n\"Yes.\"\n\n\"Of course, you were,\" he added abruptly and the expression of his face\nand the sound of his voice changed again suddenly.\n\nHe looked round him once more.\n\n\"You rent this room from the Kapernaumovs?\"\n\n\"Yes....\"\n\n\"They live there, through that door?\"\n\n\"Yes.... They have another room like this.\"\n\n\"All in one room?\"\n\n\"Yes.\"\n\n\"I should be afraid in your room at night,\" he observed gloomily.\n\n\"They are very good people, very kind,\" answered Sonia, who still seemed\nbewildered, \"and all the furniture, everything... everything is theirs.\nAnd they are very kind and the children, too, often come to see me.\"\n\n\"They all stammer, don't they?\"\n\n\"Yes.... He stammers and he's lame. And his wife, too.... It's not\nexactly that she stammers, but she can't speak plainly. She is a very\nkind woman. And he used to be a house serf. And there are seven\nchildren... and it's only the eldest one that stammers and the others\nare simply ill... but they don't stammer.... But where did you hear\nabout them?\" she added with some surprise.\n\n\"Your father told me, then. He told me all about you.... And how you\nwent out at six o'clock and came back at nine and how Katerina Ivanovna\nknelt down by your bed.\"\n\nSonia was confused.\n\n\"I fancied I saw him to-day,\" she whispered hesitatingly.\n\n\"Whom?\"\n\n\"Father. I was walking in the street, out there at the corner, about ten\no'clock and he seemed to be walking in front. It looked just like him. I\nwanted to go to Katerina Ivanovna....\"\n\n\"You were walking in the streets?\"\n\n\"Yes,\" Sonia whispered abruptly, again overcome with confusion and\nlooking down.\n\n\"Katerina Ivanovna used to beat you, I dare say?\"\n\n\"Oh no, what are you saying? No!\" Sonia looked at him almost with\ndismay.\n\n\"You love her, then?\"\n\n\"Love her? Of course!\" said Sonia with plaintive emphasis, and she\nclasped her hands in distress. \"Ah, you don't.... If you only knew!\nYou see, she is quite like a child.... Her mind is quite unhinged, you\nsee... from sorrow. And how clever she used to be... how generous... how\nkind! Ah, you don't understand, you don't understand!\"\n\nSonia said this as though in despair, wringing her hands in excitement\nand distress. Her pale cheeks flushed, there was a look of anguish in\nher eyes. It was clear that she was stirred to the very depths, that\nshe was longing to speak, to champion, to express something. A sort\nof _insatiable_ compassion, if one may so express it, was reflected in\nevery feature of her face.\n\n\"Beat me! how can you? Good heavens, beat me! And if she did beat me,\nwhat then? What of it? You know nothing, nothing about it.... She is so\nunhappy... ah, how unhappy! And ill.... She is seeking righteousness,\nshe is pure. She has such faith that there must be righteousness\neverywhere and she expects it.... And if you were to torture her, she\nwouldn't do wrong. She doesn't see that it's impossible for people to\nbe righteous and she is angry at it. Like a child, like a child. She is\ngood!\"\n\n\"And what will happen to you?\"\n\nSonia looked at him inquiringly.\n\n\"They are left on your hands, you see. They were all on your hands\nbefore, though.... And your father came to you to beg for drink. Well,\nhow will it be now?\"\n\n\"I don't know,\" Sonia articulated mournfully.\n\n\"Will they stay there?\"\n\n\"I don't know.... They are in debt for the lodging, but the landlady,\nI hear, said to-day that she wanted to get rid of them, and Katerina\nIvanovna says that she won't stay another minute.\"\n\n\"How is it she is so bold? She relies upon you?\"\n\n\"Oh, no, don't talk like that.... We are one, we live like one.\" Sonia\nwas agitated again and even angry, as though a canary or some other\nlittle bird were to be angry. \"And what could she do? What, what could\nshe do?\" she persisted, getting hot and excited. \"And how she cried\nto-day! Her mind is unhinged, haven't you noticed it? At one minute she\nis worrying like a child that everything should be right to-morrow, the\nlunch and all that.... Then she is wringing her hands, spitting blood,\nweeping, and all at once she will begin knocking her head against the\nwall, in despair. Then she will be comforted again. She builds all her\nhopes on you; she says that you will help her now and that she will\nborrow a little money somewhere and go to her native town with me and\nset up a boarding school for the daughters of gentlemen and take me to\nsuperintend it, and we will begin a new splendid life. And she kisses\nand hugs me, comforts me, and you know she has such faith, such faith in\nher fancies! One can't contradict her. And all the day long she has been\nwashing, cleaning, mending. She dragged the wash tub into the room with\nher feeble hands and sank on the bed, gasping for breath. We went this\nmorning to the shops to buy shoes for Polenka and Lida for theirs are\nquite worn out. Only the money we'd reckoned wasn't enough, not nearly\nenough. And she picked out such dear little boots, for she has taste,\nyou don't know. And there in the shop she burst out crying before the\nshopmen because she hadn't enough.... Ah, it was sad to see her....\"\n\n\"Well, after that I can understand your living like this,\" Raskolnikov\nsaid with a bitter smile.\n\n\"And aren't you sorry for them? Aren't you sorry?\" Sonia flew at him\nagain. \"Why, I know, you gave your last penny yourself, though you'd\nseen nothing of it, and if you'd seen everything, oh dear! And how\noften, how often I've brought her to tears! Only last week! Yes, I! Only\na week before his death. I was cruel! And how often I've done it! Ah,\nI've been wretched at the thought of it all day!\"\n\nSonia wrung her hands as she spoke at the pain of remembering it.\n\n\"You were cruel?\"\n\n\"Yes, I--I. I went to see them,\" she went on, weeping, \"and father said,\n'read me something, Sonia, my head aches, read to me, here's a book.' He\nhad a book he had got from Andrey Semyonovitch Lebeziatnikov, he lives\nthere, he always used to get hold of such funny books. And I said, 'I\ncan't stay,' as I didn't want to read, and I'd gone in chiefly to show\nKaterina Ivanovna some collars. Lizaveta, the pedlar, sold me some\ncollars and cuffs cheap, pretty, new, embroidered ones. Katerina\nIvanovna liked them very much; she put them on and looked at herself\nin the glass and was delighted with them. 'Make me a present of them,\nSonia,' she said, 'please do.' '_Please do_,' she said, she wanted them\nso much. And when could she wear them? They just reminded her of her old\nhappy days. She looked at herself in the glass, admired herself, and she\nhas no clothes at all, no things of her own, hasn't had all these years!\nAnd she never asks anyone for anything; she is proud, she'd sooner give\naway everything. And these she asked for, she liked them so much. And I\nwas sorry to give them. 'What use are they to you, Katerina Ivanovna?' I\nsaid. I spoke like that to her, I ought not to have said that! She gave\nme such a look. And she was so grieved, so grieved at my refusing her.\nAnd it was so sad to see.... And she was not grieved for the collars,\nbut for my refusing, I saw that. Ah, if only I could bring it all back,\nchange it, take back those words! Ah, if I... but it's nothing to you!\"\n\n\"Did you know Lizaveta, the pedlar?\"\n\n\"Yes.... Did you know her?\" Sonia asked with some surprise.\n\n\"Katerina Ivanovna is in consumption, rapid consumption; she will soon\ndie,\" said Raskolnikov after a pause, without answering her question.\n\n\"Oh, no, no, no!\"\n\nAnd Sonia unconsciously clutched both his hands, as though imploring\nthat she should not.\n\n\"But it will be better if she does die.\"\n\n\"No, not better, not at all better!\" Sonia unconsciously repeated in\ndismay.\n\n\"And the children? What can you do except take them to live with you?\"\n\n\"Oh, I don't know,\" cried Sonia, almost in despair, and she put her\nhands to her head.\n\nIt was evident that that idea had very often occurred to her before and\nhe had only roused it again.\n\n\"And, what, if even now, while Katerina Ivanovna is alive, you get ill\nand are taken to the hospital, what will happen then?\" he persisted\npitilessly.\n\n\"How can you? That cannot be!\"\n\nAnd Sonia's face worked with awful terror.\n\n\"Cannot be?\" Raskolnikov went on with a harsh smile. \"You are not\ninsured against it, are you? What will happen to them then? They will\nbe in the street, all of them, she will cough and beg and knock her head\nagainst some wall, as she did to-day, and the children will cry....\nThen she will fall down, be taken to the police station and to the\nhospital, she will die, and the children...\"\n\n\"Oh, no.... God will not let it be!\" broke at last from Sonia's\noverburdened bosom.\n\nShe listened, looking imploringly at him, clasping her hands in dumb\nentreaty, as though it all depended upon him.\n\nRaskolnikov got up and began to walk about the room. A minute passed.\nSonia was standing with her hands and her head hanging in terrible\ndejection.\n\n\"And can't you save? Put by for a rainy day?\" he asked, stopping\nsuddenly before her.\n\n\"No,\" whispered Sonia.\n\n\"Of course not. Have you tried?\" he added almost ironically.\n\n\"Yes.\"\n\n\"And it didn't come off! Of course not! No need to ask.\"\n\nAnd again he paced the room. Another minute passed.\n\n\"You don't get money every day?\"\n\nSonia was more confused than ever and colour rushed into her face again.\n\n\"No,\" she whispered with a painful effort.\n\n\"It will be the same with Polenka, no doubt,\" he said suddenly.\n\n\"No, no! It can't be, no!\" Sonia cried aloud in desperation, as though\nshe had been stabbed. \"God would not allow anything so awful!\"\n\n\"He lets others come to it.\"\n\n\"No, no! God will protect her, God!\" she repeated beside herself.\n\n\"But, perhaps, there is no God at all,\" Raskolnikov answered with a sort\nof malignance, laughed and looked at her.\n\nSonia's face suddenly changed; a tremor passed over it. She looked at\nhim with unutterable reproach, tried to say something, but could not\nspeak and broke into bitter, bitter sobs, hiding her face in her hands.\n\n\"You say Katerina Ivanovna's mind is unhinged; your own mind is\nunhinged,\" he said after a brief silence.\n\nFive minutes passed. He still paced up and down the room in silence, not\nlooking at her. At last he went up to her; his eyes glittered. He put\nhis two hands on her shoulders and looked straight into her tearful\nface. His eyes were hard, feverish and piercing, his lips were\ntwitching. All at once he bent down quickly and dropping to the\nground, kissed her foot. Sonia drew back from him as from a madman. And\ncertainly he looked like a madman.\n\n\"What are you doing to me?\" she muttered, turning pale, and a sudden\nanguish clutched at her heart.\n\nHe stood up at once.\n\n\"I did not bow down to you, I bowed down to all the suffering of\nhumanity,\" he said wildly and walked away to the window. \"Listen,\" he\nadded, turning to her a minute later. \"I said just now to an insolent\nman that he was not worth your little finger... and that I did my sister\nhonour making her sit beside you.\"\n\n\"Ach, you said that to them! And in her presence?\" cried Sonia,\nfrightened. \"Sit down with me! An honour! Why, I'm... dishonourable....\nAh, why did you say that?\"\n\n\"It was not because of your dishonour and your sin I said that of you,\nbut because of your great suffering. But you are a great sinner, that's\ntrue,\" he added almost solemnly, \"and your worst sin is that you have\ndestroyed and betrayed yourself _for nothing_. Isn't that fearful? Isn't\nit fearful that you are living in this filth which you loathe so, and at\nthe same time you know yourself (you've only to open your eyes) that you\nare not helping anyone by it, not saving anyone from anything? Tell me,\"\nhe went on almost in a frenzy, \"how this shame and degradation can exist\nin you side by side with other, opposite, holy feelings? It would be\nbetter, a thousand times better and wiser to leap into the water and end\nit all!\"\n\n\"But what would become of them?\" Sonia asked faintly, gazing at him with\neyes of anguish, but not seeming surprised at his suggestion.\n\nRaskolnikov looked strangely at her. He read it all in her face; so she\nmust have had that thought already, perhaps many times, and earnestly\nshe had thought out in her despair how to end it and so earnestly, that\nnow she scarcely wondered at his suggestion. She had not even noticed\nthe cruelty of his words. (The significance of his reproaches and his\npeculiar attitude to her shame she had, of course, not noticed either,\nand that, too, was clear to him.) But he saw how monstrously the thought\nof her disgraceful, shameful position was torturing her and had long\ntortured her. \"What, what,\" he thought, \"could hitherto have hindered\nher from putting an end to it?\" Only then he realised what those poor\nlittle orphan children and that pitiful half-crazy Katerina Ivanovna,\nknocking her head against the wall in her consumption, meant for Sonia.\n\nBut, nevertheless, it was clear to him again that with her character and\nthe amount of education she had after all received, she could not in any\ncase remain so. He was still confronted by the question, how could she\nhave remained so long in that position without going out of her mind,\nsince she could not bring herself to jump into the water? Of course he\nknew that Sonia's position was an exceptional case, though unhappily not\nunique and not infrequent, indeed; but that very exceptionalness, her\ntinge of education, her previous life might, one would have thought,\nhave killed her at the first step on that revolting path. What held her\nup--surely not depravity? All that infamy had obviously only touched\nher mechanically, not one drop of real depravity had penetrated to her\nheart; he saw that. He saw through her as she stood before him....\n\n\"There are three ways before her,\" he thought, \"the canal, the madhouse,\nor... at last to sink into depravity which obscures the mind and turns\nthe heart to stone.\"\n\nThe last idea was the most revolting, but he was a sceptic, he was\nyoung, abstract, and therefore cruel, and so he could not help believing\nthat the last end was the most likely.\n\n\"But can that be true?\" he cried to himself. \"Can that creature who has\nstill preserved the purity of her spirit be consciously drawn at last\ninto that sink of filth and iniquity? Can the process already have\nbegun? Can it be that she has only been able to bear it till now,\nbecause vice has begun to be less loathsome to her? No, no, that cannot\nbe!\" he cried, as Sonia had just before. \"No, what has kept her from the\ncanal till now is the idea of sin and they, the children.... And if she\nhas not gone out of her mind... but who says she has not gone out of her\nmind? Is she in her senses? Can one talk, can one reason as she does?\nHow can she sit on the edge of the abyss of loathsomeness into which she\nis slipping and refuse to listen when she is told of danger? Does she\nexpect a miracle? No doubt she does. Doesn't that all mean madness?\"\n\nHe stayed obstinately at that thought. He liked that explanation indeed\nbetter than any other. He began looking more intently at her.\n\n\"So you pray to God a great deal, Sonia?\" he asked her.\n\nSonia did not speak; he stood beside her waiting for an answer.\n\n\"What should I be without God?\" she whispered rapidly, forcibly,\nglancing at him with suddenly flashing eyes, and squeezing his hand.\n\n\"Ah, so that is it!\" he thought.\n\n\"And what does God do for you?\" he asked, probing her further.\n\nSonia was silent a long while, as though she could not answer. Her weak\nchest kept heaving with emotion.\n\n\"Be silent! Don't ask! You don't deserve!\" she cried suddenly, looking\nsternly and wrathfully at him.\n\n\"That's it, that's it,\" he repeated to himself.\n\n\"He does everything,\" she whispered quickly, looking down again.\n\n\"That's the way out! That's the explanation,\" he decided, scrutinising\nher with eager curiosity, with a new, strange, almost morbid feeling.\nHe gazed at that pale, thin, irregular, angular little face, those soft\nblue eyes, which could flash with such fire, such stern energy, that\nlittle body still shaking with indignation and anger--and it all seemed\nto him more and more strange, almost impossible. \"She is a religious\nmaniac!\" he repeated to himself.\n\nThere was a book lying on the chest of drawers. He had noticed it every\ntime he paced up and down the room. Now he took it up and looked at it.\nIt was the New Testament in the Russian translation. It was bound in\nleather, old and worn.\n\n\"Where did you get that?\" he called to her across the room.\n\nShe was still standing in the same place, three steps from the table.\n\n\"It was brought me,\" she answered, as it were unwillingly, not looking\nat him.\n\n\"Who brought it?\"\n\n\"Lizaveta, I asked her for it.\"\n\n\"Lizaveta! strange!\" he thought.\n\nEverything about Sonia seemed to him stranger and more wonderful every\nmoment. He carried the book to the candle and began to turn over the\npages.\n\n\"Where is the story of Lazarus?\" he asked suddenly.\n\nSonia looked obstinately at the ground and would not answer. She was\nstanding sideways to the table.\n\n\"Where is the raising of Lazarus? Find it for me, Sonia.\"\n\nShe stole a glance at him.\n\n\"You are not looking in the right place.... It's in the fourth gospel,\"\nshe whispered sternly, without looking at him.\n\n\"Find it and read it to me,\" he said. He sat down with his elbow on the\ntable, leaned his head on his hand and looked away sullenly, prepared to\nlisten.\n\n\"In three weeks' time they'll welcome me in the madhouse! I shall be\nthere if I am not in a worse place,\" he muttered to himself.\n\nSonia heard Raskolnikov's request distrustfully and moved hesitatingly\nto the table. She took the book however.\n\n\"Haven't you read it?\" she asked, looking up at him across the table.\n\nHer voice became sterner and sterner.\n\n\"Long ago.... When I was at school. Read!\"\n\n\"And haven't you heard it in church?\"\n\n\"I... haven't been. Do you often go?\"\n\n\"N-no,\" whispered Sonia.\n\nRaskolnikov smiled.\n\n\"I understand.... And you won't go to your father's funeral to-morrow?\"\n\n\"Yes, I shall. I was at church last week, too... I had a requiem\nservice.\"\n\n\"For whom?\"\n\n\"For Lizaveta. She was killed with an axe.\"\n\nHis nerves were more and more strained. His head began to go round.\n\n\"Were you friends with Lizaveta?\"\n\n\"Yes.... She was good... she used to come... not often... she\ncouldn't.... We used to read together and... talk. She will see God.\"\n\nThe last phrase sounded strange in his ears. And here was something new\nagain: the mysterious meetings with Lizaveta and both of them--religious\nmaniacs.\n\n\"I shall be a religious maniac myself soon! It's infectious!\"\n\n\"Read!\" he cried irritably and insistently.\n\nSonia still hesitated. Her heart was throbbing. She hardly dared to read\nto him. He looked almost with exasperation at the \"unhappy lunatic.\"\n\n\"What for? You don't believe?...\" she whispered softly and as it were\nbreathlessly.\n\n\"Read! I want you to,\" he persisted. \"You used to read to Lizaveta.\"\n\nSonia opened the book and found the place. Her hands were shaking, her\nvoice failed her. Twice she tried to begin and could not bring out the\nfirst syllable.\n\n\"Now a certain man was sick named Lazarus of Bethany...\" she forced\nherself at last to read, but at the third word her voice broke like an\noverstrained string. There was a catch in her breath.\n\nRaskolnikov saw in part why Sonia could not bring herself to read to him\nand the more he saw this, the more roughly and irritably he insisted on\nher doing so. He understood only too well how painful it was for her\nto betray and unveil all that was her _own_. He understood that these\nfeelings really were her _secret treasure_, which she had kept perhaps\nfor years, perhaps from childhood, while she lived with an unhappy\nfather and a distracted stepmother crazed by grief, in the midst of\nstarving children and unseemly abuse and reproaches. But at the same\ntime he knew now and knew for certain that, although it filled her with\ndread and suffering, yet she had a tormenting desire to read and to read\nto _him_ that he might hear it, and to read _now_ whatever might come of\nit!... He read this in her eyes, he could see it in her intense emotion.\nShe mastered herself, controlled the spasm in her throat and went on\nreading the eleventh chapter of St. John. She went on to the nineteenth\nverse:\n\n\"And many of the Jews came to Martha and Mary to comfort them concerning\ntheir brother.\n\n\"Then Martha as soon as she heard that Jesus was coming went and met\nHim: but Mary sat still in the house.\n\n\"Then said Martha unto Jesus, Lord, if Thou hadst been here, my brother\nhad not died.\n\n\"But I know that even now whatsoever Thou wilt ask of God, God will give\nit Thee....\"\n\nThen she stopped again with a shamefaced feeling that her voice would\nquiver and break again.\n\n\"Jesus said unto her, thy brother shall rise again.\n\n\"Martha saith unto Him, I know that he shall rise again in the\nresurrection, at the last day.\n\n\"Jesus said unto her, I am the resurrection and the life: he that\nbelieveth in Me though he were dead, yet shall he live.\n\n\"And whosoever liveth and believeth in Me shall never die. Believest\nthou this?\n\n\"She saith unto Him,\"\n\n(And drawing a painful breath, Sonia read distinctly and forcibly as\nthough she were making a public confession of faith.)\n\n\"Yea, Lord: I believe that Thou art the Christ, the Son of God Which\nshould come into the world.\"\n\nShe stopped and looked up quickly at him, but controlling herself went\non reading. Raskolnikov sat without moving, his elbows on the table and\nhis eyes turned away. She read to the thirty-second verse.\n\n\"Then when Mary was come where Jesus was and saw Him, she fell down at\nHis feet, saying unto Him, Lord if Thou hadst been here, my brother had\nnot died.\n\n\"When Jesus therefore saw her weeping, and the Jews also weeping which\ncame with her, He groaned in the spirit and was troubled,\n\n\"And said, Where have ye laid him? They said unto Him, Lord, come and\nsee.\n\n\"Jesus wept.\n\n\"Then said the Jews, behold how He loved him!\n\n\"And some of them said, could not this Man which opened the eyes of the\nblind, have caused that even this man should not have died?\"\n\nRaskolnikov turned and looked at her with emotion. Yes, he had known it!\nShe was trembling in a real physical fever. He had expected it. She was\ngetting near the story of the greatest miracle and a feeling of immense\ntriumph came over her. Her voice rang out like a bell; triumph and joy\ngave it power. The lines danced before her eyes, but she knew what she\nwas reading by heart. At the last verse \"Could not this Man which opened\nthe eyes of the blind...\" dropping her voice she passionately reproduced\nthe doubt, the reproach and censure of the blind disbelieving Jews, who\nin another moment would fall at His feet as though struck by\nthunder, sobbing and believing.... \"And _he, he_--too, is blinded and\nunbelieving, he, too, will hear, he, too, will believe, yes, yes! At\nonce, now,\" was what she was dreaming, and she was quivering with happy\nanticipation.\n\n\"Jesus therefore again groaning in Himself cometh to the grave. It was a\ncave, and a stone lay upon it.\n\n\"Jesus said, Take ye away the stone. Martha, the sister of him that was\ndead, saith unto Him, Lord by this time he stinketh: for he hath been\ndead four days.\"\n\nShe laid emphasis on the word _four_.\n\n\"Jesus saith unto her, Said I not unto thee that if thou wouldest\nbelieve, thou shouldest see the glory of God?\n\n\"Then they took away the stone from the place where the dead was laid.\nAnd Jesus lifted up His eyes and said, Father, I thank Thee that Thou\nhast heard Me.\n\n\"And I knew that Thou hearest Me always; but because of the people which\nstand by I said it, that they may believe that Thou hast sent Me.\n\n\"And when He thus had spoken, He cried with a loud voice, Lazarus, come\nforth.\n\n\"And he that was dead came forth.\"\n\n(She read loudly, cold and trembling with ecstasy, as though she were\nseeing it before her eyes.)\n\n\"Bound hand and foot with graveclothes; and his face was bound about\nwith a napkin. Jesus saith unto them, Loose him and let him go.\n\n\"Then many of the Jews which came to Mary and had seen the things which\nJesus did believed on Him.\"\n\nShe could read no more, closed the book and got up from her chair\nquickly.\n\n\"That is all about the raising of Lazarus,\" she whispered severely and\nabruptly, and turning away she stood motionless, not daring to raise\nher eyes to him. She still trembled feverishly. The candle-end was\nflickering out in the battered candlestick, dimly lighting up in the\npoverty-stricken room the murderer and the harlot who had so strangely\nbeen reading together the eternal book. Five minutes or more passed.\n\n\"I came to speak of something,\" Raskolnikov said aloud, frowning. He got\nup and went to Sonia. She lifted her eyes to him in silence. His face\nwas particularly stern and there was a sort of savage determination in\nit.\n\n\"I have abandoned my family to-day,\" he said, \"my mother and sister. I\nam not going to see them. I've broken with them completely.\"\n\n\"What for?\" asked Sonia amazed. Her recent meeting with his mother and\nsister had left a great impression which she could not analyse. She\nheard his news almost with horror.\n\n\"I have only you now,\" he added. \"Let us go together.... I've come to\nyou, we are both accursed, let us go our way together!\"\n\nHis eyes glittered \"as though he were mad,\" Sonia thought, in her turn.\n\n\"Go where?\" she asked in alarm and she involuntarily stepped back.\n\n\"How do I know? I only know it's the same road, I know that and nothing\nmore. It's the same goal!\"\n\nShe looked at him and understood nothing. She knew only that he was\nterribly, infinitely unhappy.\n\n\"No one of them will understand, if you tell them, but I have\nunderstood. I need you, that is why I have come to you.\"\n\n\"I don't understand,\" whispered Sonia.\n\n\"You'll understand later. Haven't you done the same? You, too, have\ntransgressed... have had the strength to transgress. You have laid\nhands on yourself, you have destroyed a life... _your own_ (it's all the\nsame!). You might have lived in spirit and understanding, but you'll\nend in the Hay Market.... But you won't be able to stand it, and if\nyou remain alone you'll go out of your mind like me. You are like a mad\ncreature already. So we must go together on the same road! Let us go!\"\n\n\"What for? What's all this for?\" said Sonia, strangely and violently\nagitated by his words.\n\n\"What for? Because you can't remain like this, that's why! You must look\nthings straight in the face at last, and not weep like a child and cry\nthat God won't allow it. What will happen, if you should really be taken\nto the hospital to-morrow? She is mad and in consumption, she'll soon\ndie and the children? Do you mean to tell me Polenka won't come to\ngrief? Haven't you seen children here at the street corners sent out\nby their mothers to beg? I've found out where those mothers live and in\nwhat surroundings. Children can't remain children there! At seven the\nchild is vicious and a thief. Yet children, you know, are the image of\nChrist: 'theirs is the kingdom of Heaven.' He bade us honour and love\nthem, they are the humanity of the future....\"\n\n\"What's to be done, what's to be done?\" repeated Sonia, weeping\nhysterically and wringing her hands.\n\n\"What's to be done? Break what must be broken, once for all, that's all,\nand take the suffering on oneself. What, you don't understand? You'll\nunderstand later.... Freedom and power, and above all, power! Over all\ntrembling creation and all the ant-heap!... That's the goal, remember\nthat! That's my farewell message. Perhaps it's the last time I shall\nspeak to you. If I don't come to-morrow, you'll hear of it all, and then\nremember these words. And some day later on, in years to come, you'll\nunderstand perhaps what they meant. If I come to-morrow, I'll tell you\nwho killed Lizaveta.... Good-bye.\"\n\nSonia started with terror.\n\n\"Why, do you know who killed her?\" she asked, chilled with horror,\nlooking wildly at him.\n\n\"I know and will tell... you, only you. I have chosen you out. I'm not\ncoming to you to ask forgiveness, but simply to tell you. I chose you\nout long ago to hear this, when your father talked of you and when\nLizaveta was alive, I thought of it. Good-bye, don't shake hands.\nTo-morrow!\"\n\nHe went out. Sonia gazed at him as at a madman. But she herself was like\none insane and felt it. Her head was going round.\n\n\"Good heavens, how does he know who killed Lizaveta? What did those\nwords mean? It's awful!\" But at the same time _the idea_ did not enter\nher head, not for a moment! \"Oh, he must be terribly unhappy!... He has\nabandoned his mother and sister.... What for? What has happened? And\nwhat had he in his mind? What did he say to her? He had kissed her foot\nand said... said (yes, he had said it clearly) that he could not live\nwithout her.... Oh, merciful heavens!\"\n\nSonia spent the whole night feverish and delirious. She jumped up from\ntime to time, wept and wrung her hands, then sank again into feverish\nsleep and dreamt of Polenka, Katerina Ivanovna and Lizaveta, of reading\nthe gospel and him... him with pale face, with burning eyes... kissing\nher feet, weeping.\n\nOn the other side of the door on the right, which divided Sonia's room\nfrom Madame Resslich's flat, was a room which had long stood empty. A\ncard was fixed on the gate and a notice stuck in the windows over the\ncanal advertising it to let. Sonia had long been accustomed to the\nroom's being uninhabited. But all that time Mr. Svidrigailov had been\nstanding, listening at the door of the empty room. When Raskolnikov went\nout he stood still, thought a moment, went on tiptoe to his own room\nwhich adjoined the empty one, brought a chair and noiselessly carried it\nto the door that led to Sonia's room. The conversation had struck him\nas interesting and remarkable, and he had greatly enjoyed it--so much so\nthat he brought a chair that he might not in the future, to-morrow, for\ninstance, have to endure the inconvenience of standing a whole hour, but\nmight listen in comfort.\n\n\n\nCHAPTER V\n\nWhen next morning at eleven o'clock punctually Raskolnikov went into the\ndepartment of the investigation of criminal causes and sent his name in\nto Porfiry Petrovitch, he was surprised at being kept waiting so long:\nit was at least ten minutes before he was summoned. He had expected\nthat they would pounce upon him. But he stood in the waiting-room, and\npeople, who apparently had nothing to do with him, were continually\npassing to and fro before him. In the next room which looked like an\noffice, several clerks were sitting writing and obviously they had\nno notion who or what Raskolnikov might be. He looked uneasily and\nsuspiciously about him to see whether there was not some guard, some\nmysterious watch being kept on him to prevent his escape. But there was\nnothing of the sort: he saw only the faces of clerks absorbed in petty\ndetails, then other people, no one seemed to have any concern with him.\nHe might go where he liked for them. The conviction grew stronger in him\nthat if that enigmatic man of yesterday, that phantom sprung out of the\nearth, had seen everything, they would not have let him stand and wait\nlike that. And would they have waited till he elected to appear at\neleven? Either the man had not yet given information, or... or simply\nhe knew nothing, had seen nothing (and how could he have seen anything?)\nand so all that had happened to him the day before was again a phantom\nexaggerated by his sick and overstrained imagination. This conjecture\nhad begun to grow strong the day before, in the midst of all his\nalarm and despair. Thinking it all over now and preparing for a fresh\nconflict, he was suddenly aware that he was trembling--and he felt a\nrush of indignation at the thought that he was trembling with fear at\nfacing that hateful Porfiry Petrovitch. What he dreaded above all was\nmeeting that man again; he hated him with an intense, unmitigated hatred\nand was afraid his hatred might betray him. His indignation was such\nthat he ceased trembling at once; he made ready to go in with a cold and\narrogant bearing and vowed to himself to keep as silent as possible,\nto watch and listen and for once at least to control his overstrained\nnerves. At that moment he was summoned to Porfiry Petrovitch.\n\nHe found Porfiry Petrovitch alone in his study. His study was a room\nneither large nor small, furnished with a large writing-table, that\nstood before a sofa, upholstered in checked material, a bureau, a\nbookcase in the corner and several chairs--all government furniture,\nof polished yellow wood. In the further wall there was a closed door,\nbeyond it there were no doubt other rooms. On Raskolnikov's entrance\nPorfiry Petrovitch had at once closed the door by which he had come in\nand they remained alone. He met his visitor with an apparently genial\nand good-tempered air, and it was only after a few minutes that\nRaskolnikov saw signs of a certain awkwardness in him, as though he had\nbeen thrown out of his reckoning or caught in something very secret.\n\n\"Ah, my dear fellow! Here you are... in our domain\"... began Porfiry,\nholding out both hands to him. \"Come, sit down, old man... or perhaps\nyou don't like to be called 'my dear fellow' and 'old man!'--_tout\ncourt_? Please don't think it too familiar.... Here, on the sofa.\"\n\nRaskolnikov sat down, keeping his eyes fixed on him. \"In our domain,\"\nthe apologies for familiarity, the French phrase _tout court_, were all\ncharacteristic signs.\n\n\"He held out both hands to me, but he did not give me one--he drew it\nback in time,\" struck him suspiciously. Both were watching each other,\nbut when their eyes met, quick as lightning they looked away.\n\n\"I brought you this paper... about the watch. Here it is. Is it all\nright or shall I copy it again?\"\n\n\"What? A paper? Yes, yes, don't be uneasy, it's all right,\" Porfiry\nPetrovitch said as though in haste, and after he had said it he took the\npaper and looked at it. \"Yes, it's all right. Nothing more is needed,\"\nhe declared with the same rapidity and he laid the paper on the table.\n\nA minute later when he was talking of something else he took it from the\ntable and put it on his bureau.\n\n\"I believe you said yesterday you would like to question me...\nformally... about my acquaintance with the murdered woman?\" Raskolnikov\nwas beginning again. \"Why did I put in 'I believe'\" passed through\nhis mind in a flash. \"Why am I so uneasy at having put in that '_I\nbelieve_'?\" came in a second flash. And he suddenly felt that his\nuneasiness at the mere contact with Porfiry, at the first words, at the\nfirst looks, had grown in an instant to monstrous proportions, and that\nthis was fearfully dangerous. His nerves were quivering, his emotion was\nincreasing. \"It's bad, it's bad! I shall say too much again.\"\n\n\"Yes, yes, yes! There's no hurry, there's no hurry,\" muttered Porfiry\nPetrovitch, moving to and fro about the table without any apparent aim,\nas it were making dashes towards the window, the bureau and the table,\nat one moment avoiding Raskolnikov's suspicious glance, then again\nstanding still and looking him straight in the face.\n\nHis fat round little figure looked very strange, like a ball rolling\nfrom one side to the other and rebounding back.\n\n\"We've plenty of time. Do you smoke? have you your own? Here, a\ncigarette!\" he went on, offering his visitor a cigarette. \"You know I am\nreceiving you here, but my own quarters are through there, you know, my\ngovernment quarters. But I am living outside for the time, I had to\nhave some repairs done here. It's almost finished now.... Government\nquarters, you know, are a capital thing. Eh, what do you think?\"\n\n\"Yes, a capital thing,\" answered Raskolnikov, looking at him almost\nironically.\n\n\"A capital thing, a capital thing,\" repeated Porfiry Petrovitch, as\nthough he had just thought of something quite different. \"Yes, a capital\nthing,\" he almost shouted at last, suddenly staring at Raskolnikov and\nstopping short two steps from him.\n\nThis stupid repetition was too incongruous in its ineptitude with the\nserious, brooding and enigmatic glance he turned upon his visitor.\n\nBut this stirred Raskolnikov's spleen more than ever and he could not\nresist an ironical and rather incautious challenge.\n\n\"Tell me, please,\" he asked suddenly, looking almost insolently at him\nand taking a kind of pleasure in his own insolence. \"I believe it's a\nsort of legal rule, a sort of legal tradition--for all investigating\nlawyers--to begin their attack from afar, with a trivial, or at least\nan irrelevant subject, so as to encourage, or rather, to divert the man\nthey are cross-examining, to disarm his caution and then all at once to\ngive him an unexpected knock-down blow with some fatal question. Isn't\nthat so? It's a sacred tradition, mentioned, I fancy, in all the manuals\nof the art?\"\n\n\"Yes, yes.... Why, do you imagine that was why I spoke about government\nquarters... eh?\"\n\nAnd as he said this Porfiry Petrovitch screwed up his eyes and winked;\na good-humoured, crafty look passed over his face. The wrinkles on his\nforehead were smoothed out, his eyes contracted, his features broadened\nand he suddenly went off into a nervous prolonged laugh, shaking all\nover and looking Raskolnikov straight in the face. The latter forced\nhimself to laugh, too, but when Porfiry, seeing that he was laughing,\nbroke into such a guffaw that he turned almost crimson, Raskolnikov's\nrepulsion overcame all precaution; he left off laughing, scowled and\nstared with hatred at Porfiry, keeping his eyes fixed on him while his\nintentionally prolonged laughter lasted. There was lack of precaution on\nboth sides, however, for Porfiry Petrovitch seemed to be laughing in\nhis visitor's face and to be very little disturbed at the annoyance with\nwhich the visitor received it. The latter fact was very significant\nin Raskolnikov's eyes: he saw that Porfiry Petrovitch had not been\nembarrassed just before either, but that he, Raskolnikov, had perhaps\nfallen into a trap; that there must be something, some motive here\nunknown to him; that, perhaps, everything was in readiness and in\nanother moment would break upon him...\n\nHe went straight to the point at once, rose from his seat and took his\ncap.\n\n\"Porfiry Petrovitch,\" he began resolutely, though with considerable\nirritation, \"yesterday you expressed a desire that I should come to you\nfor some inquiries\" (he laid special stress on the word \"inquiries\"). \"I\nhave come and if you have anything to ask me, ask it, and if not, allow\nme to withdraw. I have no time to spare.... I have to be at the funeral\nof that man who was run over, of whom you... know also,\" he added,\nfeeling angry at once at having made this addition and more irritated at\nhis anger. \"I am sick of it all, do you hear? and have long been. It's\npartly what made me ill. In short,\" he shouted, feeling that the phrase\nabout his illness was still more out of place, \"in short, kindly examine\nme or let me go, at once. And if you must examine me, do so in the\nproper form! I will not allow you to do so otherwise, and so meanwhile,\ngood-bye, as we have evidently nothing to keep us now.\"\n\n\"Good heavens! What do you mean? What shall I question you about?\"\ncackled Porfiry Petrovitch with a change of tone, instantly leaving off\nlaughing. \"Please don't disturb yourself,\" he began fidgeting from place\nto place and fussily making Raskolnikov sit down. \"There's no hurry,\nthere's no hurry, it's all nonsense. Oh, no, I'm very glad you've come\nto see me at last... I look upon you simply as a visitor. And as for\nmy confounded laughter, please excuse it, Rodion Romanovitch. Rodion\nRomanovitch? That is your name?... It's my nerves, you tickled me\nso with your witty observation; I assure you, sometimes I shake with\nlaughter like an india-rubber ball for half an hour at a time.... I'm\noften afraid of an attack of paralysis. Do sit down. Please do, or I\nshall think you are angry...\"\n\nRaskolnikov did not speak; he listened, watching him, still frowning\nangrily. He did sit down, but still held his cap.\n\n\"I must tell you one thing about myself, my dear Rodion Romanovitch,\"\nPorfiry Petrovitch continued, moving about the room and again avoiding\nhis visitor's eyes. \"You see, I'm a bachelor, a man of no consequence\nand not used to society; besides, I have nothing before me, I'm set, I'm\nrunning to seed and... and have you noticed, Rodion Romanovitch, that in\nour Petersburg circles, if two clever men meet who are not intimate, but\nrespect each other, like you and me, it takes them half an hour before\nthey can find a subject for conversation--they are dumb, they sit\nopposite each other and feel awkward. Everyone has subjects of\nconversation, ladies for instance... people in high society always have\ntheir subjects of conversation, _c'est de rigueur_, but people of the\nmiddle sort like us, thinking people that is, are always tongue-tied\nand awkward. What is the reason of it? Whether it is the lack of public\ninterest, or whether it is we are so honest we don't want to deceive one\nanother, I don't know. What do you think? Do put down your cap, it\nlooks as if you were just going, it makes me uncomfortable... I am so\ndelighted...\"\n\nRaskolnikov put down his cap and continued listening in silence with\na serious frowning face to the vague and empty chatter of Porfiry\nPetrovitch. \"Does he really want to distract my attention with his silly\nbabble?\"\n\n\"I can't offer you coffee here; but why not spend five minutes with a\nfriend?\" Porfiry pattered on, \"and you know all these official\nduties... please don't mind my running up and down, excuse it, my dear\nfellow, I am very much afraid of offending you, but exercise is\nabsolutely indispensable for me. I'm always sitting and so glad to be\nmoving about for five minutes... I suffer from my sedentary life... I\nalways intend to join a gymnasium; they say that officials of all ranks,\neven Privy Councillors, may be seen skipping gaily there; there you have\nit, modern science... yes, yes.... But as for my duties here, inquiries\nand all such formalities... you mentioned inquiries yourself just now...\nI assure you these interrogations are sometimes more embarrassing for\nthe interrogator than for the interrogated.... You made the observation\nyourself just now very aptly and wittily.\" (Raskolnikov had made no\nobservation of the kind.) \"One gets into a muddle! A regular muddle! One\nkeeps harping on the same note, like a drum! There is to be a reform and\nwe shall be called by a different name, at least, he-he-he! And as for\nour legal tradition, as you so wittily called it, I thoroughly agree\nwith you. Every prisoner on trial, even the rudest peasant, knows that\nthey begin by disarming him with irrelevant questions (as you so happily\nput it) and then deal him a knock-down blow, he-he-he!--your felicitous\ncomparison, he-he! So you really imagined that I meant by 'government\nquarters'... he-he! You are an ironical person. Come. I won't go on! Ah,\nby the way, yes! One word leads to another. You spoke of formality just\nnow, apropos of the inquiry, you know. But what's the use of formality?\nIn many cases it's nonsense. Sometimes one has a friendly chat and gets\na good deal more out of it. One can always fall back on formality, allow\nme to assure you. And after all, what does it amount to? An examining\nlawyer cannot be bounded by formality at every step. The work of\ninvestigation is, so to speak, a free art in its own way, he-he-he!\"\n\nPorfiry Petrovitch took breath a moment. He had simply babbled on\nuttering empty phrases, letting slip a few enigmatic words and again\nreverting to incoherence. He was almost running about the room, moving\nhis fat little legs quicker and quicker, looking at the ground, with his\nright hand behind his back, while with his left making gesticulations\nthat were extraordinarily incongruous with his words. Raskolnikov\nsuddenly noticed that as he ran about the room he seemed twice to stop\nfor a moment near the door, as though he were listening.\n\n\"Is he expecting anything?\"\n\n\"You are certainly quite right about it,\" Porfiry began gaily, looking\nwith extraordinary simplicity at Raskolnikov (which startled him and\ninstantly put him on his guard); \"certainly quite right in laughing so\nwittily at our legal forms, he-he! Some of these elaborate psychological\nmethods are exceedingly ridiculous and perhaps useless, if one adheres\ntoo closely to the forms. Yes... I am talking of forms again. Well, if\nI recognise, or more strictly speaking, if I suspect someone or other to\nbe a criminal in any case entrusted to me... you're reading for the law,\nof course, Rodion Romanovitch?\"\n\n\"Yes, I was...\"\n\n\"Well, then it is a precedent for you for the future--though don't\nsuppose I should venture to instruct you after the articles you publish\nabout crime! No, I simply make bold to state it by way of fact, if I\ntook this man or that for a criminal, why, I ask, should I worry him\nprematurely, even though I had evidence against him? In one case I may\nbe bound, for instance, to arrest a man at once, but another may be in\nquite a different position, you know, so why shouldn't I let him walk\nabout the town a bit? he-he-he! But I see you don't quite understand, so\nI'll give you a clearer example. If I put him in prison too soon, I\nmay very likely give him, so to speak, moral support, he-he! You're\nlaughing?\"\n\nRaskolnikov had no idea of laughing. He was sitting with compressed\nlips, his feverish eyes fixed on Porfiry Petrovitch's.\n\n\"Yet that is the case, with some types especially, for men are so\ndifferent. You say 'evidence'. Well, there may be evidence. But\nevidence, you know, can generally be taken two ways. I am an examining\nlawyer and a weak man, I confess it. I should like to make a proof, so\nto say, mathematically clear. I should like to make a chain of evidence\nsuch as twice two are four, it ought to be a direct, irrefutable proof!\nAnd if I shut him up too soon--even though I might be convinced _he_\nwas the man, I should very likely be depriving myself of the means of\ngetting further evidence against him. And how? By giving him, so to\nspeak, a definite position, I shall put him out of suspense and set his\nmind at rest, so that he will retreat into his shell. They say that at\nSevastopol, soon after Alma, the clever people were in a terrible fright\nthat the enemy would attack openly and take Sevastopol at once. But when\nthey saw that the enemy preferred a regular siege, they were delighted,\nI am told and reassured, for the thing would drag on for two months at\nleast. You're laughing, you don't believe me again? Of course, you're\nright, too. You're right, you're right. These are special cases, I\nadmit. But you must observe this, my dear Rodion Romanovitch, the\ngeneral case, the case for which all legal forms and rules are intended,\nfor which they are calculated and laid down in books, does not exist at\nall, for the reason that every case, every crime, for instance, so soon\nas it actually occurs, at once becomes a thoroughly special case and\nsometimes a case unlike any that's gone before. Very comic cases of that\nsort sometimes occur. If I leave one man quite alone, if I don't touch\nhim and don't worry him, but let him know or at least suspect every\nmoment that I know all about it and am watching him day and night, and\nif he is in continual suspicion and terror, he'll be bound to lose his\nhead. He'll come of himself, or maybe do something which will make it as\nplain as twice two are four--it's delightful. It may be so with a simple\npeasant, but with one of our sort, an intelligent man cultivated on a\ncertain side, it's a dead certainty. For, my dear fellow, it's a very\nimportant matter to know on what side a man is cultivated. And then\nthere are nerves, there are nerves, you have overlooked them! Why, they\nare all sick, nervous and irritable!... And then how they all suffer\nfrom spleen! That I assure you is a regular gold-mine for us. And it's\nno anxiety to me, his running about the town free! Let him, let him walk\nabout for a bit! I know well enough that I've caught him and that he\nwon't escape me. Where could he escape to, he-he? Abroad, perhaps? A\nPole will escape abroad, but not here, especially as I am watching\nand have taken measures. Will he escape into the depths of the country\nperhaps? But you know, peasants live there, real rude Russian peasants.\nA modern cultivated man would prefer prison to living with such\nstrangers as our peasants. He-he! But that's all nonsense, and on\nthe surface. It's not merely that he has nowhere to run to, he is\n_psychologically_ unable to escape me, he-he! What an expression!\nThrough a law of nature he can't escape me if he had anywhere to go.\nHave you seen a butterfly round a candle? That's how he will keep\ncircling and circling round me. Freedom will lose its attractions. He'll\nbegin to brood, he'll weave a tangle round himself, he'll worry himself\nto death! What's more he will provide me with a mathematical proof--if I\nonly give him long enough interval.... And he'll keep circling round\nme, getting nearer and nearer and then--flop! He'll fly straight into my\nmouth and I'll swallow him, and that will be very amusing, he-he-he! You\ndon't believe me?\"\n\nRaskolnikov made no reply; he sat pale and motionless, still gazing with\nthe same intensity into Porfiry's face.\n\n\"It's a lesson,\" he thought, turning cold. \"This is beyond the cat\nplaying with a mouse, like yesterday. He can't be showing off his power\nwith no motive... prompting me; he is far too clever for that... he must\nhave another object. What is it? It's all nonsense, my friend, you are\npretending, to scare me! You've no proofs and the man I saw had no\nreal existence. You simply want to make me lose my head, to work me up\nbeforehand and so to crush me. But you are wrong, you won't do it! But\nwhy give me such a hint? Is he reckoning on my shattered nerves? No, my\nfriend, you are wrong, you won't do it even though you have some trap\nfor me... let us see what you have in store for me.\"\n\nAnd he braced himself to face a terrible and unknown ordeal. At times\nhe longed to fall on Porfiry and strangle him. This anger was what he\ndreaded from the beginning. He felt that his parched lips were flecked\nwith foam, his heart was throbbing. But he was still determined not to\nspeak till the right moment. He realised that this was the best\npolicy in his position, because instead of saying too much he would be\nirritating his enemy by his silence and provoking him into speaking too\nfreely. Anyhow, this was what he hoped for.\n\n\"No, I see you don't believe me, you think I am playing a harmless joke\non you,\" Porfiry began again, getting more and more lively, chuckling\nat every instant and again pacing round the room. \"And to be sure you're\nright: God has given me a figure that can awaken none but comic ideas in\nother people; a buffoon; but let me tell you, and I repeat it, excuse\nan old man, my dear Rodion Romanovitch, you are a man still young, so to\nsay, in your first youth and so you put intellect above everything, like\nall young people. Playful wit and abstract arguments fascinate you and\nthat's for all the world like the old Austrian _Hof-kriegsrath_, as\nfar as I can judge of military matters, that is: on paper they'd beaten\nNapoleon and taken him prisoner, and there in their study they worked it\nall out in the cleverest fashion, but look you, General Mack surrendered\nwith all his army, he-he-he! I see, I see, Rodion Romanovitch, you are\nlaughing at a civilian like me, taking examples out of military history!\nBut I can't help it, it's my weakness. I am fond of military science.\nAnd I'm ever so fond of reading all military histories. I've certainly\nmissed my proper career. I ought to have been in the army, upon my\nword I ought. I shouldn't have been a Napoleon, but I might have been a\nmajor, he-he! Well, I'll tell you the whole truth, my dear fellow, about\nthis _special case_, I mean: actual fact and a man's temperament, my\ndear sir, are weighty matters and it's astonishing how they sometimes\ndeceive the sharpest calculation! I--listen to an old man--am speaking\nseriously, Rodion Romanovitch\" (as he said this Porfiry Petrovitch, who\nwas scarcely five-and-thirty, actually seemed to have grown old; even\nhis voice changed and he seemed to shrink together) \"Moreover, I'm\na candid man... am I a candid man or not? What do you say? I fancy I\nreally am: I tell you these things for nothing and don't even expect a\nreward for it, he-he! Well, to proceed, wit in my opinion is a splendid\nthing, it is, so to say, an adornment of nature and a consolation of\nlife, and what tricks it can play! So that it sometimes is hard for a\npoor examining lawyer to know where he is, especially when he's liable\nto be carried away by his own fancy, too, for you know he is a man after\nall! But the poor fellow is saved by the criminal's temperament, worse\nluck for him! But young people carried away by their own wit don't think\nof that 'when they overstep all obstacles,' as you wittily and cleverly\nexpressed it yesterday. He will lie--that is, the man who is a _special\ncase_, the incognito, and he will lie well, in the cleverest fashion;\nyou might think he would triumph and enjoy the fruits of his wit, but at\nthe most interesting, the most flagrant moment he will faint. Of course\nthere may be illness and a stuffy room as well, but anyway! Anyway he's\ngiven us the idea! He lied incomparably, but he didn't reckon on his\ntemperament. That's what betrays him! Another time he will be carried\naway by his playful wit into making fun of the man who suspects him, he\nwill turn pale as it were on purpose to mislead, but his paleness will\nbe _too natural_, too much like the real thing, again he has given us\nan idea! Though his questioner may be deceived at first, he will think\ndifferently next day if he is not a fool, and, of course, it is like\nthat at every step! He puts himself forward where he is not wanted,\nspeaks continually when he ought to keep silent, brings in all sorts of\nallegorical allusions, he-he! Comes and asks why didn't you take me long\nago? he-he-he! And that can happen, you know, with the cleverest man,\nthe psychologist, the literary man. The temperament reflects everything\nlike a mirror! Gaze into it and admire what you see! But why are you so\npale, Rodion Romanovitch? Is the room stuffy? Shall I open the window?\"\n\n\"Oh, don't trouble, please,\" cried Raskolnikov and he suddenly broke\ninto a laugh. \"Please don't trouble.\"\n\nPorfiry stood facing him, paused a moment and suddenly he too laughed.\nRaskolnikov got up from the sofa, abruptly checking his hysterical\nlaughter.\n\n\"Porfiry Petrovitch,\" he began, speaking loudly and distinctly, though\nhis legs trembled and he could scarcely stand. \"I see clearly at last\nthat you actually suspect me of murdering that old woman and her sister\nLizaveta. Let me tell you for my part that I am sick of this. If you\nfind that you have a right to prosecute me legally, to arrest me, then\nprosecute me, arrest me. But I will not let myself be jeered at to my\nface and worried...\"\n\nHis lips trembled, his eyes glowed with fury and he could not restrain\nhis voice.\n\n\"I won't allow it!\" he shouted, bringing his fist down on the table. \"Do\nyou hear that, Porfiry Petrovitch? I won't allow it.\"\n\n\"Good heavens! What does it mean?\" cried Porfiry Petrovitch, apparently\nquite frightened. \"Rodion Romanovitch, my dear fellow, what is the\nmatter with you?\"\n\n\"I won't allow it,\" Raskolnikov shouted again.\n\n\"Hush, my dear man! They'll hear and come in. Just think, what could we\nsay to them?\" Porfiry Petrovitch whispered in horror, bringing his face\nclose to Raskolnikov's.\n\n\"I won't allow it, I won't allow it,\" Raskolnikov repeated mechanically,\nbut he too spoke in a sudden whisper.\n\nPorfiry turned quickly and ran to open the window.\n\n\"Some fresh air! And you must have some water, my dear fellow. You're\nill!\" and he was running to the door to call for some when he found a\ndecanter of water in the corner. \"Come, drink a little,\" he whispered,\nrushing up to him with the decanter. \"It will be sure to do you good.\"\n\nPorfiry Petrovitch's alarm and sympathy were so natural that Raskolnikov\nwas silent and began looking at him with wild curiosity. He did not take\nthe water, however.\n\n\"Rodion Romanovitch, my dear fellow, you'll drive yourself out of your\nmind, I assure you, ach, ach! Have some water, do drink a little.\"\n\nHe forced him to take the glass. Raskolnikov raised it mechanically to\nhis lips, but set it on the table again with disgust.\n\n\"Yes, you've had a little attack! You'll bring back your illness again,\nmy dear fellow,\" Porfiry Petrovitch cackled with friendly sympathy,\nthough he still looked rather disconcerted. \"Good heavens, you must\ntake more care of yourself! Dmitri Prokofitch was here, came to see me\nyesterday--I know, I know, I've a nasty, ironical temper, but what they\nmade of it!... Good heavens, he came yesterday after you'd been. We\ndined and he talked and talked away, and I could only throw up my hands\nin despair! Did he come from you? But do sit down, for mercy's sake, sit\ndown!\"\n\n\"No, not from me, but I knew he went to you and why he went,\"\nRaskolnikov answered sharply.\n\n\"You knew?\"\n\n\"I knew. What of it?\"\n\n\"Why this, Rodion Romanovitch, that I know more than that about you;\nI know about everything. I know how you went _to take a flat_ at night\nwhen it was dark and how you rang the bell and asked about the blood, so\nthat the workmen and the porter did not know what to make of it. Yes, I\nunderstand your state of mind at that time... but you'll drive yourself\nmad like that, upon my word! You'll lose your head! You're full of\ngenerous indignation at the wrongs you've received, first from destiny,\nand then from the police officers, and so you rush from one thing to\nanother to force them to speak out and make an end of it all, because\nyou are sick of all this suspicion and foolishness. That's so, isn't\nit? I have guessed how you feel, haven't I? Only in that way you'll\nlose your head and Razumihin's, too; he's too _good_ a man for such\na position, you must know that. You are ill and he is good and your\nillness is infectious for him... I'll tell you about it when you are\nmore yourself.... But do sit down, for goodness' sake. Please rest, you\nlook shocking, do sit down.\"\n\nRaskolnikov sat down; he no longer shivered, he was hot all over. In\namazement he listened with strained attention to Porfiry Petrovitch who\nstill seemed frightened as he looked after him with friendly solicitude.\nBut he did not believe a word he said, though he felt a strange\ninclination to believe. Porfiry's unexpected words about the flat had\nutterly overwhelmed him. \"How can it be, he knows about the flat then,\"\nhe thought suddenly, \"and he tells it me himself!\"\n\n\"Yes, in our legal practice there was a case almost exactly similar, a\ncase of morbid psychology,\" Porfiry went on quickly. \"A man confessed to\nmurder and how he kept it up! It was a regular hallucination; he brought\nforward facts, he imposed upon everyone and why? He had been partly, but\nonly partly, unintentionally the cause of a murder and when he knew that\nhe had given the murderers the opportunity, he sank into dejection, it\ngot on his mind and turned his brain, he began imagining things and he\npersuaded himself that he was the murderer. But at last the High Court\nof Appeal went into it and the poor fellow was acquitted and put under\nproper care. Thanks to the Court of Appeal! Tut-tut-tut! Why, my dear\nfellow, you may drive yourself into delirium if you have the impulse\nto work upon your nerves, to go ringing bells at night and asking about\nblood! I've studied all this morbid psychology in my practice. A man\nis sometimes tempted to jump out of a window or from a belfry. Just the\nsame with bell-ringing.... It's all illness, Rodion Romanovitch! You\nhave begun to neglect your illness. You should consult an experienced\ndoctor, what's the good of that fat fellow? You are lightheaded! You\nwere delirious when you did all this!\"\n\nFor a moment Raskolnikov felt everything going round.\n\n\"Is it possible, is it possible,\" flashed through his mind, \"that he is\nstill lying? He can't be, he can't be.\" He rejected that idea, feeling\nto what a degree of fury it might drive him, feeling that that fury\nmight drive him mad.\n\n\"I was not delirious. I knew what I was doing,\" he cried, straining\nevery faculty to penetrate Porfiry's game, \"I was quite myself, do you\nhear?\"\n\n\"Yes, I hear and understand. You said yesterday you were not delirious,\nyou were particularly emphatic about it! I understand all you can tell\nme! A-ach!... Listen, Rodion Romanovitch, my dear fellow. If you were\nactually a criminal, or were somehow mixed up in this damnable business,\nwould you insist that you were not delirious but in full possession\nof your faculties? And so emphatically and persistently? Would it be\npossible? Quite impossible, to my thinking. If you had anything on\nyour conscience, you certainly ought to insist that you were delirious.\nThat's so, isn't it?\"\n\nThere was a note of slyness in this inquiry. Raskolnikov drew back on\nthe sofa as Porfiry bent over him and stared in silent perplexity at\nhim.\n\n\"Another thing about Razumihin--you certainly ought to have said that he\ncame of his own accord, to have concealed your part in it! But you don't\nconceal it! You lay stress on his coming at your instigation.\"\n\nRaskolnikov had not done so. A chill went down his back.\n\n\"You keep telling lies,\" he said slowly and weakly, twisting his lips\ninto a sickly smile, \"you are trying again to show that you know all\nmy game, that you know all I shall say beforehand,\" he said, conscious\nhimself that he was not weighing his words as he ought. \"You want to\nfrighten me... or you are simply laughing at me...\"\n\nHe still stared at him as he said this and again there was a light of\nintense hatred in his eyes.\n\n\"You keep lying,\" he said. \"You know perfectly well that the best\npolicy for the criminal is to tell the truth as nearly as possible... to\nconceal as little as possible. I don't believe you!\"\n\n\"What a wily person you are!\" Porfiry tittered, \"there's no catching\nyou; you've a perfect monomania. So you don't believe me? But still you\ndo believe me, you believe a quarter; I'll soon make you believe the\nwhole, because I have a sincere liking for you and genuinely wish you\ngood.\"\n\nRaskolnikov's lips trembled.\n\n\"Yes, I do,\" went on Porfiry, touching Raskolnikov's arm genially, \"you\nmust take care of your illness. Besides, your mother and sister are here\nnow; you must think of them. You must soothe and comfort them and you do\nnothing but frighten them...\"\n\n\"What has that to do with you? How do you know it? What concern is it of\nyours? You are keeping watch on me and want to let me know it?\"\n\n\"Good heavens! Why, I learnt it all from you yourself! You don't\nnotice that in your excitement you tell me and others everything. From\nRazumihin, too, I learnt a number of interesting details yesterday. No,\nyou interrupted me, but I must tell you that, for all your wit, your\nsuspiciousness makes you lose the common-sense view of things. To return\nto bell-ringing, for instance. I, an examining lawyer, have betrayed a\nprecious thing like that, a real fact (for it is a fact worth having),\nand you see nothing in it! Why, if I had the slightest suspicion of you,\nshould I have acted like that? No, I should first have disarmed your\nsuspicions and not let you see I knew of that fact, should have diverted\nyour attention and suddenly have dealt you a knock-down blow (your\nexpression) saying: 'And what were you doing, sir, pray, at ten or\nnearly eleven at the murdered woman's flat and why did you ring the bell\nand why did you ask about blood? And why did you invite the porters\nto go with you to the police station, to the lieutenant?' That's how\nI ought to have acted if I had a grain of suspicion of you. I ought to\nhave taken your evidence in due form, searched your lodging and perhaps\nhave arrested you, too... so I have no suspicion of you, since I have\nnot done that! But you can't look at it normally and you see nothing, I\nsay again.\"\n\nRaskolnikov started so that Porfiry Petrovitch could not fail to\nperceive it.\n\n\"You are lying all the while,\" he cried, \"I don't know your object,\nbut you are lying. You did not speak like that just now and I cannot be\nmistaken!\"\n\n\"I am lying?\" Porfiry repeated, apparently incensed, but preserving\na good-humoured and ironical face, as though he were not in the least\nconcerned at Raskolnikov's opinion of him. \"I am lying... but how did\nI treat you just now, I, the examining lawyer? Prompting you and giving\nyou every means for your defence; illness, I said, delirium, injury,\nmelancholy and the police officers and all the rest of it? Ah! He-he-he!\nThough, indeed, all those psychological means of defence are not very\nreliable and cut both ways: illness, delirium, I don't remember--that's\nall right, but why, my good sir, in your illness and in your delirium\nwere you haunted by just those delusions and not by any others? There\nmay have been others, eh? He-he-he!\"\n\nRaskolnikov looked haughtily and contemptuously at him.\n\n\"Briefly,\" he said loudly and imperiously, rising to his feet and in so\ndoing pushing Porfiry back a little, \"briefly, I want to know, do you\nacknowledge me perfectly free from suspicion or not? Tell me, Porfiry\nPetrovitch, tell me once for all and make haste!\"\n\n\"What a business I'm having with you!\" cried Porfiry with a perfectly\ngood-humoured, sly and composed face. \"And why do you want to know, why\ndo you want to know so much, since they haven't begun to worry you? Why,\nyou are like a child asking for matches! And why are you so uneasy? Why\ndo you force yourself upon us, eh? He-he-he!\"\n\n\"I repeat,\" Raskolnikov cried furiously, \"that I can't put up with it!\"\n\n\"With what? Uncertainty?\" interrupted Porfiry.\n\n\"Don't jeer at me! I won't have it! I tell you I won't have it. I can't\nand I won't, do you hear, do you hear?\" he shouted, bringing his fist\ndown on the table again.\n\n\"Hush! Hush! They'll overhear! I warn you seriously, take care of\nyourself. I am not joking,\" Porfiry whispered, but this time there was\nnot the look of old womanish good nature and alarm in his face. Now\nhe was peremptory, stern, frowning and for once laying aside all\nmystification.\n\nBut this was only for an instant. Raskolnikov, bewildered, suddenly fell\ninto actual frenzy, but, strange to say, he again obeyed the command to\nspeak quietly, though he was in a perfect paroxysm of fury.\n\n\"I will not allow myself to be tortured,\" he whispered, instantly\nrecognising with hatred that he could not help obeying the command and\ndriven to even greater fury by the thought. \"Arrest me, search me, but\nkindly act in due form and don't play with me! Don't dare!\"\n\n\"Don't worry about the form,\" Porfiry interrupted with the same sly\nsmile, as it were, gloating with enjoyment over Raskolnikov. \"I invited\nyou to see me quite in a friendly way.\"\n\n\"I don't want your friendship and I spit on it! Do you hear? And, here,\nI take my cap and go. What will you say now if you mean to arrest me?\"\n\nHe took up his cap and went to the door.\n\n\"And won't you see my little surprise?\" chuckled Porfiry, again taking\nhim by the arm and stopping him at the door.\n\nHe seemed to become more playful and good-humoured which maddened\nRaskolnikov.\n\n\"What surprise?\" he asked, standing still and looking at Porfiry in\nalarm.\n\n\"My little surprise, it's sitting there behind the door, he-he-he!\"\n(He pointed to the locked door.) \"I locked him in that he should not\nescape.\"\n\n\"What is it? Where? What?...\"\n\nRaskolnikov walked to the door and would have opened it, but it was\nlocked.\n\n\"It's locked, here is the key!\"\n\nAnd he brought a key out of his pocket.\n\n\"You are lying,\" roared Raskolnikov without restraint, \"you lie, you\ndamned punchinello!\" and he rushed at Porfiry who retreated to the other\ndoor, not at all alarmed.\n\n\"I understand it all! You are lying and mocking so that I may betray\nmyself to you...\"\n\n\"Why, you could not betray yourself any further, my dear Rodion\nRomanovitch. You are in a passion. Don't shout, I shall call the\nclerks.\"\n\n\"You are lying! Call the clerks! You knew I was ill and tried to work\nme into a frenzy to make me betray myself, that was your object! Produce\nyour facts! I understand it all. You've no evidence, you have only\nwretched rubbishly suspicions like Zametov's! You knew my character, you\nwanted to drive me to fury and then to knock me down with priests and\ndeputies.... Are you waiting for them? eh! What are you waiting for?\nWhere are they? Produce them?\"\n\n\"Why deputies, my good man? What things people will imagine! And to do\nso would not be acting in form as you say, you don't know the business,\nmy dear fellow.... And there's no escaping form, as you see,\" Porfiry\nmuttered, listening at the door through which a noise could be heard.\n\n\"Ah, they're coming,\" cried Raskolnikov. \"You've sent for them! You\nexpected them! Well, produce them all: your deputies, your witnesses,\nwhat you like!... I am ready!\"\n\nBut at this moment a strange incident occurred, something so unexpected\nthat neither Raskolnikov nor Porfiry Petrovitch could have looked for\nsuch a conclusion to their interview.\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VI\n\nWhen he remembered the scene afterwards, this is how Raskolnikov saw it.\n\nThe noise behind the door increased, and suddenly the door was opened a\nlittle.\n\n\"What is it?\" cried Porfiry Petrovitch, annoyed. \"Why, I gave orders...\"\n\nFor an instant there was no answer, but it was evident that there were\nseveral persons at the door, and that they were apparently pushing\nsomebody back.\n\n\"What is it?\" Porfiry Petrovitch repeated, uneasily.\n\n\"The prisoner Nikolay has been brought,\" someone answered.\n\n\"He is not wanted! Take him away! Let him wait! What's he doing here?\nHow irregular!\" cried Porfiry, rushing to the door.\n\n\"But he...\" began the same voice, and suddenly ceased.\n\nTwo seconds, not more, were spent in actual struggle, then someone gave\na violent shove, and then a man, very pale, strode into the room.\n\nThis man's appearance was at first sight very strange. He stared\nstraight before him, as though seeing nothing. There was a determined\ngleam in his eyes; at the same time there was a deathly pallor in his\nface, as though he were being led to the scaffold. His white lips were\nfaintly twitching.\n\nHe was dressed like a workman and was of medium height, very young,\nslim, his hair cut in round crop, with thin spare features. The man whom\nhe had thrust back followed him into the room and succeeded in seizing\nhim by the shoulder; he was a warder; but Nikolay pulled his arm away.\n\nSeveral persons crowded inquisitively into the doorway. Some of them\ntried to get in. All this took place almost instantaneously.\n\n\"Go away, it's too soon! Wait till you are sent for!... Why have you\nbrought him so soon?\" Porfiry Petrovitch muttered, extremely annoyed,\nand as it were thrown out of his reckoning.\n\nBut Nikolay suddenly knelt down.\n\n\"What's the matter?\" cried Porfiry, surprised.\n\n\"I am guilty! Mine is the sin! I am the murderer,\" Nikolay articulated\nsuddenly, rather breathless, but speaking fairly loudly.\n\nFor ten seconds there was silence as though all had been struck dumb;\neven the warder stepped back, mechanically retreated to the door, and\nstood immovable.\n\n\"What is it?\" cried Porfiry Petrovitch, recovering from his momentary\nstupefaction.\n\n\"I... am the murderer,\" repeated Nikolay, after a brief pause.\n\n\"What... you... what... whom did you kill?\" Porfiry Petrovitch was\nobviously bewildered.\n\nNikolay again was silent for a moment.\n\n\"Alyona Ivanovna and her sister Lizaveta Ivanovna, I... killed... with\nan axe. Darkness came over me,\" he added suddenly, and was again silent.\n\nHe still remained on his knees. Porfiry Petrovitch stood for some\nmoments as though meditating, but suddenly roused himself and waved back\nthe uninvited spectators. They instantly vanished and closed the door.\nThen he looked towards Raskolnikov, who was standing in the corner,\nstaring wildly at Nikolay and moved towards him, but stopped short,\nlooked from Nikolay to Raskolnikov and then again at Nikolay, and\nseeming unable to restrain himself darted at the latter.\n\n\"You're in too great a hurry,\" he shouted at him, almost angrily. \"I\ndidn't ask you what came over you.... Speak, did you kill them?\"\n\n\"I am the murderer.... I want to give evidence,\" Nikolay pronounced.\n\n\"Ach! What did you kill them with?\"\n\n\"An axe. I had it ready.\"\n\n\"Ach, he is in a hurry! Alone?\"\n\nNikolay did not understand the question.\n\n\"Did you do it alone?\"\n\n\"Yes, alone. And Mitka is not guilty and had no share in it.\"\n\n\"Don't be in a hurry about Mitka! A-ach! How was it you ran downstairs\nlike that at the time? The porters met you both!\"\n\n\"It was to put them off the scent... I ran after Mitka,\" Nikolay replied\nhurriedly, as though he had prepared the answer.\n\n\"I knew it!\" cried Porfiry, with vexation. \"It's not his own tale he is\ntelling,\" he muttered as though to himself, and suddenly his eyes rested\non Raskolnikov again.\n\nHe was apparently so taken up with Nikolay that for a moment he had\nforgotten Raskolnikov. He was a little taken aback.\n\n\"My dear Rodion Romanovitch, excuse me!\" he flew up to him, \"this won't\ndo; I'm afraid you must go... it's no good your staying... I will...\nyou see, what a surprise!... Good-bye!\"\n\nAnd taking him by the arm, he showed him to the door.\n\n\"I suppose you didn't expect it?\" said Raskolnikov who, though he had\nnot yet fully grasped the situation, had regained his courage.\n\n\"You did not expect it either, my friend. See how your hand is\ntrembling! He-he!\"\n\n\"You're trembling, too, Porfiry Petrovitch!\"\n\n\"Yes, I am; I didn't expect it.\"\n\nThey were already at the door; Porfiry was impatient for Raskolnikov to\nbe gone.\n\n\"And your little surprise, aren't you going to show it to me?\"\nRaskolnikov said, sarcastically.\n\n\"Why, his teeth are chattering as he asks, he-he! You are an ironical\nperson! Come, till we meet!\"\n\n\"I believe we can say _good-bye_!\"\n\n\"That's in God's hands,\" muttered Porfiry, with an unnatural smile.\n\nAs he walked through the office, Raskolnikov noticed that many people\nwere looking at him. Among them he saw the two porters from _the_ house,\nwhom he had invited that night to the police station. They stood there\nwaiting. But he was no sooner on the stairs than he heard the voice of\nPorfiry Petrovitch behind him. Turning round, he saw the latter running\nafter him, out of breath.\n\n\"One word, Rodion Romanovitch; as to all the rest, it's in God's hands,\nbut as a matter of form there are some questions I shall have to ask\nyou... so we shall meet again, shan't we?\"\n\nAnd Porfiry stood still, facing him with a smile.\n\n\"Shan't we?\" he added again.\n\nHe seemed to want to say something more, but could not speak out.\n\n\"You must forgive me, Porfiry Petrovitch, for what has just passed... I\nlost my temper,\" began Raskolnikov, who had so far regained his courage\nthat he felt irresistibly inclined to display his coolness.\n\n\"Don't mention it, don't mention it,\" Porfiry replied, almost gleefully.\n\"I myself, too... I have a wicked temper, I admit it! But we shall meet\nagain. If it's God's will, we may see a great deal of one another.\"\n\n\"And will get to know each other through and through?\" added\nRaskolnikov.\n\n\"Yes; know each other through and through,\" assented Porfiry Petrovitch,\nand he screwed up his eyes, looking earnestly at Raskolnikov. \"Now\nyou're going to a birthday party?\"\n\n\"To a funeral.\"\n\n\"Of course, the funeral! Take care of yourself, and get well.\"\n\n\"I don't know what to wish you,\" said Raskolnikov, who had begun to\ndescend the stairs, but looked back again. \"I should like to wish you\nsuccess, but your office is such a comical one.\"\n\n\"Why comical?\" Porfiry Petrovitch had turned to go, but he seemed to\nprick up his ears at this.\n\n\"Why, how you must have been torturing and harassing that poor Nikolay\npsychologically, after your fashion, till he confessed! You must have\nbeen at him day and night, proving to him that he was the murderer, and\nnow that he has confessed, you'll begin vivisecting him again. 'You are\nlying,' you'll say. 'You are not the murderer! You can't be! It's not\nyour own tale you are telling!' You must admit it's a comical business!\"\n\n\"He-he-he! You noticed then that I said to Nikolay just now that it was\nnot his own tale he was telling?\"\n\n\"How could I help noticing it!\"\n\n\"He-he! You are quick-witted. You notice everything! You've really a\nplayful mind! And you always fasten on the comic side... he-he! They say\nthat was the marked characteristic of Gogol, among the writers.\"\n\n\"Yes, of Gogol.\"\n\n\"Yes, of Gogol.... I shall look forward to meeting you.\"\n\n\"So shall I.\"\n\nRaskolnikov walked straight home. He was so muddled and bewildered that\non getting home he sat for a quarter of an hour on the sofa, trying to\ncollect his thoughts. He did not attempt to think about Nikolay; he\nwas stupefied; he felt that his confession was something inexplicable,\namazing--something beyond his understanding. But Nikolay's confession\nwas an actual fact. The consequences of this fact were clear to him at\nonce, its falsehood could not fail to be discovered, and then they\nwould be after him again. Till then, at least, he was free and must do\nsomething for himself, for the danger was imminent.\n\nBut how imminent? His position gradually became clear to him.\nRemembering, sketchily, the main outlines of his recent scene with\nPorfiry, he could not help shuddering again with horror. Of course,\nhe did not yet know all Porfiry's aims, he could not see into all his\ncalculations. But he had already partly shown his hand, and no one knew\nbetter than Raskolnikov how terrible Porfiry's \"lead\" had been for\nhim. A little more and he _might_ have given himself away completely,\ncircumstantially. Knowing his nervous temperament and from the first\nglance seeing through him, Porfiry, though playing a bold game, was\nbound to win. There's no denying that Raskolnikov had compromised\nhimself seriously, but no _facts_ had come to light as yet; there was\nnothing positive. But was he taking a true view of the position? Wasn't\nhe mistaken? What had Porfiry been trying to get at? Had he really some\nsurprise prepared for him? And what was it? Had he really been expecting\nsomething or not? How would they have parted if it had not been for the\nunexpected appearance of Nikolay?\n\nPorfiry had shown almost all his cards--of course, he had risked\nsomething in showing them--and if he had really had anything up his\nsleeve (Raskolnikov reflected), he would have shown that, too. What was\nthat \"surprise\"? Was it a joke? Had it meant anything? Could it have\nconcealed anything like a fact, a piece of positive evidence? His\nyesterday's visitor? What had become of him? Where was he to-day? If\nPorfiry really had any evidence, it must be connected with him....\n\nHe sat on the sofa with his elbows on his knees and his face hidden in\nhis hands. He was still shivering nervously. At last he got up, took his\ncap, thought a minute, and went to the door.\n\nHe had a sort of presentiment that for to-day, at least, he might\nconsider himself out of danger. He had a sudden sense almost of joy; he\nwanted to make haste to Katerina Ivanovna's. He would be too late for\nthe funeral, of course, but he would be in time for the memorial dinner,\nand there at once he would see Sonia.\n\nHe stood still, thought a moment, and a suffering smile came for a\nmoment on to his lips.\n\n\"To-day! To-day,\" he repeated to himself. \"Yes, to-day! So it must\nbe....\"\n\nBut as he was about to open the door, it began opening of itself. He\nstarted and moved back. The door opened gently and slowly, and there\nsuddenly appeared a figure--yesterday's visitor _from underground_.\n\nThe man stood in the doorway, looked at Raskolnikov without speaking,\nand took a step forward into the room. He was exactly the same as\nyesterday; the same figure, the same dress, but there was a great change\nin his face; he looked dejected and sighed deeply. If he had only put\nhis hand up to his cheek and leaned his head on one side he would have\nlooked exactly like a peasant woman.\n\n\"What do you want?\" asked Raskolnikov, numb with terror. The man was\nstill silent, but suddenly he bowed down almost to the ground, touching\nit with his finger.\n\n\"What is it?\" cried Raskolnikov.\n\n\"I have sinned,\" the man articulated softly.\n\n\"How?\"\n\n\"By evil thoughts.\"\n\nThey looked at one another.\n\n\"I was vexed. When you came, perhaps in drink, and bade the porters go\nto the police station and asked about the blood, I was vexed that they\nlet you go and took you for drunken. I was so vexed that I lost my\nsleep. And remembering the address we came here yesterday and asked for\nyou....\"\n\n\"Who came?\" Raskolnikov interrupted, instantly beginning to recollect.\n\n\"I did, I've wronged you.\"\n\n\"Then you come from that house?\"\n\n\"I was standing at the gate with them... don't you remember? We have\ncarried on our trade in that house for years past. We cure and prepare\nhides, we take work home... most of all I was vexed....\"\n\nAnd the whole scene of the day before yesterday in the gateway came\nclearly before Raskolnikov's mind; he recollected that there had\nbeen several people there besides the porters, women among them.\nHe remembered one voice had suggested taking him straight to the\npolice-station. He could not recall the face of the speaker, and even\nnow he did not recognise it, but he remembered that he had turned round\nand made him some answer....\n\nSo this was the solution of yesterday's horror. The most awful thought\nwas that he had been actually almost lost, had almost done for himself\non account of such a _trivial_ circumstance. So this man could tell\nnothing except his asking about the flat and the blood stains. So\nPorfiry, too, had nothing but that _delirium_, no facts but this\n_psychology_ which _cuts both ways_, nothing positive. So if no more\nfacts come to light (and they must not, they must not!) then... then\nwhat can they do to him? How can they convict him, even if they arrest\nhim? And Porfiry then had only just heard about the flat and had not\nknown about it before.\n\n\"Was it you who told Porfiry... that I'd been there?\" he cried, struck\nby a sudden idea.\n\n\"What Porfiry?\"\n\n\"The head of the detective department?\"\n\n\"Yes. The porters did not go there, but I went.\"\n\n\"To-day?\"\n\n\"I got there two minutes before you. And I heard, I heard it all, how he\nworried you.\"\n\n\"Where? What? When?\"\n\n\"Why, in the next room. I was sitting there all the time.\"\n\n\"What? Why, then you were the surprise? But how could it happen? Upon my\nword!\"\n\n\"I saw that the porters did not want to do what I said,\" began the man;\n\"for it's too late, said they, and maybe he'll be angry that we did not\ncome at the time. I was vexed and I lost my sleep, and I began making\ninquiries. And finding out yesterday where to go, I went to-day. The\nfirst time I went he wasn't there, when I came an hour later he couldn't\nsee me. I went the third time, and they showed me in. I informed him of\neverything, just as it happened, and he began skipping about the room\nand punching himself on the chest. 'What do you scoundrels mean by it?\nIf I'd known about it I should have arrested him!' Then he ran out,\ncalled somebody and began talking to him in the corner, then he turned\nto me, scolding and questioning me. He scolded me a great deal; and I\ntold him everything, and I told him that you didn't dare to say a word\nin answer to me yesterday and that you didn't recognise me. And he\nfell to running about again and kept hitting himself on the chest, and\ngetting angry and running about, and when you were announced he told\nme to go into the next room. 'Sit there a bit,' he said. 'Don't move,\nwhatever you may hear.' And he set a chair there for me and locked\nme in. 'Perhaps,' he said, 'I may call you.' And when Nikolay'd been\nbrought he let me out as soon as you were gone. 'I shall send for you\nagain and question you,' he said.\"\n\n\"And did he question Nikolay while you were there?\"\n\n\"He got rid of me as he did of you, before he spoke to Nikolay.\"\n\nThe man stood still, and again suddenly bowed down, touching the ground\nwith his finger.\n\n\"Forgive me for my evil thoughts, and my slander.\"\n\n\"May God forgive you,\" answered Raskolnikov.\n\nAnd as he said this, the man bowed down again, but not to the ground,\nturned slowly and went out of the room.\n\n\"It all cuts both ways, now it all cuts both ways,\" repeated\nRaskolnikov, and he went out more confident than ever.\n\n\"Now we'll make a fight for it,\" he said, with a malicious smile, as he\nwent down the stairs. His malice was aimed at himself; with shame and\ncontempt he recollected his \"cowardice.\"\n\n\n\n\nPART V\n\n\n\nCHAPTER I\n\nThe morning that followed the fateful interview with Dounia and\nher mother brought sobering influences to bear on Pyotr Petrovitch.\nIntensely unpleasant as it was, he was forced little by little to accept\nas a fact beyond recall what had seemed to him only the day before\nfantastic and incredible. The black snake of wounded vanity had been\ngnawing at his heart all night. When he got out of bed, Pyotr Petrovitch\nimmediately looked in the looking-glass. He was afraid that he had\njaundice. However his health seemed unimpaired so far, and looking at\nhis noble, clear-skinned countenance which had grown fattish of\nlate, Pyotr Petrovitch for an instant was positively comforted in the\nconviction that he would find another bride and, perhaps, even a better\none. But coming back to the sense of his present position, he turned\naside and spat vigorously, which excited a sarcastic smile in Andrey\nSemyonovitch Lebeziatnikov, the young friend with whom he was staying.\nThat smile Pyotr Petrovitch noticed, and at once set it down against his\nyoung friend's account. He had set down a good many points against him\nof late. His anger was redoubled when he reflected that he ought not to\nhave told Andrey Semyonovitch about the result of yesterday's interview.\nThat was the second mistake he had made in temper, through impulsiveness\nand irritability.... Moreover, all that morning one unpleasantness\nfollowed another. He even found a hitch awaiting him in his legal case\nin the senate. He was particularly irritated by the owner of the flat\nwhich had been taken in view of his approaching marriage and was being\nredecorated at his own expense; the owner, a rich German tradesman,\nwould not entertain the idea of breaking the contract which had just\nbeen signed and insisted on the full forfeit money, though Pyotr\nPetrovitch would be giving him back the flat practically redecorated. In\nthe same way the upholsterers refused to return a single rouble of the\ninstalment paid for the furniture purchased but not yet removed to the\nflat.\n\n\"Am I to get married simply for the sake of the furniture?\" Pyotr\nPetrovitch ground his teeth and at the same time once more he had a\ngleam of desperate hope. \"Can all that be really so irrevocably over?\nIs it no use to make another effort?\" The thought of Dounia sent a\nvoluptuous pang through his heart. He endured anguish at that moment,\nand if it had been possible to slay Raskolnikov instantly by wishing it,\nPyotr Petrovitch would promptly have uttered the wish.\n\n\"It was my mistake, too, not to have given them money,\" he thought, as\nhe returned dejectedly to Lebeziatnikov's room, \"and why on earth was I\nsuch a Jew? It was false economy! I meant to keep them without a penny\nso that they should turn to me as their providence, and look at them!\nfoo! If I'd spent some fifteen hundred roubles on them for the trousseau\nand presents, on knick-knacks, dressing-cases, jewellery, materials, and\nall that sort of trash from Knopp's and the English shop, my position\nwould have been better and... stronger! They could not have refused me\nso easily! They are the sort of people that would feel bound to return\nmoney and presents if they broke it off; and they would find it hard to\ndo it! And their conscience would prick them: how can we dismiss a man\nwho has hitherto been so generous and delicate?.... H'm! I've made a\nblunder.\"\n\nAnd grinding his teeth again, Pyotr Petrovitch called himself a\nfool--but not aloud, of course.\n\nHe returned home, twice as irritated and angry as before. The\npreparations for the funeral dinner at Katerina Ivanovna's excited\nhis curiosity as he passed. He had heard about it the day before; he\nfancied, indeed, that he had been invited, but absorbed in his own cares\nhe had paid no attention. Inquiring of Madame Lippevechsel who was busy\nlaying the table while Katerina Ivanovna was away at the cemetery, he\nheard that the entertainment was to be a great affair, that all the\nlodgers had been invited, among them some who had not known the dead\nman, that even Andrey Semyonovitch Lebeziatnikov was invited in spite of\nhis previous quarrel with Katerina Ivanovna, that he, Pyotr Petrovitch,\nwas not only invited, but was eagerly expected as he was the most\nimportant of the lodgers. Amalia Ivanovna herself had been invited with\ngreat ceremony in spite of the recent unpleasantness, and so she was\nvery busy with preparations and was taking a positive pleasure in them;\nshe was moreover dressed up to the nines, all in new black silk, and she\nwas proud of it. All this suggested an idea to Pyotr Petrovitch and he\nwent into his room, or rather Lebeziatnikov's, somewhat thoughtful. He\nhad learnt that Raskolnikov was to be one of the guests.\n\nAndrey Semyonovitch had been at home all the morning. The attitude of\nPyotr Petrovitch to this gentleman was strange, though perhaps natural.\nPyotr Petrovitch had despised and hated him from the day he came to stay\nwith him and at the same time he seemed somewhat afraid of him. He\nhad not come to stay with him on his arrival in Petersburg simply from\nparsimony, though that had been perhaps his chief object. He had heard\nof Andrey Semyonovitch, who had once been his ward, as a leading young\nprogressive who was taking an important part in certain interesting\ncircles, the doings of which were a legend in the provinces. It had\nimpressed Pyotr Petrovitch. These powerful omniscient circles who\ndespised everyone and showed everyone up had long inspired in him a\npeculiar but quite vague alarm. He had not, of course, been able to form\neven an approximate notion of what they meant. He, like everyone, had\nheard that there were, especially in Petersburg, progressives of some\nsort, nihilists and so on, and, like many people, he exaggerated and\ndistorted the significance of those words to an absurd degree. What for\nmany years past he had feared more than anything was _being shown\nup_ and this was the chief ground for his continual uneasiness at the\nthought of transferring his business to Petersburg. He was afraid of\nthis as little children are sometimes panic-stricken. Some years before,\nwhen he was just entering on his own career, he had come upon two cases\nin which rather important personages in the province, patrons of his,\nhad been cruelly shown up. One instance had ended in great scandal\nfor the person attacked and the other had very nearly ended in serious\ntrouble. For this reason Pyotr Petrovitch intended to go into the\nsubject as soon as he reached Petersburg and, if necessary, to\nanticipate contingencies by seeking the favour of \"our younger\ngeneration.\" He relied on Andrey Semyonovitch for this and before\nhis visit to Raskolnikov he had succeeded in picking up some current\nphrases. He soon discovered that Andrey Semyonovitch was a commonplace\nsimpleton, but that by no means reassured Pyotr Petrovitch. Even if he\nhad been certain that all the progressives were fools like him, it\nwould not have allayed his uneasiness. All the doctrines, the ideas, the\nsystems, with which Andrey Semyonovitch pestered him had no interest for\nhim. He had his own object--he simply wanted to find out at once what\nwas happening _here_. Had these people any power or not? Had he anything\nto fear from them? Would they expose any enterprise of his? And what\nprecisely was now the object of their attacks? Could he somehow make up\nto them and get round them if they really were powerful? Was this the\nthing to do or not? Couldn't he gain something through them? In fact\nhundreds of questions presented themselves.\n\nAndrey Semyonovitch was an anaemic, scrofulous little man, with strangely\nflaxen mutton-chop whiskers of which he was very proud. He was a clerk\nand had almost always something wrong with his eyes. He was rather\nsoft-hearted, but self-confident and sometimes extremely conceited in\nspeech, which had an absurd effect, incongruous with his little figure.\nHe was one of the lodgers most respected by Amalia Ivanovna, for he did\nnot get drunk and paid regularly for his lodgings. Andrey Semyonovitch\nreally was rather stupid; he attached himself to the cause of progress\nand \"our younger generation\" from enthusiasm. He was one of the numerous\nand varied legion of dullards, of half-animate abortions, conceited,\nhalf-educated coxcombs, who attach themselves to the idea most in\nfashion only to vulgarise it and who caricature every cause they serve,\nhowever sincerely.\n\nThough Lebeziatnikov was so good-natured, he, too, was beginning to\ndislike Pyotr Petrovitch. This happened on both sides unconsciously.\nHowever simple Andrey Semyonovitch might be, he began to see that Pyotr\nPetrovitch was duping him and secretly despising him, and that \"he was\nnot the right sort of man.\" He had tried expounding to him the system of\nFourier and the Darwinian theory, but of late Pyotr Petrovitch began to\nlisten too sarcastically and even to be rude. The fact was he had begun\ninstinctively to guess that Lebeziatnikov was not merely a commonplace\nsimpleton, but, perhaps, a liar, too, and that he had no connections of\nany consequence even in his own circle, but had simply picked things up\nthird-hand; and that very likely he did not even know much about his own\nwork of propaganda, for he was in too great a muddle. A fine person he\nwould be to show anyone up! It must be noted, by the way, that Pyotr\nPetrovitch had during those ten days eagerly accepted the strangest\npraise from Andrey Semyonovitch; he had not protested, for instance,\nwhen Andrey Semyonovitch belauded him for being ready to contribute to\nthe establishment of the new \"commune,\" or to abstain from christening\nhis future children, or to acquiesce if Dounia were to take a lover a\nmonth after marriage, and so on. Pyotr Petrovitch so enjoyed hearing\nhis own praises that he did not disdain even such virtues when they were\nattributed to him.\n\nPyotr Petrovitch had had occasion that morning to realise some\nfive-per-cent bonds and now he sat down to the table and counted over\nbundles of notes. Andrey Semyonovitch who hardly ever had any money\nwalked about the room pretending to himself to look at all those bank\nnotes with indifference and even contempt. Nothing would have convinced\nPyotr Petrovitch that Andrey Semyonovitch could really look on the money\nunmoved, and the latter, on his side, kept thinking bitterly that Pyotr\nPetrovitch was capable of entertaining such an idea about him and\nwas, perhaps, glad of the opportunity of teasing his young friend by\nreminding him of his inferiority and the great difference between them.\n\nHe found him incredibly inattentive and irritable, though he, Andrey\nSemyonovitch, began enlarging on his favourite subject, the foundation\nof a new special \"commune.\" The brief remarks that dropped from Pyotr\nPetrovitch between the clicking of the beads on the reckoning frame\nbetrayed unmistakable and discourteous irony. But the \"humane\" Andrey\nSemyonovitch ascribed Pyotr Petrovitch's ill-humour to his recent breach\nwith Dounia and he was burning with impatience to discourse on that\ntheme. He had something progressive to say on the subject which\nmight console his worthy friend and \"could not fail\" to promote his\ndevelopment.\n\n\"There is some sort of festivity being prepared at that... at the\nwidow's, isn't there?\" Pyotr Petrovitch asked suddenly, interrupting\nAndrey Semyonovitch at the most interesting passage.\n\n\"Why, don't you know? Why, I was telling you last night what I think\nabout all such ceremonies. And she invited you too, I heard. You were\ntalking to her yesterday...\"\n\n\"I should never have expected that beggarly fool would have spent on\nthis feast all the money she got from that other fool, Raskolnikov. I\nwas surprised just now as I came through at the preparations there, the\nwines! Several people are invited. It's beyond everything!\" continued\nPyotr Petrovitch, who seemed to have some object in pursuing the\nconversation. \"What? You say I am asked too? When was that? I don't\nremember. But I shan't go. Why should I? I only said a word to her in\npassing yesterday of the possibility of her obtaining a year's salary as\na destitute widow of a government clerk. I suppose she has invited me on\nthat account, hasn't she? He-he-he!\"\n\n\"I don't intend to go either,\" said Lebeziatnikov.\n\n\"I should think not, after giving her a thrashing! You might well\nhesitate, he-he!\"\n\n\"Who thrashed? Whom?\" cried Lebeziatnikov, flustered and blushing.\n\n\"Why, you thrashed Katerina Ivanovna a month ago. I heard so\nyesterday... so that's what your convictions amount to... and the woman\nquestion, too, wasn't quite sound, he-he-he!\" and Pyotr Petrovitch, as\nthough comforted, went back to clicking his beads.\n\n\"It's all slander and nonsense!\" cried Lebeziatnikov, who was always\nafraid of allusions to the subject. \"It was not like that at all, it\nwas quite different. You've heard it wrong; it's a libel. I was simply\ndefending myself. She rushed at me first with her nails, she pulled\nout all my whiskers.... It's permissable for anyone, I should hope,\nto defend himself and I never allow anyone to use violence to me on\nprinciple, for it's an act of despotism. What was I to do? I simply\npushed her back.\"\n\n\"He-he-he!\" Luzhin went on laughing maliciously.\n\n\"You keep on like that because you are out of humour yourself.... But\nthat's nonsense and it has nothing, nothing whatever to do with the\nwoman question! You don't understand; I used to think, indeed, that\nif women are equal to men in all respects, even in strength (as is\nmaintained now) there ought to be equality in that, too. Of course, I\nreflected afterwards that such a question ought not really to arise,\nfor there ought not to be fighting and in the future society fighting is\nunthinkable... and that it would be a queer thing to seek for equality\nin fighting. I am not so stupid... though, of course, there is\nfighting... there won't be later, but at present there is... confound\nit! How muddled one gets with you! It's not on that account that I\nam not going. I am not going on principle, not to take part in the\nrevolting convention of memorial dinners, that's why! Though, of course,\none might go to laugh at it.... I am sorry there won't be any priests at\nit. I should certainly go if there were.\"\n\n\"Then you would sit down at another man's table and insult it and those\nwho invited you. Eh?\"\n\n\"Certainly not insult, but protest. I should do it with a good object. I\nmight indirectly assist the cause of enlightenment and propaganda. It's\na duty of every man to work for enlightenment and propaganda and the\nmore harshly, perhaps, the better. I might drop a seed, an idea.... And\nsomething might grow up from that seed. How should I be insulting them?\nThey might be offended at first, but afterwards they'd see I'd done them\na service. You know, Terebyeva (who is in the community now) was blamed\nbecause when she left her family and... devoted... herself, she wrote to\nher father and mother that she wouldn't go on living conventionally and\nwas entering on a free marriage and it was said that that was too harsh,\nthat she might have spared them and have written more kindly. I think\nthat's all nonsense and there's no need of softness; on the contrary,\nwhat's wanted is protest. Varents had been married seven years, she\nabandoned her two children, she told her husband straight out in a\nletter: 'I have realised that I cannot be happy with you. I can never\nforgive you that you have deceived me by concealing from me that there\nis another organisation of society by means of the communities. I have\nonly lately learned it from a great-hearted man to whom I have given\nmyself and with whom I am establishing a community. I speak plainly\nbecause I consider it dishonest to deceive you. Do as you think best.\nDo not hope to get me back, you are too late. I hope you will be happy.'\nThat's how letters like that ought to be written!\"\n\n\"Is that Terebyeva the one you said had made a third free marriage?\"\n\n\"No, it's only the second, really! But what if it were the fourth, what\nif it were the fifteenth, that's all nonsense! And if ever I regretted\nthe death of my father and mother, it is now, and I sometimes think\nif my parents were living what a protest I would have aimed at them! I\nwould have done something on purpose... I would have shown them! I would\nhave astonished them! I am really sorry there is no one!\"\n\n\"To surprise! He-he! Well, be that as you will,\" Pyotr Petrovitch\ninterrupted, \"but tell me this; do you know the dead man's daughter, the\ndelicate-looking little thing? It's true what they say about her, isn't\nit?\"\n\n\"What of it? I think, that is, it is my own personal conviction that\nthis is the normal condition of women. Why not? I mean, _distinguons_.\nIn our present society it is not altogether normal, because it is\ncompulsory, but in the future society it will be perfectly normal,\nbecause it will be voluntary. Even as it is, she was quite right: she\nwas suffering and that was her asset, so to speak, her capital which\nshe had a perfect right to dispose of. Of course, in the future\nsociety there will be no need of assets, but her part will have another\nsignificance, rational and in harmony with her environment. As to Sofya\nSemyonovna personally, I regard her action as a vigorous protest against\nthe organisation of society, and I respect her deeply for it; I rejoice\nindeed when I look at her!\"\n\n\"I was told that you got her turned out of these lodgings.\"\n\nLebeziatnikov was enraged.\n\n\"That's another slander,\" he yelled. \"It was not so at all! That was all\nKaterina Ivanovna's invention, for she did not understand! And I never\nmade love to Sofya Semyonovna! I was simply developing her, entirely\ndisinterestedly, trying to rouse her to protest.... All I wanted was her\nprotest and Sofya Semyonovna could not have remained here anyway!\"\n\n\"Have you asked her to join your community?\"\n\n\"You keep on laughing and very inappropriately, allow me to tell\nyou. You don't understand! There is no such role in a community. The\ncommunity is established that there should be no such roles. In a\ncommunity, such a role is essentially transformed and what is stupid\nhere is sensible there, what, under present conditions, is unnatural\nbecomes perfectly natural in the community. It all depends on the\nenvironment. It's all the environment and man himself is nothing. And\nI am on good terms with Sofya Semyonovna to this day, which is a proof\nthat she never regarded me as having wronged her. I am trying now to\nattract her to the community, but on quite, quite a different footing.\nWhat are you laughing at? We are trying to establish a community of\nour own, a special one, on a broader basis. We have gone further in our\nconvictions. We reject more! And meanwhile I'm still developing Sofya\nSemyonovna. She has a beautiful, beautiful character!\"\n\n\"And you take advantage of her fine character, eh? He-he!\"\n\n\"No, no! Oh, no! On the contrary.\"\n\n\"Oh, on the contrary! He-he-he! A queer thing to say!\"\n\n\"Believe me! Why should I disguise it? In fact, I feel it strange myself\nhow timid, chaste and modern she is with me!\"\n\n\"And you, of course, are developing her... he-he! trying to prove to her\nthat all that modesty is nonsense?\"\n\n\"Not at all, not at all! How coarsely, how stupidly--excuse me saying\nso--you misunderstand the word development! Good heavens, how... crude\nyou still are! We are striving for the freedom of women and you have\nonly one idea in your head.... Setting aside the general question\nof chastity and feminine modesty as useless in themselves and indeed\nprejudices, I fully accept her chastity with me, because that's for her\nto decide. Of course if she were to tell me herself that she wanted me,\nI should think myself very lucky, because I like the girl very much; but\nas it is, no one has ever treated her more courteously than I, with more\nrespect for her dignity... I wait in hopes, that's all!\"\n\n\"You had much better make her a present of something. I bet you never\nthought of that.\"\n\n\"You don't understand, as I've told you already! Of course, she is in\nsuch a position, but it's another question. Quite another question!\nYou simply despise her. Seeing a fact which you mistakenly consider\ndeserving of contempt, you refuse to take a humane view of a fellow\ncreature. You don't know what a character she is! I am only sorry that\nof late she has quite given up reading and borrowing books. I used\nto lend them to her. I am sorry, too, that with all the energy and\nresolution in protesting--which she has already shown once--she has\nlittle self-reliance, little, so to say, independence, so as to\nbreak free from certain prejudices and certain foolish ideas. Yet she\nthoroughly understands some questions, for instance about kissing of\nhands, that is, that it's an insult to a woman for a man to kiss her\nhand, because it's a sign of inequality. We had a debate about it and\nI described it to her. She listened attentively to an account of the\nworkmen's associations in France, too. Now I am explaining the question\nof coming into the room in the future society.\"\n\n\"And what's that, pray?\"\n\n\"We had a debate lately on the question: Has a member of the community\nthe right to enter another member's room, whether man or woman, at any\ntime... and we decided that he has!\"\n\n\"It might be at an inconvenient moment, he-he!\"\n\nLebeziatnikov was really angry.\n\n\"You are always thinking of something unpleasant,\" he cried with\naversion. \"Tfoo! How vexed I am that when I was expounding our system, I\nreferred prematurely to the question of personal privacy! It's always\na stumbling-block to people like you, they turn it into ridicule before\nthey understand it. And how proud they are of it, too! Tfoo! I've often\nmaintained that that question should not be approached by a novice till\nhe has a firm faith in the system. And tell me, please, what do you\nfind so shameful even in cesspools? I should be the first to be ready\nto clean out any cesspool you like. And it's not a question of\nself-sacrifice, it's simply work, honourable, useful work which is\nas good as any other and much better than the work of a Raphael and a\nPushkin, because it is more useful.\"\n\n\"And more honourable, more honourable, he-he-he!\"\n\n\"What do you mean by 'more honourable'? I don't understand such\nexpressions to describe human activity. 'More honourable,' 'nobler'--all\nthose are old-fashioned prejudices which I reject. Everything which is\n_of use_ to mankind is honourable. I only understand one word: _useful_!\nYou can snigger as much as you like, but that's so!\"\n\nPyotr Petrovitch laughed heartily. He had finished counting the money\nand was putting it away. But some of the notes he left on the table. The\n\"cesspool question\" had already been a subject of dispute between them.\nWhat was absurd was that it made Lebeziatnikov really angry, while it\namused Luzhin and at that moment he particularly wanted to anger his\nyoung friend.\n\n\"It's your ill-luck yesterday that makes you so ill-humoured and\nannoying,\" blurted out Lebeziatnikov, who in spite of his \"independence\"\nand his \"protests\" did not venture to oppose Pyotr Petrovitch and still\nbehaved to him with some of the respect habitual in earlier years.\n\n\"You'd better tell me this,\" Pyotr Petrovitch interrupted with haughty\ndispleasure, \"can you... or rather are you really friendly enough with\nthat young person to ask her to step in here for a minute? I think\nthey've all come back from the cemetery... I heard the sound of\nsteps... I want to see her, that young person.\"\n\n\"What for?\" Lebeziatnikov asked with surprise.\n\n\"Oh, I want to. I am leaving here to-day or to-morrow and therefore I\nwanted to speak to her about... However, you may be present during the\ninterview. It's better you should be, indeed. For there's no knowing\nwhat you might imagine.\"\n\n\"I shan't imagine anything. I only asked and, if you've anything to say\nto her, nothing is easier than to call her in. I'll go directly and you\nmay be sure I won't be in your way.\"\n\nFive minutes later Lebeziatnikov came in with Sonia. She came in very\nmuch surprised and overcome with shyness as usual. She was always shy in\nsuch circumstances and was always afraid of new people, she had been as\na child and was even more so now.... Pyotr Petrovitch met her \"politely\nand affably,\" but with a certain shade of bantering familiarity which in\nhis opinion was suitable for a man of his respectability and weight\nin dealing with a creature so young and so _interesting_ as she. He\nhastened to \"reassure\" her and made her sit down facing him at the\ntable. Sonia sat down, looked about her--at Lebeziatnikov, at the notes\nlying on the table and then again at Pyotr Petrovitch and her eyes\nremained riveted on him. Lebeziatnikov was moving to the door. Pyotr\nPetrovitch signed to Sonia to remain seated and stopped Lebeziatnikov.\n\n\"Is Raskolnikov in there? Has he come?\" he asked him in a whisper.\n\n\"Raskolnikov? Yes. Why? Yes, he is there. I saw him just come in....\nWhy?\"\n\n\"Well, I particularly beg you to remain here with us and not to leave\nme alone with this... young woman. I only want a few words with her,\nbut God knows what they may make of it. I shouldn't like Raskolnikov to\nrepeat anything.... You understand what I mean?\"\n\n\"I understand!\" Lebeziatnikov saw the point. \"Yes, you are right.... Of\ncourse, I am convinced personally that you have no reason to be uneasy,\nbut... still, you are right. Certainly I'll stay. I'll stand here at the\nwindow and not be in your way... I think you are right...\"\n\nPyotr Petrovitch returned to the sofa, sat down opposite Sonia, looked\nattentively at her and assumed an extremely dignified, even severe\nexpression, as much as to say, \"don't you make any mistake, madam.\"\nSonia was overwhelmed with embarrassment.\n\n\"In the first place, Sofya Semyonovna, will you make my excuses to your\nrespected mamma.... That's right, isn't it? Katerina Ivanovna stands\nin the place of a mother to you?\" Pyotr Petrovitch began with great\ndignity, though affably.\n\nIt was evident that his intentions were friendly.\n\n\"Quite so, yes; the place of a mother,\" Sonia answered, timidly and\nhurriedly.\n\n\"Then will you make my apologies to her? Through inevitable\ncircumstances I am forced to be absent and shall not be at the dinner in\nspite of your mamma's kind invitation.\"\n\n\"Yes... I'll tell her... at once.\"\n\nAnd Sonia hastily jumped up from her seat.\n\n\"Wait, that's not all,\" Pyotr Petrovitch detained her, smiling at her\nsimplicity and ignorance of good manners, \"and you know me little, my\ndear Sofya Semyonovna, if you suppose I would have ventured to trouble\na person like you for a matter of so little consequence affecting myself\nonly. I have another object.\"\n\nSonia sat down hurriedly. Her eyes rested again for an instant on the\ngrey-and-rainbow-coloured notes that remained on the table, but she\nquickly looked away and fixed her eyes on Pyotr Petrovitch. She felt it\nhorribly indecorous, especially for _her_, to look at another person's\nmoney. She stared at the gold eye-glass which Pyotr Petrovitch held\nin his left hand and at the massive and extremely handsome ring with a\nyellow stone on his middle finger. But suddenly she looked away and, not\nknowing where to turn, ended by staring Pyotr Petrovitch again straight\nin the face. After a pause of still greater dignity he continued.\n\n\"I chanced yesterday in passing to exchange a couple of words with\nKaterina Ivanovna, poor woman. That was sufficient to enable me to\nascertain that she is in a position--preternatural, if one may so\nexpress it.\"\n\n\"Yes... preternatural...\" Sonia hurriedly assented.\n\n\"Or it would be simpler and more comprehensible to say, ill.\"\n\n\"Yes, simpler and more comprehen... yes, ill.\"\n\n\"Quite so. So then from a feeling of humanity and so to speak\ncompassion, I should be glad to be of service to her in any way,\nforeseeing her unfortunate position. I believe the whole of this\npoverty-stricken family depends now entirely on you?\"\n\n\"Allow me to ask,\" Sonia rose to her feet, \"did you say something to her\nyesterday of the possibility of a pension? Because she told me you had\nundertaken to get her one. Was that true?\"\n\n\"Not in the slightest, and indeed it's an absurdity! I merely hinted at\nher obtaining temporary assistance as the widow of an official who had\ndied in the service--if only she has patronage... but apparently your\nlate parent had not served his full term and had not indeed been in the\nservice at all of late. In fact, if there could be any hope, it would be\nvery ephemeral, because there would be no claim for assistance in\nthat case, far from it.... And she is dreaming of a pension already,\nhe-he-he!... A go-ahead lady!\"\n\n\"Yes, she is. For she is credulous and good-hearted, and she believes\neverything from the goodness of her heart and... and... and she is like\nthat... yes... You must excuse her,\" said Sonia, and again she got up to\ngo.\n\n\"But you haven't heard what I have to say.\"\n\n\"No, I haven't heard,\" muttered Sonia.\n\n\"Then sit down.\" She was terribly confused; she sat down again a third\ntime.\n\n\"Seeing her position with her unfortunate little ones, I should be glad,\nas I have said before, so far as lies in my power, to be of service,\nthat is, so far as is in my power, not more. One might for instance get\nup a subscription for her, or a lottery, something of the sort, such as\nis always arranged in such cases by friends or even outsiders desirous\nof assisting people. It was of that I intended to speak to you; it might\nbe done.\"\n\n\"Yes, yes... God will repay you for it,\" faltered Sonia, gazing intently\nat Pyotr Petrovitch.\n\n\"It might be, but we will talk of it later. We might begin it to-day, we\nwill talk it over this evening and lay the foundation so to speak. Come\nto me at seven o'clock. Mr. Lebeziatnikov, I hope, will assist us. But\nthere is one circumstance of which I ought to warn you beforehand and\nfor which I venture to trouble you, Sofya Semyonovna, to come here. In\nmy opinion money cannot be, indeed it's unsafe to put it into Katerina\nIvanovna's own hands. The dinner to-day is a proof of that. Though she\nhas not, so to speak, a crust of bread for to-morrow and... well, boots\nor shoes, or anything; she has bought to-day Jamaica rum, and even,\nI believe, Madeira and... and coffee. I saw it as I passed through.\nTo-morrow it will all fall upon you again, they won't have a crust of\nbread. It's absurd, really, and so, to my thinking, a subscription ought\nto be raised so that the unhappy widow should not know of the money, but\nonly you, for instance. Am I right?\"\n\n\"I don't know... this is only to-day, once in her life.... She was\nso anxious to do honour, to celebrate the memory.... And she is very\nsensible... but just as you think and I shall be very, very... they will\nall be... and God will reward... and the orphans...\"\n\nSonia burst into tears.\n\n\"Very well, then, keep it in mind; and now will you accept for the\nbenefit of your relation the small sum that I am able to spare, from me\npersonally. I am very anxious that my name should not be mentioned in\nconnection with it. Here... having so to speak anxieties of my own, I\ncannot do more...\"\n\nAnd Pyotr Petrovitch held out to Sonia a ten-rouble note carefully\nunfolded. Sonia took it, flushed crimson, jumped up, muttered something\nand began taking leave. Pyotr Petrovitch accompanied her ceremoniously\nto the door. She got out of the room at last, agitated and distressed,\nand returned to Katerina Ivanovna, overwhelmed with confusion.\n\nAll this time Lebeziatnikov had stood at the window or walked about the\nroom, anxious not to interrupt the conversation; when Sonia had gone he\nwalked up to Pyotr Petrovitch and solemnly held out his hand.\n\n\"I heard and _saw_ everything,\" he said, laying stress on the last verb.\n\"That is honourable, I mean to say, it's humane! You wanted to avoid\ngratitude, I saw! And although I cannot, I confess, in principle\nsympathise with private charity, for it not only fails to eradicate the\nevil but even promotes it, yet I must admit that I saw your action with\npleasure--yes, yes, I like it.\"\n\n\"That's all nonsense,\" muttered Pyotr Petrovitch, somewhat disconcerted,\nlooking carefully at Lebeziatnikov.\n\n\"No, it's not nonsense! A man who has suffered distress and annoyance as\nyou did yesterday and who yet can sympathise with the misery of others,\nsuch a man... even though he is making a social mistake--is still\ndeserving of respect! I did not expect it indeed of you, Pyotr\nPetrovitch, especially as according to your ideas... oh, what a drawback\nyour ideas are to you! How distressed you are for instance by your\nill-luck yesterday,\" cried the simple-hearted Lebeziatnikov, who felt\na return of affection for Pyotr Petrovitch. \"And, what do you want with\nmarriage, with _legal_ marriage, my dear, noble Pyotr Petrovitch? Why do\nyou cling to this _legality_ of marriage? Well, you may beat me if you\nlike, but I am glad, positively glad it hasn't come off, that you are\nfree, that you are not quite lost for humanity.... you see, I've spoken\nmy mind!\"\n\n\"Because I don't want in your free marriage to be made a fool of and\nto bring up another man's children, that's why I want legal marriage,\"\nLuzhin replied in order to make some answer.\n\nHe seemed preoccupied by something.\n\n\"Children? You referred to children,\" Lebeziatnikov started off like\na warhorse at the trumpet call. \"Children are a social question and a\nquestion of first importance, I agree; but the question of children has\nanother solution. Some refuse to have children altogether, because they\nsuggest the institution of the family. We'll speak of children later,\nbut now as to the question of honour, I confess that's my weak point.\nThat horrid, military, Pushkin expression is unthinkable in the\ndictionary of the future. What does it mean indeed? It's nonsense,\nthere will be no deception in a free marriage! That is only the natural\nconsequence of a legal marriage, so to say, its corrective, a protest.\nSo that indeed it's not humiliating... and if I ever, to suppose an\nabsurdity, were to be legally married, I should be positively glad of\nit. I should say to my wife: 'My dear, hitherto I have loved you, now\nI respect you, for you've shown you can protest!' You laugh! That's\nbecause you are incapable of getting away from prejudices. Confound\nit all! I understand now where the unpleasantness is of being deceived\nin a legal marriage, but it's simply a despicable consequence of a\ndespicable position in which both are humiliated. When the deception is\nopen, as in a free marriage, then it does not exist, it's unthinkable.\nYour wife will only prove how she respects you by considering you\nincapable of opposing her happiness and avenging yourself on her for\nher new husband. Damn it all! I sometimes dream if I were to be married,\npfoo! I mean if I were to marry, legally or not, it's just the same,\nI should present my wife with a lover if she had not found one for\nherself. 'My dear,' I should say, 'I love you, but even more than that I\ndesire you to respect me. See!' Am I not right?\"\n\nPyotr Petrovitch sniggered as he listened, but without much merriment.\nHe hardly heard it indeed. He was preoccupied with something else and\neven Lebeziatnikov at last noticed it. Pyotr Petrovitch seemed excited\nand rubbed his hands. Lebeziatnikov remembered all this and reflected\nupon it afterwards.\n\n\n\nCHAPTER II\n\nIt would be difficult to explain exactly what could have originated the\nidea of that senseless dinner in Katerina Ivanovna's disordered brain.\nNearly ten of the twenty roubles, given by Raskolnikov for Marmeladov's\nfuneral, were wasted upon it. Possibly Katerina Ivanovna felt obliged to\nhonour the memory of the deceased \"suitably,\" that all the lodgers,\nand still more Amalia Ivanovna, might know \"that he was in no way their\ninferior, and perhaps very much their superior,\" and that no one had the\nright \"to turn up his nose at him.\" Perhaps the chief element was that\npeculiar \"poor man's pride,\" which compels many poor people to spend\ntheir last savings on some traditional social ceremony, simply in order\nto do \"like other people,\" and not to \"be looked down upon.\" It is very\nprobable, too, that Katerina Ivanovna longed on this occasion, at\nthe moment when she seemed to be abandoned by everyone, to show those\n\"wretched contemptible lodgers\" that she knew \"how to do things, how\nto entertain\" and that she had been brought up \"in a genteel, she might\nalmost say aristocratic colonel's family\" and had not been meant for\nsweeping floors and washing the children's rags at night. Even the\npoorest and most broken-spirited people are sometimes liable to these\nparoxysms of pride and vanity which take the form of an irresistible\nnervous craving. And Katerina Ivanovna was not broken-spirited; she\nmight have been killed by circumstance, but her spirit could not have\nbeen broken, that is, she could not have been intimidated, her will\ncould not be crushed. Moreover Sonia had said with good reason that her\nmind was unhinged. She could not be said to be insane, but for a year\npast she had been so harassed that her mind might well be overstrained.\nThe later stages of consumption are apt, doctors tell us, to affect the\nintellect.\n\nThere was no great variety of wines, nor was there Madeira; but wine\nthere was. There was vodka, rum and Lisbon wine, all of the poorest\nquality but in sufficient quantity. Besides the traditional rice and\nhoney, there were three or four dishes, one of which consisted of\npancakes, all prepared in Amalia Ivanovna's kitchen. Two samovars were\nboiling, that tea and punch might be offered after dinner. Katerina\nIvanovna had herself seen to purchasing the provisions, with the help\nof one of the lodgers, an unfortunate little Pole who had somehow been\nstranded at Madame Lippevechsel's. He promptly put himself at Katerina\nIvanovna's disposal and had been all that morning and all the day before\nrunning about as fast as his legs could carry him, and very anxious\nthat everyone should be aware of it. For every trifle he ran to Katerina\nIvanovna, even hunting her out at the bazaar, at every instant called\nher \"_Pani_.\" She was heartily sick of him before the end, though\nshe had declared at first that she could not have got on without this\n\"serviceable and magnanimous man.\" It was one of Katerina Ivanovna's\ncharacteristics to paint everyone she met in the most glowing colours.\nHer praises were so exaggerated as sometimes to be embarrassing; she\nwould invent various circumstances to the credit of her new acquaintance\nand quite genuinely believe in their reality. Then all of a sudden she\nwould be disillusioned and would rudely and contemptuously repulse the\nperson she had only a few hours before been literally adoring. She\nwas naturally of a gay, lively and peace-loving disposition, but from\ncontinual failures and misfortunes she had come to desire so _keenly_\nthat all should live in peace and joy and should not _dare_ to break the\npeace, that the slightest jar, the smallest disaster reduced her almost\nto frenzy, and she would pass in an instant from the brightest hopes and\nfancies to cursing her fate and raving, and knocking her head against\nthe wall.\n\nAmalia Ivanovna, too, suddenly acquired extraordinary importance in\nKaterina Ivanovna's eyes and was treated by her with extraordinary\nrespect, probably only because Amalia Ivanovna had thrown herself heart\nand soul into the preparations. She had undertaken to lay the table,\nto provide the linen, crockery, etc., and to cook the dishes in her\nkitchen, and Katerina Ivanovna had left it all in her hands and gone\nherself to the cemetery. Everything had been well done. Even the\ntable-cloth was nearly clean; the crockery, knives, forks and glasses\nwere, of course, of all shapes and patterns, lent by different lodgers,\nbut the table was properly laid at the time fixed, and Amalia Ivanovna,\nfeeling she had done her work well, had put on a black silk dress and\na cap with new mourning ribbons and met the returning party with some\npride. This pride, though justifiable, displeased Katerina Ivanovna for\nsome reason: \"as though the table could not have been laid except by\nAmalia Ivanovna!\" She disliked the cap with new ribbons, too. \"Could she\nbe stuck up, the stupid German, because she was mistress of the house,\nand had consented as a favour to help her poor lodgers! As a favour!\nFancy that! Katerina Ivanovna's father who had been a colonel and almost\na governor had sometimes had the table set for forty persons, and then\nanyone like Amalia Ivanovna, or rather Ludwigovna, would not have been\nallowed into the kitchen.\"\n\nKaterina Ivanovna, however, put off expressing her feelings for the\ntime and contented herself with treating her coldly, though she decided\ninwardly that she would certainly have to put Amalia Ivanovna down\nand set her in her proper place, for goodness only knew what she was\nfancying herself. Katerina Ivanovna was irritated too by the fact that\nhardly any of the lodgers invited had come to the funeral, except\nthe Pole who had just managed to run into the cemetery, while to the\nmemorial dinner the poorest and most insignificant of them had turned\nup, the wretched creatures, many of them not quite sober. The older\nand more respectable of them all, as if by common consent, stayed away.\nPyotr Petrovitch Luzhin, for instance, who might be said to be the most\nrespectable of all the lodgers, did not appear, though Katerina Ivanovna\nhad the evening before told all the world, that is Amalia Ivanovna,\nPolenka, Sonia and the Pole, that he was the most generous,\nnoble-hearted man with a large property and vast connections, who had\nbeen a friend of her first husband's, and a guest in her father's\nhouse, and that he had promised to use all his influence to secure her\na considerable pension. It must be noted that when Katerina Ivanovna\nexalted anyone's connections and fortune, it was without any ulterior\nmotive, quite disinterestedly, for the mere pleasure of adding to\nthe consequence of the person praised. Probably \"taking his cue\" from\nLuzhin, \"that contemptible wretch Lebeziatnikov had not turned up\neither. What did he fancy himself? He was only asked out of kindness\nand because he was sharing the same room with Pyotr Petrovitch and was a\nfriend of his, so that it would have been awkward not to invite him.\"\n\nAmong those who failed to appear were \"the genteel lady and her\nold-maidish daughter,\" who had only been lodgers in the house for the\nlast fortnight, but had several times complained of the noise and uproar\nin Katerina Ivanovna's room, especially when Marmeladov had come\nback drunk. Katerina Ivanovna heard this from Amalia Ivanovna who,\nquarrelling with Katerina Ivanovna, and threatening to turn the whole\nfamily out of doors, had shouted at her that they \"were not worth the\nfoot\" of the honourable lodgers whom they were disturbing. Katerina\nIvanovna determined now to invite this lady and her daughter, \"whose\nfoot she was not worth,\" and who had turned away haughtily when she\ncasually met them, so that they might know that \"she was more noble in\nher thoughts and feelings and did not harbour malice,\" and might see\nthat she was not accustomed to her way of living. She had proposed to\nmake this clear to them at dinner with allusions to her late father's\ngovernorship, and also at the same time to hint that it was exceedingly\nstupid of them to turn away on meeting her. The fat colonel-major (he\nwas really a discharged officer of low rank) was also absent, but it\nappeared that he had been \"not himself\" for the last two days. The party\nconsisted of the Pole, a wretched looking clerk with a spotty face and\na greasy coat, who had not a word to say for himself, and smelt\nabominably, a deaf and almost blind old man who had once been in the\npost office and who had been from immemorial ages maintained by someone\nat Amalia Ivanovna's.\n\nA retired clerk of the commissariat department came, too; he was\ndrunk, had a loud and most unseemly laugh and only fancy--was without\na waistcoat! One of the visitors sat straight down to the table without\neven greeting Katerina Ivanovna. Finally one person having no suit\nappeared in his dressing-gown, but this was too much, and the efforts of\nAmalia Ivanovna and the Pole succeeded in removing him. The Pole brought\nwith him, however, two other Poles who did not live at Amalia Ivanovna's\nand whom no one had seen here before. All this irritated Katerina\nIvanovna intensely. \"For whom had they made all these preparations\nthen?\" To make room for the visitors the children had not even been laid\nfor at the table; but the two little ones were sitting on a bench in the\nfurthest corner with their dinner laid on a box, while Polenka as a big\ngirl had to look after them, feed them, and keep their noses wiped like\nwell-bred children's.\n\nKaterina Ivanovna, in fact, could hardly help meeting her guests with\nincreased dignity, and even haughtiness. She stared at some of them with\nspecial severity, and loftily invited them to take their seats. Rushing\nto the conclusion that Amalia Ivanovna must be responsible for those who\nwere absent, she began treating her with extreme nonchalance, which the\nlatter promptly observed and resented. Such a beginning was no good omen\nfor the end. All were seated at last.\n\nRaskolnikov came in almost at the moment of their return from the\ncemetery. Katerina Ivanovna was greatly delighted to see him, in the\nfirst place, because he was the one \"educated visitor, and, as everyone\nknew, was in two years to take a professorship in the university,\" and\nsecondly because he immediately and respectfully apologised for having\nbeen unable to be at the funeral. She positively pounced upon him, and\nmade him sit on her left hand (Amalia Ivanovna was on her right). In\nspite of her continual anxiety that the dishes should be passed round\ncorrectly and that everyone should taste them, in spite of the agonising\ncough which interrupted her every minute and seemed to have grown worse\nduring the last few days, she hastened to pour out in a half whisper to\nRaskolnikov all her suppressed feelings and her just indignation at\nthe failure of the dinner, interspersing her remarks with lively and\nuncontrollable laughter at the expense of her visitors and especially of\nher landlady.\n\n\"It's all that cuckoo's fault! You know whom I mean? Her, her!\" Katerina\nIvanovna nodded towards the landlady. \"Look at her, she's making round\neyes, she feels that we are talking about her and can't understand.\nPfoo, the owl! Ha-ha! (Cough-cough-cough.) And what does she put on that\ncap for? (Cough-cough-cough.) Have you noticed that she wants everyone\nto consider that she is patronising me and doing me an honour by being\nhere? I asked her like a sensible woman to invite people, especially\nthose who knew my late husband, and look at the set of fools she has\nbrought! The sweeps! Look at that one with the spotty face. And those\nwretched Poles, ha-ha-ha! (Cough-cough-cough.) Not one of them has ever\npoked his nose in here, I've never set eyes on them. What have they come\nhere for, I ask you? There they sit in a row. Hey, _pan_!\" she cried\nsuddenly to one of them, \"have you tasted the pancakes? Take some more!\nHave some beer! Won't you have some vodka? Look, he's jumped up and is\nmaking his bows, they must be quite starved, poor things. Never mind,\nlet them eat! They don't make a noise, anyway, though I'm really afraid\nfor our landlady's silver spoons... Amalia Ivanovna!\" she addressed her\nsuddenly, almost aloud, \"if your spoons should happen to be stolen,\nI won't be responsible, I warn you! Ha-ha-ha!\" She laughed turning to\nRaskolnikov, and again nodding towards the landlady, in high glee at her\nsally. \"She didn't understand, she didn't understand again! Look how\nshe sits with her mouth open! An owl, a real owl! An owl in new ribbons,\nha-ha-ha!\"\n\nHere her laugh turned again to an insufferable fit of coughing that\nlasted five minutes. Drops of perspiration stood out on her forehead\nand her handkerchief was stained with blood. She showed Raskolnikov\nthe blood in silence, and as soon as she could get her breath began\nwhispering to him again with extreme animation and a hectic flush on her\ncheeks.\n\n\"Do you know, I gave her the most delicate instructions, so to speak,\nfor inviting that lady and her daughter, you understand of whom I am\nspeaking? It needed the utmost delicacy, the greatest nicety, but she\nhas managed things so that that fool, that conceited baggage, that\nprovincial nonentity, simply because she is the widow of a major, and\nhas come to try and get a pension and to fray out her skirts in the\ngovernment offices, because at fifty she paints her face (everybody\nknows it)... a creature like that did not think fit to come, and has\nnot even answered the invitation, which the most ordinary good manners\nrequired! I can't understand why Pyotr Petrovitch has not come? But\nwhere's Sonia? Where has she gone? Ah, there she is at last! what is it,\nSonia, where have you been? It's odd that even at your father's funeral\nyou should be so unpunctual. Rodion Romanovitch, make room for her\nbeside you. That's your place, Sonia... take what you like. Have some of\nthe cold entree with jelly, that's the best. They'll bring the pancakes\ndirectly. Have they given the children some? Polenka, have you got\neverything? (Cough-cough-cough.) That's all right. Be a good girl, Lida,\nand, Kolya, don't fidget with your feet; sit like a little gentleman.\nWhat are you saying, Sonia?\"\n\nSonia hastened to give her Pyotr Petrovitch's apologies, trying to\nspeak loud enough for everyone to hear and carefully choosing the most\nrespectful phrases which she attributed to Pyotr Petrovitch. She added\nthat Pyotr Petrovitch had particularly told her to say that, as soon as\nhe possibly could, he would come immediately to discuss _business_ alone\nwith her and to consider what could be done for her, etc., etc.\n\nSonia knew that this would comfort Katerina Ivanovna, would flatter her\nand gratify her pride. She sat down beside Raskolnikov; she made him a\nhurried bow, glancing curiously at him. But for the rest of the time\nshe seemed to avoid looking at him or speaking to him. She seemed\nabsent-minded, though she kept looking at Katerina Ivanovna, trying\nto please her. Neither she nor Katerina Ivanovna had been able to get\nmourning; Sonia was wearing dark brown, and Katerina Ivanovna had on her\nonly dress, a dark striped cotton one.\n\nThe message from Pyotr Petrovitch was very successful. Listening to\nSonia with dignity, Katerina Ivanovna inquired with equal dignity how\nPyotr Petrovitch was, then at once whispered almost aloud to\nRaskolnikov that it certainly would have been strange for a man of\nPyotr Petrovitch's position and standing to find himself in such\n\"extraordinary company,\" in spite of his devotion to her family and his\nold friendship with her father.\n\n\"That's why I am so grateful to you, Rodion Romanovitch, that you have\nnot disdained my hospitality, even in such surroundings,\" she added\nalmost aloud. \"But I am sure that it was only your special affection for\nmy poor husband that has made you keep your promise.\"\n\nThen once more with pride and dignity she scanned her visitors, and\nsuddenly inquired aloud across the table of the deaf man: \"Wouldn't he\nhave some more meat, and had he been given some wine?\" The old man made\nno answer and for a long while could not understand what he was asked,\nthough his neighbours amused themselves by poking and shaking him. He\nsimply gazed about him with his mouth open, which only increased the\ngeneral mirth.\n\n\"What an imbecile! Look, look! Why was he brought? But as to Pyotr\nPetrovitch, I always had confidence in him,\" Katerina Ivanovna\ncontinued, \"and, of course, he is not like...\" with an extremely stern\nface she addressed Amalia Ivanovna so sharply and loudly that the latter\nwas quite disconcerted, \"not like your dressed up draggletails whom\nmy father would not have taken as cooks into his kitchen, and my late\nhusband would have done them honour if he had invited them in the\ngoodness of his heart.\"\n\n\"Yes, he was fond of drink, he was fond of it, he did drink!\" cried the\ncommissariat clerk, gulping down his twelfth glass of vodka.\n\n\"My late husband certainly had that weakness, and everyone knows\nit,\" Katerina Ivanovna attacked him at once, \"but he was a kind and\nhonourable man, who loved and respected his family. The worst of it was\nhis good nature made him trust all sorts of disreputable people, and he\ndrank with fellows who were not worth the sole of his shoe. Would you\nbelieve it, Rodion Romanovitch, they found a gingerbread cock in his\npocket; he was dead drunk, but he did not forget the children!\"\n\n\"A cock? Did you say a cock?\" shouted the commissariat clerk.\n\nKaterina Ivanovna did not vouchsafe a reply. She sighed, lost in\nthought.\n\n\"No doubt you think, like everyone, that I was too severe with him,\" she\nwent on, addressing Raskolnikov. \"But that's not so! He respected me, he\nrespected me very much! He was a kind-hearted man! And how sorry I was\nfor him sometimes! He would sit in a corner and look at me, I used to\nfeel so sorry for him, I used to want to be kind to him and then would\nthink to myself: 'Be kind to him and he will drink again,' it was only\nby severity that you could keep him within bounds.\"\n\n\"Yes, he used to get his hair pulled pretty often,\" roared the\ncommissariat clerk again, swallowing another glass of vodka.\n\n\"Some fools would be the better for a good drubbing, as well as having\ntheir hair pulled. I am not talking of my late husband now!\" Katerina\nIvanovna snapped at him.\n\nThe flush on her cheeks grew more and more marked, her chest heaved. In\nanother minute she would have been ready to make a scene. Many of the\nvisitors were sniggering, evidently delighted. They began poking the\ncommissariat clerk and whispering something to him. They were evidently\ntrying to egg him on.\n\n\"Allow me to ask what are you alluding to,\" began the clerk, \"that is\nto say, whose... about whom... did you say just now... But I don't care!\nThat's nonsense! Widow! I forgive you.... Pass!\"\n\nAnd he took another drink of vodka.\n\nRaskolnikov sat in silence, listening with disgust. He only ate from\npoliteness, just tasting the food that Katerina Ivanovna was continually\nputting on his plate, to avoid hurting her feelings. He watched Sonia\nintently. But Sonia became more and more anxious and distressed; she,\ntoo, foresaw that the dinner would not end peaceably, and saw with\nterror Katerina Ivanovna's growing irritation. She knew that she, Sonia,\nwas the chief reason for the 'genteel' ladies' contemptuous treatment of\nKaterina Ivanovna's invitation. She had heard from Amalia Ivanovna that\nthe mother was positively offended at the invitation and had asked the\nquestion: \"How could she let her daughter sit down beside _that young\nperson_?\" Sonia had a feeling that Katerina Ivanovna had already heard\nthis and an insult to Sonia meant more to Katerina Ivanovna than an\ninsult to herself, her children, or her father, Sonia knew that\nKaterina Ivanovna would not be satisfied now, \"till she had shown those\ndraggletails that they were both...\" To make matters worse someone\npassed Sonia, from the other end of the table, a plate with two hearts\npierced with an arrow, cut out of black bread. Katerina Ivanovna flushed\ncrimson and at once said aloud across the table that the man who sent it\nwas \"a drunken ass!\"\n\nAmalia Ivanovna was foreseeing something amiss, and at the same time\ndeeply wounded by Katerina Ivanovna's haughtiness, and to restore the\ngood-humour of the company and raise herself in their esteem she began,\napropos of nothing, telling a story about an acquaintance of hers \"Karl\nfrom the chemist's,\" who was driving one night in a cab, and that \"the\ncabman wanted him to kill, and Karl very much begged him not to kill,\nand wept and clasped hands, and frightened and from fear pierced his\nheart.\" Though Katerina Ivanovna smiled, she observed at once that\nAmalia Ivanovna ought not to tell anecdotes in Russian; the latter was\nstill more offended, and she retorted that her \"_Vater aus Berlin_ was a\nvery important man, and always went with his hands in pockets.\" Katerina\nIvanovna could not restrain herself and laughed so much that Amalia\nIvanovna lost patience and could scarcely control herself.\n\n\"Listen to the owl!\" Katerina Ivanovna whispered at once, her\ngood-humour almost restored, \"she meant to say he kept his hands in\nhis pockets, but she said he put his hands in people's pockets.\n(Cough-cough.) And have you noticed, Rodion Romanovitch, that all these\nPetersburg foreigners, the Germans especially, are all stupider than\nwe! Can you fancy anyone of us telling how 'Karl from the chemist's'\n'pierced his heart from fear' and that the idiot, instead of punishing\nthe cabman, 'clasped his hands and wept, and much begged.' Ah, the fool!\nAnd you know she fancies it's very touching and does not suspect how\nstupid she is! To my thinking that drunken commissariat clerk is a great\ndeal cleverer, anyway one can see that he has addled his brains with\ndrink, but you know, these foreigners are always so well behaved\nand serious.... Look how she sits glaring! She is angry, ha-ha!\n(Cough-cough-cough.)\"\n\nRegaining her good-humour, Katerina Ivanovna began at once telling\nRaskolnikov that when she had obtained her pension, she intended to open\na school for the daughters of gentlemen in her native town T----.\nThis was the first time she had spoken to him of the project, and she\nlaunched out into the most alluring details. It suddenly appeared that\nKaterina Ivanovna had in her hands the very certificate of honour of\nwhich Marmeladov had spoken to Raskolnikov in the tavern, when he told\nhim that Katerina Ivanovna, his wife, had danced the shawl dance\nbefore the governor and other great personages on leaving school. This\ncertificate of honour was obviously intended now to prove Katerina\nIvanovna's right to open a boarding-school; but she had armed herself\nwith it chiefly with the object of overwhelming \"those two stuck-up\ndraggletails\" if they came to the dinner, and proving incontestably\nthat Katerina Ivanovna was of the most noble, \"she might even say\naristocratic family, a colonel's daughter and was far superior to\ncertain adventuresses who have been so much to the fore of late.\" The\ncertificate of honour immediately passed into the hands of the drunken\nguests, and Katerina Ivanovna did not try to retain it, for it actually\ncontained the statement _en toutes lettres_, that her father was of the\nrank of a major, and also a companion of an order, so that she really\nwas almost the daughter of a colonel.\n\nWarming up, Katerina Ivanovna proceeded to enlarge on the peaceful and\nhappy life they would lead in T----, on the gymnasium teachers whom\nshe would engage to give lessons in her boarding-school, one a most\nrespectable old Frenchman, one Mangot, who had taught Katerina Ivanovna\nherself in old days and was still living in T----, and would no doubt\nteach in her school on moderate terms. Next she spoke of Sonia who would\ngo with her to T---- and help her in all her plans. At this someone at\nthe further end of the table gave a sudden guffaw.\n\nThough Katerina Ivanovna tried to appear to be disdainfully unaware of\nit, she raised her voice and began at once speaking with conviction of\nSonia's undoubted ability to assist her, of \"her gentleness, patience,\ndevotion, generosity and good education,\" tapping Sonia on the cheek and\nkissing her warmly twice. Sonia flushed crimson, and Katerina Ivanovna\nsuddenly burst into tears, immediately observing that she was \"nervous\nand silly, that she was too much upset, that it was time to finish, and\nas the dinner was over, it was time to hand round the tea.\"\n\nAt that moment, Amalia Ivanovna, deeply aggrieved at taking no part in\nthe conversation, and not being listened to, made one last effort,\nand with secret misgivings ventured on an exceedingly deep and weighty\nobservation, that \"in the future boarding-school she would have to pay\nparticular attention to _die Waesche_, and that there certainly must be a\ngood _dame_ to look after the linen, and secondly that the young ladies\nmust not novels at night read.\"\n\nKaterina Ivanovna, who certainly was upset and very tired, as well as\nheartily sick of the dinner, at once cut short Amalia Ivanovna, saying\n\"she knew nothing about it and was talking nonsense, that it was the\nbusiness of the laundry maid, and not of the directress of a high-class\nboarding-school to look after _die Waesche_, and as for novel-reading,\nthat was simply rudeness, and she begged her to be silent.\" Amalia\nIvanovna fired up and getting angry observed that she only \"meant her\ngood,\" and that \"she had meant her very good,\" and that \"it was long\nsince she had paid her _gold_ for the lodgings.\"\n\nKaterina Ivanovna at once \"set her down,\" saying that it was a lie to\nsay she wished her good, because only yesterday when her dead husband\nwas lying on the table, she had worried her about the lodgings. To this\nAmalia Ivanovna very appropriately observed that she had invited those\nladies, but \"those ladies had not come, because those ladies _are_\nladies and cannot come to a lady who is not a lady.\" Katerina Ivanovna\nat once pointed out to her, that as she was a slut she could not judge\nwhat made one really a lady. Amalia Ivanovna at once declared that her\n\"_Vater aus Berlin_ was a very, very important man, and both hands in\npockets went, and always used to say: 'Poof! poof!'\" and she leapt\nup from the table to represent her father, sticking her hands in her\npockets, puffing her cheeks, and uttering vague sounds resembling \"poof!\npoof!\" amid loud laughter from all the lodgers, who purposely encouraged\nAmalia Ivanovna, hoping for a fight.\n\nBut this was too much for Katerina Ivanovna, and she at once declared,\nso that all could hear, that Amalia Ivanovna probably never had a\nfather, but was simply a drunken Petersburg Finn, and had certainly once\nbeen a cook and probably something worse. Amalia Ivanovna turned as red\nas a lobster and squealed that perhaps Katerina Ivanovna never had a\nfather, \"but she had a _Vater aus Berlin_ and that he wore a long coat\nand always said poof-poof-poof!\"\n\nKaterina Ivanovna observed contemptuously that all knew what her family\nwas and that on that very certificate of honour it was stated in print\nthat her father was a colonel, while Amalia Ivanovna's father--if she\nreally had one--was probably some Finnish milkman, but that probably she\nnever had a father at all, since it was still uncertain whether her name\nwas Amalia Ivanovna or Amalia Ludwigovna.\n\nAt this Amalia Ivanovna, lashed to fury, struck the table with her fist,\nand shrieked that she was Amalia Ivanovna, and not Ludwigovna, \"that\nher _Vater_ was named Johann and that he was a burgomeister, and that\nKaterina Ivanovna's _Vater_ was quite never a burgomeister.\" Katerina\nIvanovna rose from her chair, and with a stern and apparently calm voice\n(though she was pale and her chest was heaving) observed that \"if she\ndared for one moment to set her contemptible wretch of a father on a\nlevel with her papa, she, Katerina Ivanovna, would tear her cap off her\nhead and trample it under foot.\" Amalia Ivanovna ran about the room,\nshouting at the top of her voice, that she was mistress of the house and\nthat Katerina Ivanovna should leave the lodgings that minute; then she\nrushed for some reason to collect the silver spoons from the table.\nThere was a great outcry and uproar, the children began crying. Sonia\nran to restrain Katerina Ivanovna, but when Amalia Ivanovna shouted\nsomething about \"the yellow ticket,\" Katerina Ivanovna pushed Sonia\naway, and rushed at the landlady to carry out her threat.\n\nAt that minute the door opened, and Pyotr Petrovitch Luzhin appeared\non the threshold. He stood scanning the party with severe and vigilant\neyes. Katerina Ivanovna rushed to him.\n\n\n\nCHAPTER III\n\n\"Pyotr Petrovitch,\" she cried, \"protect me... you at least! Make this\nfoolish woman understand that she can't behave like this to a lady in\nmisfortune... that there is a law for such things.... I'll go to the\ngovernor-general himself.... She shall answer for it.... Remembering my\nfather's hospitality protect these orphans.\"\n\n\"Allow me, madam.... Allow me.\" Pyotr Petrovitch waved her off. \"Your\npapa as you are well aware I had not the honour of knowing\" (someone\nlaughed aloud) \"and I do not intend to take part in your everlasting\nsquabbles with Amalia Ivanovna.... I have come here to speak of my own\naffairs... and I want to have a word with your stepdaughter, Sofya...\nIvanovna, I think it is? Allow me to pass.\"\n\nPyotr Petrovitch, edging by her, went to the opposite corner where Sonia\nwas.\n\nKaterina Ivanovna remained standing where she was, as though\nthunderstruck. She could not understand how Pyotr Petrovitch could deny\nhaving enjoyed her father's hospitality. Though she had invented it\nherself, she believed in it firmly by this time. She was struck too\nby the businesslike, dry and even contemptuous menacing tone of Pyotr\nPetrovitch. All the clamour gradually died away at his entrance. Not\nonly was this \"serious business man\" strikingly incongruous with the\nrest of the party, but it was evident, too, that he had come upon some\nmatter of consequence, that some exceptional cause must have brought him\nand that therefore something was going to happen. Raskolnikov, standing\nbeside Sonia, moved aside to let him pass; Pyotr Petrovitch did not\nseem to notice him. A minute later Lebeziatnikov, too, appeared in the\ndoorway; he did not come in, but stood still, listening with marked\ninterest, almost wonder, and seemed for a time perplexed.\n\n\"Excuse me for possibly interrupting you, but it's a matter of\nsome importance,\" Pyotr Petrovitch observed, addressing the company\ngenerally. \"I am glad indeed to find other persons present. Amalia\nIvanovna, I humbly beg you as mistress of the house to pay careful\nattention to what I have to say to Sofya Ivanovna. Sofya Ivanovna,\"\nhe went on, addressing Sonia, who was very much surprised and already\nalarmed, \"immediately after your visit I found that a hundred-rouble\nnote was missing from my table, in the room of my friend Mr.\nLebeziatnikov. If in any way whatever you know and will tell us where\nit is now, I assure you on my word of honour and call all present to\nwitness that the matter shall end there. In the opposite case I shall be\ncompelled to have recourse to very serious measures and then... you must\nblame yourself.\"\n\nComplete silence reigned in the room. Even the crying children were\nstill. Sonia stood deadly pale, staring at Luzhin and unable to say a\nword. She seemed not to understand. Some seconds passed.\n\n\"Well, how is it to be then?\" asked Luzhin, looking intently at her.\n\n\"I don't know.... I know nothing about it,\" Sonia articulated faintly at\nlast.\n\n\"No, you know nothing?\" Luzhin repeated and again he paused for some\nseconds. \"Think a moment, mademoiselle,\" he began severely, but still,\nas it were, admonishing her. \"Reflect, I am prepared to give you time\nfor consideration. Kindly observe this: if I were not so entirely\nconvinced I should not, you may be sure, with my experience venture to\naccuse you so directly. Seeing that for such direct accusation before\nwitnesses, if false or even mistaken, I should myself in a certain sense\nbe made responsible, I am aware of that. This morning I changed for\nmy own purposes several five-per-cent securities for the sum of\napproximately three thousand roubles. The account is noted down in my\npocket-book. On my return home I proceeded to count the money--as Mr.\nLebeziatnikov will bear witness--and after counting two thousand three\nhundred roubles I put the rest in my pocket-book in my coat pocket.\nAbout five hundred roubles remained on the table and among them three\nnotes of a hundred roubles each. At that moment you entered (at my\ninvitation)--and all the time you were present you were exceedingly\nembarrassed; so that three times you jumped up in the middle of the\nconversation and tried to make off. Mr. Lebeziatnikov can bear witness\nto this. You yourself, mademoiselle, probably will not refuse to confirm\nmy statement that I invited you through Mr. Lebeziatnikov, solely in\norder to discuss with you the hopeless and destitute position of your\nrelative, Katerina Ivanovna (whose dinner I was unable to attend),\nand the advisability of getting up something of the nature of a\nsubscription, lottery or the like, for her benefit. You thanked me and\neven shed tears. I describe all this as it took place, primarily to\nrecall it to your mind and secondly to show you that not the slightest\ndetail has escaped my recollection. Then I took a ten-rouble note from\nthe table and handed it to you by way of first instalment on my part\nfor the benefit of your relative. Mr. Lebeziatnikov saw all this. Then\nI accompanied you to the door--you being still in the same state of\nembarrassment--after which, being left alone with Mr. Lebeziatnikov I\ntalked to him for ten minutes--then Mr. Lebeziatnikov went out and I\nreturned to the table with the money lying on it, intending to count\nit and to put it aside, as I proposed doing before. To my surprise one\nhundred-rouble note had disappeared. Kindly consider the position.\nMr. Lebeziatnikov I cannot suspect. I am ashamed to allude to such\na supposition. I cannot have made a mistake in my reckoning, for the\nminute before your entrance I had finished my accounts and found the\ntotal correct. You will admit that recollecting your embarrassment, your\neagerness to get away and the fact that you kept your hands for some\ntime on the table, and taking into consideration your social position\nand the habits associated with it, I was, so to say, with horror and\npositively against my will, _compelled_ to entertain a suspicion--a\ncruel, but justifiable suspicion! I will add further and repeat that in\nspite of my positive conviction, I realise that I run a certain risk in\nmaking this accusation, but as you see, I could not let it pass. I have\ntaken action and I will tell you why: solely, madam, solely, owing\nto your black ingratitude! Why! I invite you for the benefit of your\ndestitute relative, I present you with my donation of ten roubles and\nyou, on the spot, repay me for all that with such an action. It is too\nbad! You need a lesson. Reflect! Moreover, like a true friend I beg\nyou--and you could have no better friend at this moment--think what you\nare doing, otherwise I shall be immovable! Well, what do you say?\"\n\n\"I have taken nothing,\" Sonia whispered in terror, \"you gave me ten\nroubles, here it is, take it.\"\n\nSonia pulled her handkerchief out of her pocket, untied a corner of it,\ntook out the ten-rouble note and gave it to Luzhin.\n\n\"And the hundred roubles you do not confess to taking?\" he insisted\nreproachfully, not taking the note.\n\nSonia looked about her. All were looking at her with such awful, stern,\nironical, hostile eyes. She looked at Raskolnikov... he stood against\nthe wall, with his arms crossed, looking at her with glowing eyes.\n\n\"Good God!\" broke from Sonia.\n\n\"Amalia Ivanovna, we shall have to send word to the police and therefore\nI humbly beg you meanwhile to send for the house porter,\" Luzhin said\nsoftly and even kindly.\n\n\"_Gott der Barmherzige_! I knew she was the thief,\" cried Amalia\nIvanovna, throwing up her hands.\n\n\"You knew it?\" Luzhin caught her up, \"then I suppose you had some reason\nbefore this for thinking so. I beg you, worthy Amalia Ivanovna, to\nremember your words which have been uttered before witnesses.\"\n\nThere was a buzz of loud conversation on all sides. All were in\nmovement.\n\n\"What!\" cried Katerina Ivanovna, suddenly realising the position, and\nshe rushed at Luzhin. \"What! You accuse her of stealing? Sonia? Ah, the\nwretches, the wretches!\"\n\nAnd running to Sonia she flung her wasted arms round her and held her as\nin a vise.\n\n\"Sonia! how dared you take ten roubles from him? Foolish girl! Give it\nto me! Give me the ten roubles at once--here!\"\n\nAnd snatching the note from Sonia, Katerina Ivanovna crumpled it up and\nflung it straight into Luzhin's face. It hit him in the eye and fell\non the ground. Amalia Ivanovna hastened to pick it up. Pyotr Petrovitch\nlost his temper.\n\n\"Hold that mad woman!\" he shouted.\n\nAt that moment several other persons, besides Lebeziatnikov, appeared in\nthe doorway, among them the two ladies.\n\n\"What! Mad? Am I mad? Idiot!\" shrieked Katerina Ivanovna. \"You are an\nidiot yourself, pettifogging lawyer, base man! Sonia, Sonia take his\nmoney! Sonia a thief! Why, she'd give away her last penny!\" and Katerina\nIvanovna broke into hysterical laughter. \"Did you ever see such an\nidiot?\" she turned from side to side. \"And you too?\" she suddenly saw\nthe landlady, \"and you too, sausage eater, you declare that she is a\nthief, you trashy Prussian hen's leg in a crinoline! She hasn't been\nout of this room: she came straight from you, you wretch, and sat down\nbeside me, everyone saw her. She sat here, by Rodion Romanovitch. Search\nher! Since she's not left the room, the money would have to be on her!\nSearch her, search her! But if you don't find it, then excuse me, my\ndear fellow, you'll answer for it! I'll go to our Sovereign, to our\nSovereign, to our gracious Tsar himself, and throw myself at his feet,\nto-day, this minute! I am alone in the world! They would let me in! Do\nyou think they wouldn't? You're wrong, I will get in! I will get in!\nYou reckoned on her meekness! You relied upon that! But I am not so\nsubmissive, let me tell you! You've gone too far yourself. Search her,\nsearch her!\"\n\nAnd Katerina Ivanovna in a frenzy shook Luzhin and dragged him towards\nSonia.\n\n\"I am ready, I'll be responsible... but calm yourself, madam, calm\nyourself. I see that you are not so submissive!... Well, well, but as to\nthat...\" Luzhin muttered, \"that ought to be before the police... though\nindeed there are witnesses enough as it is.... I am ready.... But in\nany case it's difficult for a man... on account of her sex.... But with\nthe help of Amalia Ivanovna... though, of course, it's not the way to do\nthings.... How is it to be done?\"\n\n\"As you will! Let anyone who likes search her!\" cried Katerina Ivanovna.\n\"Sonia, turn out your pockets! See! Look, monster, the pocket is empty,\nhere was her handkerchief! Here is the other pocket, look! D'you see,\nd'you see?\"\n\nAnd Katerina Ivanovna turned--or rather snatched--both pockets inside\nout. But from the right pocket a piece of paper flew out and describing\na parabola in the air fell at Luzhin's feet. Everyone saw it, several\ncried out. Pyotr Petrovitch stooped down, picked up the paper in two\nfingers, lifted it where all could see it and opened it. It was a\nhundred-rouble note folded in eight. Pyotr Petrovitch held up the note\nshowing it to everyone.\n\n\"Thief! Out of my lodging. Police, police!\" yelled Amalia Ivanovna.\n\"They must to Siberia be sent! Away!\"\n\nExclamations arose on all sides. Raskolnikov was silent, keeping his\neyes fixed on Sonia, except for an occasional rapid glance at Luzhin.\nSonia stood still, as though unconscious. She was hardly able to feel\nsurprise. Suddenly the colour rushed to her cheeks; she uttered a cry\nand hid her face in her hands.\n\n\"No, it wasn't I! I didn't take it! I know nothing about it,\" she cried\nwith a heartrending wail, and she ran to Katerina Ivanovna, who clasped\nher tightly in her arms, as though she would shelter her from all the\nworld.\n\n\"Sonia! Sonia! I don't believe it! You see, I don't believe it!\" she\ncried in the face of the obvious fact, swaying her to and fro in her\narms like a baby, kissing her face continually, then snatching at her\nhands and kissing them, too, \"you took it! How stupid these people are!\nOh dear! You are fools, fools,\" she cried, addressing the whole room,\n\"you don't know, you don't know what a heart she has, what a girl she\nis! She take it, she? She'd sell her last rag, she'd go barefoot to help\nyou if you needed it, that's what she is! She has the yellow passport\nbecause my children were starving, she sold herself for us! Ah, husband,\nhusband! Do you see? Do you see? What a memorial dinner for you!\nMerciful heavens! Defend her, why are you all standing still? Rodion\nRomanovitch, why don't you stand up for her? Do you believe it, too? You\nare not worth her little finger, all of you together! Good God! Defend\nher now, at least!\"\n\nThe wail of the poor, consumptive, helpless woman seemed to produce a\ngreat effect on her audience. The agonised, wasted, consumptive face,\nthe parched blood-stained lips, the hoarse voice, the tears unrestrained\nas a child's, the trustful, childish and yet despairing prayer for help\nwere so piteous that everyone seemed to feel for her. Pyotr Petrovitch\nat any rate was at once moved to _compassion_.\n\n\"Madam, madam, this incident does not reflect upon you!\" he cried\nimpressively, \"no one would take upon himself to accuse you of being an\ninstigator or even an accomplice in it, especially as you have proved\nher guilt by turning out her pockets, showing that you had no previous\nidea of it. I am most ready, most ready to show compassion, if poverty,\nso to speak, drove Sofya Semyonovna to it, but why did you refuse to\nconfess, mademoiselle? Were you afraid of the disgrace? The first step?\nYou lost your head, perhaps? One can quite understand it.... But how\ncould you have lowered yourself to such an action? Gentlemen,\" he\naddressed the whole company, \"gentlemen! Compassionate and, so to say,\ncommiserating these people, I am ready to overlook it even now in spite\nof the personal insult lavished upon me! And may this disgrace be a\nlesson to you for the future,\" he said, addressing Sonia, \"and I will\ncarry the matter no further. Enough!\"\n\nPyotr Petrovitch stole a glance at Raskolnikov. Their eyes met, and the\nfire in Raskolnikov's seemed ready to reduce him to ashes. Meanwhile\nKaterina Ivanovna apparently heard nothing. She was kissing and hugging\nSonia like a madwoman. The children, too, were embracing Sonia on\nall sides, and Polenka--though she did not fully understand what was\nwrong--was drowned in tears and shaking with sobs, as she hid her pretty\nlittle face, swollen with weeping, on Sonia's shoulder.\n\n\"How vile!\" a loud voice cried suddenly in the doorway.\n\nPyotr Petrovitch looked round quickly.\n\n\"What vileness!\" Lebeziatnikov repeated, staring him straight in the\nface.\n\nPyotr Petrovitch gave a positive start--all noticed it and recalled it\nafterwards. Lebeziatnikov strode into the room.\n\n\"And you dared to call me as witness?\" he said, going up to Pyotr\nPetrovitch.\n\n\"What do you mean? What are you talking about?\" muttered Luzhin.\n\n\"I mean that you... are a slanderer, that's what my words mean!\"\nLebeziatnikov said hotly, looking sternly at him with his short-sighted\neyes.\n\nHe was extremely angry. Raskolnikov gazed intently at him, as though\nseizing and weighing each word. Again there was a silence. Pyotr\nPetrovitch indeed seemed almost dumbfounded for the first moment.\n\n\"If you mean that for me,...\" he began, stammering. \"But what's the\nmatter with you? Are you out of your mind?\"\n\n\"I'm in my mind, but you are a scoundrel! Ah, how vile! I have heard\neverything. I kept waiting on purpose to understand it, for I must own\neven now it is not quite logical.... What you have done it all for I\ncan't understand.\"\n\n\"Why, what have I done then? Give over talking in your nonsensical\nriddles! Or maybe you are drunk!\"\n\n\"You may be a drunkard, perhaps, vile man, but I am not! I never touch\nvodka, for it's against my convictions. Would you believe it, he, he\nhimself, with his own hands gave Sofya Semyonovna that hundred-rouble\nnote--I saw it, I was a witness, I'll take my oath! He did it, he!\"\nrepeated Lebeziatnikov, addressing all.\n\n\"Are you crazy, milksop?\" squealed Luzhin. \"She is herself before\nyou--she herself here declared just now before everyone that I gave her\nonly ten roubles. How could I have given it to her?\"\n\n\"I saw it, I saw it,\" Lebeziatnikov repeated, \"and though it is against\nmy principles, I am ready this very minute to take any oath you like\nbefore the court, for I saw how you slipped it in her pocket. Only\nlike a fool I thought you did it out of kindness! When you were saying\ngood-bye to her at the door, while you held her hand in one hand, with\nthe other, the left, you slipped the note into her pocket. I saw it, I\nsaw it!\"\n\nLuzhin turned pale.\n\n\"What lies!\" he cried impudently, \"why, how could you, standing by the\nwindow, see the note? You fancied it with your short-sighted eyes. You\nare raving!\"\n\n\"No, I didn't fancy it. And though I was standing some way off, I saw\nit all. And though it certainly would be hard to distinguish a note from\nthe window--that's true--I knew for certain that it was a hundred-rouble\nnote, because, when you were going to give Sofya Semyonovna ten roubles,\nyou took up from the table a hundred-rouble note (I saw it because I\nwas standing near then, and an idea struck me at once, so that I did not\nforget you had it in your hand). You folded it and kept it in your hand\nall the time. I didn't think of it again until, when you were getting\nup, you changed it from your right hand to your left and nearly dropped\nit! I noticed it because the same idea struck me again, that you meant\nto do her a kindness without my seeing. You can fancy how I watched you\nand I saw how you succeeded in slipping it into her pocket. I saw it, I\nsaw it, I'll take my oath.\"\n\nLebeziatnikov was almost breathless. Exclamations arose on all hands\nchiefly expressive of wonder, but some were menacing in tone. They all\ncrowded round Pyotr Petrovitch. Katerina Ivanovna flew to Lebeziatnikov.\n\n\"I was mistaken in you! Protect her! You are the only one to take her\npart! She is an orphan. God has sent you!\"\n\nKaterina Ivanovna, hardly knowing what she was doing, sank on her knees\nbefore him.\n\n\"A pack of nonsense!\" yelled Luzhin, roused to fury, \"it's all nonsense\nyou've been talking! 'An idea struck you, you didn't think, you\nnoticed'--what does it amount to? So I gave it to her on the sly on\npurpose? What for? With what object? What have I to do with this...?\"\n\n\"What for? That's what I can't understand, but that what I am telling\nyou is the fact, that's certain! So far from my being mistaken, you\ninfamous criminal man, I remember how, on account of it, a question\noccurred to me at once, just when I was thanking you and pressing\nyour hand. What made you put it secretly in her pocket? Why you did it\nsecretly, I mean? Could it be simply to conceal it from me, knowing that\nmy convictions are opposed to yours and that I do not approve of private\nbenevolence, which effects no radical cure? Well, I decided that you\nreally were ashamed of giving such a large sum before me. Perhaps,\ntoo, I thought, he wants to give her a surprise, when she finds a whole\nhundred-rouble note in her pocket. (For I know, some benevolent people\nare very fond of decking out their charitable actions in that way.) Then\nthe idea struck me, too, that you wanted to test her, to see whether,\nwhen she found it, she would come to thank you. Then, too, that you\nwanted to avoid thanks and that, as the saying is, your right hand\nshould not know... something of that sort, in fact. I thought of so\nmany possibilities that I put off considering it, but still thought it\nindelicate to show you that I knew your secret. But another idea struck\nme again that Sofya Semyonovna might easily lose the money before she\nnoticed it, that was why I decided to come in here to call her out of\nthe room and to tell her that you put a hundred roubles in her pocket.\nBut on my way I went first to Madame Kobilatnikov's to take them the\n'General Treatise on the Positive Method' and especially to recommend\nPiderit's article (and also Wagner's); then I come on here and what a\nstate of things I find! Now could I, could I, have all these ideas and\nreflections if I had not seen you put the hundred-rouble note in her\npocket?\"\n\nWhen Lebeziatnikov finished his long-winded harangue with the logical\ndeduction at the end, he was quite tired, and the perspiration streamed\nfrom his face. He could not, alas, even express himself correctly\nin Russian, though he knew no other language, so that he was quite\nexhausted, almost emaciated after this heroic exploit. But his speech\nproduced a powerful effect. He had spoken with such vehemence, with such\nconviction that everyone obviously believed him. Pyotr Petrovitch felt\nthat things were going badly with him.\n\n\"What is it to do with me if silly ideas did occur to you?\" he shouted,\n\"that's no evidence. You may have dreamt it, that's all! And I tell you,\nyou are lying, sir. You are lying and slandering from some spite against\nme, simply from pique, because I did not agree with your free-thinking,\ngodless, social propositions!\"\n\nBut this retort did not benefit Pyotr Petrovitch. Murmurs of disapproval\nwere heard on all sides.\n\n\"Ah, that's your line now, is it!\" cried Lebeziatnikov, \"that's\nnonsense! Call the police and I'll take my oath! There's only one thing\nI can't understand: what made him risk such a contemptible action. Oh,\npitiful, despicable man!\"\n\n\"I can explain why he risked such an action, and if necessary, I, too,\nwill swear to it,\" Raskolnikov said at last in a firm voice, and he\nstepped forward.\n\nHe appeared to be firm and composed. Everyone felt clearly, from the\nvery look of him that he really knew about it and that the mystery would\nbe solved.\n\n\"Now I can explain it all to myself,\" said Raskolnikov, addressing\nLebeziatnikov. \"From the very beginning of the business, I suspected\nthat there was some scoundrelly intrigue at the bottom of it. I began\nto suspect it from some special circumstances known to me only, which\nI will explain at once to everyone: they account for everything. Your\nvaluable evidence has finally made everything clear to me. I beg all,\nall to listen. This gentleman (he pointed to Luzhin) was recently\nengaged to be married to a young lady--my sister, Avdotya Romanovna\nRaskolnikov. But coming to Petersburg he quarrelled with me, the day\nbefore yesterday, at our first meeting and I drove him out of my room--I\nhave two witnesses to prove it. He is a very spiteful man.... The day\nbefore yesterday I did not know that he was staying here, in your room,\nand that consequently on the very day we quarrelled--the day before\nyesterday--he saw me give Katerina Ivanovna some money for the funeral,\nas a friend of the late Mr. Marmeladov. He at once wrote a note to\nmy mother and informed her that I had given away all my money, not\nto Katerina Ivanovna but to Sofya Semyonovna, and referred in a most\ncontemptible way to the... character of Sofya Semyonovna, that is,\nhinted at the character of my attitude to Sofya Semyonovna. All this you\nunderstand was with the object of dividing me from my mother and sister,\nby insinuating that I was squandering on unworthy objects the money\nwhich they had sent me and which was all they had. Yesterday evening,\nbefore my mother and sister and in his presence, I declared that I had\ngiven the money to Katerina Ivanovna for the funeral and not to Sofya\nSemyonovna and that I had no acquaintance with Sofya Semyonovna and had\nnever seen her before, indeed. At the same time I added that he,\nPyotr Petrovitch Luzhin, with all his virtues, was not worth Sofya\nSemyonovna's little finger, though he spoke so ill of her. To his\nquestion--would I let Sofya Semyonovna sit down beside my sister, I\nanswered that I had already done so that day. Irritated that my mother\nand sister were unwilling to quarrel with me at his insinuations, he\ngradually began being unpardonably rude to them. A final rupture took\nplace and he was turned out of the house. All this happened yesterday\nevening. Now I beg your special attention: consider: if he had now\nsucceeded in proving that Sofya Semyonovna was a thief, he would\nhave shown to my mother and sister that he was almost right in his\nsuspicions, that he had reason to be angry at my putting my sister on\na level with Sofya Semyonovna, that, in attacking me, he was protecting\nand preserving the honour of my sister, his betrothed. In fact he might\neven, through all this, have been able to estrange me from my family,\nand no doubt he hoped to be restored to favour with them; to say nothing\nof revenging himself on me personally, for he has grounds for supposing\nthat the honour and happiness of Sofya Semyonovna are very precious to\nme. That was what he was working for! That's how I understand it. That's\nthe whole reason for it and there can be no other!\"\n\nIt was like this, or somewhat like this, that Raskolnikov wound up his\nspeech which was followed very attentively, though often interrupted by\nexclamations from his audience. But in spite of interruptions he spoke\nclearly, calmly, exactly, firmly. His decisive voice, his tone of\nconviction and his stern face made a great impression on everyone.\n\n\"Yes, yes, that's it,\" Lebeziatnikov assented gleefully, \"that must be\nit, for he asked me, as soon as Sofya Semyonovna came into our room,\nwhether you were here, whether I had seen you among Katerina Ivanovna's\nguests. He called me aside to the window and asked me in secret. It was\nessential for him that you should be here! That's it, that's it!\"\n\nLuzhin smiled contemptuously and did not speak. But he was very pale. He\nseemed to be deliberating on some means of escape. Perhaps he would have\nbeen glad to give up everything and get away, but at the moment this\nwas scarcely possible. It would have implied admitting the truth of\nthe accusations brought against him. Moreover, the company, which had\nalready been excited by drink, was now too much stirred to allow it. The\ncommissariat clerk, though indeed he had not grasped the whole position,\nwas shouting louder than anyone and was making some suggestions very\nunpleasant to Luzhin. But not all those present were drunk; lodgers came\nin from all the rooms. The three Poles were tremendously excited\nand were continually shouting at him: \"The _pan_ is a _lajdak_!\" and\nmuttering threats in Polish. Sonia had been listening with strained\nattention, though she too seemed unable to grasp it all; she seemed as\nthough she had just returned to consciousness. She did not take her\neyes off Raskolnikov, feeling that all her safety lay in him. Katerina\nIvanovna breathed hard and painfully and seemed fearfully exhausted.\nAmalia Ivanovna stood looking more stupid than anyone, with her mouth\nwide open, unable to make out what had happened. She only saw that Pyotr\nPetrovitch had somehow come to grief.\n\nRaskolnikov was attempting to speak again, but they did not let him.\nEveryone was crowding round Luzhin with threats and shouts of abuse.\nBut Pyotr Petrovitch was not intimidated. Seeing that his accusation of\nSonia had completely failed, he had recourse to insolence:\n\n\"Allow me, gentlemen, allow me! Don't squeeze, let me pass!\" he said,\nmaking his way through the crowd. \"And no threats, if you please! I\nassure you it will be useless, you will gain nothing by it. On the\ncontrary, you'll have to answer, gentlemen, for violently obstructing\nthe course of justice. The thief has been more than unmasked, and I\nshall prosecute. Our judges are not so blind and... not so drunk, and\nwill not believe the testimony of two notorious infidels, agitators, and\natheists, who accuse me from motives of personal revenge which they are\nfoolish enough to admit.... Yes, allow me to pass!\"\n\n\"Don't let me find a trace of you in my room! Kindly leave at once, and\neverything is at an end between us! When I think of the trouble I've\nbeen taking, the way I've been expounding... all this fortnight!\"\n\n\"I told you myself to-day that I was going, when you tried to keep me;\nnow I will simply add that you are a fool. I advise you to see a doctor\nfor your brains and your short sight. Let me pass, gentlemen!\"\n\nHe forced his way through. But the commissariat clerk was unwilling to\nlet him off so easily: he picked up a glass from the table, brandished\nit in the air and flung it at Pyotr Petrovitch; but the glass flew\nstraight at Amalia Ivanovna. She screamed, and the clerk, overbalancing,\nfell heavily under the table. Pyotr Petrovitch made his way to his room\nand half an hour later had left the house. Sonia, timid by nature, had\nfelt before that day that she could be ill-treated more easily than\nanyone, and that she could be wronged with impunity. Yet till that\nmoment she had fancied that she might escape misfortune by care,\ngentleness and submissiveness before everyone. Her disappointment was\ntoo great. She could, of course, bear with patience and almost without\nmurmur anything, even this. But for the first minute she felt it too\nbitter. In spite of her triumph and her justification--when her first\nterror and stupefaction had passed and she could understand it all\nclearly--the feeling of her helplessness and of the wrong done to her\nmade her heart throb with anguish and she was overcome with hysterical\nweeping. At last, unable to bear any more, she rushed out of the room\nand ran home, almost immediately after Luzhin's departure. When amidst\nloud laughter the glass flew at Amalia Ivanovna, it was more than the\nlandlady could endure. With a shriek she rushed like a fury at Katerina\nIvanovna, considering her to blame for everything.\n\n\"Out of my lodgings! At once! Quick march!\"\n\nAnd with these words she began snatching up everything she could lay\nher hands on that belonged to Katerina Ivanovna, and throwing it on the\nfloor. Katerina Ivanovna, pale, almost fainting, and gasping for breath,\njumped up from the bed where she had sunk in exhaustion and darted at\nAmalia Ivanovna. But the battle was too unequal: the landlady waved her\naway like a feather.\n\n\"What! As though that godless calumny was not enough--this vile creature\nattacks me! What! On the day of my husband's funeral I am turned out of\nmy lodging! After eating my bread and salt she turns me into the street,\nwith my orphans! Where am I to go?\" wailed the poor woman, sobbing and\ngasping. \"Good God!\" she cried with flashing eyes, \"is there no justice\nupon earth? Whom should you protect if not us orphans? We shall see!\nThere is law and justice on earth, there is, I will find it! Wait a bit,\ngodless creature! Polenka, stay with the children, I'll come back. Wait\nfor me, if you have to wait in the street. We will see whether there is\njustice on earth!\"\n\nAnd throwing over her head that green shawl which Marmeladov had\nmentioned to Raskolnikov, Katerina Ivanovna squeezed her way through the\ndisorderly and drunken crowd of lodgers who still filled the room, and,\nwailing and tearful, she ran into the street--with a vague intention\nof going at once somewhere to find justice. Polenka with the two little\nones in her arms crouched, terrified, on the trunk in the corner of the\nroom, where she waited trembling for her mother to come back. Amalia\nIvanovna raged about the room, shrieking, lamenting and throwing\neverything she came across on the floor. The lodgers talked\nincoherently, some commented to the best of their ability on what had\nhappened, others quarrelled and swore at one another, while others\nstruck up a song....\n\n\"Now it's time for me to go,\" thought Raskolnikov. \"Well, Sofya\nSemyonovna, we shall see what you'll say now!\"\n\nAnd he set off in the direction of Sonia's lodgings.\n\n\n\nCHAPTER IV\n\nRaskolnikov had been a vigorous and active champion of Sonia against\nLuzhin, although he had such a load of horror and anguish in his own\nheart. But having gone through so much in the morning, he found a sort\nof relief in a change of sensations, apart from the strong personal\nfeeling which impelled him to defend Sonia. He was agitated too,\nespecially at some moments, by the thought of his approaching interview\nwith Sonia: he _had_ to tell her who had killed Lizaveta. He knew the\nterrible suffering it would be to him and, as it were, brushed away the\nthought of it. So when he cried as he left Katerina Ivanovna's, \"Well,\nSofya Semyonovna, we shall see what you'll say now!\" he was still\nsuperficially excited, still vigorous and defiant from his triumph over\nLuzhin. But, strange to say, by the time he reached Sonia's lodging, he\nfelt a sudden impotence and fear. He stood still in hesitation at the\ndoor, asking himself the strange question: \"Must he tell her who killed\nLizaveta?\" It was a strange question because he felt at the very time\nnot only that he could not help telling her, but also that he could\nnot put off the telling. He did not yet know why it must be so, he\nonly _felt_ it, and the agonising sense of his impotence before\nthe inevitable almost crushed him. To cut short his hesitation and\nsuffering, he quickly opened the door and looked at Sonia from the\ndoorway. She was sitting with her elbows on the table and her face in\nher hands, but seeing Raskolnikov she got up at once and came to meet\nhim as though she were expecting him.\n\n\"What would have become of me but for you?\" she said quickly, meeting\nhim in the middle of the room.\n\nEvidently she was in haste to say this to him. It was what she had been\nwaiting for.\n\nRaskolnikov went to the table and sat down on the chair from which she\nhad only just risen. She stood facing him, two steps away, just as she\nhad done the day before.\n\n\"Well, Sonia?\" he said, and felt that his voice was trembling, \"it was\nall due to 'your social position and the habits associated with it.' Did\nyou understand that just now?\"\n\nHer face showed her distress.\n\n\"Only don't talk to me as you did yesterday,\" she interrupted him.\n\"Please don't begin it. There is misery enough without that.\"\n\nShe made haste to smile, afraid that he might not like the reproach.\n\n\"I was silly to come away from there. What is happening there now? I\nwanted to go back directly, but I kept thinking that... you would come.\"\n\nHe told her that Amalia Ivanovna was turning them out of their lodging\nand that Katerina Ivanovna had run off somewhere \"to seek justice.\"\n\n\"My God!\" cried Sonia, \"let's go at once....\"\n\nAnd she snatched up her cape.\n\n\"It's everlastingly the same thing!\" said Raskolnikov, irritably.\n\"You've no thought except for them! Stay a little with me.\"\n\n\"But... Katerina Ivanovna?\"\n\n\"You won't lose Katerina Ivanovna, you may be sure, she'll come to you\nherself since she has run out,\" he added peevishly. \"If she doesn't find\nyou here, you'll be blamed for it....\"\n\nSonia sat down in painful suspense. Raskolnikov was silent, gazing at\nthe floor and deliberating.\n\n\"This time Luzhin did not want to prosecute you,\" he began, not looking\nat Sonia, \"but if he had wanted to, if it had suited his plans, he would\nhave sent you to prison if it had not been for Lebeziatnikov and me.\nAh?\"\n\n\"Yes,\" she assented in a faint voice. \"Yes,\" she repeated, preoccupied\nand distressed.\n\n\"But I might easily not have been there. And it was quite an accident\nLebeziatnikov's turning up.\"\n\nSonia was silent.\n\n\"And if you'd gone to prison, what then? Do you remember what I said\nyesterday?\"\n\nAgain she did not answer. He waited.\n\n\"I thought you would cry out again 'don't speak of it, leave off.'\"\nRaskolnikov gave a laugh, but rather a forced one. \"What, silence\nagain?\" he asked a minute later. \"We must talk about something, you\nknow. It would be interesting for me to know how you would decide a\ncertain 'problem' as Lebeziatnikov would say.\" (He was beginning to lose\nthe thread.) \"No, really, I am serious. Imagine, Sonia, that you had\nknown all Luzhin's intentions beforehand. Known, that is, for a fact,\nthat they would be the ruin of Katerina Ivanovna and the children and\nyourself thrown in--since you don't count yourself for anything--Polenka\ntoo... for she'll go the same way. Well, if suddenly it all depended on\nyour decision whether he or they should go on living, that is whether\nLuzhin should go on living and doing wicked things, or Katerina Ivanovna\nshould die? How would you decide which of them was to die? I ask you?\"\n\nSonia looked uneasily at him. There was something peculiar in this\nhesitating question, which seemed approaching something in a roundabout\nway.\n\n\"I felt that you were going to ask some question like that,\" she said,\nlooking inquisitively at him.\n\n\"I dare say you did. But how is it to be answered?\"\n\n\"Why do you ask about what could not happen?\" said Sonia reluctantly.\n\n\"Then it would be better for Luzhin to go on living and doing wicked\nthings? You haven't dared to decide even that!\"\n\n\"But I can't know the Divine Providence.... And why do you ask what\ncan't be answered? What's the use of such foolish questions? How could\nit happen that it should depend on my decision--who has made me a judge\nto decide who is to live and who is not to live?\"\n\n\"Oh, if the Divine Providence is to be mixed up in it, there is no doing\nanything,\" Raskolnikov grumbled morosely.\n\n\"You'd better say straight out what you want!\" Sonia cried in distress.\n\"You are leading up to something again.... Can you have come simply to\ntorture me?\"\n\nShe could not control herself and began crying bitterly. He looked at\nher in gloomy misery. Five minutes passed.\n\n\"Of course you're right, Sonia,\" he said softly at last. He was suddenly\nchanged. His tone of assumed arrogance and helpless defiance was gone.\nEven his voice was suddenly weak. \"I told you yesterday that I was not\ncoming to ask forgiveness and almost the first thing I've said is to ask\nforgiveness.... I said that about Luzhin and Providence for my own sake.\nI was asking forgiveness, Sonia....\"\n\nHe tried to smile, but there was something helpless and incomplete in\nhis pale smile. He bowed his head and hid his face in his hands.\n\nAnd suddenly a strange, surprising sensation of a sort of bitter hatred\nfor Sonia passed through his heart. As it were wondering and frightened\nof this sensation, he raised his head and looked intently at her; but he\nmet her uneasy and painfully anxious eyes fixed on him; there was\nlove in them; his hatred vanished like a phantom. It was not the real\nfeeling; he had taken the one feeling for the other. It only meant that\n_that_ minute had come.\n\nHe hid his face in his hands again and bowed his head. Suddenly he\nturned pale, got up from his chair, looked at Sonia, and without\nuttering a word sat down mechanically on her bed.\n\nHis sensations that moment were terribly like the moment when he had\nstood over the old woman with the axe in his hand and felt that \"he must\nnot lose another minute.\"\n\n\"What's the matter?\" asked Sonia, dreadfully frightened.\n\nHe could not utter a word. This was not at all, not at all the way he\nhad intended to \"tell\" and he did not understand what was happening to\nhim now. She went up to him, softly, sat down on the bed beside him and\nwaited, not taking her eyes off him. Her heart throbbed and sank. It\nwas unendurable; he turned his deadly pale face to her. His lips worked,\nhelplessly struggling to utter something. A pang of terror passed\nthrough Sonia's heart.\n\n\"What's the matter?\" she repeated, drawing a little away from him.\n\n\"Nothing, Sonia, don't be frightened.... It's nonsense. It really is\nnonsense, if you think of it,\" he muttered, like a man in delirium. \"Why\nhave I come to torture you?\" he added suddenly, looking at her. \"Why,\nreally? I keep asking myself that question, Sonia....\"\n\nHe had perhaps been asking himself that question a quarter of an hour\nbefore, but now he spoke helplessly, hardly knowing what he said and\nfeeling a continual tremor all over.\n\n\"Oh, how you are suffering!\" she muttered in distress, looking intently\nat him.\n\n\"It's all nonsense.... Listen, Sonia.\" He suddenly smiled, a pale\nhelpless smile for two seconds. \"You remember what I meant to tell you\nyesterday?\"\n\nSonia waited uneasily.\n\n\"I said as I went away that perhaps I was saying good-bye for ever, but\nthat if I came to-day I would tell you who... who killed Lizaveta.\"\n\nShe began trembling all over.\n\n\"Well, here I've come to tell you.\"\n\n\"Then you really meant it yesterday?\" she whispered with difficulty.\n\"How do you know?\" she asked quickly, as though suddenly regaining her\nreason.\n\nSonia's face grew paler and paler, and she breathed painfully.\n\n\"I know.\"\n\nShe paused a minute.\n\n\"Have they found him?\" she asked timidly.\n\n\"No.\"\n\n\"Then how do you know about _it_?\" she asked again, hardly audibly and\nagain after a minute's pause.\n\nHe turned to her and looked very intently at her.\n\n\"Guess,\" he said, with the same distorted helpless smile.\n\nA shudder passed over her.\n\n\"But you... why do you frighten me like this?\" she said, smiling like a\nchild.\n\n\"I must be a great friend of _his_... since I know,\" Raskolnikov went\non, still gazing into her face, as though he could not turn his eyes\naway. \"He... did not mean to kill that Lizaveta... he... killed her\naccidentally.... He meant to kill the old woman when she was alone and\nhe went there... and then Lizaveta came in... he killed her too.\"\n\nAnother awful moment passed. Both still gazed at one another.\n\n\"You can't guess, then?\" he asked suddenly, feeling as though he were\nflinging himself down from a steeple.\n\n\"N-no...\" whispered Sonia.\n\n\"Take a good look.\"\n\nAs soon as he had said this again, the same familiar sensation froze his\nheart. He looked at her and all at once seemed to see in her face the\nface of Lizaveta. He remembered clearly the expression in Lizaveta's\nface, when he approached her with the axe and she stepped back to the\nwall, putting out her hand, with childish terror in her face, looking\nas little children do when they begin to be frightened of something,\nlooking intently and uneasily at what frightens them, shrinking back and\nholding out their little hands on the point of crying. Almost the same\nthing happened now to Sonia. With the same helplessness and the same\nterror, she looked at him for a while and, suddenly putting out her left\nhand, pressed her fingers faintly against his breast and slowly began to\nget up from the bed, moving further from him and keeping her eyes fixed\neven more immovably on him. Her terror infected him. The same fear\nshowed itself on his face. In the same way he stared at her and almost\nwith the same _childish_ smile.\n\n\"Have you guessed?\" he whispered at last.\n\n\"Good God!\" broke in an awful wail from her bosom.\n\nShe sank helplessly on the bed with her face in the pillows, but a\nmoment later she got up, moved quickly to him, seized both his hands\nand, gripping them tight in her thin fingers, began looking into his\nface again with the same intent stare. In this last desperate look she\ntried to look into him and catch some last hope. But there was no hope;\nthere was no doubt remaining; it was all true! Later on, indeed, when\nshe recalled that moment, she thought it strange and wondered why she\nhad seen at once that there was no doubt. She could not have said, for\ninstance, that she had foreseen something of the sort--and yet now, as\nsoon as he told her, she suddenly fancied that she had really foreseen\nthis very thing.\n\n\"Stop, Sonia, enough! don't torture me,\" he begged her miserably.\n\nIt was not at all, not at all like this he had thought of telling her,\nbut this is how it happened.\n\nShe jumped up, seeming not to know what she was doing, and, wringing her\nhands, walked into the middle of the room; but quickly went back and sat\ndown again beside him, her shoulder almost touching his. All of a sudden\nshe started as though she had been stabbed, uttered a cry and fell on\nher knees before him, she did not know why.\n\n\"What have you done--what have you done to yourself?\" she said in\ndespair, and, jumping up, she flung herself on his neck, threw her arms\nround him, and held him tightly.\n\nRaskolnikov drew back and looked at her with a mournful smile.\n\n\"You are a strange girl, Sonia--you kiss me and hug me when I tell you\nabout that.... You don't think what you are doing.\"\n\n\"There is no one--no one in the whole world now so unhappy as you!\" she\ncried in a frenzy, not hearing what he said, and she suddenly broke into\nviolent hysterical weeping.\n\nA feeling long unfamiliar to him flooded his heart and softened it at\nonce. He did not struggle against it. Two tears started into his eyes\nand hung on his eyelashes.\n\n\"Then you won't leave me, Sonia?\" he said, looking at her almost with\nhope.\n\n\"No, no, never, nowhere!\" cried Sonia. \"I will follow you, I will follow\nyou everywhere. Oh, my God! Oh, how miserable I am!... Why, why didn't I\nknow you before! Why didn't you come before? Oh, dear!\"\n\n\"Here I have come.\"\n\n\"Yes, now! What's to be done now?... Together, together!\" she repeated\nas it were unconsciously, and she hugged him again. \"I'll follow you to\nSiberia!\"\n\nHe recoiled at this, and the same hostile, almost haughty smile came to\nhis lips.\n\n\"Perhaps I don't want to go to Siberia yet, Sonia,\" he said.\n\nSonia looked at him quickly.\n\nAgain after her first passionate, agonising sympathy for the unhappy man\nthe terrible idea of the murder overwhelmed her. In his changed tone she\nseemed to hear the murderer speaking. She looked at him bewildered. She\nknew nothing as yet, why, how, with what object it had been. Now all\nthese questions rushed at once into her mind. And again she could not\nbelieve it: \"He, he is a murderer! Could it be true?\"\n\n\"What's the meaning of it? Where am I?\" she said in complete\nbewilderment, as though still unable to recover herself. \"How could you,\nyou, a man like you.... How could you bring yourself to it?... What does\nit mean?\"\n\n\"Oh, well--to plunder. Leave off, Sonia,\" he answered wearily, almost\nwith vexation.\n\nSonia stood as though struck dumb, but suddenly she cried:\n\n\"You were hungry! It was... to help your mother? Yes?\"\n\n\"No, Sonia, no,\" he muttered, turning away and hanging his head. \"I was\nnot so hungry.... I certainly did want to help my mother, but... that's\nnot the real thing either.... Don't torture me, Sonia.\"\n\nSonia clasped her hands.\n\n\"Could it, could it all be true? Good God, what a truth! Who could\nbelieve it? And how could you give away your last farthing and yet\nrob and murder! Ah,\" she cried suddenly, \"that money you gave Katerina\nIvanovna... that money.... Can that money...\"\n\n\"No, Sonia,\" he broke in hurriedly, \"that money was not it. Don't worry\nyourself! That money my mother sent me and it came when I was ill, the\nday I gave it to you.... Razumihin saw it... he received it for me....\nThat money was mine--my own.\"\n\nSonia listened to him in bewilderment and did her utmost to comprehend.\n\n\"And _that_ money.... I don't even know really whether there was any\nmoney,\" he added softly, as though reflecting. \"I took a purse off her\nneck, made of chamois leather... a purse stuffed full of something...\nbut I didn't look in it; I suppose I hadn't time.... And the\nthings--chains and trinkets--I buried under a stone with the purse next\nmorning in a yard off the V---- Prospect. They are all there now....\"\n\nSonia strained every nerve to listen.\n\n\"Then why... why, you said you did it to rob, but you took nothing?\" she\nasked quickly, catching at a straw.\n\n\"I don't know.... I haven't yet decided whether to take that money or\nnot,\" he said, musing again; and, seeming to wake up with a start, he\ngave a brief ironical smile. \"Ach, what silly stuff I am talking, eh?\"\n\nThe thought flashed through Sonia's mind, wasn't he mad? But she\ndismissed it at once. \"No, it was something else.\" She could make\nnothing of it, nothing.\n\n\"Do you know, Sonia,\" he said suddenly with conviction, \"let me tell\nyou: if I'd simply killed because I was hungry,\" laying stress on\nevery word and looking enigmatically but sincerely at her, \"I should\nbe _happy_ now. You must believe that! What would it matter to you,\" he\ncried a moment later with a sort of despair, \"what would it matter to\nyou if I were to confess that I did wrong? What do you gain by such\na stupid triumph over me? Ah, Sonia, was it for that I've come to you\nto-day?\"\n\nAgain Sonia tried to say something, but did not speak.\n\n\"I asked you to go with me yesterday because you are all I have left.\"\n\n\"Go where?\" asked Sonia timidly.\n\n\"Not to steal and not to murder, don't be anxious,\" he smiled bitterly.\n\"We are so different.... And you know, Sonia, it's only now, only this\nmoment that I understand _where_ I asked you to go with me yesterday!\nYesterday when I said it I did not know where. I asked you for one\nthing, I came to you for one thing--not to leave me. You won't leave me,\nSonia?\"\n\nShe squeezed his hand.\n\n\"And why, why did I tell her? Why did I let her know?\" he cried a minute\nlater in despair, looking with infinite anguish at her. \"Here you expect\nan explanation from me, Sonia; you are sitting and waiting for it, I see\nthat. But what can I tell you? You won't understand and will only suffer\nmisery... on my account! Well, you are crying and embracing me again.\nWhy do you do it? Because I couldn't bear my burden and have come to\nthrow it on another: you suffer too, and I shall feel better! And can\nyou love such a mean wretch?\"\n\n\"But aren't you suffering, too?\" cried Sonia.\n\nAgain a wave of the same feeling surged into his heart, and again for an\ninstant softened it.\n\n\"Sonia, I have a bad heart, take note of that. It may explain a great\ndeal. I have come because I am bad. There are men who wouldn't have\ncome. But I am a coward and... a mean wretch. But... never mind! That's\nnot the point. I must speak now, but I don't know how to begin.\"\n\nHe paused and sank into thought.\n\n\"Ach, we are so different,\" he cried again, \"we are not alike. And why,\nwhy did I come? I shall never forgive myself that.\"\n\n\"No, no, it was a good thing you came,\" cried Sonia. \"It's better I\nshould know, far better!\"\n\nHe looked at her with anguish.\n\n\"What if it were really that?\" he said, as though reaching a conclusion.\n\"Yes, that's what it was! I wanted to become a Napoleon, that is why I\nkilled her.... Do you understand now?\"\n\n\"N-no,\" Sonia whispered naively and timidly. \"Only speak, speak, I shall\nunderstand, I shall understand _in myself_!\" she kept begging him.\n\n\"You'll understand? Very well, we shall see!\" He paused and was for some\ntime lost in meditation.\n\n\"It was like this: I asked myself one day this question--what if\nNapoleon, for instance, had happened to be in my place, and if he had\nnot had Toulon nor Egypt nor the passage of Mont Blanc to begin his\ncareer with, but instead of all those picturesque and monumental things,\nthere had simply been some ridiculous old hag, a pawnbroker, who had\nto be murdered too to get money from her trunk (for his career, you\nunderstand). Well, would he have brought himself to that if there had\nbeen no other means? Wouldn't he have felt a pang at its being so far\nfrom monumental and... and sinful, too? Well, I must tell you that I\nworried myself fearfully over that 'question' so that I was awfully\nashamed when I guessed at last (all of a sudden, somehow) that it would\nnot have given him the least pang, that it would not even have struck\nhim that it was not monumental... that he would not have seen that there\nwas anything in it to pause over, and that, if he had had no other way,\nhe would have strangled her in a minute without thinking about it!\nWell, I too... left off thinking about it... murdered her, following\nhis example. And that's exactly how it was! Do you think it funny? Yes,\nSonia, the funniest thing of all is that perhaps that's just how it\nwas.\"\n\nSonia did not think it at all funny.\n\n\"You had better tell me straight out... without examples,\" she begged,\nstill more timidly and scarcely audibly.\n\nHe turned to her, looked sadly at her and took her hands.\n\n\"You are right again, Sonia. Of course that's all nonsense, it's almost\nall talk! You see, you know of course that my mother has scarcely\nanything, my sister happened to have a good education and was condemned\nto drudge as a governess. All their hopes were centered on me. I was a\nstudent, but I couldn't keep myself at the university and was forced\nfor a time to leave it. Even if I had lingered on like that, in ten\nor twelve years I might (with luck) hope to be some sort of teacher or\nclerk with a salary of a thousand roubles\" (he repeated it as though it\nwere a lesson) \"and by that time my mother would be worn out with grief\nand anxiety and I could not succeed in keeping her in comfort while my\nsister... well, my sister might well have fared worse! And it's a hard\nthing to pass everything by all one's life, to turn one's back upon\neverything, to forget one's mother and decorously accept the insults\ninflicted on one's sister. Why should one? When one has buried them to\nburden oneself with others--wife and children--and to leave them again\nwithout a farthing? So I resolved to gain possession of the old woman's\nmoney and to use it for my first years without worrying my mother,\nto keep myself at the university and for a little while after leaving\nit--and to do this all on a broad, thorough scale, so as to build up\na completely new career and enter upon a new life of independence....\nWell... that's all.... Well, of course in killing the old woman I did\nwrong.... Well, that's enough.\"\n\nHe struggled to the end of his speech in exhaustion and let his head\nsink.\n\n\"Oh, that's not it, that's not it,\" Sonia cried in distress. \"How could\none... no, that's not right, not right.\"\n\n\"You see yourself that it's not right. But I've spoken truly, it's the\ntruth.\"\n\n\"As though that could be the truth! Good God!\"\n\n\"I've only killed a louse, Sonia, a useless, loathsome, harmful\ncreature.\"\n\n\"A human being--a louse!\"\n\n\"I too know it wasn't a louse,\" he answered, looking strangely at\nher. \"But I am talking nonsense, Sonia,\" he added. \"I've been talking\nnonsense a long time.... That's not it, you are right there. There were\nquite, quite other causes for it! I haven't talked to anyone for so\nlong, Sonia.... My head aches dreadfully now.\"\n\nHis eyes shone with feverish brilliance. He was almost delirious; an\nuneasy smile strayed on his lips. His terrible exhaustion could be seen\nthrough his excitement. Sonia saw how he was suffering. She too\nwas growing dizzy. And he talked so strangely; it seemed somehow\ncomprehensible, but yet... \"But how, how! Good God!\" And she wrung her\nhands in despair.\n\n\"No, Sonia, that's not it,\" he began again suddenly, raising his head,\nas though a new and sudden train of thought had struck and as it were\nroused him--\"that's not it! Better... imagine--yes, it's certainly\nbetter--imagine that I am vain, envious, malicious, base, vindictive\nand... well, perhaps with a tendency to insanity. (Let's have it all out\nat once! They've talked of madness already, I noticed.) I told you just\nnow I could not keep myself at the university. But do you know that\nperhaps I might have done? My mother would have sent me what I needed\nfor the fees and I could have earned enough for clothes, boots and food,\nno doubt. Lessons had turned up at half a rouble. Razumihin works! But I\nturned sulky and wouldn't. (Yes, sulkiness, that's the right word for\nit!) I sat in my room like a spider. You've been in my den, you've seen\nit.... And do you know, Sonia, that low ceilings and tiny rooms cramp\nthe soul and the mind? Ah, how I hated that garret! And yet I wouldn't\ngo out of it! I wouldn't on purpose! I didn't go out for days together,\nand I wouldn't work, I wouldn't even eat, I just lay there doing\nnothing. If Nastasya brought me anything, I ate it, if she didn't, I\nwent all day without; I wouldn't ask, on purpose, from sulkiness! At\nnight I had no light, I lay in the dark and I wouldn't earn money for\ncandles. I ought to have studied, but I sold my books; and the dust lies\nan inch thick on the notebooks on my table. I preferred lying still and\nthinking. And I kept thinking.... And I had dreams all the time, strange\ndreams of all sorts, no need to describe! Only then I began to fancy\nthat... No, that's not it! Again I am telling you wrong! You see I kept\nasking myself then: why am I so stupid that if others are stupid--and I\nknow they are--yet I won't be wiser? Then I saw, Sonia, that if one\nwaits for everyone to get wiser it will take too long.... Afterwards I\nunderstood that that would never come to pass, that men won't change and\nthat nobody can alter it and that it's not worth wasting effort over it.\nYes, that's so. That's the law of their nature, Sonia,... that's so!...\nAnd I know now, Sonia, that whoever is strong in mind and spirit will\nhave power over them. Anyone who is greatly daring is right in their\neyes. He who despises most things will be a lawgiver among them and he\nwho dares most of all will be most in the right! So it has been till now\nand so it will always be. A man must be blind not to see it!\"\n\nThough Raskolnikov looked at Sonia as he said this, he no longer cared\nwhether she understood or not. The fever had complete hold of him; he\nwas in a sort of gloomy ecstasy (he certainly had been too long without\ntalking to anyone). Sonia felt that his gloomy creed had become his\nfaith and code.\n\n\"I divined then, Sonia,\" he went on eagerly, \"that power is only\nvouchsafed to the man who dares to stoop and pick it up. There is only\none thing, one thing needful: one has only to dare! Then for the first\ntime in my life an idea took shape in my mind which no one had ever\nthought of before me, no one! I saw clear as daylight how strange it is\nthat not a single person living in this mad world has had the daring to\ngo straight for it all and send it flying to the devil! I... I wanted\n_to have the daring_... and I killed her. I only wanted to have the\ndaring, Sonia! That was the whole cause of it!\"\n\n\"Oh hush, hush,\" cried Sonia, clasping her hands. \"You turned away from\nGod and God has smitten you, has given you over to the devil!\"\n\n\"Then Sonia, when I used to lie there in the dark and all this became\nclear to me, was it a temptation of the devil, eh?\"\n\n\"Hush, don't laugh, blasphemer! You don't understand, you don't\nunderstand! Oh God! He won't understand!\"\n\n\"Hush, Sonia! I am not laughing. I know myself that it was the devil\nleading me. Hush, Sonia, hush!\" he repeated with gloomy insistence. \"I\nknow it all, I have thought it all over and over and whispered it all\nover to myself, lying there in the dark.... I've argued it all over with\nmyself, every point of it, and I know it all, all! And how sick, how\nsick I was then of going over it all! I have kept wanting to forget it\nand make a new beginning, Sonia, and leave off thinking. And you don't\nsuppose that I went into it headlong like a fool? I went into it like a\nwise man, and that was just my destruction. And you mustn't suppose that\nI didn't know, for instance, that if I began to question myself whether\nI had the right to gain power--I certainly hadn't the right--or that if\nI asked myself whether a human being is a louse it proved that it wasn't\nso for me, though it might be for a man who would go straight to his\ngoal without asking questions.... If I worried myself all those days,\nwondering whether Napoleon would have done it or not, I felt clearly\nof course that I wasn't Napoleon. I had to endure all the agony of that\nbattle of ideas, Sonia, and I longed to throw it off: I wanted to murder\nwithout casuistry, to murder for my own sake, for myself alone! I didn't\nwant to lie about it even to myself. It wasn't to help my mother I did\nthe murder--that's nonsense--I didn't do the murder to gain wealth and\npower and to become a benefactor of mankind. Nonsense! I simply did it;\nI did the murder for myself, for myself alone, and whether I became a\nbenefactor to others, or spent my life like a spider catching men in\nmy web and sucking the life out of men, I couldn't have cared at that\nmoment.... And it was not the money I wanted, Sonia, when I did it. It\nwas not so much the money I wanted, but something else.... I know it all\nnow.... Understand me! Perhaps I should never have committed a murder\nagain. I wanted to find out something else; it was something else led\nme on. I wanted to find out then and quickly whether I was a louse\nlike everybody else or a man. Whether I can step over barriers or\nnot, whether I dare stoop to pick up or not, whether I am a trembling\ncreature or whether I have the _right_...\"\n\n\"To kill? Have the right to kill?\" Sonia clasped her hands.\n\n\"Ach, Sonia!\" he cried irritably and seemed about to make some retort,\nbut was contemptuously silent. \"Don't interrupt me, Sonia. I want to\nprove one thing only, that the devil led me on then and he has shown me\nsince that I had not the right to take that path, because I am just such\na louse as all the rest. He was mocking me and here I've come to you\nnow! Welcome your guest! If I were not a louse, should I have come to\nyou? Listen: when I went then to the old woman's I only went to\n_try_.... You may be sure of that!\"\n\n\"And you murdered her!\"\n\n\"But how did I murder her? Is that how men do murders? Do men go to\ncommit a murder as I went then? I will tell you some day how I went!\nDid I murder the old woman? I murdered myself, not her! I crushed myself\nonce for all, for ever.... But it was the devil that killed that old\nwoman, not I. Enough, enough, Sonia, enough! Let me be!\" he cried in a\nsudden spasm of agony, \"let me be!\"\n\nHe leaned his elbows on his knees and squeezed his head in his hands as\nin a vise.\n\n\"What suffering!\" A wail of anguish broke from Sonia.\n\n\"Well, what am I to do now?\" he asked, suddenly raising his head and\nlooking at her with a face hideously distorted by despair.\n\n\"What are you to do?\" she cried, jumping up, and her eyes that had been\nfull of tears suddenly began to shine. \"Stand up!\" (She seized him by\nthe shoulder, he got up, looking at her almost bewildered.) \"Go at once,\nthis very minute, stand at the cross-roads, bow down, first kiss the\nearth which you have defiled and then bow down to all the world and say\nto all men aloud, 'I am a murderer!' Then God will send you life again.\nWill you go, will you go?\" she asked him, trembling all over, snatching\nhis two hands, squeezing them tight in hers and gazing at him with eyes\nfull of fire.\n\nHe was amazed at her sudden ecstasy.\n\n\"You mean Siberia, Sonia? I must give myself up?\" he asked gloomily.\n\n\"Suffer and expiate your sin by it, that's what you must do.\"\n\n\"No! I am not going to them, Sonia!\"\n\n\"But how will you go on living? What will you live for?\" cried Sonia,\n\"how is it possible now? Why, how can you talk to your mother? (Oh, what\nwill become of them now?) But what am I saying? You have abandoned your\nmother and your sister already. He has abandoned them already! Oh,\nGod!\" she cried, \"why, he knows it all himself. How, how can he live by\nhimself! What will become of you now?\"\n\n\"Don't be a child, Sonia,\" he said softly. \"What wrong have I done\nthem? Why should I go to them? What should I say to them? That's only a\nphantom.... They destroy men by millions themselves and look on it as a\nvirtue. They are knaves and scoundrels, Sonia! I am not going to them.\nAnd what should I say to them--that I murdered her, but did not dare to\ntake the money and hid it under a stone?\" he added with a bitter smile.\n\"Why, they would laugh at me, and would call me a fool for not getting\nit. A coward and a fool! They wouldn't understand and they don't deserve\nto understand. Why should I go to them? I won't. Don't be a child,\nSonia....\"\n\n\"It will be too much for you to bear, too much!\" she repeated, holding\nout her hands in despairing supplication.\n\n\"Perhaps I've been unfair to myself,\" he observed gloomily, pondering,\n\"perhaps after all I am a man and not a louse and I've been in too great\na hurry to condemn myself. I'll make another fight for it.\"\n\nA haughty smile appeared on his lips.\n\n\"What a burden to bear! And your whole life, your whole life!\"\n\n\"I shall get used to it,\" he said grimly and thoughtfully. \"Listen,\" he\nbegan a minute later, \"stop crying, it's time to talk of the facts: I've\ncome to tell you that the police are after me, on my track....\"\n\n\"Ach!\" Sonia cried in terror.\n\n\"Well, why do you cry out? You want me to go to Siberia and now you are\nfrightened? But let me tell you: I shall not give myself up. I shall\nmake a struggle for it and they won't do anything to me. They've no real\nevidence. Yesterday I was in great danger and believed I was lost; but\nto-day things are going better. All the facts they know can be explained\ntwo ways, that's to say I can turn their accusations to my credit, do\nyou understand? And I shall, for I've learnt my lesson. But they will\ncertainly arrest me. If it had not been for something that happened,\nthey would have done so to-day for certain; perhaps even now they will\narrest me to-day.... But that's no matter, Sonia; they'll let me out\nagain... for there isn't any real proof against me, and there won't be,\nI give you my word for it. And they can't convict a man on what they\nhave against me. Enough.... I only tell you that you may know.... I will\ntry to manage somehow to put it to my mother and sister so that they\nwon't be frightened.... My sister's future is secure, however, now, I\nbelieve... and my mother's must be too.... Well, that's all. Be careful,\nthough. Will you come and see me in prison when I am there?\"\n\n\"Oh, I will, I will.\"\n\nThey sat side by side, both mournful and dejected, as though they had\nbeen cast up by the tempest alone on some deserted shore. He looked at\nSonia and felt how great was her love for him, and strange to say he\nfelt it suddenly burdensome and painful to be so loved. Yes, it was a\nstrange and awful sensation! On his way to see Sonia he had felt that\nall his hopes rested on her; he expected to be rid of at least part\nof his suffering, and now, when all her heart turned towards him, he\nsuddenly felt that he was immeasurably unhappier than before.\n\n\"Sonia,\" he said, \"you'd better not come and see me when I am in\nprison.\"\n\nSonia did not answer, she was crying. Several minutes passed.\n\n\"Have you a cross on you?\" she asked, as though suddenly thinking of it.\n\nHe did not at first understand the question.\n\n\"No, of course not. Here, take this one, of cypress wood. I have\nanother, a copper one that belonged to Lizaveta. I changed with\nLizaveta: she gave me her cross and I gave her my little ikon. I will\nwear Lizaveta's now and give you this. Take it... it's mine! It's mine,\nyou know,\" she begged him. \"We will go to suffer together, and together\nwe will bear our cross!\"\n\n\"Give it me,\" said Raskolnikov.\n\nHe did not want to hurt her feelings. But immediately he drew back the\nhand he held out for the cross.\n\n\"Not now, Sonia. Better later,\" he added to comfort her.\n\n\"Yes, yes, better,\" she repeated with conviction, \"when you go to meet\nyour suffering, then put it on. You will come to me, I'll put it on you,\nwe will pray and go together.\"\n\nAt that moment someone knocked three times at the door.\n\n\"Sofya Semyonovna, may I come in?\" they heard in a very familiar and\npolite voice.\n\nSonia rushed to the door in a fright. The flaxen head of Mr.\nLebeziatnikov appeared at the door.\n\n\n\nCHAPTER V\n\nLebeziatnikov looked perturbed.\n\n\"I've come to you, Sofya Semyonovna,\" he began. \"Excuse me... I thought\nI should find you,\" he said, addressing Raskolnikov suddenly, \"that is,\nI didn't mean anything... of that sort... But I just thought... Katerina\nIvanovna has gone out of her mind,\" he blurted out suddenly, turning\nfrom Raskolnikov to Sonia.\n\nSonia screamed.\n\n\"At least it seems so. But... we don't know what to do, you see! She\ncame back--she seems to have been turned out somewhere, perhaps\nbeaten.... So it seems at least,... She had run to your father's former\nchief, she didn't find him at home: he was dining at some other\ngeneral's.... Only fancy, she rushed off there, to the other general's,\nand, imagine, she was so persistent that she managed to get the chief to\nsee her, had him fetched out from dinner, it seems. You can imagine what\nhappened. She was turned out, of course; but, according to her own\nstory, she abused him and threw something at him. One may well believe\nit.... How it is she wasn't taken up, I can't understand! Now she is\ntelling everyone, including Amalia Ivanovna; but it's difficult to\nunderstand her, she is screaming and flinging herself about.... Oh yes,\nshe shouts that since everyone has abandoned her, she will take the\nchildren and go into the street with a barrel-organ, and the children\nwill sing and dance, and she too, and collect money, and will go every\nday under the general's window... 'to let everyone see well-born\nchildren, whose father was an official, begging in the street.' She\nkeeps beating the children and they are all crying. She is teaching Lida\nto sing 'My Village,' the boy to dance, Polenka the same. She is tearing\nup all the clothes, and making them little caps like actors; she means\nto carry a tin basin and make it tinkle, instead of music.... She won't\nlisten to anything.... Imagine the state of things! It's beyond\nanything!\"\n\nLebeziatnikov would have gone on, but Sonia, who had heard him almost\nbreathless, snatched up her cloak and hat, and ran out of the room,\nputting on her things as she went. Raskolnikov followed her and\nLebeziatnikov came after him.\n\n\"She has certainly gone mad!\" he said to Raskolnikov, as they went out\ninto the street. \"I didn't want to frighten Sofya Semyonovna, so I said\n'it seemed like it,' but there isn't a doubt of it. They say that in\nconsumption the tubercles sometimes occur in the brain; it's a pity I\nknow nothing of medicine. I did try to persuade her, but she wouldn't\nlisten.\"\n\n\"Did you talk to her about the tubercles?\"\n\n\"Not precisely of the tubercles. Besides, she wouldn't have understood!\nBut what I say is, that if you convince a person logically that he\nhas nothing to cry about, he'll stop crying. That's clear. Is it your\nconviction that he won't?\"\n\n\"Life would be too easy if it were so,\" answered Raskolnikov.\n\n\"Excuse me, excuse me; of course it would be rather difficult for\nKaterina Ivanovna to understand, but do you know that in Paris they have\nbeen conducting serious experiments as to the possibility of curing the\ninsane, simply by logical argument? One professor there, a scientific\nman of standing, lately dead, believed in the possibility of such\ntreatment. His idea was that there's nothing really wrong with the\nphysical organism of the insane, and that insanity is, so to say, a\nlogical mistake, an error of judgment, an incorrect view of things. He\ngradually showed the madman his error and, would you believe it, they\nsay he was successful? But as he made use of douches too, how far\nsuccess was due to that treatment remains uncertain.... So it seems at\nleast.\"\n\nRaskolnikov had long ceased to listen. Reaching the house where he\nlived, he nodded to Lebeziatnikov and went in at the gate. Lebeziatnikov\nwoke up with a start, looked about him and hurried on.\n\nRaskolnikov went into his little room and stood still in the middle\nof it. Why had he come back here? He looked at the yellow and tattered\npaper, at the dust, at his sofa.... From the yard came a loud continuous\nknocking; someone seemed to be hammering... He went to the window, rose\non tiptoe and looked out into the yard for a long time with an air of\nabsorbed attention. But the yard was empty and he could not see who was\nhammering. In the house on the left he saw some open windows; on the\nwindow-sills were pots of sickly-looking geraniums. Linen was hung out\nof the windows... He knew it all by heart. He turned away and sat down\non the sofa.\n\nNever, never had he felt himself so fearfully alone!\n\nYes, he felt once more that he would perhaps come to hate Sonia, now\nthat he had made her more miserable.\n\n\"Why had he gone to her to beg for her tears? What need had he to poison\nher life? Oh, the meanness of it!\"\n\n\"I will remain alone,\" he said resolutely, \"and she shall not come to\nthe prison!\"\n\nFive minutes later he raised his head with a strange smile. That was a\nstrange thought.\n\n\"Perhaps it really would be better in Siberia,\" he thought suddenly.\n\nHe could not have said how long he sat there with vague thoughts surging\nthrough his mind. All at once the door opened and Dounia came in. At\nfirst she stood still and looked at him from the doorway, just as he\nhad done at Sonia; then she came in and sat down in the same place\nas yesterday, on the chair facing him. He looked silently and almost\nvacantly at her.\n\n\"Don't be angry, brother; I've only come for one minute,\" said Dounia.\n\nHer face looked thoughtful but not stern. Her eyes were bright and soft.\nHe saw that she too had come to him with love.\n\n\"Brother, now I know all, _all_. Dmitri Prokofitch has explained and\ntold me everything. They are worrying and persecuting you through a\nstupid and contemptible suspicion.... Dmitri Prokofitch told me that\nthere is no danger, and that you are wrong in looking upon it with such\nhorror. I don't think so, and I fully understand how indignant you must\nbe, and that that indignation may have a permanent effect on you. That's\nwhat I am afraid of. As for your cutting yourself off from us, I don't\njudge you, I don't venture to judge you, and forgive me for having\nblamed you for it. I feel that I too, if I had so great a trouble,\nshould keep away from everyone. I shall tell mother nothing _of this_,\nbut I shall talk about you continually and shall tell her from you that\nyou will come very soon. Don't worry about her; _I_ will set her mind at\nrest; but don't you try her too much--come once at least; remember that\nshe is your mother. And now I have come simply to say\" (Dounia began\nto get up) \"that if you should need me or should need... all my life or\nanything... call me, and I'll come. Good-bye!\"\n\nShe turned abruptly and went towards the door.\n\n\"Dounia!\" Raskolnikov stopped her and went towards her. \"That Razumihin,\nDmitri Prokofitch, is a very good fellow.\"\n\nDounia flushed slightly.\n\n\"Well?\" she asked, waiting a moment.\n\n\"He is competent, hardworking, honest and capable of real love....\nGood-bye, Dounia.\"\n\nDounia flushed crimson, then suddenly she took alarm.\n\n\"But what does it mean, brother? Are we really parting for ever that\nyou... give me such a parting message?\"\n\n\"Never mind.... Good-bye.\"\n\nHe turned away, and walked to the window. She stood a moment, looked at\nhim uneasily, and went out troubled.\n\nNo, he was not cold to her. There was an instant (the very last one)\nwhen he had longed to take her in his arms and _say good-bye_ to her,\nand even _to tell_ her, but he had not dared even to touch her hand.\n\n\"Afterwards she may shudder when she remembers that I embraced her, and\nwill feel that I stole her kiss.\"\n\n\"And would _she_ stand that test?\" he went on a few minutes later to\nhimself. \"No, she wouldn't; girls like that can't stand things! They\nnever do.\"\n\nAnd he thought of Sonia.\n\nThere was a breath of fresh air from the window. The daylight was\nfading. He took up his cap and went out.\n\nHe could not, of course, and would not consider how ill he was. But all\nthis continual anxiety and agony of mind could not but affect him. And\nif he were not lying in high fever it was perhaps just because this\ncontinual inner strain helped to keep him on his legs and in possession\nof his faculties. But this artificial excitement could not last long.\n\nHe wandered aimlessly. The sun was setting. A special form of misery had\nbegun to oppress him of late. There was nothing poignant, nothing acute\nabout it; but there was a feeling of permanence, of eternity about it;\nit brought a foretaste of hopeless years of this cold leaden misery, a\nforetaste of an eternity \"on a square yard of space.\" Towards evening\nthis sensation usually began to weigh on him more heavily.\n\n\"With this idiotic, purely physical weakness, depending on the sunset or\nsomething, one can't help doing something stupid! You'll go to Dounia,\nas well as to Sonia,\" he muttered bitterly.\n\nHe heard his name called. He looked round. Lebeziatnikov rushed up to\nhim.\n\n\"Only fancy, I've been to your room looking for you. Only fancy, she's\ncarried out her plan, and taken away the children. Sofya Semyonovna and\nI have had a job to find them. She is rapping on a frying-pan and making\nthe children dance. The children are crying. They keep stopping at the\ncross-roads and in front of shops; there's a crowd of fools running\nafter them. Come along!\"\n\n\"And Sonia?\" Raskolnikov asked anxiously, hurrying after Lebeziatnikov.\n\n\"Simply frantic. That is, it's not Sofya Semyonovna's frantic, but\nKaterina Ivanovna, though Sofya Semyonova's frantic too. But Katerina\nIvanovna is absolutely frantic. I tell you she is quite mad. They'll be\ntaken to the police. You can fancy what an effect that will have....\nThey are on the canal bank, near the bridge now, not far from Sofya\nSemyonovna's, quite close.\"\n\nOn the canal bank near the bridge and not two houses away from the one\nwhere Sonia lodged, there was a crowd of people, consisting principally\nof gutter children. The hoarse broken voice of Katerina Ivanovna could\nbe heard from the bridge, and it certainly was a strange spectacle\nlikely to attract a street crowd. Katerina Ivanovna in her old dress\nwith the green shawl, wearing a torn straw hat, crushed in a hideous way\non one side, was really frantic. She was exhausted and breathless. Her\nwasted consumptive face looked more suffering than ever, and indeed out\nof doors in the sunshine a consumptive always looks worse than at home.\nBut her excitement did not flag, and every moment her irritation grew\nmore intense. She rushed at the children, shouted at them, coaxed\nthem, told them before the crowd how to dance and what to sing, began\nexplaining to them why it was necessary, and driven to desperation by\ntheir not understanding, beat them.... Then she would make a rush at the\ncrowd; if she noticed any decently dressed person stopping to look, she\nimmediately appealed to him to see what these children \"from a genteel,\none may say aristocratic, house\" had been brought to. If she heard\nlaughter or jeering in the crowd, she would rush at once at the scoffers\nand begin squabbling with them. Some people laughed, others shook their\nheads, but everyone felt curious at the sight of the madwoman with the\nfrightened children. The frying-pan of which Lebeziatnikov had spoken\nwas not there, at least Raskolnikov did not see it. But instead of\nrapping on the pan, Katerina Ivanovna began clapping her wasted hands,\nwhen she made Lida and Kolya dance and Polenka sing. She too joined in\nthe singing, but broke down at the second note with a fearful cough,\nwhich made her curse in despair and even shed tears. What made her most\nfurious was the weeping and terror of Kolya and Lida. Some effort had\nbeen made to dress the children up as street singers are dressed. The\nboy had on a turban made of something red and white to look like a Turk.\nThere had been no costume for Lida; she simply had a red knitted cap,\nor rather a night cap that had belonged to Marmeladov, decorated with\na broken piece of white ostrich feather, which had been Katerina\nIvanovna's grandmother's and had been preserved as a family possession.\nPolenka was in her everyday dress; she looked in timid perplexity at her\nmother, and kept at her side, hiding her tears. She dimly realised her\nmother's condition, and looked uneasily about her. She was terribly\nfrightened of the street and the crowd. Sonia followed Katerina\nIvanovna, weeping and beseeching her to return home, but Katerina\nIvanovna was not to be persuaded.\n\n\"Leave off, Sonia, leave off,\" she shouted, speaking fast, panting and\ncoughing. \"You don't know what you ask; you are like a child! I've\ntold you before that I am not coming back to that drunken German. Let\neveryone, let all Petersburg see the children begging in the streets,\nthough their father was an honourable man who served all his life in\ntruth and fidelity, and one may say died in the service.\" (Katerina\nIvanovna had by now invented this fantastic story and thoroughly\nbelieved it.) \"Let that wretch of a general see it! And you are silly,\nSonia: what have we to eat? Tell me that. We have worried you enough, I\nwon't go on so! Ah, Rodion Romanovitch, is that you?\" she cried, seeing\nRaskolnikov and rushing up to him. \"Explain to this silly girl, please,\nthat nothing better could be done! Even organ-grinders earn their\nliving, and everyone will see at once that we are different, that we are\nan honourable and bereaved family reduced to beggary. And that general\nwill lose his post, you'll see! We shall perform under his windows every\nday, and if the Tsar drives by, I'll fall on my knees, put the children\nbefore me, show them to him, and say 'Defend us father.' He is the\nfather of the fatherless, he is merciful, he'll protect us, you'll\nsee, and that wretch of a general.... Lida, _tenez vous droite_! Kolya,\nyou'll dance again. Why are you whimpering? Whimpering again! What\nare you afraid of, stupid? Goodness, what am I to do with them, Rodion\nRomanovitch? If you only knew how stupid they are! What's one to do with\nsuch children?\"\n\nAnd she, almost crying herself--which did not stop her uninterrupted,\nrapid flow of talk--pointed to the crying children. Raskolnikov tried\nto persuade her to go home, and even said, hoping to work on her vanity,\nthat it was unseemly for her to be wandering about the streets like\nan organ-grinder, as she was intending to become the principal of a\nboarding-school.\n\n\"A boarding-school, ha-ha-ha! A castle in the air,\" cried Katerina\nIvanovna, her laugh ending in a cough. \"No, Rodion Romanovitch, that\ndream is over! All have forsaken us!... And that general.... You know,\nRodion Romanovitch, I threw an inkpot at him--it happened to be standing\nin the waiting-room by the paper where you sign your name. I wrote my\nname, threw it at him and ran away. Oh, the scoundrels, the scoundrels!\nBut enough of them, now I'll provide for the children myself, I won't\nbow down to anybody! She has had to bear enough for us!\" she pointed\nto Sonia. \"Polenka, how much have you got? Show me! What, only two\nfarthings! Oh, the mean wretches! They give us nothing, only run after\nus, putting their tongues out. There, what is that blockhead laughing\nat?\" (She pointed to a man in the crowd.) \"It's all because Kolya here\nis so stupid; I have such a bother with him. What do you want, Polenka?\nTell me in French, _parlez-moi francais_. Why, I've taught you, you know\nsome phrases. Else how are you to show that you are of good family, well\nbrought-up children, and not at all like other organ-grinders? We aren't\ngoing to have a Punch and Judy show in the street, but to sing a genteel\nsong.... Ah, yes,... What are we to sing? You keep putting me out,\nbut we... you see, we are standing here, Rodion Romanovitch, to find\nsomething to sing and get money, something Kolya can dance to.... For,\nas you can fancy, our performance is all impromptu.... We must talk it\nover and rehearse it all thoroughly, and then we shall go to Nevsky,\nwhere there are far more people of good society, and we shall be noticed\nat once. Lida knows 'My Village' only, nothing but 'My Village,' and\neveryone sings that. We must sing something far more genteel.... Well,\nhave you thought of anything, Polenka? If only you'd help your mother!\nMy memory's quite gone, or I should have thought of something. We really\ncan't sing 'An Hussar.' Ah, let us sing in French, 'Cinq sous,' I have\ntaught it you, I have taught it you. And as it is in French, people will\nsee at once that you are children of good family, and that will be much\nmore touching.... You might sing 'Marlborough s'en va-t-en guerre,'\nfor that's quite a child's song and is sung as a lullaby in all the\naristocratic houses.\n\n\"_Marlborough s'en va-t-en guerre Ne sait quand reviendra_...\"\nshe began singing. \"But no, better sing 'Cinq sous.' Now, Kolya, your\nhands on your hips, make haste, and you, Lida, keep turning the other\nway, and Polenka and I will sing and clap our hands!\n\n\"_Cinq sous, cinq sous Pour monter notre menage_.\"\n\n(Cough-cough-cough!) \"Set your dress straight, Polenka, it's slipped\ndown on your shoulders,\" she observed, panting from coughing. \"Now it's\nparticularly necessary to behave nicely and genteelly, that all may\nsee that you are well-born children. I said at the time that the bodice\nshould be cut longer, and made of two widths. It was your fault, Sonia,\nwith your advice to make it shorter, and now you see the child is quite\ndeformed by it.... Why, you're all crying again! What's the matter,\nstupids? Come, Kolya, begin. Make haste, make haste! Oh, what an\nunbearable child!\n\n\"Cinq sous, cinq sous.\n\n\"A policeman again! What do you want?\"\n\nA policeman was indeed forcing his way through the crowd. But at that\nmoment a gentleman in civilian uniform and an overcoat--a solid-looking\nofficial of about fifty with a decoration on his neck (which delighted\nKaterina Ivanovna and had its effect on the policeman)--approached and\nwithout a word handed her a green three-rouble note. His face wore\na look of genuine sympathy. Katerina Ivanovna took it and gave him a\npolite, even ceremonious, bow.\n\n\"I thank you, honoured sir,\" she began loftily. \"The causes that have\ninduced us (take the money, Polenka: you see there are generous and\nhonourable people who are ready to help a poor gentlewoman in distress).\nYou see, honoured sir, these orphans of good family--I might even say of\naristocratic connections--and that wretch of a general sat eating\ngrouse... and stamped at my disturbing him. 'Your excellency,' I said,\n'protect the orphans, for you knew my late husband, Semyon Zaharovitch,\nand on the very day of his death the basest of scoundrels slandered his\nonly daughter.'... That policeman again! Protect me,\" she cried to the\nofficial. \"Why is that policeman edging up to me? We have only just run\naway from one of them. What do you want, fool?\"\n\n\"It's forbidden in the streets. You mustn't make a disturbance.\"\n\n\"It's you're making a disturbance. It's just the same as if I were\ngrinding an organ. What business is it of yours?\"\n\n\"You have to get a licence for an organ, and you haven't got one, and in\nthat way you collect a crowd. Where do you lodge?\"\n\n\"What, a license?\" wailed Katerina Ivanovna. \"I buried my husband\nto-day. What need of a license?\"\n\n\"Calm yourself, madam, calm yourself,\" began the official. \"Come along;\nI will escort you.... This is no place for you in the crowd. You are\nill.\"\n\n\"Honoured sir, honoured sir, you don't know,\" screamed Katerina\nIvanovna. \"We are going to the Nevsky.... Sonia, Sonia! Where is she?\nShe is crying too! What's the matter with you all? Kolya, Lida, where\nare you going?\" she cried suddenly in alarm. \"Oh, silly children! Kolya,\nLida, where are they off to?...\"\n\nKolya and Lida, scared out of their wits by the crowd, and their\nmother's mad pranks, suddenly seized each other by the hand, and ran off\nat the sight of the policeman who wanted to take them away somewhere.\nWeeping and wailing, poor Katerina Ivanovna ran after them. She was\na piteous and unseemly spectacle, as she ran, weeping and panting for\nbreath. Sonia and Polenka rushed after them.\n\n\"Bring them back, bring them back, Sonia! Oh stupid, ungrateful\nchildren!... Polenka! catch them.... It's for your sakes I...\"\n\nShe stumbled as she ran and fell down.\n\n\"She's cut herself, she's bleeding! Oh, dear!\" cried Sonia, bending over\nher.\n\nAll ran up and crowded around. Raskolnikov and Lebeziatnikov were the\nfirst at her side, the official too hastened up, and behind him the\npoliceman who muttered, \"Bother!\" with a gesture of impatience, feeling\nthat the job was going to be a troublesome one.\n\n\"Pass on! Pass on!\" he said to the crowd that pressed forward.\n\n\"She's dying,\" someone shouted.\n\n\"She's gone out of her mind,\" said another.\n\n\"Lord have mercy upon us,\" said a woman, crossing herself. \"Have they\ncaught the little girl and the boy? They're being brought back, the\nelder one's got them.... Ah, the naughty imps!\"\n\nWhen they examined Katerina Ivanovna carefully, they saw that she had\nnot cut herself against a stone, as Sonia thought, but that the blood\nthat stained the pavement red was from her chest.\n\n\"I've seen that before,\" muttered the official to Raskolnikov and\nLebeziatnikov; \"that's consumption; the blood flows and chokes the\npatient. I saw the same thing with a relative of my own not long ago...\nnearly a pint of blood, all in a minute.... What's to be done though?\nShe is dying.\"\n\n\"This way, this way, to my room!\" Sonia implored. \"I live here!... See,\nthat house, the second from here.... Come to me, make haste,\" she turned\nfrom one to the other. \"Send for the doctor! Oh, dear!\"\n\nThanks to the official's efforts, this plan was adopted, the policeman\neven helping to carry Katerina Ivanovna. She was carried to Sonia's\nroom, almost unconscious, and laid on the bed. The blood was still\nflowing, but she seemed to be coming to herself. Raskolnikov,\nLebeziatnikov, and the official accompanied Sonia into the room and were\nfollowed by the policeman, who first drove back the crowd which followed\nto the very door. Polenka came in holding Kolya and Lida, who\nwere trembling and weeping. Several persons came in too from the\nKapernaumovs' room; the landlord, a lame one-eyed man of strange\nappearance with whiskers and hair that stood up like a brush, his\nwife, a woman with an everlastingly scared expression, and several\nopen-mouthed children with wonder-struck faces. Among these,\nSvidrigailov suddenly made his appearance. Raskolnikov looked at him\nwith surprise, not understanding where he had come from and not having\nnoticed him in the crowd. A doctor and priest wore spoken of. The\nofficial whispered to Raskolnikov that he thought it was too late now\nfor the doctor, but he ordered him to be sent for. Kapernaumov ran\nhimself.\n\nMeanwhile Katerina Ivanovna had regained her breath. The bleeding ceased\nfor a time. She looked with sick but intent and penetrating eyes at\nSonia, who stood pale and trembling, wiping the sweat from her brow with\na handkerchief. At last she asked to be raised. They sat her up on the\nbed, supporting her on both sides.\n\n\"Where are the children?\" she said in a faint voice. \"You've brought\nthem, Polenka? Oh the sillies! Why did you run away.... Och!\"\n\nOnce more her parched lips were covered with blood. She moved her eyes,\nlooking about her.\n\n\"So that's how you live, Sonia! Never once have I been in your room.\"\n\nShe looked at her with a face of suffering.\n\n\"We have been your ruin, Sonia. Polenka, Lida, Kolya, come here! Well,\nhere they are, Sonia, take them all! I hand them over to you, I've had\nenough! The ball is over.\" (Cough!) \"Lay me down, let me die in peace.\"\n\nThey laid her back on the pillow.\n\n\"What, the priest? I don't want him. You haven't got a rouble to spare.\nI have no sins. God must forgive me without that. He knows how I have\nsuffered.... And if He won't forgive me, I don't care!\"\n\nShe sank more and more into uneasy delirium. At times she shuddered,\nturned her eyes from side to side, recognised everyone for a minute,\nbut at once sank into delirium again. Her breathing was hoarse and\ndifficult, there was a sort of rattle in her throat.\n\n\"I said to him, your excellency,\" she ejaculated, gasping after each\nword. \"That Amalia Ludwigovna, ah! Lida, Kolya, hands on your hips,\nmake haste! _Glissez, glissez! pas de basque!_ Tap with your heels, be a\ngraceful child!\n\n\"_Du hast Diamanten und Perlen_\n\n\"What next? That's the thing to sing.\n\n\"_Du hast die schonsten Augen Madchen, was willst du mehr?_\n\n\"What an idea! _Was willst du mehr?_ What things the fool invents! Ah,\nyes!\n\n\"In the heat of midday in the vale of Dagestan.\n\n\"Ah, how I loved it! I loved that song to distraction, Polenka! Your\nfather, you know, used to sing it when we were engaged.... Oh those\ndays! Oh that's the thing for us to sing! How does it go? I've\nforgotten. Remind me! How was it?\"\n\nShe was violently excited and tried to sit up. At last, in a horribly\nhoarse, broken voice, she began, shrieking and gasping at every word,\nwith a look of growing terror.\n\n\"In the heat of midday!... in the vale!... of Dagestan!... With lead in\nmy breast!...\"\n\n\"Your excellency!\" she wailed suddenly with a heart-rending scream and\na flood of tears, \"protect the orphans! You have been their father's\nguest... one may say aristocratic....\" She started, regaining\nconsciousness, and gazed at all with a sort of terror, but at once\nrecognised Sonia.\n\n\"Sonia, Sonia!\" she articulated softly and caressingly, as though\nsurprised to find her there. \"Sonia darling, are you here, too?\"\n\nThey lifted her up again.\n\n\"Enough! It's over! Farewell, poor thing! I am done for! I am broken!\"\nshe cried with vindictive despair, and her head fell heavily back on the\npillow.\n\nShe sank into unconsciousness again, but this time it did not last long.\nHer pale, yellow, wasted face dropped back, her mouth fell open, her leg\nmoved convulsively, she gave a deep, deep sigh and died.\n\nSonia fell upon her, flung her arms about her, and remained motionless\nwith her head pressed to the dead woman's wasted bosom. Polenka threw\nherself at her mother's feet, kissing them and weeping violently. Though\nKolya and Lida did not understand what had happened, they had a feeling\nthat it was something terrible; they put their hands on each other's\nlittle shoulders, stared straight at one another and both at once opened\ntheir mouths and began screaming. They were both still in their fancy\ndress; one in a turban, the other in the cap with the ostrich feather.\n\nAnd how did \"the certificate of merit\" come to be on the bed beside\nKaterina Ivanovna? It lay there by the pillow; Raskolnikov saw it.\n\nHe walked away to the window. Lebeziatnikov skipped up to him.\n\n\"She is dead,\" he said.\n\n\"Rodion Romanovitch, I must have two words with you,\" said Svidrigailov,\ncoming up to them.\n\nLebeziatnikov at once made room for him and delicately withdrew.\nSvidrigailov drew Raskolnikov further away.\n\n\"I will undertake all the arrangements, the funeral and that. You know\nit's a question of money and, as I told you, I have plenty to spare. I\nwill put those two little ones and Polenka into some good orphan asylum,\nand I will settle fifteen hundred roubles to be paid to each on coming\nof age, so that Sofya Semyonovna need have no anxiety about them. And I\nwill pull her out of the mud too, for she is a good girl, isn't she? So\ntell Avdotya Romanovna that that is how I am spending her ten thousand.\"\n\n\"What is your motive for such benevolence?\" asked Raskolnikov.\n\n\"Ah! you sceptical person!\" laughed Svidrigailov. \"I told you I had no\nneed of that money. Won't you admit that it's simply done from humanity?\nShe wasn't 'a louse,' you know\" (he pointed to the corner where the\ndead woman lay), \"was she, like some old pawnbroker woman? Come, you'll\nagree, is Luzhin to go on living, and doing wicked things or is she to\ndie? And if I didn't help them, Polenka would go the same way.\"\n\nHe said this with an air of a sort of gay winking slyness, keeping his\neyes fixed on Raskolnikov, who turned white and cold, hearing his own\nphrases, spoken to Sonia. He quickly stepped back and looked wildly at\nSvidrigailov.\n\n\"How do you know?\" he whispered, hardly able to breathe.\n\n\"Why, I lodge here at Madame Resslich's, the other side of the wall.\nHere is Kapernaumov, and there lives Madame Resslich, an old and devoted\nfriend of mine. I am a neighbour.\"\n\n\"You?\"\n\n\"Yes,\" continued Svidrigailov, shaking with laughter. \"I assure you\non my honour, dear Rodion Romanovitch, that you have interested me\nenormously. I told you we should become friends, I foretold it. Well,\nhere we have. And you will see what an accommodating person I am. You'll\nsee that you can get on with me!\"\n\n\n\n\nPART VI\n\n\n\nCHAPTER I\n\nA strange period began for Raskolnikov: it was as though a fog had\nfallen upon him and wrapped him in a dreary solitude from which there\nwas no escape. Recalling that period long after, he believed that his\nmind had been clouded at times, and that it had continued so, with\nintervals, till the final catastrophe. He was convinced that he had been\nmistaken about many things at that time, for instance as to the date\nof certain events. Anyway, when he tried later on to piece his\nrecollections together, he learnt a great deal about himself from what\nother people told him. He had mixed up incidents and had explained\nevents as due to circumstances which existed only in his imagination. At\ntimes he was a prey to agonies of morbid uneasiness, amounting sometimes\nto panic. But he remembered, too, moments, hours, perhaps whole days,\nof complete apathy, which came upon him as a reaction from his previous\nterror and might be compared with the abnormal insensibility, sometimes\nseen in the dying. He seemed to be trying in that latter stage to escape\nfrom a full and clear understanding of his position. Certain essential\nfacts which required immediate consideration were particularly irksome\nto him. How glad he would have been to be free from some cares, the\nneglect of which would have threatened him with complete, inevitable\nruin.\n\nHe was particularly worried about Svidrigailov, he might be said to be\npermanently thinking of Svidrigailov. From the time of Svidrigailov's\ntoo menacing and unmistakable words in Sonia's room at the moment of\nKaterina Ivanovna's death, the normal working of his mind seemed to\nbreak down. But although this new fact caused him extreme uneasiness,\nRaskolnikov was in no hurry for an explanation of it. At times, finding\nhimself in a solitary and remote part of the town, in some wretched\neating-house, sitting alone lost in thought, hardly knowing how he had\ncome there, he suddenly thought of Svidrigailov. He recognised\nsuddenly, clearly, and with dismay that he ought at once to come to an\nunderstanding with that man and to make what terms he could. Walking\noutside the city gates one day, he positively fancied that they had\nfixed a meeting there, that he was waiting for Svidrigailov. Another\ntime he woke up before daybreak lying on the ground under some bushes\nand could not at first understand how he had come there.\n\nBut during the two or three days after Katerina Ivanovna's death, he\nhad two or three times met Svidrigailov at Sonia's lodging, where he\nhad gone aimlessly for a moment. They exchanged a few words and made no\nreference to the vital subject, as though they were tacitly agreed not\nto speak of it for a time.\n\nKaterina Ivanovna's body was still lying in the coffin, Svidrigailov was\nbusy making arrangements for the funeral. Sonia too was very busy. At\ntheir last meeting Svidrigailov informed Raskolnikov that he had made\nan arrangement, and a very satisfactory one, for Katerina Ivanovna's\nchildren; that he had, through certain connections, succeeded in getting\nhold of certain personages by whose help the three orphans could be at\nonce placed in very suitable institutions; that the money he had settled\non them had been of great assistance, as it is much easier to place\norphans with some property than destitute ones. He said something\ntoo about Sonia and promised to come himself in a day or two to see\nRaskolnikov, mentioning that \"he would like to consult with him, that\nthere were things they must talk over....\"\n\nThis conversation took place in the passage on the stairs. Svidrigailov\nlooked intently at Raskolnikov and suddenly, after a brief pause,\ndropping his voice, asked: \"But how is it, Rodion Romanovitch; you\ndon't seem yourself? You look and you listen, but you don't seem to\nunderstand. Cheer up! We'll talk things over; I am only sorry, I've\nso much to do of my own business and other people's. Ah, Rodion\nRomanovitch,\" he added suddenly, \"what all men need is fresh air, fresh\nair... more than anything!\"\n\nHe moved to one side to make way for the priest and server, who\nwere coming up the stairs. They had come for the requiem service. By\nSvidrigailov's orders it was sung twice a day punctually. Svidrigailov\nwent his way. Raskolnikov stood still a moment, thought, and followed\nthe priest into Sonia's room. He stood at the door. They began quietly,\nslowly and mournfully singing the service. From his childhood the\nthought of death and the presence of death had something oppressive\nand mysteriously awful; and it was long since he had heard the requiem\nservice. And there was something else here as well, too awful and\ndisturbing. He looked at the children: they were all kneeling by the\ncoffin; Polenka was weeping. Behind them Sonia prayed, softly and, as it\nwere, timidly weeping.\n\n\"These last two days she hasn't said a word to me, she hasn't glanced at\nme,\" Raskolnikov thought suddenly. The sunlight was bright in the room;\nthe incense rose in clouds; the priest read, \"Give rest, oh Lord....\"\nRaskolnikov stayed all through the service. As he blessed them and\ntook his leave, the priest looked round strangely. After the service,\nRaskolnikov went up to Sonia. She took both his hands and let her\nhead sink on his shoulder. This slight friendly gesture bewildered\nRaskolnikov. It seemed strange to him that there was no trace of\nrepugnance, no trace of disgust, no tremor in her hand. It was the\nfurthest limit of self-abnegation, at least so he interpreted it.\n\nSonia said nothing. Raskolnikov pressed her hand and went out. He felt\nvery miserable. If it had been possible to escape to some solitude, he\nwould have thought himself lucky, even if he had to spend his whole life\nthere. But although he had almost always been by himself of late, he had\nnever been able to feel alone. Sometimes he walked out of the town on to\nthe high road, once he had even reached a little wood, but the lonelier\nthe place was, the more he seemed to be aware of an uneasy presence near\nhim. It did not frighten him, but greatly annoyed him, so that he\nmade haste to return to the town, to mingle with the crowd, to enter\nrestaurants and taverns, to walk in busy thoroughfares. There he felt\neasier and even more solitary. One day at dusk he sat for an hour\nlistening to songs in a tavern and he remembered that he positively\nenjoyed it. But at last he had suddenly felt the same uneasiness again,\nas though his conscience smote him. \"Here I sit listening to singing,\nis that what I ought to be doing?\" he thought. Yet he felt at once\nthat that was not the only cause of his uneasiness; there was something\nrequiring immediate decision, but it was something he could not clearly\nunderstand or put into words. It was a hopeless tangle. \"No, better the\nstruggle again! Better Porfiry again... or Svidrigailov.... Better some\nchallenge again... some attack. Yes, yes!\" he thought. He went out of\nthe tavern and rushed away almost at a run. The thought of Dounia and\nhis mother suddenly reduced him almost to a panic. That night he woke\nup before morning among some bushes in Krestovsky Island, trembling\nall over with fever; he walked home, and it was early morning when he\narrived. After some hours' sleep the fever left him, but he woke up\nlate, two o'clock in the afternoon.\n\nHe remembered that Katerina Ivanovna's funeral had been fixed for that\nday, and was glad that he was not present at it. Nastasya brought him\nsome food; he ate and drank with appetite, almost with greediness. His\nhead was fresher and he was calmer than he had been for the last three\ndays. He even felt a passing wonder at his previous attacks of panic.\n\nThe door opened and Razumihin came in.\n\n\"Ah, he's eating, then he's not ill,\" said Razumihin. He took a chair\nand sat down at the table opposite Raskolnikov.\n\nHe was troubled and did not attempt to conceal it. He spoke with evident\nannoyance, but without hurry or raising his voice. He looked as though\nhe had some special fixed determination.\n\n\"Listen,\" he began resolutely. \"As far as I am concerned, you may all go\nto hell, but from what I see, it's clear to me that I can't make head or\ntail of it; please don't think I've come to ask you questions. I don't\nwant to know, hang it! If you begin telling me your secrets, I dare say\nI shouldn't stay to listen, I should go away cursing. I have only come\nto find out once for all whether it's a fact that you are mad? There is\na conviction in the air that you are mad or very nearly so. I admit\nI've been disposed to that opinion myself, judging from your stupid,\nrepulsive and quite inexplicable actions, and from your recent behavior\nto your mother and sister. Only a monster or a madman could treat them\nas you have; so you must be mad.\"\n\n\"When did you see them last?\"\n\n\"Just now. Haven't you seen them since then? What have you been doing\nwith yourself? Tell me, please. I've been to you three times already.\nYour mother has been seriously ill since yesterday. She had made up\nher mind to come to you; Avdotya Romanovna tried to prevent her; she\nwouldn't hear a word. 'If he is ill, if his mind is giving way, who can\nlook after him like his mother?' she said. We all came here together, we\ncouldn't let her come alone all the way. We kept begging her to be calm.\nWe came in, you weren't here; she sat down, and stayed ten minutes,\nwhile we stood waiting in silence. She got up and said: 'If he's\ngone out, that is, if he is well, and has forgotten his mother, it's\nhumiliating and unseemly for his mother to stand at his door begging for\nkindness.' She returned home and took to her bed; now she is in a fever.\n'I see,' she said, 'that he has time for _his girl_.' She means by _your\ngirl_ Sofya Semyonovna, your betrothed or your mistress, I don't know. I\nwent at once to Sofya Semyonovna's, for I wanted to know what was going\non. I looked round, I saw the coffin, the children crying, and\nSofya Semyonovna trying them on mourning dresses. No sign of you. I\napologised, came away, and reported to Avdotya Romanovna. So that's all\nnonsense and you haven't got a girl; the most likely thing is that you\nare mad. But here you sit, guzzling boiled beef as though you'd not had\na bite for three days. Though as far as that goes, madmen eat too, but\nthough you have not said a word to me yet... you are not mad! That I'd\nswear! Above all, you are not mad! So you may go to hell, all of you,\nfor there's some mystery, some secret about it, and I don't intend to\nworry my brains over your secrets. So I've simply come to swear at you,\"\nhe finished, getting up, \"to relieve my mind. And I know what to do\nnow.\"\n\n\"What do you mean to do now?\"\n\n\"What business is it of yours what I mean to do?\"\n\n\"You are going in for a drinking bout.\"\n\n\"How... how did you know?\"\n\n\"Why, it's pretty plain.\"\n\nRazumihin paused for a minute.\n\n\"You always have been a very rational person and you've never been mad,\nnever,\" he observed suddenly with warmth. \"You're right: I shall drink.\nGood-bye!\"\n\nAnd he moved to go out.\n\n\"I was talking with my sister--the day before yesterday, I think it\nwas--about you, Razumihin.\"\n\n\"About me! But... where can you have seen her the day before yesterday?\"\nRazumihin stopped short and even turned a little pale.\n\nOne could see that his heart was throbbing slowly and violently.\n\n\"She came here by herself, sat there and talked to me.\"\n\n\"She did!\"\n\n\"Yes.\"\n\n\"What did you say to her... I mean, about me?\"\n\n\"I told her you were a very good, honest, and industrious man. I didn't\ntell her you love her, because she knows that herself.\"\n\n\"She knows that herself?\"\n\n\"Well, it's pretty plain. Wherever I might go, whatever happened to me,\nyou would remain to look after them. I, so to speak, give them into your\nkeeping, Razumihin. I say this because I know quite well how you love\nher, and am convinced of the purity of your heart. I know that she too\nmay love you and perhaps does love you already. Now decide for yourself,\nas you know best, whether you need go in for a drinking bout or not.\"\n\n\"Rodya! You see... well.... Ach, damn it! But where do you mean to go?\nOf course, if it's all a secret, never mind.... But I... I shall find\nout the secret... and I am sure that it must be some ridiculous nonsense\nand that you've made it all up. Anyway you are a capital fellow, a\ncapital fellow!...\"\n\n\"That was just what I wanted to add, only you interrupted, that that was\na very good decision of yours not to find out these secrets. Leave it to\ntime, don't worry about it. You'll know it all in time when it must be.\nYesterday a man said to me that what a man needs is fresh air, fresh\nair, fresh air. I mean to go to him directly to find out what he meant\nby that.\"\n\nRazumihin stood lost in thought and excitement, making a silent\nconclusion.\n\n\"He's a political conspirator! He must be. And he's on the eve of some\ndesperate step, that's certain. It can only be that! And... and Dounia\nknows,\" he thought suddenly.\n\n\"So Avdotya Romanovna comes to see you,\" he said, weighing each\nsyllable, \"and you're going to see a man who says we need more air, and\nso of course that letter... that too must have something to do with it,\"\nhe concluded to himself.\n\n\"What letter?\"\n\n\"She got a letter to-day. It upset her very much--very much indeed. Too\nmuch so. I began speaking of you, she begged me not to. Then... then\nshe said that perhaps we should very soon have to part... then she began\nwarmly thanking me for something; then she went to her room and locked\nherself in.\"\n\n\"She got a letter?\" Raskolnikov asked thoughtfully.\n\n\"Yes, and you didn't know? hm...\"\n\nThey were both silent.\n\n\"Good-bye, Rodion. There was a time, brother, when I.... Never mind,\ngood-bye. You see, there was a time.... Well, good-bye! I must be off\ntoo. I am not going to drink. There's no need now.... That's all stuff!\"\n\nHe hurried out; but when he had almost closed the door behind him, he\nsuddenly opened it again, and said, looking away:\n\n\"Oh, by the way, do you remember that murder, you know Porfiry's, that\nold woman? Do you know the murderer has been found, he has confessed\nand given the proofs. It's one of those very workmen, the painter, only\nfancy! Do you remember I defended them here? Would you believe it, all\nthat scene of fighting and laughing with his companions on the stairs\nwhile the porter and the two witnesses were going up, he got up on\npurpose to disarm suspicion. The cunning, the presence of mind of the\nyoung dog! One can hardly credit it; but it's his own explanation, he\nhas confessed it all. And what a fool I was about it! Well, he's simply\na genius of hypocrisy and resourcefulness in disarming the suspicions of\nthe lawyers--so there's nothing much to wonder at, I suppose! Of course\npeople like that are always possible. And the fact that he couldn't keep\nup the character, but confessed, makes him easier to believe in. But\nwhat a fool I was! I was frantic on their side!\"\n\n\"Tell me, please, from whom did you hear that, and why does it interest\nyou so?\" Raskolnikov asked with unmistakable agitation.\n\n\"What next? You ask me why it interests me!... Well, I heard it from\nPorfiry, among others... It was from him I heard almost all about it.\"\n\n\"From Porfiry?\"\n\n\"From Porfiry.\"\n\n\"What... what did he say?\" Raskolnikov asked in dismay.\n\n\"He gave me a capital explanation of it. Psychologically, after his\nfashion.\"\n\n\"He explained it? Explained it himself?\"\n\n\"Yes, yes; good-bye. I'll tell you all about it another time, but now\nI'm busy. There was a time when I fancied... But no matter, another\ntime!... What need is there for me to drink now? You have made me drunk\nwithout wine. I am drunk, Rodya! Good-bye, I'm going. I'll come again\nvery soon.\"\n\nHe went out.\n\n\"He's a political conspirator, there's not a doubt about it,\" Razumihin\ndecided, as he slowly descended the stairs. \"And he's drawn his sister\nin; that's quite, quite in keeping with Avdotya Romanovna's character.\nThere are interviews between them!... She hinted at it too... So many of\nher words.... and hints... bear that meaning! And how else can all this\ntangle be explained? Hm! And I was almost thinking... Good heavens,\nwhat I thought! Yes, I took leave of my senses and I wronged him! It was\nhis doing, under the lamp in the corridor that day. Pfoo! What a crude,\nnasty, vile idea on my part! Nikolay is a brick, for confessing.... And\nhow clear it all is now! His illness then, all his strange actions...\nbefore this, in the university, how morose he used to be, how gloomy....\nBut what's the meaning now of that letter? There's something in that,\ntoo, perhaps. Whom was it from? I suspect...! No, I must find out!\"\n\nHe thought of Dounia, realising all he had heard and his heart throbbed,\nand he suddenly broke into a run.\n\nAs soon as Razumihin went out, Raskolnikov got up, turned to the window,\nwalked into one corner and then into another, as though forgetting the\nsmallness of his room, and sat down again on the sofa. He felt, so to\nspeak, renewed; again the struggle, so a means of escape had come.\n\n\"Yes, a means of escape had come! It had been too stifling, too\ncramping, the burden had been too agonising. A lethargy had come upon\nhim at times. From the moment of the scene with Nikolay at Porfiry's he\nhad been suffocating, penned in without hope of escape. After Nikolay's\nconfession, on that very day had come the scene with Sonia; his\nbehaviour and his last words had been utterly unlike anything he\ncould have imagined beforehand; he had grown feebler, instantly and\nfundamentally! And he had agreed at the time with Sonia, he had agreed\nin his heart he could not go on living alone with such a thing on his\nmind!\n\n\"And Svidrigailov was a riddle... He worried him, that was true, but\nsomehow not on the same point. He might still have a struggle to come\nwith Svidrigailov. Svidrigailov, too, might be a means of escape; but\nPorfiry was a different matter.\n\n\"And so Porfiry himself had explained it to Razumihin, had explained it\n_psychologically_. He had begun bringing in his damned psychology again!\nPorfiry? But to think that Porfiry should for one moment believe that\nNikolay was guilty, after what had passed between them before Nikolay's\nappearance, after that tete-a-tete interview, which could have only\n_one_ explanation? (During those days Raskolnikov had often recalled\npassages in that scene with Porfiry; he could not bear to let his mind\nrest on it.) Such words, such gestures had passed between them, they\nhad exchanged such glances, things had been said in such a tone and had\nreached such a pass, that Nikolay, whom Porfiry had seen through at the\nfirst word, at the first gesture, could not have shaken his conviction.\n\n\"And to think that even Razumihin had begun to suspect! The scene in the\ncorridor under the lamp had produced its effect then. He had rushed to\nPorfiry.... But what had induced the latter to receive him like that?\nWhat had been his object in putting Razumihin off with Nikolay? He must\nhave some plan; there was some design, but what was it? It was true that\na long time had passed since that morning--too long a time--and no sight\nnor sound of Porfiry. Well, that was a bad sign....\"\n\nRaskolnikov took his cap and went out of the room, still pondering. It\nwas the first time for a long while that he had felt clear in his mind,\nat least. \"I must settle Svidrigailov,\" he thought, \"and as soon as\npossible; he, too, seems to be waiting for me to come to him of my own\naccord.\" And at that moment there was such a rush of hate in his\nweary heart that he might have killed either of those two--Porfiry or\nSvidrigailov. At least he felt that he would be capable of doing it\nlater, if not now.\n\n\"We shall see, we shall see,\" he repeated to himself.\n\nBut no sooner had he opened the door than he stumbled upon Porfiry\nhimself in the passage. He was coming in to see him. Raskolnikov was\ndumbfounded for a minute, but only for one minute. Strange to say, he\nwas not very much astonished at seeing Porfiry and scarcely afraid of\nhim. He was simply startled, but was quickly, instantly, on his guard.\n\"Perhaps this will mean the end? But how could Porfiry have approached\nso quietly, like a cat, so that he had heard nothing? Could he have been\nlistening at the door?\"\n\n\"You didn't expect a visitor, Rodion Romanovitch,\" Porfiry explained,\nlaughing. \"I've been meaning to look in a long time; I was passing by\nand thought why not go in for five minutes. Are you going out? I won't\nkeep you long. Just let me have one cigarette.\"\n\n\"Sit down, Porfiry Petrovitch, sit down.\" Raskolnikov gave his visitor\na seat with so pleased and friendly an expression that he would have\nmarvelled at himself, if he could have seen it.\n\nThe last moment had come, the last drops had to be drained! So a man\nwill sometimes go through half an hour of mortal terror with a brigand,\nyet when the knife is at his throat at last, he feels no fear.\n\nRaskolnikov seated himself directly facing Porfiry, and looked at him\nwithout flinching. Porfiry screwed up his eyes and began lighting a\ncigarette.\n\n\"Speak, speak,\" seemed as though it would burst from Raskolnikov's\nheart. \"Come, why don't you speak?\"\n\n\n\nCHAPTER II\n\n\"Ah these cigarettes!\" Porfiry Petrovitch ejaculated at last, having\nlighted one. \"They are pernicious, positively pernicious, and yet I\ncan't give them up! I cough, I begin to have tickling in my throat and\na difficulty in breathing. You know I am a coward, I went lately to\nDr. B----n; he always gives at least half an hour to each patient. He\npositively laughed looking at me; he sounded me: 'Tobacco's bad for\nyou,' he said, 'your lungs are affected.' But how am I to give it up?\nWhat is there to take its place? I don't drink, that's the mischief,\nhe-he-he, that I don't. Everything is relative, Rodion Romanovitch,\neverything is relative!\"\n\n\"Why, he's playing his professional tricks again,\" Raskolnikov thought\nwith disgust. All the circumstances of their last interview suddenly\ncame back to him, and he felt a rush of the feeling that had come upon\nhim then.\n\n\"I came to see you the day before yesterday, in the evening; you didn't\nknow?\" Porfiry Petrovitch went on, looking round the room. \"I came into\nthis very room. I was passing by, just as I did to-day, and I thought\nI'd return your call. I walked in as your door was wide open, I looked\nround, waited and went out without leaving my name with your servant.\nDon't you lock your door?\"\n\nRaskolnikov's face grew more and more gloomy. Porfiry seemed to guess\nhis state of mind.\n\n\"I've come to have it out with you, Rodion Romanovitch, my dear fellow!\nI owe you an explanation and must give it to you,\" he continued with a\nslight smile, just patting Raskolnikov's knee.\n\nBut almost at the same instant a serious and careworn look came into his\nface; to his surprise Raskolnikov saw a touch of sadness in it. He had\nnever seen and never suspected such an expression in his face.\n\n\"A strange scene passed between us last time we met, Rodion Romanovitch.\nOur first interview, too, was a strange one; but then... and one thing\nafter another! This is the point: I have perhaps acted unfairly to you;\nI feel it. Do you remember how we parted? Your nerves were unhinged and\nyour knees were shaking and so were mine. And, you know, our behaviour\nwas unseemly, even ungentlemanly. And yet we are gentlemen, above all,\nin any case, gentlemen; that must be understood. Do you remember what we\ncame to?... and it was quite indecorous.\"\n\n\"What is he up to, what does he take me for?\" Raskolnikov asked himself\nin amazement, raising his head and looking with open eyes on Porfiry.\n\n\"I've decided openness is better between us,\" Porfiry Petrovitch went\non, turning his head away and dropping his eyes, as though unwilling to\ndisconcert his former victim and as though disdaining his former wiles.\n\"Yes, such suspicions and such scenes cannot continue for long. Nikolay\nput a stop to it, or I don't know what we might not have come to. That\ndamned workman was sitting at the time in the next room--can you realise\nthat? You know that, of course; and I am aware that he came to you\nafterwards. But what you supposed then was not true: I had not sent for\nanyone, I had made no kind of arrangements. You ask why I hadn't? What\nshall I say to you? it had all come upon me so suddenly. I had scarcely\nsent for the porters (you noticed them as you went out, I dare say).\nAn idea flashed upon me; I was firmly convinced at the time, you see,\nRodion Romanovitch. Come, I thought--even if I let one thing slip for\na time, I shall get hold of something else--I shan't lose what I want,\nanyway. You are nervously irritable, Rodion Romanovitch, by temperament;\nit's out of proportion with other qualities of your heart and character,\nwhich I flatter myself I have to some extent divined. Of course I did\nreflect even then that it does not always happen that a man gets up and\nblurts out his whole story. It does happen sometimes, if you make a\nman lose all patience, though even then it's rare. I was capable of\nrealising that. If I only had a fact, I thought, the least little fact\nto go upon, something I could lay hold of, something tangible, not\nmerely psychological. For if a man is guilty, you must be able to get\nsomething substantial out of him; one may reckon upon most surprising\nresults indeed. I was reckoning on your temperament, Rodion Romanovitch,\non your temperament above all things! I had great hopes of you at that\ntime.\"\n\n\"But what are you driving at now?\" Raskolnikov muttered at last, asking\nthe question without thinking.\n\n\"What is he talking about?\" he wondered distractedly, \"does he really\ntake me to be innocent?\"\n\n\"What am I driving at? I've come to explain myself, I consider it my\nduty, so to speak. I want to make clear to you how the whole business,\nthe whole misunderstanding arose. I've caused you a great deal of\nsuffering, Rodion Romanovitch. I am not a monster. I understand what\nit must mean for a man who has been unfortunate, but who is proud,\nimperious and above all, impatient, to have to bear such treatment!\nI regard you in any case as a man of noble character and not without\nelements of magnanimity, though I don't agree with all your convictions.\nI wanted to tell you this first, frankly and quite sincerely, for above\nall I don't want to deceive you. When I made your acquaintance, I felt\nattracted by you. Perhaps you will laugh at my saying so. You have a\nright to. I know you disliked me from the first and indeed you've no\nreason to like me. You may think what you like, but I desire now to do\nall I can to efface that impression and to show that I am a man of heart\nand conscience. I speak sincerely.\"\n\nPorfiry Petrovitch made a dignified pause. Raskolnikov felt a rush of\nrenewed alarm. The thought that Porfiry believed him to be innocent\nbegan to make him uneasy.\n\n\"It's scarcely necessary to go over everything in detail,\" Porfiry\nPetrovitch went on. \"Indeed, I could scarcely attempt it. To begin with\nthere were rumours. Through whom, how, and when those rumours came to\nme... and how they affected you, I need not go into. My suspicions\nwere aroused by a complete accident, which might just as easily not have\nhappened. What was it? Hm! I believe there is no need to go into that\neither. Those rumours and that accident led to one idea in my mind. I\nadmit it openly--for one may as well make a clean breast of it--I was\nthe first to pitch on you. The old woman's notes on the pledges and\nthe rest of it--that all came to nothing. Yours was one of a hundred.\nI happened, too, to hear of the scene at the office, from a man who\ndescribed it capitally, unconsciously reproducing the scene with great\nvividness. It was just one thing after another, Rodion Romanovitch, my\ndear fellow! How could I avoid being brought to certain ideas? From a\nhundred rabbits you can't make a horse, a hundred suspicions don't make\na proof, as the English proverb says, but that's only from the rational\npoint of view--you can't help being partial, for after all a lawyer\nis only human. I thought, too, of your article in that journal, do you\nremember, on your first visit we talked of it? I jeered at you at the\ntime, but that was only to lead you on. I repeat, Rodion Romanovitch,\nyou are ill and impatient. That you were bold, headstrong, in earnest\nand... had felt a great deal I recognised long before. I, too, have felt\nthe same, so that your article seemed familiar to me. It was conceived\non sleepless nights, with a throbbing heart, in ecstasy and suppressed\nenthusiasm. And that proud suppressed enthusiasm in young people is\ndangerous! I jeered at you then, but let me tell you that, as a literary\namateur, I am awfully fond of such first essays, full of the heat of\nyouth. There is a mistiness and a chord vibrating in the mist. Your\narticle is absurd and fantastic, but there's a transparent sincerity,\na youthful incorruptible pride and the daring of despair in it. It's a\ngloomy article, but that's what's fine in it. I read your article and\nput it aside, thinking as I did so 'that man won't go the common way.'\nWell, I ask you, after that as a preliminary, how could I help being\ncarried away by what followed? Oh, dear, I am not saying anything, I\nam not making any statement now. I simply noted it at the time. What is\nthere in it? I reflected. There's nothing in it, that is really nothing\nand perhaps absolutely nothing. And it's not at all the thing for\nthe prosecutor to let himself be carried away by notions: here I have\nNikolay on my hands with actual evidence against him--you may think what\nyou like of it, but it's evidence. He brings in his psychology, too; one\nhas to consider him, too, for it's a matter of life and death. Why am\nI explaining this to you? That you may understand, and not blame my\nmalicious behaviour on that occasion. It was not malicious, I assure\nyou, he-he! Do you suppose I didn't come to search your room at the\ntime? I did, I did, he-he! I was here when you were lying ill in bed,\nnot officially, not in my own person, but I was here. Your room was\nsearched to the last thread at the first suspicion; but _umsonst_! I\nthought to myself, now that man will come, will come of himself and\nquickly, too; if he's guilty, he's sure to come. Another man wouldn't,\nbut he will. And you remember how Mr. Razumihin began discussing the\nsubject with you? We arranged that to excite you, so we purposely spread\nrumours, that he might discuss the case with you, and Razumihin is not a\nman to restrain his indignation. Mr. Zametov was tremendously struck by\nyour anger and your open daring. Think of blurting out in a restaurant\n'I killed her.' It was too daring, too reckless. I thought so myself, if\nhe is guilty he will be a formidable opponent. That was what I thought\nat the time. I was expecting you. But you simply bowled Zametov over\nand... well, you see, it all lies in this--that this damnable psychology\ncan be taken two ways! Well, I kept expecting you, and so it was, you\ncame! My heart was fairly throbbing. Ach!\n\n\"Now, why need you have come? Your laughter, too, as you came in, do you\nremember? I saw it all plain as daylight, but if I hadn't expected you\nso specially, I should not have noticed anything in your laughter. You\nsee what influence a mood has! Mr. Razumihin then--ah, that stone, that\nstone under which the things were hidden! I seem to see it somewhere\nin a kitchen garden. It was in a kitchen garden, you told Zametov and\nafterwards you repeated that in my office? And when we began picking\nyour article to pieces, how you explained it! One could take every word\nof yours in two senses, as though there were another meaning hidden.\n\n\"So in this way, Rodion Romanovitch, I reached the furthest limit, and\nknocking my head against a post, I pulled myself up, asking myself what\nI was about. After all, I said, you can take it all in another sense if\nyou like, and it's more natural so, indeed. I couldn't help admitting\nit was more natural. I was bothered! 'No, I'd better get hold of some\nlittle fact' I said. So when I heard of the bell-ringing, I held my\nbreath and was all in a tremor. 'Here is my little fact,' thought I, and\nI didn't think it over, I simply wouldn't. I would have given a thousand\nroubles at that minute to have seen you with my own eyes, when you\nwalked a hundred paces beside that workman, after he had called you\nmurderer to your face, and you did not dare to ask him a question\nall the way. And then what about your trembling, what about your\nbell-ringing in your illness, in semi-delirium?\n\n\"And so, Rodion Romanovitch, can you wonder that I played such pranks on\nyou? And what made you come at that very minute? Someone seemed to\nhave sent you, by Jove! And if Nikolay had not parted us... and do you\nremember Nikolay at the time? Do you remember him clearly? It was a\nthunderbolt, a regular thunderbolt! And how I met him! I didn't believe\nin the thunderbolt, not for a minute. You could see it for yourself;\nand how could I? Even afterwards, when you had gone and he began making\nvery, very plausible answers on certain points, so that I was surprised\nat him myself, even then I didn't believe his story! You see what it is\nto be as firm as a rock! No, thought I, _Morgenfrueh_. What has Nikolay\ngot to do with it!\"\n\n\"Razumihin told me just now that you think Nikolay guilty and had\nyourself assured him of it....\"\n\nHis voice failed him, and he broke off. He had been listening in\nindescribable agitation, as this man who had seen through and through\nhim, went back upon himself. He was afraid of believing it and did not\nbelieve it. In those still ambiguous words he kept eagerly looking for\nsomething more definite and conclusive.\n\n\"Mr. Razumihin!\" cried Porfiry Petrovitch, seeming glad of a question\nfrom Raskolnikov, who had till then been silent. \"He-he-he! But I had to\nput Mr. Razumihin off; two is company, three is none. Mr. Razumihin is\nnot the right man, besides he is an outsider. He came running to me\nwith a pale face.... But never mind him, why bring him in? To return\nto Nikolay, would you like to know what sort of a type he is, how I\nunderstand him, that is? To begin with, he is still a child and not\nexactly a coward, but something by way of an artist. Really, don't laugh\nat my describing him so. He is innocent and responsive to influence. He\nhas a heart, and is a fantastic fellow. He sings and dances, he tells\nstories, they say, so that people come from other villages to hear him.\nHe attends school too, and laughs till he cries if you hold up a finger\nto him; he will drink himself senseless--not as a regular vice, but at\ntimes, when people treat him, like a child. And he stole, too, then,\nwithout knowing it himself, for 'How can it be stealing, if one picks it\nup?' And do you know he is an Old Believer, or rather a dissenter? There\nhave been Wanderers[*] in his family, and he was for two years in his\nvillage under the spiritual guidance of a certain elder. I learnt all\nthis from Nikolay and from his fellow villagers. And what's more, he\nwanted to run into the wilderness! He was full of fervour, prayed at\nnight, read the old books, 'the true' ones, and read himself crazy.\n\n     [*] A religious sect.--TRANSLATOR'S NOTE.\n\n\"Petersburg had a great effect upon him, especially the women and the\nwine. He responds to everything and he forgot the elder and all that. I\nlearnt that an artist here took a fancy to him, and used to go and see\nhim, and now this business came upon him.\n\n\"Well, he was frightened, he tried to hang himself! He ran away! How can\none get over the idea the people have of Russian legal proceedings? The\nvery word 'trial' frightens some of them. Whose fault is it? We shall\nsee what the new juries will do. God grant they do good! Well, in\nprison, it seems, he remembered the venerable elder; the Bible, too,\nmade its appearance again. Do you know, Rodion Romanovitch, the force of\nthe word 'suffering' among some of these people! It's not a question of\nsuffering for someone's benefit, but simply, 'one must suffer.' If they\nsuffer at the hands of the authorities, so much the better. In my time\nthere was a very meek and mild prisoner who spent a whole year in prison\nalways reading his Bible on the stove at night and he read himself\ncrazy, and so crazy, do you know, that one day, apropos of nothing, he\nseized a brick and flung it at the governor; though he had done him\nno harm. And the way he threw it too: aimed it a yard on one side\non purpose, for fear of hurting him. Well, we know what happens to\na prisoner who assaults an officer with a weapon. So 'he took his\nsuffering.'\n\n\"So I suspect now that Nikolay wants to take his suffering or something\nof the sort. I know it for certain from facts, indeed. Only he doesn't\nknow that I know. What, you don't admit that there are such fantastic\npeople among the peasants? Lots of them. The elder now has begun\ninfluencing him, especially since he tried to hang himself. But he'll\ncome and tell me all himself. You think he'll hold out? Wait a bit,\nhe'll take his words back. I am waiting from hour to hour for him to\ncome and abjure his evidence. I have come to like that Nikolay and am\nstudying him in detail. And what do you think? He-he! He answered me\nvery plausibly on some points, he obviously had collected some evidence\nand prepared himself cleverly. But on other points he is simply at sea,\nknows nothing and doesn't even suspect that he doesn't know!\n\n\"No, Rodion Romanovitch, Nikolay doesn't come in! This is a fantastic,\ngloomy business, a modern case, an incident of to-day when the heart\nof man is troubled, when the phrase is quoted that blood 'renews,' when\ncomfort is preached as the aim of life. Here we have bookish dreams, a\nheart unhinged by theories. Here we see resolution in the first stage,\nbut resolution of a special kind: he resolved to do it like jumping over\na precipice or from a bell tower and his legs shook as he went to the\ncrime. He forgot to shut the door after him, and murdered two people for\na theory. He committed the murder and couldn't take the money, and what\nhe did manage to snatch up he hid under a stone. It wasn't enough for\nhim to suffer agony behind the door while they battered at the door and\nrung the bell, no, he had to go to the empty lodging, half delirious, to\nrecall the bell-ringing, he wanted to feel the cold shiver over again....\nWell, that we grant, was through illness, but consider this: he is\na murderer, but looks upon himself as an honest man, despises others,\nposes as injured innocence. No, that's not the work of a Nikolay, my\ndear Rodion Romanovitch!\"\n\nAll that had been said before had sounded so like a recantation that\nthese words were too great a shock. Raskolnikov shuddered as though he\nhad been stabbed.\n\n\"Then... who then... is the murderer?\" he asked in a breathless voice,\nunable to restrain himself.\n\nPorfiry Petrovitch sank back in his chair, as though he were amazed at\nthe question.\n\n\"Who is the murderer?\" he repeated, as though unable to believe his\nears. \"Why, _you_, Rodion Romanovitch! You are the murderer,\" he added,\nalmost in a whisper, in a voice of genuine conviction.\n\nRaskolnikov leapt from the sofa, stood up for a few seconds and sat down\nagain without uttering a word. His face twitched convulsively.\n\n\"Your lip is twitching just as it did before,\" Porfiry Petrovitch\nobserved almost sympathetically. \"You've been misunderstanding me, I\nthink, Rodion Romanovitch,\" he added after a brief pause, \"that's why\nyou are so surprised. I came on purpose to tell you everything and deal\nopenly with you.\"\n\n\"It was not I murdered her,\" Raskolnikov whispered like a frightened\nchild caught in the act.\n\n\"No, it was you, you Rodion Romanovitch, and no one else,\" Porfiry\nwhispered sternly, with conviction.\n\nThey were both silent and the silence lasted strangely long, about ten\nminutes. Raskolnikov put his elbow on the table and passed his fingers\nthrough his hair. Porfiry Petrovitch sat quietly waiting. Suddenly\nRaskolnikov looked scornfully at Porfiry.\n\n\"You are at your old tricks again, Porfiry Petrovitch! Your old method\nagain. I wonder you don't get sick of it!\"\n\n\"Oh, stop that, what does that matter now? It would be a different\nmatter if there were witnesses present, but we are whispering alone. You\nsee yourself that I have not come to chase and capture you like a hare.\nWhether you confess it or not is nothing to me now; for myself, I am\nconvinced without it.\"\n\n\"If so, what did you come for?\" Raskolnikov asked irritably. \"I ask you\nthe same question again: if you consider me guilty, why don't you take\nme to prison?\"\n\n\"Oh, that's your question! I will answer you, point for point. In the\nfirst place, to arrest you so directly is not to my interest.\"\n\n\"How so? If you are convinced you ought....\"\n\n\"Ach, what if I am convinced? That's only my dream for the time. Why\nshould I put you in safety? You know that's it, since you ask me to do\nit. If I confront you with that workman for instance and you say to him\n'were you drunk or not? Who saw me with you? I simply took you to be\ndrunk, and you were drunk, too.' Well, what could I answer, especially\nas your story is a more likely one than his? for there's nothing but\npsychology to support his evidence--that's almost unseemly with his ugly\nmug, while you hit the mark exactly, for the rascal is an inveterate\ndrunkard and notoriously so. And I have myself admitted candidly several\ntimes already that that psychology can be taken in two ways and that the\nsecond way is stronger and looks far more probable, and that apart from\nthat I have as yet nothing against you. And though I shall put you in\nprison and indeed have come--quite contrary to etiquette--to inform you\nof it beforehand, yet I tell you frankly, also contrary to etiquette,\nthat it won't be to my advantage. Well, secondly, I've come to you\nbecause...\"\n\n\"Yes, yes, secondly?\" Raskolnikov was listening breathless.\n\n\"Because, as I told you just now, I consider I owe you an explanation. I\ndon't want you to look upon me as a monster, as I have a genuine liking\nfor you, you may believe me or not. And in the third place I've come to\nyou with a direct and open proposition--that you should surrender\nand confess. It will be infinitely more to your advantage and to my\nadvantage too, for my task will be done. Well, is this open on my part\nor not?\"\n\nRaskolnikov thought a minute.\n\n\"Listen, Porfiry Petrovitch. You said just now you have nothing but\npsychology to go on, yet now you've gone on mathematics. Well, what if\nyou are mistaken yourself, now?\"\n\n\"No, Rodion Romanovitch, I am not mistaken. I have a little fact even\nthen, Providence sent it me.\"\n\n\"What little fact?\"\n\n\"I won't tell you what, Rodion Romanovitch. And in any case, I haven't\nthe right to put it off any longer, I must arrest you. So think it over:\nit makes no difference to me _now_ and so I speak only for your sake.\nBelieve me, it will be better, Rodion Romanovitch.\"\n\nRaskolnikov smiled malignantly.\n\n\"That's not simply ridiculous, it's positively shameless. Why, even if I\nwere guilty, which I don't admit, what reason should I have to confess,\nwhen you tell me yourself that I shall be in greater safety in prison?\"\n\n\"Ah, Rodion Romanovitch, don't put too much faith in words, perhaps\nprison will not be altogether a restful place. That's only theory and\nmy theory, and what authority am I for you? Perhaps, too, even now I am\nhiding something from you? I can't lay bare everything, he-he! And how\ncan you ask what advantage? Don't you know how it would lessen your\nsentence? You would be confessing at a moment when another man has taken\nthe crime on himself and so has muddled the whole case. Consider that! I\nswear before God that I will so arrange that your confession shall\ncome as a complete surprise. We will make a clean sweep of all these\npsychological points, of a suspicion against you, so that your crime\nwill appear to have been something like an aberration, for in truth it\nwas an aberration. I am an honest man, Rodion Romanovitch, and will keep\nmy word.\"\n\nRaskolnikov maintained a mournful silence and let his head sink\ndejectedly. He pondered a long while and at last smiled again, but his\nsmile was sad and gentle.\n\n\"No!\" he said, apparently abandoning all attempt to keep up appearances\nwith Porfiry, \"it's not worth it, I don't care about lessening the\nsentence!\"\n\n\"That's just what I was afraid of!\" Porfiry cried warmly and, as it\nseemed, involuntarily. \"That's just what I feared, that you wouldn't\ncare about the mitigation of sentence.\"\n\nRaskolnikov looked sadly and expressively at him.\n\n\"Ah, don't disdain life!\" Porfiry went on. \"You have a great deal of\nit still before you. How can you say you don't want a mitigation of\nsentence? You are an impatient fellow!\"\n\n\"A great deal of what lies before me?\"\n\n\"Of life. What sort of prophet are you, do you know much about it? Seek\nand ye shall find. This may be God's means for bringing you to Him. And\nit's not for ever, the bondage....\"\n\n\"The time will be shortened,\" laughed Raskolnikov.\n\n\"Why, is it the bourgeois disgrace you are afraid of? It may be that you\nare afraid of it without knowing it, because you are young! But anyway\n_you_ shouldn't be afraid of giving yourself up and confessing.\"\n\n\"Ach, hang it!\" Raskolnikov whispered with loathing and contempt, as\nthough he did not want to speak aloud.\n\nHe got up again as though he meant to go away, but sat down again in\nevident despair.\n\n\"Hang it, if you like! You've lost faith and you think that I am\ngrossly flattering you; but how long has your life been? How much do\nyou understand? You made up a theory and then were ashamed that it broke\ndown and turned out to be not at all original! It turned out something\nbase, that's true, but you are not hopelessly base. By no means so base!\nAt least you didn't deceive yourself for long, you went straight to the\nfurthest point at one bound. How do I regard you? I regard you as one\nof those men who would stand and smile at their torturer while he cuts\ntheir entrails out, if only they have found faith or God. Find it and\nyou will live. You have long needed a change of air. Suffering, too,\nis a good thing. Suffer! Maybe Nikolay is right in wanting to suffer.\nI know you don't believe in it--but don't be over-wise; fling yourself\nstraight into life, without deliberation; don't be afraid--the flood\nwill bear you to the bank and set you safe on your feet again. What\nbank? How can I tell? I only believe that you have long life before\nyou. I know that you take all my words now for a set speech prepared\nbeforehand, but maybe you will remember them after. They may be of use\nsome time. That's why I speak. It's as well that you only killed the\nold woman. If you'd invented another theory you might perhaps have\ndone something a thousand times more hideous. You ought to thank God,\nperhaps. How do you know? Perhaps God is saving you for something.\nBut keep a good heart and have less fear! Are you afraid of the great\nexpiation before you? No, it would be shameful to be afraid of it. Since\nyou have taken such a step, you must harden your heart. There is justice\nin it. You must fulfil the demands of justice. I know that you don't\nbelieve it, but indeed, life will bring you through. You will live it\ndown in time. What you need now is fresh air, fresh air, fresh air!\"\n\nRaskolnikov positively started.\n\n\"But who are you? what prophet are you? From the height of what majestic\ncalm do you proclaim these words of wisdom?\"\n\n\"Who am I? I am a man with nothing to hope for, that's all. A man\nperhaps of feeling and sympathy, maybe of some knowledge too, but my day\nis over. But you are a different matter, there is life waiting for you.\nThough, who knows? maybe your life, too, will pass off in smoke and come\nto nothing. Come, what does it matter, that you will pass into another\nclass of men? It's not comfort you regret, with your heart! What of\nit that perhaps no one will see you for so long? It's not time, but\nyourself that will decide that. Be the sun and all will see you. The\nsun has before all to be the sun. Why are you smiling again? At my being\nsuch a Schiller? I bet you're imagining that I am trying to get round\nyou by flattery. Well, perhaps I am, he-he-he! Perhaps you'd better not\nbelieve my word, perhaps you'd better never believe it altogether--I'm\nmade that way, I confess it. But let me add, you can judge for yourself,\nI think, how far I am a base sort of man and how far I am honest.\"\n\n\"When do you mean to arrest me?\"\n\n\"Well, I can let you walk about another day or two. Think it over, my\ndear fellow, and pray to God. It's more in your interest, believe me.\"\n\n\"And what if I run away?\" asked Raskolnikov with a strange smile.\n\n\"No, you won't run away. A peasant would run away, a fashionable\ndissenter would run away, the flunkey of another man's thought, for\nyou've only to show him the end of your little finger and he'll be ready\nto believe in anything for the rest of his life. But you've ceased to\nbelieve in your theory already, what will you run away with? And what\nwould you do in hiding? It would be hateful and difficult for you, and\nwhat you need more than anything in life is a definite position, an\natmosphere to suit you. And what sort of atmosphere would you have? If\nyou ran away, you'd come back to yourself. _You can't get on without\nus._ And if I put you in prison--say you've been there a month, or two,\nor three--remember my word, you'll confess of yourself and perhaps to\nyour own surprise. You won't know an hour beforehand that you are coming\nwith a confession. I am convinced that you will decide, 'to take your\nsuffering.' You don't believe my words now, but you'll come to it of\nyourself. For suffering, Rodion Romanovitch, is a great thing. Never\nmind my having grown fat, I know all the same. Don't laugh at it,\nthere's an idea in suffering, Nokolay is right. No, you won't run away,\nRodion Romanovitch.\"\n\nRaskolnikov got up and took his cap. Porfiry Petrovitch also rose.\n\n\"Are you going for a walk? The evening will be fine, if only we don't\nhave a storm. Though it would be a good thing to freshen the air.\"\n\nHe, too, took his cap.\n\n\"Porfiry Petrovitch, please don't take up the notion that I have\nconfessed to you to-day,\" Raskolnikov pronounced with sullen insistence.\n\"You're a strange man and I have listened to you from simple curiosity.\nBut I have admitted nothing, remember that!\"\n\n\"Oh, I know that, I'll remember. Look at him, he's trembling! Don't\nbe uneasy, my dear fellow, have it your own way. Walk about a bit, you\nwon't be able to walk too far. If anything happens, I have one request\nto make of you,\" he added, dropping his voice. \"It's an awkward one, but\nimportant. If anything were to happen (though indeed I don't believe\nin it and think you quite incapable of it), yet in case you were taken\nduring these forty or fifty hours with the notion of putting an end to\nthe business in some other way, in some fantastic fashion--laying hands\non yourself--(it's an absurd proposition, but you must forgive me for\nit) do leave a brief but precise note, only two lines, and mention the\nstone. It will be more generous. Come, till we meet! Good thoughts and\nsound decisions to you!\"\n\nPorfiry went out, stooping and avoiding looking at Raskolnikov. The\nlatter went to the window and waited with irritable impatience till he\ncalculated that Porfiry had reached the street and moved away. Then he\ntoo went hurriedly out of the room.\n\n\n\nCHAPTER III\n\nHe hurried to Svidrigailov's. What he had to hope from that man he\ndid not know. But that man had some hidden power over him. Having once\nrecognised this, he could not rest, and now the time had come.\n\nOn the way, one question particularly worried him: had Svidrigailov been\nto Porfiry's?\n\nAs far as he could judge, he would swear to it, that he had not. He\npondered again and again, went over Porfiry's visit; no, he hadn't been,\nof course he hadn't.\n\nBut if he had not been yet, would he go? Meanwhile, for the present he\nfancied he couldn't. Why? He could not have explained, but if he could,\nhe would not have wasted much thought over it at the moment. It all\nworried him and at the same time he could not attend to it. Strange to\nsay, none would have believed it perhaps, but he only felt a faint vague\nanxiety about his immediate future. Another, much more important anxiety\ntormented him--it concerned himself, but in a different, more vital way.\nMoreover, he was conscious of immense moral fatigue, though his mind was\nworking better that morning than it had done of late.\n\nAnd was it worth while, after all that had happened, to contend with\nthese new trivial difficulties? Was it worth while, for instance, to\nmanoeuvre that Svidrigailov should not go to Porfiry's? Was it worth\nwhile to investigate, to ascertain the facts, to waste time over anyone\nlike Svidrigailov?\n\nOh, how sick he was of it all!\n\nAnd yet he was hastening to Svidrigailov; could he be expecting\nsomething _new_ from him, information, or means of escape? Men will\ncatch at straws! Was it destiny or some instinct bringing them together?\nPerhaps it was only fatigue, despair; perhaps it was not Svidrigailov\nbut some other whom he needed, and Svidrigailov had simply presented\nhimself by chance. Sonia? But what should he go to Sonia for now? To beg\nher tears again? He was afraid of Sonia, too. Sonia stood before him as\nan irrevocable sentence. He must go his own way or hers. At that moment\nespecially he did not feel equal to seeing her. No, would it not be\nbetter to try Svidrigailov? And he could not help inwardly owning that\nhe had long felt that he must see him for some reason.\n\nBut what could they have in common? Their very evil-doing could not\nbe of the same kind. The man, moreover, was very unpleasant, evidently\ndepraved, undoubtedly cunning and deceitful, possibly malignant. Such\nstories were told about him. It is true he was befriending Katerina\nIvanovna's children, but who could tell with what motive and what it\nmeant? The man always had some design, some project.\n\nThere was another thought which had been continually hovering of late\nabout Raskolnikov's mind, and causing him great uneasiness. It was so\npainful that he made distinct efforts to get rid of it. He sometimes\nthought that Svidrigailov was dogging his footsteps. Svidrigailov had\nfound out his secret and had had designs on Dounia. What if he had them\nstill? Wasn't it practically certain that he had? And what if, having\nlearnt his secret and so having gained power over him, he were to use it\nas a weapon against Dounia?\n\nThis idea sometimes even tormented his dreams, but it had never\npresented itself so vividly to him as on his way to Svidrigailov.\nThe very thought moved him to gloomy rage. To begin with, this would\ntransform everything, even his own position; he would have at once to\nconfess his secret to Dounia. Would he have to give himself up perhaps\nto prevent Dounia from taking some rash step? The letter? This morning\nDounia had received a letter. From whom could she get letters in\nPetersburg? Luzhin, perhaps? It's true Razumihin was there to protect\nher, but Razumihin knew nothing of the position. Perhaps it was his duty\nto tell Razumihin? He thought of it with repugnance.\n\nIn any case he must see Svidrigailov as soon as possible, he decided\nfinally. Thank God, the details of the interview were of little\nconsequence, if only he could get at the root of the matter; but\nif Svidrigailov were capable... if he were intriguing against\nDounia--then...\n\nRaskolnikov was so exhausted by what he had passed through that month\nthat he could only decide such questions in one way; \"then I shall kill\nhim,\" he thought in cold despair.\n\nA sudden anguish oppressed his heart, he stood still in the middle of\nthe street and began looking about to see where he was and which way he\nwas going. He found himself in X. Prospect, thirty or forty paces from\nthe Hay Market, through which he had come. The whole second storey of\nthe house on the left was used as a tavern. All the windows were wide\nopen; judging from the figures moving at the windows, the rooms were\nfull to overflowing. There were sounds of singing, of clarionet and\nviolin, and the boom of a Turkish drum. He could hear women shrieking.\nHe was about to turn back wondering why he had come to the X. Prospect,\nwhen suddenly at one of the end windows he saw Svidrigailov, sitting\nat a tea-table right in the open window with a pipe in his mouth.\nRaskolnikov was dreadfully taken aback, almost terrified. Svidrigailov\nwas silently watching and scrutinising him and, what struck Raskolnikov\nat once, seemed to be meaning to get up and slip away unobserved.\nRaskolnikov at once pretended not to have seen him, but to be looking\nabsent-mindedly away, while he watched him out of the corner of his eye.\nHis heart was beating violently. Yet, it was evident that Svidrigailov\ndid not want to be seen. He took the pipe out of his mouth and was on\nthe point of concealing himself, but as he got up and moved back his\nchair, he seemed to have become suddenly aware that Raskolnikov had seen\nhim, and was watching him. What had passed between them was much the\nsame as what happened at their first meeting in Raskolnikov's room. A\nsly smile came into Svidrigailov's face and grew broader and\nbroader. Each knew that he was seen and watched by the other. At last\nSvidrigailov broke into a loud laugh.\n\n\"Well, well, come in if you want me; I am here!\" he shouted from the\nwindow.\n\nRaskolnikov went up into the tavern. He found Svidrigailov in a tiny\nback room, adjoining the saloon in which merchants, clerks and numbers\nof people of all sorts were drinking tea at twenty little tables to the\ndesperate bawling of a chorus of singers. The click of billiard balls\ncould be heard in the distance. On the table before Svidrigailov stood\nan open bottle and a glass half full of champagne. In the room he found\nalso a boy with a little hand organ, a healthy-looking red-cheeked girl\nof eighteen, wearing a tucked-up striped skirt, and a Tyrolese hat with\nribbons. In spite of the chorus in the other room, she was singing some\nservants' hall song in a rather husky contralto, to the accompaniment of\nthe organ.\n\n\"Come, that's enough,\" Svidrigailov stopped her at Raskolnikov's\nentrance. The girl at once broke off and stood waiting respectfully.\nShe had sung her guttural rhymes, too, with a serious and respectful\nexpression in her face.\n\n\"Hey, Philip, a glass!\" shouted Svidrigailov.\n\n\"I won't drink anything,\" said Raskolnikov.\n\n\"As you like, I didn't mean it for you. Drink, Katia! I don't want\nanything more to-day, you can go.\" He poured her out a full glass, and\nlaid down a yellow note.\n\nKatia drank off her glass of wine, as women do, without putting it down,\nin twenty gulps, took the note and kissed Svidrigailov's hand, which he\nallowed quite seriously. She went out of the room and the boy trailed\nafter her with the organ. Both had been brought in from the street.\nSvidrigailov had not been a week in Petersburg, but everything about him\nwas already, so to speak, on a patriarchal footing; the waiter, Philip,\nwas by now an old friend and very obsequious.\n\nThe door leading to the saloon had a lock on it. Svidrigailov was at\nhome in this room and perhaps spent whole days in it. The tavern was\ndirty and wretched, not even second-rate.\n\n\"I was going to see you and looking for you,\" Raskolnikov began, \"but\nI don't know what made me turn from the Hay Market into the X. Prospect\njust now. I never take this turning. I turn to the right from the Hay\nMarket. And this isn't the way to you. I simply turned and here you are.\nIt is strange!\"\n\n\"Why don't you say at once 'it's a miracle'?\"\n\n\"Because it may be only chance.\"\n\n\"Oh, that's the way with all you folk,\" laughed Svidrigailov. \"You won't\nadmit it, even if you do inwardly believe it a miracle! Here you say\nthat it may be only chance. And what cowards they all are here, about\nhaving an opinion of their own, you can't fancy, Rodion Romanovitch. I\ndon't mean you, you have an opinion of your own and are not afraid to\nhave it. That's how it was you attracted my curiosity.\"\n\n\"Nothing else?\"\n\n\"Well, that's enough, you know,\" Svidrigailov was obviously exhilarated,\nbut only slightly so, he had not had more than half a glass of wine.\n\n\"I fancy you came to see me before you knew that I was capable of having\nwhat you call an opinion of my own,\" observed Raskolnikov.\n\n\"Oh, well, it was a different matter. Everyone has his own plans. And\napropos of the miracle let me tell you that I think you have been asleep\nfor the last two or three days. I told you of this tavern myself, there\nis no miracle in your coming straight here. I explained the way myself,\ntold you where it was, and the hours you could find me here. Do you\nremember?\"\n\n\"I don't remember,\" answered Raskolnikov with surprise.\n\n\"I believe you. I told you twice. The address has been stamped\nmechanically on your memory. You turned this way mechanically and yet\nprecisely according to the direction, though you are not aware of\nit. When I told you then, I hardly hoped you understood me. You give\nyourself away too much, Rodion Romanovitch. And another thing, I'm\nconvinced there are lots of people in Petersburg who talk to themselves\nas they walk. This is a town of crazy people. If only we had scientific\nmen, doctors, lawyers and philosophers might make most valuable\ninvestigations in Petersburg each in his own line. There are few places\nwhere there are so many gloomy, strong and queer influences on the soul\nof man as in Petersburg. The mere influences of climate mean so much.\nAnd it's the administrative centre of all Russia and its character must\nbe reflected on the whole country. But that is neither here nor there\nnow. The point is that I have several times watched you. You walk out\nof your house--holding your head high--twenty paces from home you let it\nsink, and fold your hands behind your back. You look and evidently see\nnothing before nor beside you. At last you begin moving your lips and\ntalking to yourself, and sometimes you wave one hand and declaim, and at\nlast stand still in the middle of the road. That's not at all the thing.\nSomeone may be watching you besides me, and it won't do you any good.\nIt's nothing really to do with me and I can't cure you, but, of course,\nyou understand me.\"\n\n\"Do you know that I am being followed?\" asked Raskolnikov, looking\ninquisitively at him.\n\n\"No, I know nothing about it,\" said Svidrigailov, seeming surprised.\n\n\"Well, then, let us leave me alone,\" Raskolnikov muttered, frowning.\n\n\"Very good, let us leave you alone.\"\n\n\"You had better tell me, if you come here to drink, and directed me\ntwice to come here to you, why did you hide, and try to get away just\nnow when I looked at the window from the street? I saw it.\"\n\n\"He-he! And why was it you lay on your sofa with closed eyes and\npretended to be asleep, though you were wide awake while I stood in your\ndoorway? I saw it.\"\n\n\"I may have had... reasons. You know that yourself.\"\n\n\"And I may have had my reasons, though you don't know them.\"\n\nRaskolnikov dropped his right elbow on the table, leaned his chin in the\nfingers of his right hand, and stared intently at Svidrigailov. For a\nfull minute he scrutinised his face, which had impressed him before. It\nwas a strange face, like a mask; white and red, with bright red lips,\nwith a flaxen beard, and still thick flaxen hair. His eyes were somehow\ntoo blue and their expression somehow too heavy and fixed. There was\nsomething awfully unpleasant in that handsome face, which looked so\nwonderfully young for his age. Svidrigailov was smartly dressed in light\nsummer clothes and was particularly dainty in his linen. He wore a huge\nring with a precious stone in it.\n\n\"Have I got to bother myself about you, too, now?\" said Raskolnikov\nsuddenly, coming with nervous impatience straight to the point. \"Even\nthough perhaps you are the most dangerous man if you care to injure me,\nI don't want to put myself out any more. I will show you at once that I\ndon't prize myself as you probably think I do. I've come to tell you at\nonce that if you keep to your former intentions with regard to my sister\nand if you think to derive any benefit in that direction from what has\nbeen discovered of late, I will kill you before you get me locked up.\nYou can reckon on my word. You know that I can keep it. And in the\nsecond place if you want to tell me anything--for I keep fancying all\nthis time that you have something to tell me--make haste and tell it,\nfor time is precious and very likely it will soon be too late.\"\n\n\"Why in such haste?\" asked Svidrigailov, looking at him curiously.\n\n\"Everyone has his plans,\" Raskolnikov answered gloomily and impatiently.\n\n\"You urged me yourself to frankness just now, and at the first question\nyou refuse to answer,\" Svidrigailov observed with a smile. \"You\nkeep fancying that I have aims of my own and so you look at me with\nsuspicion. Of course it's perfectly natural in your position. But\nthough I should like to be friends with you, I shan't trouble myself\nto convince you of the contrary. The game isn't worth the candle and I\nwasn't intending to talk to you about anything special.\"\n\n\"What did you want me, for, then? It was you who came hanging about me.\"\n\n\"Why, simply as an interesting subject for observation. I liked the\nfantastic nature of your position--that's what it was! Besides you are\nthe brother of a person who greatly interested me, and from that person\nI had in the past heard a very great deal about you, from which I\ngathered that you had a great influence over her; isn't that enough?\nHa-ha-ha! Still I must admit that your question is rather complex, and\nis difficult for me to answer. Here, you, for instance, have come to me\nnot only for a definite object, but for the sake of hearing something\nnew. Isn't that so? Isn't that so?\" persisted Svidrigailov with a sly\nsmile. \"Well, can't you fancy then that I, too, on my way here in the\ntrain was reckoning on you, on your telling me something new, and on my\nmaking some profit out of you! You see what rich men we are!\"\n\n\"What profit could you make?\"\n\n\"How can I tell you? How do I know? You see in what a tavern I spend all\nmy time and it's my enjoyment, that's to say it's no great enjoyment,\nbut one must sit somewhere; that poor Katia now--you saw her?... If only\nI had been a glutton now, a club gourmand, but you see I can eat this.\"\n\nHe pointed to a little table in the corner where the remnants of a\nterrible-looking beef-steak and potatoes lay on a tin dish.\n\n\"Have you dined, by the way? I've had something and want nothing more.\nI don't drink, for instance, at all. Except for champagne I never touch\nanything, and not more than a glass of that all the evening, and even\nthat is enough to make my head ache. I ordered it just now to wind\nmyself up, for I am just going off somewhere and you see me in a\npeculiar state of mind. That was why I hid myself just now like a\nschoolboy, for I was afraid you would hinder me. But I believe,\" he\npulled out his watch, \"I can spend an hour with you. It's half-past\nfour now. If only I'd been something, a landowner, a father, a cavalry\nofficer, a photographer, a journalist... I am nothing, no specialty,\nand sometimes I am positively bored. I really thought you would tell me\nsomething new.\"\n\n\"But what are you, and why have you come here?\"\n\n\"What am I? You know, a gentleman, I served for two years in the\ncavalry, then I knocked about here in Petersburg, then I married Marfa\nPetrovna and lived in the country. There you have my biography!\"\n\n\"You are a gambler, I believe?\"\n\n\"No, a poor sort of gambler. A card-sharper--not a gambler.\"\n\n\"You have been a card-sharper then?\"\n\n\"Yes, I've been a card-sharper too.\"\n\n\"Didn't you get thrashed sometimes?\"\n\n\"It did happen. Why?\"\n\n\"Why, you might have challenged them... altogether it must have been\nlively.\"\n\n\"I won't contradict you, and besides I am no hand at philosophy. I\nconfess that I hastened here for the sake of the women.\"\n\n\"As soon as you buried Marfa Petrovna?\"\n\n\"Quite so,\" Svidrigailov smiled with engaging candour. \"What of it? You\nseem to find something wrong in my speaking like that about women?\"\n\n\"You ask whether I find anything wrong in vice?\"\n\n\"Vice! Oh, that's what you are after! But I'll answer you in order,\nfirst about women in general; you know I am fond of talking. Tell me,\nwhat should I restrain myself for? Why should I give up women, since I\nhave a passion for them? It's an occupation, anyway.\"\n\n\"So you hope for nothing here but vice?\"\n\n\"Oh, very well, for vice then. You insist on its being vice. But anyway\nI like a direct question. In this vice at least there is something\npermanent, founded indeed upon nature and not dependent on fantasy,\nsomething present in the blood like an ever-burning ember, for ever\nsetting one on fire and, maybe, not to be quickly extinguished, even\nwith years. You'll agree it's an occupation of a sort.\"\n\n\"That's nothing to rejoice at, it's a disease and a dangerous one.\"\n\n\"Oh, that's what you think, is it! I agree, that it is a disease like\neverything that exceeds moderation. And, of course, in this one must\nexceed moderation. But in the first place, everybody does so in one way\nor another, and in the second place, of course, one ought to be moderate\nand prudent, however mean it may be, but what am I to do? If I hadn't\nthis, I might have to shoot myself. I am ready to admit that a decent\nman ought to put up with being bored, but yet...\"\n\n\"And could you shoot yourself?\"\n\n\"Oh, come!\" Svidrigailov parried with disgust. \"Please don't speak of\nit,\" he added hurriedly and with none of the bragging tone he had shown\nin all the previous conversation. His face quite changed. \"I admit it's\nan unpardonable weakness, but I can't help it. I am afraid of death and\nI dislike its being talked of. Do you know that I am to a certain extent\na mystic?\"\n\n\"Ah, the apparitions of Marfa Petrovna! Do they still go on visiting\nyou?\"\n\n\"Oh, don't talk of them; there have been no more in Petersburg, confound\nthem!\" he cried with an air of irritation. \"Let's rather talk of that...\nthough... H'm! I have not much time, and can't stay long with you,\nit's a pity! I should have found plenty to tell you.\"\n\n\"What's your engagement, a woman?\"\n\n\"Yes, a woman, a casual incident.... No, that's not what I want to talk\nof.\"\n\n\"And the hideousness, the filthiness of all your surroundings, doesn't\nthat affect you? Have you lost the strength to stop yourself?\"\n\n\"And do you pretend to strength, too? He-he-he! You surprised me just\nnow, Rodion Romanovitch, though I knew beforehand it would be so.\nYou preach to me about vice and aesthetics! You--a Schiller, you--an\nidealist! Of course that's all as it should be and it would be\nsurprising if it were not so, yet it is strange in reality.... Ah,\nwhat a pity I have no time, for you're a most interesting type! And,\nby-the-way, are you fond of Schiller? I am awfully fond of him.\"\n\n\"But what a braggart you are,\" Raskolnikov said with some disgust.\n\n\"Upon my word, I am not,\" answered Svidrigailov laughing. \"However, I\nwon't dispute it, let me be a braggart, why not brag, if it hurts no\none? I spent seven years in the country with Marfa Petrovna, so now when\nI come across an intelligent person like you--intelligent and highly\ninteresting--I am simply glad to talk and, besides, I've drunk that\nhalf-glass of champagne and it's gone to my head a little. And besides,\nthere's a certain fact that has wound me up tremendously, but about that\nI... will keep quiet. Where are you off to?\" he asked in alarm.\n\nRaskolnikov had begun getting up. He felt oppressed and stifled and,\nas it were, ill at ease at having come here. He felt convinced that\nSvidrigailov was the most worthless scoundrel on the face of the earth.\n\n\"A-ach! Sit down, stay a little!\" Svidrigailov begged. \"Let them bring\nyou some tea, anyway. Stay a little, I won't talk nonsense, about\nmyself, I mean. I'll tell you something. If you like I'll tell you how a\nwoman tried 'to save' me, as you would call it? It will be an answer to\nyour first question indeed, for the woman was your sister. May I tell\nyou? It will help to spend the time.\"\n\n\"Tell me, but I trust that you...\"\n\n\"Oh, don't be uneasy. Besides, even in a worthless low fellow like me,\nAvdotya Romanovna can only excite the deepest respect.\"\n\n\n\nCHAPTER IV\n\n\"You know perhaps--yes, I told you myself,\" began Svidrigailov, \"that\nI was in the debtors' prison here, for an immense sum, and had not\nany expectation of being able to pay it. There's no need to go into\nparticulars how Marfa Petrovna bought me out; do you know to what a\npoint of insanity a woman can sometimes love? She was an honest woman,\nand very sensible, although completely uneducated. Would you believe\nthat this honest and jealous woman, after many scenes of hysterics and\nreproaches, condescended to enter into a kind of contract with me which\nshe kept throughout our married life? She was considerably older than\nI, and besides, she always kept a clove or something in her mouth. There\nwas so much swinishness in my soul and honesty too, of a sort, as to\ntell her straight out that I couldn't be absolutely faithful to her.\nThis confession drove her to frenzy, but yet she seems in a way to have\nliked my brutal frankness. She thought it showed I was unwilling to\ndeceive her if I warned her like this beforehand and for a jealous\nwoman, you know, that's the first consideration. After many tears an\nunwritten contract was drawn up between us: first, that I would never\nleave Marfa Petrovna and would always be her husband; secondly, that I\nwould never absent myself without her permission; thirdly, that I would\nnever set up a permanent mistress; fourthly, in return for this, Marfa\nPetrovna gave me a free hand with the maidservants, but only with her\nsecret knowledge; fifthly, God forbid my falling in love with a woman of\nour class; sixthly, in case I--which God forbid--should be visited by\na great serious passion I was bound to reveal it to Marfa Petrovna. On\nthis last score, however, Marfa Petrovna was fairly at ease. She was a\nsensible woman and so she could not help looking upon me as a dissolute\nprofligate incapable of real love. But a sensible woman and a jealous\nwoman are two very different things, and that's where the trouble\ncame in. But to judge some people impartially we must renounce certain\npreconceived opinions and our habitual attitude to the ordinary people\nabout us. I have reason to have faith in your judgment rather than\nin anyone's. Perhaps you have already heard a great deal that was\nridiculous and absurd about Marfa Petrovna. She certainly had some very\nridiculous ways, but I tell you frankly that I feel really sorry for the\ninnumerable woes of which I was the cause. Well, and that's enough, I\nthink, by way of a decorous _oraison funebre_ for the most tender wife\nof a most tender husband. When we quarrelled, I usually held my tongue\nand did not irritate her and that gentlemanly conduct rarely failed to\nattain its object, it influenced her, it pleased her, indeed. These were\ntimes when she was positively proud of me. But your sister she couldn't\nput up with, anyway. And however she came to risk taking such a\nbeautiful creature into her house as a governess. My explanation is that\nMarfa Petrovna was an ardent and impressionable woman and simply fell\nin love herself--literally fell in love--with your sister. Well, little\nwonder--look at Avdotya Romanovna! I saw the danger at the first glance\nand what do you think, I resolved not to look at her even. But Avdotya\nRomanovna herself made the first step, would you believe it? Would you\nbelieve it too that Marfa Petrovna was positively angry with me at first\nfor my persistent silence about your sister, for my careless reception\nof her continual adoring praises of Avdotya Romanovna. I don't know\nwhat it was she wanted! Well, of course, Marfa Petrovna told Avdotya\nRomanovna every detail about me. She had the unfortunate habit of\ntelling literally everyone all our family secrets and continually\ncomplaining of me; how could she fail to confide in such a delightful\nnew friend? I expect they talked of nothing else but me and no doubt\nAvdotya Romanovna heard all those dark mysterious rumours that were\ncurrent about me.... I don't mind betting that you too have heard\nsomething of the sort already?\"\n\n\"I have. Luzhin charged you with having caused the death of a child. Is\nthat true?\"\n\n\"Don't refer to those vulgar tales, I beg,\" said Svidrigailov with\ndisgust and annoyance. \"If you insist on wanting to know about all that\nidiocy, I will tell you one day, but now...\"\n\n\"I was told too about some footman of yours in the country whom you\ntreated badly.\"\n\n\"I beg you to drop the subject,\" Svidrigailov interrupted again with\nobvious impatience.\n\n\"Was that the footman who came to you after death to fill your pipe?...\nyou told me about it yourself.\" Raskolnikov felt more and more\nirritated.\n\nSvidrigailov looked at him attentively and Raskolnikov fancied he caught\na flash of spiteful mockery in that look. But Svidrigailov restrained\nhimself and answered very civilly:\n\n\"Yes, it was. I see that you, too, are extremely interested and shall\nfeel it my duty to satisfy your curiosity at the first opportunity. Upon\nmy soul! I see that I really might pass for a romantic figure with\nsome people. Judge how grateful I must be to Marfa Petrovna for having\nrepeated to Avdotya Romanovna such mysterious and interesting gossip\nabout me. I dare not guess what impression it made on her, but in any\ncase it worked in my interests. With all Avdotya Romanovna's natural\naversion and in spite of my invariably gloomy and repellent aspect--she\ndid at least feel pity for me, pity for a lost soul. And if once a\ngirl's heart is moved to _pity_, it's more dangerous than anything. She\nis bound to want to 'save him,' to bring him to his senses, and lift\nhim up and draw him to nobler aims, and restore him to new life and\nusefulness--well, we all know how far such dreams can go. I saw at once\nthat the bird was flying into the cage of herself. And I too made ready.\nI think you are frowning, Rodion Romanovitch? There's no need. As you\nknow, it all ended in smoke. (Hang it all, what a lot I am drinking!)\nDo you know, I always, from the very beginning, regretted that it wasn't\nyour sister's fate to be born in the second or third century A.D., as\nthe daughter of a reigning prince or some governor or pro-consul in Asia\nMinor. She would undoubtedly have been one of those who would endure\nmartyrdom and would have smiled when they branded her bosom with hot\npincers. And she would have gone to it of herself. And in the fourth or\nfifth century she would have walked away into the Egyptian desert and\nwould have stayed there thirty years living on roots and ecstasies and\nvisions. She is simply thirsting to face some torture for someone, and\nif she can't get her torture, she'll throw herself out of a window. I've\nheard something of a Mr. Razumihin--he's said to be a sensible fellow;\nhis surname suggests it, indeed. He's probably a divinity student. Well,\nhe'd better look after your sister! I believe I understand her, and I am\nproud of it. But at the beginning of an acquaintance, as you know, one\nis apt to be more heedless and stupid. One doesn't see clearly. Hang it\nall, why is she so handsome? It's not my fault. In fact, it began on\nmy side with a most irresistible physical desire. Avdotya Romanovna is\nawfully chaste, incredibly and phenomenally so. Take note, I tell you\nthis about your sister as a fact. She is almost morbidly chaste, in\nspite of her broad intelligence, and it will stand in her way. There\nhappened to be a girl in the house then, Parasha, a black-eyed\nwench, whom I had never seen before--she had just come from another\nvillage--very pretty, but incredibly stupid: she burst into tears,\nwailed so that she could be heard all over the place and caused scandal.\nOne day after dinner Avdotya Romanovna followed me into an avenue in\nthe garden and with flashing eyes _insisted_ on my leaving poor Parasha\nalone. It was almost our first conversation by ourselves. I, of course,\nwas only too pleased to obey her wishes, tried to appear disconcerted,\nembarrassed, in fact played my part not badly. Then came interviews,\nmysterious conversations, exhortations, entreaties, supplications, even\ntears--would you believe it, even tears? Think what the passion for\npropaganda will bring some girls to! I, of course, threw it all on\nmy destiny, posed as hungering and thirsting for light, and finally\nresorted to the most powerful weapon in the subjection of the\nfemale heart, a weapon which never fails one. It's the well-known\nresource--flattery. Nothing in the world is harder than speaking the\ntruth and nothing easier than flattery. If there's the hundredth part\nof a false note in speaking the truth, it leads to a discord, and that\nleads to trouble. But if all, to the last note, is false in flattery, it\nis just as agreeable, and is heard not without satisfaction. It may be\na coarse satisfaction, but still a satisfaction. And however coarse the\nflattery, at least half will be sure to seem true. That's so for all\nstages of development and classes of society. A vestal virgin might be\nseduced by flattery. I can never remember without laughter how I once\nseduced a lady who was devoted to her husband, her children, and her\nprinciples. What fun it was and how little trouble! And the lady really\nhad principles--of her own, anyway. All my tactics lay in simply being\nutterly annihilated and prostrate before her purity. I flattered her\nshamelessly, and as soon as I succeeded in getting a pressure of\nthe hand, even a glance from her, I would reproach myself for having\nsnatched it by force, and would declare that she had resisted, so that\nI could never have gained anything but for my being so unprincipled.\nI maintained that she was so innocent that she could not foresee my\ntreachery, and yielded to me unconsciously, unawares, and so on. In\nfact, I triumphed, while my lady remained firmly convinced that she was\ninnocent, chaste, and faithful to all her duties and obligations and\nhad succumbed quite by accident. And how angry she was with me when I\nexplained to her at last that it was my sincere conviction that she was\njust as eager as I. Poor Marfa Petrovna was awfully weak on the side of\nflattery, and if I had only cared to, I might have had all her property\nsettled on me during her lifetime. (I am drinking an awful lot of wine\nnow and talking too much.) I hope you won't be angry if I mention now\nthat I was beginning to produce the same effect on Avdotya Romanovna.\nBut I was stupid and impatient and spoiled it all. Avdotya Romanovna had\nseveral times--and one time in particular--been greatly displeased by\nthe expression of my eyes, would you believe it? There was sometimes a\nlight in them which frightened her and grew stronger and stronger and\nmore unguarded till it was hateful to her. No need to go into detail,\nbut we parted. There I acted stupidly again. I fell to jeering in the\ncoarsest way at all such propaganda and efforts to convert me; Parasha\ncame on to the scene again, and not she alone; in fact there was a\ntremendous to-do. Ah, Rodion Romanovitch, if you could only see how your\nsister's eyes can flash sometimes! Never mind my being drunk at this\nmoment and having had a whole glass of wine. I am speaking the truth.\nI assure you that this glance has haunted my dreams; the very rustle of\nher dress was more than I could stand at last. I really began to think\nthat I might become epileptic. I could never have believed that I could\nbe moved to such a frenzy. It was essential, indeed, to be reconciled,\nbut by then it was impossible. And imagine what I did then! To what\na pitch of stupidity a man can be brought by frenzy! Never undertake\nanything in a frenzy, Rodion Romanovitch. I reflected that Avdotya\nRomanovna was after all a beggar (ach, excuse me, that's not the word...\nbut does it matter if it expresses the meaning?), that she lived by\nher work, that she had her mother and you to keep (ach, hang it, you\nare frowning again), and I resolved to offer her all my money--thirty\nthousand roubles I could have realised then--if she would run away with\nme here, to Petersburg. Of course I should have vowed eternal love,\nrapture, and so on. Do you know, I was so wild about her at that time\nthat if she had told me to poison Marfa Petrovna or to cut her throat\nand to marry herself, it would have been done at once! But it ended in\nthe catastrophe of which you know already. You can fancy how frantic I\nwas when I heard that Marfa Petrovna had got hold of that scoundrelly\nattorney, Luzhin, and had almost made a match between them--which would\nreally have been just the same thing as I was proposing. Wouldn't it?\nWouldn't it? I notice that you've begun to be very attentive... you\ninteresting young man....\"\n\nSvidrigailov struck the table with his fist impatiently. He was flushed.\nRaskolnikov saw clearly that the glass or glass and a half of champagne\nthat he had sipped almost unconsciously was affecting him--and he\nresolved to take advantage of the opportunity. He felt very suspicious\nof Svidrigailov.\n\n\"Well, after what you have said, I am fully convinced that you have\ncome to Petersburg with designs on my sister,\" he said directly to\nSvidrigailov, in order to irritate him further.\n\n\"Oh, nonsense,\" said Svidrigailov, seeming to rouse himself. \"Why, I\ntold you... besides your sister can't endure me.\"\n\n\"Yes, I am certain that she can't, but that's not the point.\"\n\n\"Are you so sure that she can't?\" Svidrigailov screwed up his eyes and\nsmiled mockingly. \"You are right, she doesn't love me, but you can\nnever be sure of what has passed between husband and wife or lover and\nmistress. There's always a little corner which remains a secret to\nthe world and is only known to those two. Will you answer for it that\nAvdotya Romanovna regarded me with aversion?\"\n\n\"From some words you've dropped, I notice that you still have\ndesigns--and of course evil ones--on Dounia and mean to carry them out\npromptly.\"\n\n\"What, have I dropped words like that?\" Svidrigailov asked in naive\ndismay, taking not the slightest notice of the epithet bestowed on his\ndesigns.\n\n\"Why, you are dropping them even now. Why are you so frightened? What\nare you so afraid of now?\"\n\n\"Me--afraid? Afraid of you? You have rather to be afraid of me, _cher\nami_. But what nonsense.... I've drunk too much though, I see that. I\nwas almost saying too much again. Damn the wine! Hi! there, water!\"\n\nHe snatched up the champagne bottle and flung it without ceremony out of\nthe window. Philip brought the water.\n\n\"That's all nonsense!\" said Svidrigailov, wetting a towel and putting it\nto his head. \"But I can answer you in one word and annihilate all your\nsuspicions. Do you know that I am going to get married?\"\n\n\"You told me so before.\"\n\n\"Did I? I've forgotten. But I couldn't have told you so for certain for\nI had not even seen my betrothed; I only meant to. But now I really\nhave a betrothed and it's a settled thing, and if it weren't that I have\nbusiness that can't be put off, I would have taken you to see them\nat once, for I should like to ask your advice. Ach, hang it, only ten\nminutes left! See, look at the watch. But I must tell you, for it's an\ninteresting story, my marriage, in its own way. Where are you off to?\nGoing again?\"\n\n\"No, I'm not going away now.\"\n\n\"Not at all? We shall see. I'll take you there, I'll show you my\nbetrothed, only not now. For you'll soon have to be off. You have to go\nto the right and I to the left. Do you know that Madame Resslich, the\nwoman I am lodging with now, eh? I know what you're thinking, that she's\nthe woman whose girl they say drowned herself in the winter. Come, are\nyou listening? She arranged it all for me. You're bored, she said,\nyou want something to fill up your time. For, you know, I am a gloomy,\ndepressed person. Do you think I'm light-hearted? No, I'm gloomy. I do\nno harm, but sit in a corner without speaking a word for three days at a\ntime. And that Resslich is a sly hussy, I tell you. I know what she has\ngot in her mind; she thinks I shall get sick of it, abandon my wife and\ndepart, and she'll get hold of her and make a profit out of her--in our\nclass, of course, or higher. She told me the father was a broken-down\nretired official, who has been sitting in a chair for the last three\nyears with his legs paralysed. The mamma, she said, was a sensible\nwoman. There is a son serving in the provinces, but he doesn't help;\nthere is a daughter, who is married, but she doesn't visit them. And\nthey've two little nephews on their hands, as though their own children\nwere not enough, and they've taken from school their youngest daughter,\na girl who'll be sixteen in another month, so that then she can be\nmarried. She was for me. We went there. How funny it was! I present\nmyself--a landowner, a widower, of a well-known name, with connections,\nwith a fortune. What if I am fifty and she is not sixteen? Who thinks\nof that? But it's fascinating, isn't it? It is fascinating, ha-ha! You\nshould have seen how I talked to the papa and mamma. It was worth paying\nto have seen me at that moment. She comes in, curtseys, you can fancy,\nstill in a short frock--an unopened bud! Flushing like a sunset--she had\nbeen told, no doubt. I don't know how you feel about female faces, but\nto my mind these sixteen years, these childish eyes, shyness and tears\nof bashfulness are better than beauty; and she is a perfect little\npicture, too. Fair hair in little curls, like a lamb's, full little rosy\nlips, tiny feet, a charmer!... Well, we made friends. I told them I was\nin a hurry owing to domestic circumstances, and the next day, that is\nthe day before yesterday, we were betrothed. When I go now I take her on\nmy knee at once and keep her there.... Well, she flushes like a sunset\nand I kiss her every minute. Her mamma of course impresses on her that\nthis is her husband and that this must be so. It's simply delicious! The\npresent betrothed condition is perhaps better than marriage. Here you\nhave what is called _la nature et la verite_, ha-ha! I've talked to her\ntwice, she is far from a fool. Sometimes she steals a look at me that\npositively scorches me. Her face is like Raphael's Madonna. You know,\nthe Sistine Madonna's face has something fantastic in it, the face\nof mournful religious ecstasy. Haven't you noticed it? Well, she's\nsomething in that line. The day after we'd been betrothed, I bought her\npresents to the value of fifteen hundred roubles--a set of diamonds and\nanother of pearls and a silver dressing-case as large as this, with all\nsorts of things in it, so that even my Madonna's face glowed. I sat her\non my knee, yesterday, and I suppose rather too unceremoniously--she\nflushed crimson and the tears started, but she didn't want to show it.\nWe were left alone, she suddenly flung herself on my neck (for the first\ntime of her own accord), put her little arms round me, kissed me, and\nvowed that she would be an obedient, faithful, and good wife, would make\nme happy, would devote all her life, every minute of her life, would\nsacrifice everything, everything, and that all she asks in return is\nmy _respect_, and that she wants 'nothing, nothing more from me, no\npresents.' You'll admit that to hear such a confession, alone, from an\nangel of sixteen in a muslin frock, with little curls, with a flush\nof maiden shyness in her cheeks and tears of enthusiasm in her eyes is\nrather fascinating! Isn't it fascinating? It's worth paying for, isn't\nit? Well... listen, we'll go to see my betrothed, only not just now!\"\n\n\"The fact is this monstrous difference in age and development excites\nyour sensuality! Will you really make such a marriage?\"\n\n\"Why, of course. Everyone thinks of himself, and he lives most gaily who\nknows best how to deceive himself. Ha-ha! But why are you so keen about\nvirtue? Have mercy on me, my good friend. I am a sinful man. Ha-ha-ha!\"\n\n\"But you have provided for the children of Katerina Ivanovna. Though...\nthough you had your own reasons.... I understand it all now.\"\n\n\"I am always fond of children, very fond of them,\" laughed Svidrigailov.\n\"I can tell you one curious instance of it. The first day I came here I\nvisited various haunts, after seven years I simply rushed at them. You\nprobably notice that I am not in a hurry to renew acquaintance with my\nold friends. I shall do without them as long as I can. Do you know, when\nI was with Marfa Petrovna in the country, I was haunted by the thought\nof these places where anyone who knows his way about can find a great\ndeal. Yes, upon my soul! The peasants have vodka, the educated young\npeople, shut out from activity, waste themselves in impossible dreams\nand visions and are crippled by theories; Jews have sprung up and are\namassing money, and all the rest give themselves up to debauchery. From\nthe first hour the town reeked of its familiar odours. I chanced to be\nin a frightful den--I like my dens dirty--it was a dance, so called, and\nthere was a _cancan_ such as I never saw in my day. Yes, there you\nhave progress. All of a sudden I saw a little girl of thirteen, nicely\ndressed, dancing with a specialist in that line, with another one\n_vis-a-vis_. Her mother was sitting on a chair by the wall. You can't\nfancy what a _cancan_ that was! The girl was ashamed, blushed, at\nlast felt insulted, and began to cry. Her partner seized her and began\nwhirling her round and performing before her; everyone laughed and--I\nlike your public, even the _cancan_ public--they laughed and shouted,\n'Serves her right--serves her right! Shouldn't bring children!' Well,\nit's not my business whether that consoling reflection was logical or\nnot. I at once fixed on my plan, sat down by the mother, and began by\nsaying that I too was a stranger and that people here were ill-bred and\nthat they couldn't distinguish decent folks and treat them with respect,\ngave her to understand that I had plenty of money, offered to take them\nhome in my carriage. I took them home and got to know them. They were\nlodging in a miserable little hole and had only just arrived from the\ncountry. She told me that she and her daughter could only regard my\nacquaintance as an honour. I found out that they had nothing of their\nown and had come to town upon some legal business. I proffered my\nservices and money. I learnt that they had gone to the dancing saloon\nby mistake, believing that it was a genuine dancing class. I offered to\nassist in the young girl's education in French and dancing. My offer was\naccepted with enthusiasm as an honour--and we are still friendly.... If\nyou like, we'll go and see them, only not just now.\"\n\n\"Stop! Enough of your vile, nasty anecdotes, depraved vile, sensual\nman!\"\n\n\"Schiller, you are a regular Schiller! _O la vertu va-t-elle se nicher?_\nBut you know I shall tell you these things on purpose, for the pleasure\nof hearing your outcries!\"\n\n\"I dare say. I can see I am ridiculous myself,\" muttered Raskolnikov\nangrily.\n\nSvidrigailov laughed heartily; finally he called Philip, paid his bill,\nand began getting up.\n\n\"I say, but I am drunk, _assez cause_,\" he said. \"It's been a pleasure.\"\n\n\"I should rather think it must be a pleasure!\" cried Raskolnikov,\ngetting up. \"No doubt it is a pleasure for a worn-out profligate to\ndescribe such adventures with a monstrous project of the same sort in\nhis mind--especially under such circumstances and to such a man as\nme.... It's stimulating!\"\n\n\"Well, if you come to that,\" Svidrigailov answered, scrutinising\nRaskolnikov with some surprise, \"if you come to that, you are a thorough\ncynic yourself. You've plenty to make you so, anyway. You can understand\na great deal... and you can do a great deal too. But enough. I sincerely\nregret not having had more talk with you, but I shan't lose sight of\nyou.... Only wait a bit.\"\n\nSvidrigailov walked out of the restaurant. Raskolnikov walked out after\nhim. Svidrigailov was not however very drunk, the wine had affected him\nfor a moment, but it was passing off every minute. He was preoccupied\nwith something of importance and was frowning. He was apparently excited\nand uneasy in anticipation of something. His manner to Raskolnikov had\nchanged during the last few minutes, and he was ruder and more sneering\nevery moment. Raskolnikov noticed all this, and he too was uneasy. He\nbecame very suspicious of Svidrigailov and resolved to follow him.\n\nThey came out on to the pavement.\n\n\"You go to the right, and I to the left, or if you like, the other way.\nOnly _adieu, mon plaisir_, may we meet again.\"\n\nAnd he walked to the right towards the Hay Market.\n\n\n\nCHAPTER V\n\nRaskolnikov walked after him.\n\n\"What's this?\" cried Svidrigailov turning round, \"I thought I said...\"\n\n\"It means that I am not going to lose sight of you now.\"\n\n\"What?\"\n\nBoth stood still and gazed at one another, as though measuring their\nstrength.\n\n\"From all your half tipsy stories,\" Raskolnikov observed harshly, \"I am\n_positive_ that you have not given up your designs on my sister, but\nare pursuing them more actively than ever. I have learnt that my sister\nreceived a letter this morning. You have hardly been able to sit still\nall this time.... You may have unearthed a wife on the way, but that\nmeans nothing. I should like to make certain myself.\"\n\nRaskolnikov could hardly have said himself what he wanted and of what he\nwished to make certain.\n\n\"Upon my word! I'll call the police!\"\n\n\"Call away!\"\n\nAgain they stood for a minute facing each other. At last Svidrigailov's\nface changed. Having satisfied himself that Raskolnikov was not\nfrightened at his threat, he assumed a mirthful and friendly air.\n\n\"What a fellow! I purposely refrained from referring to your affair,\nthough I am devoured by curiosity. It's a fantastic affair. I've put it\noff till another time, but you're enough to rouse the dead.... Well, let\nus go, only I warn you beforehand I am only going home for a moment,\nto get some money; then I shall lock up the flat, take a cab and go to\nspend the evening at the Islands. Now, now are you going to follow me?\"\n\n\"I'm coming to your lodgings, not to see you but Sofya Semyonovna, to\nsay I'm sorry not to have been at the funeral.\"\n\n\"That's as you like, but Sofya Semyonovna is not at home. She has taken\nthe three children to an old lady of high rank, the patroness of some\norphan asylums, whom I used to know years ago. I charmed the old lady by\ndepositing a sum of money with her to provide for the three children of\nKaterina Ivanovna and subscribing to the institution as well. I told her\ntoo the story of Sofya Semyonovna in full detail, suppressing nothing.\nIt produced an indescribable effect on her. That's why Sofya Semyonovna\nhas been invited to call to-day at the X. Hotel where the lady is\nstaying for the time.\"\n\n\"No matter, I'll come all the same.\"\n\n\"As you like, it's nothing to me, but I won't come with you; here we are\nat home. By the way, I am convinced that you regard me with suspicion\njust because I have shown such delicacy and have not so far troubled\nyou with questions... you understand? It struck you as extraordinary; I\ndon't mind betting it's that. Well, it teaches one to show delicacy!\"\n\n\"And to listen at doors!\"\n\n\"Ah, that's it, is it?\" laughed Svidrigailov. \"Yes, I should have been\nsurprised if you had let that pass after all that has happened. Ha-ha!\nThough I did understand something of the pranks you had been up to and\nwere telling Sofya Semyonovna about, what was the meaning of it? Perhaps\nI am quite behind the times and can't understand. For goodness' sake,\nexplain it, my dear boy. Expound the latest theories!\"\n\n\"You couldn't have heard anything. You're making it all up!\"\n\n\"But I'm not talking about that (though I did hear something). No, I'm\ntalking of the way you keep sighing and groaning now. The Schiller in\nyou is in revolt every moment, and now you tell me not to listen at\ndoors. If that's how you feel, go and inform the police that you had\nthis mischance: you made a little mistake in your theory. But if you are\nconvinced that one mustn't listen at doors, but one may murder old women\nat one's pleasure, you'd better be off to America and make haste. Run,\nyoung man! There may still be time. I'm speaking sincerely. Haven't you\nthe money? I'll give you the fare.\"\n\n\"I'm not thinking of that at all,\" Raskolnikov interrupted with disgust.\n\n\"I understand (but don't put yourself out, don't discuss it if you don't\nwant to). I understand the questions you are worrying over--moral ones,\naren't they? Duties of citizen and man? Lay them all aside. They are\nnothing to you now, ha-ha! You'll say you are still a man and a citizen.\nIf so you ought not to have got into this coil. It's no use taking up a\njob you are not fit for. Well, you'd better shoot yourself, or don't you\nwant to?\"\n\n\"You seem trying to enrage me, to make me leave you.\"\n\n\"What a queer fellow! But here we are. Welcome to the staircase. You\nsee, that's the way to Sofya Semyonovna. Look, there is no one at home.\nDon't you believe me? Ask Kapernaumov. She leaves the key with him. Here\nis Madame de Kapernaumov herself. Hey, what? She is rather deaf. Has she\ngone out? Where? Did you hear? She is not in and won't be till late in\nthe evening probably. Well, come to my room; you wanted to come and see\nme, didn't you? Here we are. Madame Resslich's not at home. She is a\nwoman who is always busy, an excellent woman I assure you.... She might\nhave been of use to you if you had been a little more sensible. Now,\nsee! I take this five-per-cent bond out of the bureau--see what a lot\nI've got of them still--this one will be turned into cash to-day. I\nmustn't waste any more time. The bureau is locked, the flat is locked,\nand here we are again on the stairs. Shall we take a cab? I'm going to\nthe Islands. Would you like a lift? I'll take this carriage. Ah, you\nrefuse? You are tired of it! Come for a drive! I believe it will come on\nto rain. Never mind, we'll put down the hood....\"\n\nSvidrigailov was already in the carriage. Raskolnikov decided that his\nsuspicions were at least for that moment unjust. Without answering a\nword he turned and walked back towards the Hay Market. If he had only\nturned round on his way he might have seen Svidrigailov get out not a\nhundred paces off, dismiss the cab and walk along the pavement. But he\nhad turned the corner and could see nothing. Intense disgust drew him\naway from Svidrigailov.\n\n\"To think that I could for one instant have looked for help from that\ncoarse brute, that depraved sensualist and blackguard!\" he cried.\n\nRaskolnikov's judgment was uttered too lightly and hastily: there was\nsomething about Svidrigailov which gave him a certain original, even a\nmysterious character. As concerned his sister, Raskolnikov was convinced\nthat Svidrigailov would not leave her in peace. But it was too tiresome\nand unbearable to go on thinking and thinking about this.\n\nWhen he was alone, he had not gone twenty paces before he sank, as\nusual, into deep thought. On the bridge he stood by the railing and\nbegan gazing at the water. And his sister was standing close by him.\n\nHe met her at the entrance to the bridge, but passed by without seeing\nher. Dounia had never met him like this in the street before and was\nstruck with dismay. She stood still and did not know whether to call\nto him or not. Suddenly she saw Svidrigailov coming quickly from the\ndirection of the Hay Market.\n\nHe seemed to be approaching cautiously. He did not go on to the\nbridge, but stood aside on the pavement, doing all he could to avoid\nRaskolnikov's seeing him. He had observed Dounia for some time and had\nbeen making signs to her. She fancied he was signalling to beg her not\nto speak to her brother, but to come to him.\n\nThat was what Dounia did. She stole by her brother and went up to\nSvidrigailov.\n\n\"Let us make haste away,\" Svidrigailov whispered to her, \"I don't want\nRodion Romanovitch to know of our meeting. I must tell you I've been\nsitting with him in the restaurant close by, where he looked me up and\nI had great difficulty in getting rid of him. He has somehow heard of\nmy letter to you and suspects something. It wasn't you who told him, of\ncourse, but if not you, who then?\"\n\n\"Well, we've turned the corner now,\" Dounia interrupted, \"and my brother\nwon't see us. I have to tell you that I am going no further with you.\nSpeak to me here. You can tell it all in the street.\"\n\n\"In the first place, I can't say it in the street; secondly, you must\nhear Sofya Semyonovna too; and, thirdly, I will show you some papers....\nOh well, if you won't agree to come with me, I shall refuse to give\nany explanation and go away at once. But I beg you not to forget that\na very curious secret of your beloved brother's is entirely in my\nkeeping.\"\n\nDounia stood still, hesitating, and looked at Svidrigailov with\nsearching eyes.\n\n\"What are you afraid of?\" he observed quietly. \"The town is not the\ncountry. And even in the country you did me more harm than I did you.\"\n\n\"Have you prepared Sofya Semyonovna?\"\n\n\"No, I have not said a word to her and am not quite certain whether she\nis at home now. But most likely she is. She has buried her stepmother\nto-day: she is not likely to go visiting on such a day. For the time I\ndon't want to speak to anyone about it and I half regret having spoken\nto you. The slightest indiscretion is as bad as betrayal in a thing like\nthis. I live there in that house, we are coming to it. That's the porter\nof our house--he knows me very well; you see, he's bowing; he sees I'm\ncoming with a lady and no doubt he has noticed your face already and you\nwill be glad of that if you are afraid of me and suspicious. Excuse\nmy putting things so coarsely. I haven't a flat to myself; Sofya\nSemyonovna's room is next to mine--she lodges in the next flat. The\nwhole floor is let out in lodgings. Why are you frightened like a child?\nAm I really so terrible?\"\n\nSvidrigailov's lips were twisted in a condescending smile; but he was in\nno smiling mood. His heart was throbbing and he could scarcely breathe.\nHe spoke rather loud to cover his growing excitement. But Dounia did not\nnotice this peculiar excitement, she was so irritated by his remark that\nshe was frightened of him like a child and that he was so terrible to\nher.\n\n\"Though I know that you are not a man... of honour, I am not in the\nleast afraid of you. Lead the way,\" she said with apparent composure,\nbut her face was very pale.\n\nSvidrigailov stopped at Sonia's room.\n\n\"Allow me to inquire whether she is at home.... She is not. How\nunfortunate! But I know she may come quite soon. If she's gone out, it\ncan only be to see a lady about the orphans. Their mother is dead....\nI've been meddling and making arrangements for them. If Sofya Semyonovna\ndoes not come back in ten minutes, I will send her to you, to-day if\nyou like. This is my flat. These are my two rooms. Madame Resslich,\nmy landlady, has the next room. Now, look this way. I will show you\nmy chief piece of evidence: this door from my bedroom leads into two\nperfectly empty rooms, which are to let. Here they are... You must look\ninto them with some attention.\"\n\nSvidrigailov occupied two fairly large furnished rooms. Dounia was\nlooking about her mistrustfully, but saw nothing special in the\nfurniture or position of the rooms. Yet there was something to observe,\nfor instance, that Svidrigailov's flat was exactly between two sets of\nalmost uninhabited apartments. His rooms were not entered directly\nfrom the passage, but through the landlady's two almost empty rooms.\nUnlocking a door leading out of his bedroom, Svidrigailov showed Dounia\nthe two empty rooms that were to let. Dounia stopped in the doorway, not\nknowing what she was called to look upon, but Svidrigailov hastened to\nexplain.\n\n\"Look here, at this second large room. Notice that door, it's locked.\nBy the door stands a chair, the only one in the two rooms. I brought it\nfrom my rooms so as to listen more conveniently. Just the other side of\nthe door is Sofya Semyonovna's table; she sat there talking to Rodion\nRomanovitch. And I sat here listening on two successive evenings, for\ntwo hours each time--and of course I was able to learn something, what\ndo you think?\"\n\n\"You listened?\"\n\n\"Yes, I did. Now come back to my room; we can't sit down here.\"\n\nHe brought Avdotya Romanovna back into his sitting-room and offered her\na chair. He sat down at the opposite side of the table, at least seven\nfeet from her, but probably there was the same glow in his eyes which\nhad once frightened Dounia so much. She shuddered and once more looked\nabout her distrustfully. It was an involuntary gesture; she evidently\ndid not wish to betray her uneasiness. But the secluded position of\nSvidrigailov's lodging had suddenly struck her. She wanted to ask\nwhether his landlady at least were at home, but pride kept her from\nasking. Moreover, she had another trouble in her heart incomparably\ngreater than fear for herself. She was in great distress.\n\n\"Here is your letter,\" she said, laying it on the table. \"Can it be true\nwhat you write? You hint at a crime committed, you say, by my brother.\nYou hint at it too clearly; you daren't deny it now. I must tell you\nthat I'd heard of this stupid story before you wrote and don't believe a\nword of it. It's a disgusting and ridiculous suspicion. I know the story\nand why and how it was invented. You can have no proofs. You promised to\nprove it. Speak! But let me warn you that I don't believe you! I don't\nbelieve you!\"\n\nDounia said this, speaking hurriedly, and for an instant the colour\nrushed to her face.\n\n\"If you didn't believe it, how could you risk coming alone to my rooms?\nWhy have you come? Simply from curiosity?\"\n\n\"Don't torment me. Speak, speak!\"\n\n\"There's no denying that you are a brave girl. Upon my word, I thought\nyou would have asked Mr. Razumihin to escort you here. But he was not\nwith you nor anywhere near. I was on the look-out. It's spirited of\nyou, it proves you wanted to spare Rodion Romanovitch. But everything\nis divine in you.... About your brother, what am I to say to you? You've\njust seen him yourself. What did you think of him?\"\n\n\"Surely that's not the only thing you are building on?\"\n\n\"No, not on that, but on his own words. He came here on two successive\nevenings to see Sofya Semyonovna. I've shown you where they sat. He made\na full confession to her. He is a murderer. He killed an old woman, a\npawnbroker, with whom he had pawned things himself. He killed her sister\ntoo, a pedlar woman called Lizaveta, who happened to come in while he\nwas murdering her sister. He killed them with an axe he brought with\nhim. He murdered them to rob them and he did rob them. He took money and\nvarious things.... He told all this, word for word, to Sofya Semyonovna,\nthe only person who knows his secret. But she has had no share by word\nor deed in the murder; she was as horrified at it as you are now. Don't\nbe anxious, she won't betray him.\"\n\n\"It cannot be,\" muttered Dounia, with white lips. She gasped for breath.\n\"It cannot be. There was not the slightest cause, no sort of ground....\nIt's a lie, a lie!\"\n\n\"He robbed her, that was the cause, he took money and things. It's true\nthat by his own admission he made no use of the money or things, but hid\nthem under a stone, where they are now. But that was because he dared\nnot make use of them.\"\n\n\"But how could he steal, rob? How could he dream of it?\" cried Dounia,\nand she jumped up from the chair. \"Why, you know him, and you've seen\nhim, can he be a thief?\"\n\nShe seemed to be imploring Svidrigailov; she had entirely forgotten her\nfear.\n\n\"There are thousands and millions of combinations and possibilities,\nAvdotya Romanovna. A thief steals and knows he is a scoundrel, but I've\nheard of a gentleman who broke open the mail. Who knows, very likely he\nthought he was doing a gentlemanly thing! Of course I should not have\nbelieved it myself if I'd been told of it as you have, but I believe my\nown ears. He explained all the causes of it to Sofya Semyonovna too, but\nshe did not believe her ears at first, yet she believed her own eyes at\nlast.\"\n\n\"What... were the causes?\"\n\n\"It's a long story, Avdotya Romanovna. Here's... how shall I tell\nyou?--A theory of a sort, the same one by which I for instance consider\nthat a single misdeed is permissible if the principal aim is right, a\nsolitary wrongdoing and hundreds of good deeds! It's galling too, of\ncourse, for a young man of gifts and overweening pride to know that if\nhe had, for instance, a paltry three thousand, his whole career, his\nwhole future would be differently shaped and yet not to have that three\nthousand. Add to that, nervous irritability from hunger, from lodging\nin a hole, from rags, from a vivid sense of the charm of his social\nposition and his sister's and mother's position too. Above all, vanity,\npride and vanity, though goodness knows he may have good qualities\ntoo.... I am not blaming him, please don't think it; besides, it's not\nmy business. A special little theory came in too--a theory of a\nsort--dividing mankind, you see, into material and superior persons,\nthat is persons to whom the law does not apply owing to their\nsuperiority, who make laws for the rest of mankind, the material, that\nis. It's all right as a theory, _une theorie comme une autre_. Napoleon\nattracted him tremendously, that is, what affected him was that a\ngreat many men of genius have not hesitated at wrongdoing, but have\noverstepped the law without thinking about it. He seems to have fancied\nthat he was a genius too--that is, he was convinced of it for a time. He\nhas suffered a great deal and is still suffering from the idea that he\ncould make a theory, but was incapable of boldly overstepping the law,\nand so he is not a man of genius. And that's humiliating for a young man\nof any pride, in our day especially....\"\n\n\"But remorse? You deny him any moral feeling then? Is he like that?\"\n\n\"Ah, Avdotya Romanovna, everything is in a muddle now; not that it was\never in very good order. Russians in general are broad in their ideas,\nAvdotya Romanovna, broad like their land and exceedingly disposed to\nthe fantastic, the chaotic. But it's a misfortune to be broad without\na special genius. Do you remember what a lot of talk we had together on\nthis subject, sitting in the evenings on the terrace after supper? Why,\nyou used to reproach me with breadth! Who knows, perhaps we were talking\nat the very time when he was lying here thinking over his plan. There\nare no sacred traditions amongst us, especially in the educated class,\nAvdotya Romanovna. At the best someone will make them up somehow for\nhimself out of books or from some old chronicle. But those are for the\nmost part the learned and all old fogeys, so that it would be almost\nill-bred in a man of society. You know my opinions in general, though. I\nnever blame anyone. I do nothing at all, I persevere in that. But\nwe've talked of this more than once before. I was so happy indeed as to\ninterest you in my opinions.... You are very pale, Avdotya Romanovna.\"\n\n\"I know his theory. I read that article of his about men to whom all is\npermitted. Razumihin brought it to me.\"\n\n\"Mr. Razumihin? Your brother's article? In a magazine? Is there such an\narticle? I didn't know. It must be interesting. But where are you going,\nAvdotya Romanovna?\"\n\n\"I want to see Sofya Semyonovna,\" Dounia articulated faintly. \"How do I\ngo to her? She has come in, perhaps. I must see her at once. Perhaps\nshe...\"\n\nAvdotya Romanovna could not finish. Her breath literally failed her.\n\n\"Sofya Semyonovna will not be back till night, at least I believe not.\nShe was to have been back at once, but if not, then she will not be in\ntill quite late.\"\n\n\"Ah, then you are lying! I see... you were lying... lying all the\ntime.... I don't believe you! I don't believe you!\" cried Dounia,\ncompletely losing her head.\n\nAlmost fainting, she sank on to a chair which Svidrigailov made haste to\ngive her.\n\n\"Avdotya Romanovna, what is it? Control yourself! Here is some water.\nDrink a little....\"\n\nHe sprinkled some water over her. Dounia shuddered and came to herself.\n\n\"It has acted violently,\" Svidrigailov muttered to himself, frowning.\n\"Avdotya Romanovna, calm yourself! Believe me, he has friends. We will\nsave him. Would you like me to take him abroad? I have money, I can get\na ticket in three days. And as for the murder, he will do all sorts of\ngood deeds yet, to atone for it. Calm yourself. He may become a great\nman yet. Well, how are you? How do you feel?\"\n\n\"Cruel man! To be able to jeer at it! Let me go...\"\n\n\"Where are you going?\"\n\n\"To him. Where is he? Do you know? Why is this door locked? We came in\nat that door and now it is locked. When did you manage to lock it?\"\n\n\"We couldn't be shouting all over the flat on such a subject. I am far\nfrom jeering; it's simply that I'm sick of talking like this. But how\ncan you go in such a state? Do you want to betray him? You will drive\nhim to fury, and he will give himself up. Let me tell you, he is already\nbeing watched; they are already on his track. You will simply be giving\nhim away. Wait a little: I saw him and was talking to him just now. He\ncan still be saved. Wait a bit, sit down; let us think it over together.\nI asked you to come in order to discuss it alone with you and to\nconsider it thoroughly. But do sit down!\"\n\n\"How can you save him? Can he really be saved?\"\n\nDounia sat down. Svidrigailov sat down beside her.\n\n\"It all depends on you, on you, on you alone,\" he began with glowing\neyes, almost in a whisper and hardly able to utter the words for\nemotion.\n\nDounia drew back from him in alarm. He too was trembling all over.\n\n\"You... one word from you, and he is saved. I... I'll save him. I have\nmoney and friends. I'll send him away at once. I'll get a passport,\ntwo passports, one for him and one for me. I have friends... capable\npeople.... If you like, I'll take a passport for you... for your\nmother.... What do you want with Razumihin? I love you too.... I love\nyou beyond everything.... Let me kiss the hem of your dress, let me, let\nme.... The very rustle of it is too much for me. Tell me, 'do that,'\nand I'll do it. I'll do everything. I will do the impossible. What you\nbelieve, I will believe. I'll do anything--anything! Don't, don't look\nat me like that. Do you know that you are killing me?...\"\n\nHe was almost beginning to rave.... Something seemed suddenly to go to\nhis head. Dounia jumped up and rushed to the door.\n\n\"Open it! Open it!\" she called, shaking the door. \"Open it! Is there no\none there?\"\n\nSvidrigailov got up and came to himself. His still trembling lips slowly\nbroke into an angry mocking smile.\n\n\"There is no one at home,\" he said quietly and emphatically. \"The\nlandlady has gone out, and it's waste of time to shout like that. You\nare only exciting yourself uselessly.\"\n\n\"Where is the key? Open the door at once, at once, base man!\"\n\n\"I have lost the key and cannot find it.\"\n\n\"This is an outrage,\" cried Dounia, turning pale as death. She rushed\nto the furthest corner, where she made haste to barricade herself with a\nlittle table.\n\nShe did not scream, but she fixed her eyes on her tormentor and watched\nevery movement he made.\n\nSvidrigailov remained standing at the other end of the room facing her.\nHe was positively composed, at least in appearance, but his face was\npale as before. The mocking smile did not leave his face.\n\n\"You spoke of outrage just now, Avdotya Romanovna. In that case you\nmay be sure I've taken measures. Sofya Semyonovna is not at home. The\nKapernaumovs are far away--there are five locked rooms between. I am at\nleast twice as strong as you are and I have nothing to fear, besides.\nFor you could not complain afterwards. You surely would not be willing\nactually to betray your brother? Besides, no one would believe you. How\nshould a girl have come alone to visit a solitary man in his lodgings?\nSo that even if you do sacrifice your brother, you could prove nothing.\nIt is very difficult to prove an assault, Avdotya Romanovna.\"\n\n\"Scoundrel!\" whispered Dounia indignantly.\n\n\"As you like, but observe I was only speaking by way of a general\nproposition. It's my personal conviction that you are perfectly\nright--violence is hateful. I only spoke to show you that you need have\nno remorse even if... you were willing to save your brother of your\nown accord, as I suggest to you. You would be simply submitting to\ncircumstances, to violence, in fact, if we must use that word. Think\nabout it. Your brother's and your mother's fate are in your hands. I\nwill be your slave... all my life... I will wait here.\"\n\nSvidrigailov sat down on the sofa about eight steps from Dounia. She had\nnot the slightest doubt now of his unbending determination. Besides, she\nknew him. Suddenly she pulled out of her pocket a revolver, cocked it\nand laid it in her hand on the table. Svidrigailov jumped up.\n\n\"Aha! So that's it, is it?\" he cried, surprised but smiling maliciously.\n\"Well, that completely alters the aspect of affairs. You've made things\nwonderfully easier for me, Avdotya Romanovna. But where did you get the\nrevolver? Was it Mr. Razumihin? Why, it's my revolver, an old friend!\nAnd how I've hunted for it! The shooting lessons I've given you in the\ncountry have not been thrown away.\"\n\n\"It's not your revolver, it belonged to Marfa Petrovna, whom you killed,\nwretch! There was nothing of yours in her house. I took it when I began\nto suspect what you were capable of. If you dare to advance one step, I\nswear I'll kill you.\" She was frantic.\n\n\"But your brother? I ask from curiosity,\" said Svidrigailov, still\nstanding where he was.\n\n\"Inform, if you want to! Don't stir! Don't come nearer! I'll shoot! You\npoisoned your wife, I know; you are a murderer yourself!\" She held the\nrevolver ready.\n\n\"Are you so positive I poisoned Marfa Petrovna?\"\n\n\"You did! You hinted it yourself; you talked to me of poison.... I know\nyou went to get it... you had it in readiness.... It was your doing....\nIt must have been your doing.... Scoundrel!\"\n\n\"Even if that were true, it would have been for your sake... you would\nhave been the cause.\"\n\n\"You are lying! I hated you always, always....\"\n\n\"Oho, Avdotya Romanovna! You seem to have forgotten how you softened\nto me in the heat of propaganda. I saw it in your eyes. Do you remember\nthat moonlight night, when the nightingale was singing?\"\n\n\"That's a lie,\" there was a flash of fury in Dounia's eyes, \"that's a\nlie and a libel!\"\n\n\"A lie? Well, if you like, it's a lie. I made it up. Women ought not\nto be reminded of such things,\" he smiled. \"I know you will shoot, you\npretty wild creature. Well, shoot away!\"\n\nDounia raised the revolver, and deadly pale, gazed at him, measuring the\ndistance and awaiting the first movement on his part. Her lower lip was\nwhite and quivering and her big black eyes flashed like fire. He had\nnever seen her so handsome. The fire glowing in her eyes at the moment\nshe raised the revolver seemed to kindle him and there was a pang of\nanguish in his heart. He took a step forward and a shot rang out. The\nbullet grazed his hair and flew into the wall behind. He stood still and\nlaughed softly.\n\n\"The wasp has stung me. She aimed straight at my head. What's this?\nBlood?\" he pulled out his handkerchief to wipe the blood, which flowed\nin a thin stream down his right temple. The bullet seemed to have just\ngrazed the skin.\n\nDounia lowered the revolver and looked at Svidrigailov not so much in\nterror as in a sort of wild amazement. She seemed not to understand what\nshe was doing and what was going on.\n\n\"Well, you missed! Fire again, I'll wait,\" said Svidrigailov softly,\nstill smiling, but gloomily. \"If you go on like that, I shall have time\nto seize you before you cock again.\"\n\nDounia started, quickly cocked the pistol and again raised it.\n\n\"Let me be,\" she cried in despair. \"I swear I'll shoot again. I... I'll\nkill you.\"\n\n\"Well... at three paces you can hardly help it. But if you don't...\nthen.\" His eyes flashed and he took two steps forward. Dounia shot\nagain: it missed fire.\n\n\"You haven't loaded it properly. Never mind, you have another charge\nthere. Get it ready, I'll wait.\"\n\nHe stood facing her, two paces away, waiting and gazing at her with wild\ndetermination, with feverishly passionate, stubborn, set eyes. Dounia\nsaw that he would sooner die than let her go. \"And... now, of course she\nwould kill him, at two paces!\" Suddenly she flung away the revolver.\n\n\"She's dropped it!\" said Svidrigailov with surprise, and he drew a deep\nbreath. A weight seemed to have rolled from his heart--perhaps not only\nthe fear of death; indeed he may scarcely have felt it at that moment.\nIt was the deliverance from another feeling, darker and more bitter,\nwhich he could not himself have defined.\n\nHe went to Dounia and gently put his arm round her waist. She did not\nresist, but, trembling like a leaf, looked at him with suppliant eyes.\nHe tried to say something, but his lips moved without being able to\nutter a sound.\n\n\"Let me go,\" Dounia implored. Svidrigailov shuddered. Her voice now was\nquite different.\n\n\"Then you don't love me?\" he asked softly. Dounia shook her head.\n\n\"And... and you can't? Never?\" he whispered in despair.\n\n\"Never!\"\n\nThere followed a moment of terrible, dumb struggle in the heart of\nSvidrigailov. He looked at her with an indescribable gaze. Suddenly\nhe withdrew his arm, turned quickly to the window and stood facing it.\nAnother moment passed.\n\n\"Here's the key.\"\n\nHe took it out of the left pocket of his coat and laid it on the table\nbehind him, without turning or looking at Dounia.\n\n\"Take it! Make haste!\"\n\nHe looked stubbornly out of the window. Dounia went up to the table to\ntake the key.\n\n\"Make haste! Make haste!\" repeated Svidrigailov, still without turning\nor moving. But there seemed a terrible significance in the tone of that\n\"make haste.\"\n\nDounia understood it, snatched up the key, flew to the door, unlocked it\nquickly and rushed out of the room. A minute later, beside herself, she\nran out on to the canal bank in the direction of X. Bridge.\n\nSvidrigailov remained three minutes standing at the window. At last he\nslowly turned, looked about him and passed his hand over his forehead. A\nstrange smile contorted his face, a pitiful, sad, weak smile, a smile of\ndespair. The blood, which was already getting dry, smeared his hand.\nHe looked angrily at it, then wetted a towel and washed his temple.\nThe revolver which Dounia had flung away lay near the door and suddenly\ncaught his eye. He picked it up and examined it. It was a little pocket\nthree-barrel revolver of old-fashioned construction. There were still\ntwo charges and one capsule left in it. It could be fired again. He\nthought a little, put the revolver in his pocket, took his hat and went\nout.\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VI\n\nHe spent that evening till ten o'clock going from one low haunt to\nanother. Katia too turned up and sang another gutter song, how a certain\n\n\"villain and tyrant,\"\n\n\"began kissing Katia.\"\n\nSvidrigailov treated Katia and the organ-grinder and some singers and\nthe waiters and two little clerks. He was particularly drawn to these\nclerks by the fact that they both had crooked noses, one bent to the\nleft and the other to the right. They took him finally to a pleasure\ngarden, where he paid for their entrance. There was one lanky\nthree-year-old pine-tree and three bushes in the garden, besides a\n\"Vauxhall,\" which was in reality a drinking-bar where tea too was\nserved, and there were a few green tables and chairs standing round it.\nA chorus of wretched singers and a drunken but exceedingly depressed\nGerman clown from Munich with a red nose entertained the public. The\nclerks quarrelled with some other clerks and a fight seemed imminent.\nSvidrigailov was chosen to decide the dispute. He listened to them for\na quarter of an hour, but they shouted so loud that there was no\npossibility of understanding them. The only fact that seemed certain was\nthat one of them had stolen something and had even succeeded in\nselling it on the spot to a Jew, but would not share the spoil with his\ncompanion. Finally it appeared that the stolen object was a teaspoon\nbelonging to the Vauxhall. It was missed and the affair began to seem\ntroublesome. Svidrigailov paid for the spoon, got up, and walked out of\nthe garden. It was about six o'clock. He had not drunk a drop of wine\nall this time and had ordered tea more for the sake of appearances than\nanything.\n\nIt was a dark and stifling evening. Threatening storm-clouds came over\nthe sky about ten o'clock. There was a clap of thunder, and the rain\ncame down like a waterfall. The water fell not in drops, but beat on the\nearth in streams. There were flashes of lightning every minute and each\nflash lasted while one could count five.\n\nDrenched to the skin, he went home, locked himself in, opened the\nbureau, took out all his money and tore up two or three papers. Then,\nputting the money in his pocket, he was about to change his clothes,\nbut, looking out of the window and listening to the thunder and the\nrain, he gave up the idea, took up his hat and went out of the room\nwithout locking the door. He went straight to Sonia. She was at home.\n\nShe was not alone: the four Kapernaumov children were with her. She\nwas giving them tea. She received Svidrigailov in respectful silence,\nlooking wonderingly at his soaking clothes. The children all ran away at\nonce in indescribable terror.\n\nSvidrigailov sat down at the table and asked Sonia to sit beside him.\nShe timidly prepared to listen.\n\n\"I may be going to America, Sofya Semyonovna,\" said Svidrigailov, \"and\nas I am probably seeing you for the last time, I have come to make some\narrangements. Well, did you see the lady to-day? I know what she said to\nyou, you need not tell me.\" (Sonia made a movement and blushed.) \"Those\npeople have their own way of doing things. As to your sisters and your\nbrother, they are really provided for and the money assigned to them\nI've put into safe keeping and have received acknowledgments. You had\nbetter take charge of the receipts, in case anything happens. Here, take\nthem! Well now, that's settled. Here are three 5-per-cent bonds to the\nvalue of three thousand roubles. Take those for yourself, entirely for\nyourself, and let that be strictly between ourselves, so that no one\nknows of it, whatever you hear. You will need the money, for to go on\nliving in the old way, Sofya Semyonovna, is bad, and besides there is no\nneed for it now.\"\n\n\"I am so much indebted to you, and so are the children and my\nstepmother,\" said Sonia hurriedly, \"and if I've said so little... please\ndon't consider...\"\n\n\"That's enough! that's enough!\"\n\n\"But as for the money, Arkady Ivanovitch, I am very grateful to you,\nbut I don't need it now. I can always earn my own living. Don't think me\nungrateful. If you are so charitable, that money....\"\n\n\"It's for you, for you, Sofya Semyonovna, and please don't waste words\nover it. I haven't time for it. You will want it. Rodion Romanovitch\nhas two alternatives: a bullet in the brain or Siberia.\" (Sonia looked\nwildly at him, and started.) \"Don't be uneasy, I know all about it from\nhimself and I am not a gossip; I won't tell anyone. It was good advice\nwhen you told him to give himself up and confess. It would be much\nbetter for him. Well, if it turns out to be Siberia, he will go and\nyou will follow him. That's so, isn't it? And if so, you'll need money.\nYou'll need it for him, do you understand? Giving it to you is the same\nas my giving it to him. Besides, you promised Amalia Ivanovna to pay\nwhat's owing. I heard you. How can you undertake such obligations so\nheedlessly, Sofya Semyonovna? It was Katerina Ivanovna's debt and not\nyours, so you ought not to have taken any notice of the German woman.\nYou can't get through the world like that. If you are ever questioned\nabout me--to-morrow or the day after you will be asked--don't say\nanything about my coming to see you now and don't show the money to\nanyone or say a word about it. Well, now good-bye.\" (He got up.) \"My\ngreetings to Rodion Romanovitch. By the way, you'd better put the money\nfor the present in Mr. Razumihin's keeping. You know Mr. Razumihin? Of\ncourse you do. He's not a bad fellow. Take it to him to-morrow or...\nwhen the time comes. And till then, hide it carefully.\"\n\nSonia too jumped up from her chair and looked in dismay at Svidrigailov.\nShe longed to speak, to ask a question, but for the first moments she\ndid not dare and did not know how to begin.\n\n\"How can you... how can you be going now, in such rain?\"\n\n\"Why, be starting for America, and be stopped by rain! Ha, ha! Good-bye,\nSofya Semyonovna, my dear! Live and live long, you will be of use to\nothers. By the way... tell Mr. Razumihin I send my greetings to him.\nTell him Arkady Ivanovitch Svidrigailov sends his greetings. Be sure\nto.\"\n\nHe went out, leaving Sonia in a state of wondering anxiety and vague\napprehension.\n\nIt appeared afterwards that on the same evening, at twenty past eleven,\nhe made another very eccentric and unexpected visit. The rain still\npersisted. Drenched to the skin, he walked into the little flat where\nthe parents of his betrothed lived, in Third Street in Vassilyevsky\nIsland. He knocked some time before he was admitted, and his visit\nat first caused great perturbation; but Svidrigailov could be\nvery fascinating when he liked, so that the first, and indeed very\nintelligent surmise of the sensible parents that Svidrigailov had\nprobably had so much to drink that he did not know what he was doing\nvanished immediately. The decrepit father was wheeled in to see\nSvidrigailov by the tender and sensible mother, who as usual began the\nconversation with various irrelevant questions. She never asked a direct\nquestion, but began by smiling and rubbing her hands and then, if she\nwere obliged to ascertain something--for instance, when Svidrigailov\nwould like to have the wedding--she would begin by interested and\nalmost eager questions about Paris and the court life there, and only\nby degrees brought the conversation round to Third Street. On other\noccasions this had of course been very impressive, but this time Arkady\nIvanovitch seemed particularly impatient, and insisted on seeing his\nbetrothed at once, though he had been informed, to begin with, that she\nhad already gone to bed. The girl of course appeared.\n\nSvidrigailov informed her at once that he was obliged by very important\naffairs to leave Petersburg for a time, and therefore brought her\nfifteen thousand roubles and begged her accept them as a present from\nhim, as he had long been intending to make her this trifling present\nbefore their wedding. The logical connection of the present with his\nimmediate departure and the absolute necessity of visiting them for that\npurpose in pouring rain at midnight was not made clear. But it all went\noff very well; even the inevitable ejaculations of wonder and regret,\nthe inevitable questions were extraordinarily few and restrained. On the\nother hand, the gratitude expressed was most glowing and was reinforced\nby tears from the most sensible of mothers. Svidrigailov got up,\nlaughed, kissed his betrothed, patted her cheek, declared he would soon\ncome back, and noticing in her eyes, together with childish curiosity, a\nsort of earnest dumb inquiry, reflected and kissed her again, though\nhe felt sincere anger inwardly at the thought that his present would be\nimmediately locked up in the keeping of the most sensible of mothers. He\nwent away, leaving them all in a state of extraordinary excitement, but\nthe tender mamma, speaking quietly in a half whisper, settled some of\nthe most important of their doubts, concluding that Svidrigailov was\na great man, a man of great affairs and connections and of great\nwealth--there was no knowing what he had in his mind. He would start\noff on a journey and give away money just as the fancy took him, so that\nthere was nothing surprising about it. Of course it was strange that he\nwas wet through, but Englishmen, for instance, are even more eccentric,\nand all these people of high society didn't think of what was said of\nthem and didn't stand on ceremony. Possibly, indeed, he came like that\non purpose to show that he was not afraid of anyone. Above all, not a\nword should be said about it, for God knows what might come of it, and\nthe money must be locked up, and it was most fortunate that Fedosya, the\ncook, had not left the kitchen. And above all not a word must be said\nto that old cat, Madame Resslich, and so on and so on. They sat up\nwhispering till two o'clock, but the girl went to bed much earlier,\namazed and rather sorrowful.\n\nSvidrigailov meanwhile, exactly at midnight, crossed the bridge on the\nway back to the mainland. The rain had ceased and there was a roaring\nwind. He began shivering, and for one moment he gazed at the black\nwaters of the Little Neva with a look of special interest, even inquiry.\nBut he soon felt it very cold, standing by the water; he turned and\nwent towards Y. Prospect. He walked along that endless street for a long\ntime, almost half an hour, more than once stumbling in the dark on the\nwooden pavement, but continually looking for something on the right side\nof the street. He had noticed passing through this street lately that\nthere was a hotel somewhere towards the end, built of wood, but fairly\nlarge, and its name he remembered was something like Adrianople. He was\nnot mistaken: the hotel was so conspicuous in that God-forsaken place\nthat he could not fail to see it even in the dark. It was a long,\nblackened wooden building, and in spite of the late hour there were\nlights in the windows and signs of life within. He went in and asked\na ragged fellow who met him in the corridor for a room. The latter,\nscanning Svidrigailov, pulled himself together and led him at once to a\nclose and tiny room in the distance, at the end of the corridor, under\nthe stairs. There was no other, all were occupied. The ragged fellow\nlooked inquiringly.\n\n\"Is there tea?\" asked Svidrigailov.\n\n\"Yes, sir.\"\n\n\"What else is there?\"\n\n\"Veal, vodka, savouries.\"\n\n\"Bring me tea and veal.\"\n\n\"And you want nothing else?\" he asked with apparent surprise.\n\n\"Nothing, nothing.\"\n\nThe ragged man went away, completely disillusioned.\n\n\"It must be a nice place,\" thought Svidrigailov. \"How was it I didn't\nknow it? I expect I look as if I came from a cafe chantant and have\nhad some adventure on the way. It would be interesting to know who stayed\nhere?\"\n\nHe lighted the candle and looked at the room more carefully. It was a\nroom so low-pitched that Svidrigailov could only just stand up in it;\nit had one window; the bed, which was very dirty, and the plain-stained\nchair and table almost filled it up. The walls looked as though they\nwere made of planks, covered with shabby paper, so torn and dusty\nthat the pattern was indistinguishable, though the general\ncolour--yellow--could still be made out. One of the walls was cut short\nby the sloping ceiling, though the room was not an attic but just under\nthe stairs.\n\nSvidrigailov set down the candle, sat down on the bed and sank into\nthought. But a strange persistent murmur which sometimes rose to a shout\nin the next room attracted his attention. The murmur had not ceased from\nthe moment he entered the room. He listened: someone was upbraiding and\nalmost tearfully scolding, but he heard only one voice.\n\nSvidrigailov got up, shaded the light with his hand and at once he saw\nlight through a crack in the wall; he went up and peeped through. The\nroom, which was somewhat larger than his, had two occupants. One of\nthem, a very curly-headed man with a red inflamed face, was standing\nin the pose of an orator, without his coat, with his legs wide apart to\npreserve his balance, and smiting himself on the breast. He reproached\nthe other with being a beggar, with having no standing whatever. He\ndeclared that he had taken the other out of the gutter and he could turn\nhim out when he liked, and that only the finger of Providence sees it\nall. The object of his reproaches was sitting in a chair, and had the\nair of a man who wants dreadfully to sneeze, but can't. He sometimes\nturned sheepish and befogged eyes on the speaker, but obviously had not\nthe slightest idea what he was talking about and scarcely heard it. A\ncandle was burning down on the table; there were wine-glasses, a nearly\nempty bottle of vodka, bread and cucumber, and glasses with the dregs\nof stale tea. After gazing attentively at this, Svidrigailov turned away\nindifferently and sat down on the bed.\n\nThe ragged attendant, returning with the tea, could not resist asking\nhim again whether he didn't want anything more, and again receiving a\nnegative reply, finally withdrew. Svidrigailov made haste to drink a\nglass of tea to warm himself, but could not eat anything. He began\nto feel feverish. He took off his coat and, wrapping himself in the\nblanket, lay down on the bed. He was annoyed. \"It would have been better\nto be well for the occasion,\" he thought with a smile. The room was\nclose, the candle burnt dimly, the wind was roaring outside, he heard\na mouse scratching in the corner and the room smelt of mice and of\nleather. He lay in a sort of reverie: one thought followed another. He\nfelt a longing to fix his imagination on something. \"It must be a garden\nunder the window,\" he thought. \"There's a sound of trees. How I dislike\nthe sound of trees on a stormy night, in the dark! They give one a\nhorrid feeling.\" He remembered how he had disliked it when he passed\nPetrovsky Park just now. This reminded him of the bridge over the Little\nNeva and he felt cold again as he had when standing there. \"I never have\nliked water,\" he thought, \"even in a landscape,\" and he suddenly smiled\nagain at a strange idea: \"Surely now all these questions of taste and\ncomfort ought not to matter, but I've become more particular, like an\nanimal that picks out a special place... for such an occasion. I ought\nto have gone into the Petrovsky Park! I suppose it seemed dark, cold,\nha-ha! As though I were seeking pleasant sensations!... By the way, why\nhaven't I put out the candle?\" he blew it out. \"They've gone to bed next\ndoor,\" he thought, not seeing the light at the crack. \"Well, now, Marfa\nPetrovna, now is the time for you to turn up; it's dark, and the very\ntime and place for you. But now you won't come!\"\n\nHe suddenly recalled how, an hour before carrying out his design on\nDounia, he had recommended Raskolnikov to trust her to Razumihin's\nkeeping. \"I suppose I really did say it, as Raskolnikov guessed, to\ntease myself. But what a rogue that Raskolnikov is! He's gone through a\ngood deal. He may be a successful rogue in time when he's got over\nhis nonsense. But now he's _too_ eager for life. These young men\nare contemptible on that point. But, hang the fellow! Let him please\nhimself, it's nothing to do with me.\"\n\nHe could not get to sleep. By degrees Dounia's image rose before him,\nand a shudder ran over him. \"No, I must give up all that now,\" he\nthought, rousing himself. \"I must think of something else. It's queer\nand funny. I never had a great hatred for anyone, I never particularly\ndesired to avenge myself even, and that's a bad sign, a bad sign, a bad\nsign. I never liked quarrelling either, and never lost my temper--that's\na bad sign too. And the promises I made her just now, too--Damnation!\nBut--who knows?--perhaps she would have made a new man of me\nsomehow....\"\n\nHe ground his teeth and sank into silence again. Again Dounia's image\nrose before him, just as she was when, after shooting the first time,\nshe had lowered the revolver in terror and gazed blankly at him, so that\nhe might have seized her twice over and she would not have lifted a hand\nto defend herself if he had not reminded her. He recalled how at that\ninstant he felt almost sorry for her, how he had felt a pang at his\nheart...\n\n\"Aie! Damnation, these thoughts again! I must put it away!\"\n\nHe was dozing off; the feverish shiver had ceased, when suddenly\nsomething seemed to run over his arm and leg under the bedclothes. He\nstarted. \"Ugh! hang it! I believe it's a mouse,\" he thought, \"that's the\nveal I left on the table.\" He felt fearfully disinclined to pull off the\nblanket, get up, get cold, but all at once something unpleasant ran over\nhis leg again. He pulled off the blanket and lighted the candle. Shaking\nwith feverish chill he bent down to examine the bed: there was nothing.\nHe shook the blanket and suddenly a mouse jumped out on the sheet.\nHe tried to catch it, but the mouse ran to and fro in zigzags without\nleaving the bed, slipped between his fingers, ran over his hand and\nsuddenly darted under the pillow. He threw down the pillow, but in one\ninstant felt something leap on his chest and dart over his body and down\nhis back under his shirt. He trembled nervously and woke up.\n\nThe room was dark. He was lying on the bed and wrapped up in the blanket\nas before. The wind was howling under the window. \"How disgusting,\" he\nthought with annoyance.\n\nHe got up and sat on the edge of the bedstead with his back to the\nwindow. \"It's better not to sleep at all,\" he decided. There was a cold\ndamp draught from the window, however; without getting up he drew the\nblanket over him and wrapped himself in it. He was not thinking of\nanything and did not want to think. But one image rose after another,\nincoherent scraps of thought without beginning or end passed through his\nmind. He sank into drowsiness. Perhaps the cold, or the dampness, or\nthe dark, or the wind that howled under the window and tossed the trees\nroused a sort of persistent craving for the fantastic. He kept dwelling\non images of flowers, he fancied a charming flower garden, a bright,\nwarm, almost hot day, a holiday--Trinity day. A fine, sumptuous country\ncottage in the English taste overgrown with fragrant flowers, with\nflower beds going round the house; the porch, wreathed in climbers, was\nsurrounded with beds of roses. A light, cool staircase, carpeted with\nrich rugs, was decorated with rare plants in china pots. He noticed\nparticularly in the windows nosegays of tender, white, heavily fragrant\nnarcissus bending over their bright, green, thick long stalks. He was\nreluctant to move away from them, but he went up the stairs and came\ninto a large, high drawing-room and again everywhere--at the windows,\nthe doors on to the balcony, and on the balcony itself--were flowers.\nThe floors were strewn with freshly-cut fragrant hay, the windows\nwere open, a fresh, cool, light air came into the room. The birds were\nchirruping under the window, and in the middle of the room, on a table\ncovered with a white satin shroud, stood a coffin. The coffin was\ncovered with white silk and edged with a thick white frill; wreaths of\nflowers surrounded it on all sides. Among the flowers lay a girl in a\nwhite muslin dress, with her arms crossed and pressed on her bosom, as\nthough carved out of marble. But her loose fair hair was wet; there was\na wreath of roses on her head. The stern and already rigid profile of\nher face looked as though chiselled of marble too, and the smile on her\npale lips was full of an immense unchildish misery and sorrowful appeal.\nSvidrigailov knew that girl; there was no holy image, no burning candle\nbeside the coffin; no sound of prayers: the girl had drowned herself.\nShe was only fourteen, but her heart was broken. And she had destroyed\nherself, crushed by an insult that had appalled and amazed that childish\nsoul, had smirched that angel purity with unmerited disgrace and torn\nfrom her a last scream of despair, unheeded and brutally disregarded, on\na dark night in the cold and wet while the wind howled....\n\nSvidrigailov came to himself, got up from the bed and went to the\nwindow. He felt for the latch and opened it. The wind lashed furiously\ninto the little room and stung his face and his chest, only covered with\nhis shirt, as though with frost. Under the window there must have been\nsomething like a garden, and apparently a pleasure garden. There, too,\nprobably there were tea-tables and singing in the daytime. Now drops of\nrain flew in at the window from the trees and bushes; it was dark as\nin a cellar, so that he could only just make out some dark blurs of\nobjects. Svidrigailov, bending down with elbows on the window-sill,\ngazed for five minutes into the darkness; the boom of a cannon, followed\nby a second one, resounded in the darkness of the night. \"Ah, the\nsignal! The river is overflowing,\" he thought. \"By morning it will be\nswirling down the street in the lower parts, flooding the basements and\ncellars. The cellar rats will swim out, and men will curse in the rain\nand wind as they drag their rubbish to their upper storeys. What time is\nit now?\" And he had hardly thought it when, somewhere near, a clock on\nthe wall, ticking away hurriedly, struck three.\n\n\"Aha! It will be light in an hour! Why wait? I'll go out at once\nstraight to the park. I'll choose a great bush there drenched with rain,\nso that as soon as one's shoulder touches it, millions of drops drip on\none's head.\"\n\nHe moved away from the window, shut it, lighted the candle, put on his\nwaistcoat, his overcoat and his hat and went out, carrying the candle,\ninto the passage to look for the ragged attendant who would be asleep\nsomewhere in the midst of candle-ends and all sorts of rubbish, to pay\nhim for the room and leave the hotel. \"It's the best minute; I couldn't\nchoose a better.\"\n\nHe walked for some time through a long narrow corridor without finding\nanyone and was just going to call out, when suddenly in a dark corner\nbetween an old cupboard and the door he caught sight of a strange object\nwhich seemed to be alive. He bent down with the candle and saw a little\ngirl, not more than five years old, shivering and crying, with her\nclothes as wet as a soaking house-flannel. She did not seem afraid of\nSvidrigailov, but looked at him with blank amazement out of her big\nblack eyes. Now and then she sobbed as children do when they have been\ncrying a long time, but are beginning to be comforted. The child's face\nwas pale and tired, she was numb with cold. \"How can she have come here?\nShe must have hidden here and not slept all night.\" He began questioning\nher. The child suddenly becoming animated, chattered away in her baby\nlanguage, something about \"mammy\" and that \"mammy would beat her,\" and\nabout some cup that she had \"bwoken.\" The child chattered on without\nstopping. He could only guess from what she said that she was a\nneglected child, whose mother, probably a drunken cook, in the service\nof the hotel, whipped and frightened her; that the child had broken\na cup of her mother's and was so frightened that she had run away the\nevening before, had hidden for a long while somewhere outside in the\nrain, at last had made her way in here, hidden behind the cupboard and\nspent the night there, crying and trembling from the damp, the darkness\nand the fear that she would be badly beaten for it. He took her in his\narms, went back to his room, sat her on the bed, and began undressing\nher. The torn shoes which she had on her stockingless feet were as\nwet as if they had been standing in a puddle all night. When he had\nundressed her, he put her on the bed, covered her up and wrapped her in\nthe blanket from her head downwards. She fell asleep at once. Then he\nsank into dreary musing again.\n\n\"What folly to trouble myself,\" he decided suddenly with an oppressive\nfeeling of annoyance. \"What idiocy!\" In vexation he took up the candle\nto go and look for the ragged attendant again and make haste to go away.\n\"Damn the child!\" he thought as he opened the door, but he turned again\nto see whether the child was asleep. He raised the blanket carefully.\nThe child was sleeping soundly, she had got warm under the blanket,\nand her pale cheeks were flushed. But strange to say that flush seemed\nbrighter and coarser than the rosy cheeks of childhood. \"It's a flush\nof fever,\" thought Svidrigailov. It was like the flush from drinking, as\nthough she had been given a full glass to drink. Her crimson lips were\nhot and glowing; but what was this? He suddenly fancied that her long\nblack eyelashes were quivering, as though the lids were opening and a\nsly crafty eye peeped out with an unchildlike wink, as though the little\ngirl were not asleep, but pretending. Yes, it was so. Her lips parted in\na smile. The corners of her mouth quivered, as though she were trying to\ncontrol them. But now she quite gave up all effort, now it was a grin,\na broad grin; there was something shameless, provocative in that quite\nunchildish face; it was depravity, it was the face of a harlot, the\nshameless face of a French harlot. Now both eyes opened wide; they\nturned a glowing, shameless glance upon him; they laughed, invited\nhim.... There was something infinitely hideous and shocking in that\nlaugh, in those eyes, in such nastiness in the face of a child. \"What,\nat five years old?\" Svidrigailov muttered in genuine horror. \"What does\nit mean?\" And now she turned to him, her little face all aglow, holding\nout her arms.... \"Accursed child!\" Svidrigailov cried, raising his hand\nto strike her, but at that moment he woke up.\n\nHe was in the same bed, still wrapped in the blanket. The candle had not\nbeen lighted, and daylight was streaming in at the windows.\n\n\"I've had nightmare all night!\" He got up angrily, feeling utterly\nshattered; his bones ached. There was a thick mist outside and he could\nsee nothing. It was nearly five. He had overslept himself! He got up,\nput on his still damp jacket and overcoat. Feeling the revolver in his\npocket, he took it out and then he sat down, took a notebook out of his\npocket and in the most conspicuous place on the title page wrote a few\nlines in large letters. Reading them over, he sank into thought with his\nelbows on the table. The revolver and the notebook lay beside him. Some\nflies woke up and settled on the untouched veal, which was still on\nthe table. He stared at them and at last with his free right hand began\ntrying to catch one. He tried till he was tired, but could not catch it.\nAt last, realising that he was engaged in this interesting pursuit, he\nstarted, got up and walked resolutely out of the room. A minute later he\nwas in the street.\n\nA thick milky mist hung over the town. Svidrigailov walked along the\nslippery dirty wooden pavement towards the Little Neva. He was picturing\nthe waters of the Little Neva swollen in the night, Petrovsky Island,\nthe wet paths, the wet grass, the wet trees and bushes and at last the\nbush.... He began ill-humouredly staring at the houses, trying to think\nof something else. There was not a cabman or a passer-by in the street.\nThe bright yellow, wooden, little houses looked dirty and dejected with\ntheir closed shutters. The cold and damp penetrated his whole body and\nhe began to shiver. From time to time he came across shop signs and read\neach carefully. At last he reached the end of the wooden pavement and\ncame to a big stone house. A dirty, shivering dog crossed his path with\nits tail between its legs. A man in a greatcoat lay face downwards; dead\ndrunk, across the pavement. He looked at him and went on. A high tower\nstood up on the left. \"Bah!\" he shouted, \"here is a place. Why should\nit be Petrovsky? It will be in the presence of an official witness\nanyway....\"\n\nHe almost smiled at this new thought and turned into the street where\nthere was the big house with the tower. At the great closed gates of\nthe house, a little man stood with his shoulder leaning against them,\nwrapped in a grey soldier's coat, with a copper Achilles helmet on his\nhead. He cast a drowsy and indifferent glance at Svidrigailov. His\nface wore that perpetual look of peevish dejection, which is so sourly\nprinted on all faces of Jewish race without exception. They both,\nSvidrigailov and Achilles, stared at each other for a few minutes\nwithout speaking. At last it struck Achilles as irregular for a man\nnot drunk to be standing three steps from him, staring and not saying a\nword.\n\n\"What do you want here?\" he said, without moving or changing his\nposition.\n\n\"Nothing, brother, good morning,\" answered Svidrigailov.\n\n\"This isn't the place.\"\n\n\"I am going to foreign parts, brother.\"\n\n\"To foreign parts?\"\n\n\"To America.\"\n\n\"America.\"\n\nSvidrigailov took out the revolver and cocked it. Achilles raised his\neyebrows.\n\n\"I say, this is not the place for such jokes!\"\n\n\"Why shouldn't it be the place?\"\n\n\"Because it isn't.\"\n\n\"Well, brother, I don't mind that. It's a good place. When you are\nasked, you just say he was going, he said, to America.\"\n\nHe put the revolver to his right temple.\n\n\"You can't do it here, it's not the place,\" cried Achilles, rousing\nhimself, his eyes growing bigger and bigger.\n\nSvidrigailov pulled the trigger.\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VII\n\nThe same day, about seven o'clock in the evening, Raskolnikov was on\nhis way to his mother's and sister's lodging--the lodging in Bakaleyev's\nhouse which Razumihin had found for them. The stairs went up from\nthe street. Raskolnikov walked with lagging steps, as though still\nhesitating whether to go or not. But nothing would have turned him back:\nhis decision was taken.\n\n\"Besides, it doesn't matter, they still know nothing,\" he thought, \"and\nthey are used to thinking of me as eccentric.\"\n\nHe was appallingly dressed: his clothes torn and dirty, soaked with a\nnight's rain. His face was almost distorted from fatigue, exposure, the\ninward conflict that had lasted for twenty-four hours. He had spent all\nthe previous night alone, God knows where. But anyway he had reached a\ndecision.\n\nHe knocked at the door which was opened by his mother. Dounia was not\nat home. Even the servant happened to be out. At first Pulcheria\nAlexandrovna was speechless with joy and surprise; then she took him by\nthe hand and drew him into the room.\n\n\"Here you are!\" she began, faltering with joy. \"Don't be angry with\nme, Rodya, for welcoming you so foolishly with tears: I am laughing not\ncrying. Did you think I was crying? No, I am delighted, but I've got\ninto such a stupid habit of shedding tears. I've been like that ever\nsince your father's death. I cry for anything. Sit down, dear boy, you\nmust be tired; I see you are. Ah, how muddy you are.\"\n\n\"I was in the rain yesterday, mother....\" Raskolnikov began.\n\n\"No, no,\" Pulcheria Alexandrovna hurriedly interrupted, \"you thought I\nwas going to cross-question you in the womanish way I used to; don't be\nanxious, I understand, I understand it all: now I've learned the ways\nhere and truly I see for myself that they are better. I've made up my\nmind once for all: how could I understand your plans and expect you to\ngive an account of them? God knows what concerns and plans you may have,\nor what ideas you are hatching; so it's not for me to keep nudging your\nelbow, asking you what you are thinking about? But, my goodness! why\nam I running to and fro as though I were crazy...? I am reading your\narticle in the magazine for the third time, Rodya. Dmitri Prokofitch\nbrought it to me. Directly I saw it I cried out to myself: 'There,\nfoolish one,' I thought, 'that's what he is busy about; that's the\nsolution of the mystery! Learned people are always like that. He may\nhave some new ideas in his head just now; he is thinking them over and I\nworry him and upset him.' I read it, my dear, and of course there was a\ngreat deal I did not understand; but that's only natural--how should I?\"\n\n\"Show me, mother.\"\n\nRaskolnikov took the magazine and glanced at his article. Incongruous\nas it was with his mood and his circumstances, he felt that strange and\nbitter sweet sensation that every author experiences the first time he\nsees himself in print; besides, he was only twenty-three. It lasted only\na moment. After reading a few lines he frowned and his heart throbbed\nwith anguish. He recalled all the inward conflict of the preceding\nmonths. He flung the article on the table with disgust and anger.\n\n\"But, however foolish I may be, Rodya, I can see for myself that you\nwill very soon be one of the leading--if not the leading man--in the\nworld of Russian thought. And they dared to think you were mad! You\ndon't know, but they really thought that. Ah, the despicable creatures,\nhow could they understand genius! And Dounia, Dounia was all but\nbelieving it--what do you say to that? Your father sent twice to\nmagazines--the first time poems (I've got the manuscript and will show\nyou) and the second time a whole novel (I begged him to let me copy it\nout) and how we prayed that they should be taken--they weren't! I was\nbreaking my heart, Rodya, six or seven days ago over your food and your\nclothes and the way you are living. But now I see again how foolish\nI was, for you can attain any position you like by your intellect and\ntalent. No doubt you don't care about that for the present and you are\noccupied with much more important matters....\"\n\n\"Dounia's not at home, mother?\"\n\n\"No, Rodya. I often don't see her; she leaves me alone. Dmitri\nProkofitch comes to see me, it's so good of him, and he always talks\nabout you. He loves you and respects you, my dear. I don't say that\nDounia is very wanting in consideration. I am not complaining. She has\nher ways and I have mine; she seems to have got some secrets of late and\nI never have any secrets from you two. Of course, I am sure that Dounia\nhas far too much sense, and besides she loves you and me... but I don't\nknow what it will all lead to. You've made me so happy by coming now,\nRodya, but she has missed you by going out; when she comes in I'll tell\nher: 'Your brother came in while you were out. Where have you been all\nthis time?' You mustn't spoil me, Rodya, you know; come when you can,\nbut if you can't, it doesn't matter, I can wait. I shall know, anyway,\nthat you are fond of me, that will be enough for me. I shall read what\nyou write, I shall hear about you from everyone, and sometimes you'll\ncome yourself to see me. What could be better? Here you've come now to\ncomfort your mother, I see that.\"\n\nHere Pulcheria Alexandrovna began to cry.\n\n\"Here I am again! Don't mind my foolishness. My goodness, why am I\nsitting here?\" she cried, jumping up. \"There is coffee and I don't offer\nyou any. Ah, that's the selfishness of old age. I'll get it at once!\"\n\n\"Mother, don't trouble, I am going at once. I haven't come for that.\nPlease listen to me.\"\n\nPulcheria Alexandrovna went up to him timidly.\n\n\"Mother, whatever happens, whatever you hear about me, whatever you are\ntold about me, will you always love me as you do now?\" he asked suddenly\nfrom the fullness of his heart, as though not thinking of his words and\nnot weighing them.\n\n\"Rodya, Rodya, what is the matter? How can you ask me such a question?\nWhy, who will tell me anything about you? Besides, I shouldn't believe\nanyone, I should refuse to listen.\"\n\n\"I've come to assure you that I've always loved you and I am glad\nthat we are alone, even glad Dounia is out,\" he went on with the same\nimpulse. \"I have come to tell you that though you will be unhappy, you\nmust believe that your son loves you now more than himself, and that all\nyou thought about me, that I was cruel and didn't care about you, was\nall a mistake. I shall never cease to love you.... Well, that's enough:\nI thought I must do this and begin with this....\"\n\nPulcheria Alexandrovna embraced him in silence, pressing him to her\nbosom and weeping gently.\n\n\"I don't know what is wrong with you, Rodya,\" she said at last. \"I've\nbeen thinking all this time that we were simply boring you and now I see\nthat there is a great sorrow in store for you, and that's why you are\nmiserable. I've foreseen it a long time, Rodya. Forgive me for speaking\nabout it. I keep thinking about it and lie awake at nights. Your sister\nlay talking in her sleep all last night, talking of nothing but you. I\ncaught something, but I couldn't make it out. I felt all the morning\nas though I were going to be hanged, waiting for something, expecting\nsomething, and now it has come! Rodya, Rodya, where are you going? You\nare going away somewhere?\"\n\n\"Yes.\"\n\n\"That's what I thought! I can come with you, you know, if you need\nme. And Dounia, too; she loves you, she loves you dearly--and Sofya\nSemyonovna may come with us if you like. You see, I am glad to look upon\nher as a daughter even... Dmitri Prokofitch will help us to go together.\nBut... where... are you going?\"\n\n\"Good-bye, mother.\"\n\n\"What, to-day?\" she cried, as though losing him for ever.\n\n\"I can't stay, I must go now....\"\n\n\"And can't I come with you?\"\n\n\"No, but kneel down and pray to God for me. Your prayer perhaps will\nreach Him.\"\n\n\"Let me bless you and sign you with the cross. That's right, that's\nright. Oh, God, what are we doing?\"\n\nYes, he was glad, he was very glad that there was no one there, that\nhe was alone with his mother. For the first time after all those awful\nmonths his heart was softened. He fell down before her, he kissed her\nfeet and both wept, embracing. And she was not surprised and did not\nquestion him this time. For some days she had realised that something\nawful was happening to her son and that now some terrible minute had\ncome for him.\n\n\"Rodya, my darling, my first born,\" she said sobbing, \"now you are just\nas when you were little. You would run like this to me and hug me and\nkiss me. When your father was living and we were poor, you comforted us\nsimply by being with us and when I buried your father, how often we\nwept together at his grave and embraced, as now. And if I've been crying\nlately, it's that my mother's heart had a foreboding of trouble. The\nfirst time I saw you, that evening, you remember, as soon as we arrived\nhere, I guessed simply from your eyes. My heart sank at once, and to-day\nwhen I opened the door and looked at you, I thought the fatal hour had\ncome. Rodya, Rodya, you are not going away to-day?\"\n\n\"No!\"\n\n\"You'll come again?\"\n\n\"Yes... I'll come.\"\n\n\"Rodya, don't be angry, I don't dare to question you. I know I mustn't.\nOnly say two words to me--is it far where you are going?\"\n\n\"Very far.\"\n\n\"What is awaiting you there? Some post or career for you?\"\n\n\"What God sends... only pray for me.\" Raskolnikov went to the door, but\nshe clutched him and gazed despairingly into his eyes. Her face worked\nwith terror.\n\n\"Enough, mother,\" said Raskolnikov, deeply regretting that he had come.\n\n\"Not for ever, it's not yet for ever? You'll come, you'll come\nto-morrow?\"\n\n\"I will, I will, good-bye.\" He tore himself away at last.\n\nIt was a warm, fresh, bright evening; it had cleared up in the morning.\nRaskolnikov went to his lodgings; he made haste. He wanted to finish all\nbefore sunset. He did not want to meet anyone till then. Going up the\nstairs he noticed that Nastasya rushed from the samovar to watch him\nintently. \"Can anyone have come to see me?\" he wondered. He had a\ndisgusted vision of Porfiry. But opening his door he saw Dounia. She\nwas sitting alone, plunged in deep thought, and looked as though she had\nbeen waiting a long time. He stopped short in the doorway. She rose from\nthe sofa in dismay and stood up facing him. Her eyes, fixed upon him,\nbetrayed horror and infinite grief. And from those eyes alone he saw at\nonce that she knew.\n\n\"Am I to come in or go away?\" he asked uncertainly.\n\n\"I've been all day with Sofya Semyonovna. We were both waiting for you.\nWe thought that you would be sure to come there.\"\n\nRaskolnikov went into the room and sank exhausted on a chair.\n\n\"I feel weak, Dounia, I am very tired; and I should have liked at this\nmoment to be able to control myself.\"\n\nHe glanced at her mistrustfully.\n\n\"Where were you all night?\"\n\n\"I don't remember clearly. You see, sister, I wanted to make up my mind\nonce for all, and several times I walked by the Neva, I remember that\nI wanted to end it all there, but... I couldn't make up my mind,\" he\nwhispered, looking at her mistrustfully again.\n\n\"Thank God! That was just what we were afraid of, Sofya Semyonovna and\nI. Then you still have faith in life? Thank God, thank God!\"\n\nRaskolnikov smiled bitterly.\n\n\"I haven't faith, but I have just been weeping in mother's arms; I\nhaven't faith, but I have just asked her to pray for me. I don't know\nhow it is, Dounia, I don't understand it.\"\n\n\"Have you been at mother's? Have you told her?\" cried Dounia,\nhorror-stricken. \"Surely you haven't done that?\"\n\n\"No, I didn't tell her... in words; but she understood a great deal.\nShe heard you talking in your sleep. I am sure she half understands it\nalready. Perhaps I did wrong in going to see her. I don't know why I did\ngo. I am a contemptible person, Dounia.\"\n\n\"A contemptible person, but ready to face suffering! You are, aren't\nyou?\"\n\n\"Yes, I am going. At once. Yes, to escape the disgrace I thought of\ndrowning myself, Dounia, but as I looked into the water, I thought that\nif I had considered myself strong till now I'd better not be afraid of\ndisgrace,\" he said, hurrying on. \"It's pride, Dounia.\"\n\n\"Pride, Rodya.\"\n\nThere was a gleam of fire in his lustreless eyes; he seemed to be glad\nto think that he was still proud.\n\n\"You don't think, sister, that I was simply afraid of the water?\" he\nasked, looking into her face with a sinister smile.\n\n\"Oh, Rodya, hush!\" cried Dounia bitterly. Silence lasted for two\nminutes. He sat with his eyes fixed on the floor; Dounia stood at the\nother end of the table and looked at him with anguish. Suddenly he got\nup.\n\n\"It's late, it's time to go! I am going at once to give myself up. But I\ndon't know why I am going to give myself up.\"\n\nBig tears fell down her cheeks.\n\n\"You are crying, sister, but can you hold out your hand to me?\"\n\n\"You doubted it?\"\n\nShe threw her arms round him.\n\n\"Aren't you half expiating your crime by facing the suffering?\" she\ncried, holding him close and kissing him.\n\n\"Crime? What crime?\" he cried in sudden fury. \"That I killed a vile\nnoxious insect, an old pawnbroker woman, of use to no one!... Killing\nher was atonement for forty sins. She was sucking the life out of poor\npeople. Was that a crime? I am not thinking of it and I am not thinking\nof expiating it, and why are you all rubbing it in on all sides? 'A\ncrime! a crime!' Only now I see clearly the imbecility of my cowardice,\nnow that I have decided to face this superfluous disgrace. It's simply\nbecause I am contemptible and have nothing in me that I have decided to,\nperhaps too for my advantage, as that... Porfiry... suggested!\"\n\n\"Brother, brother, what are you saying? Why, you have shed blood?\" cried\nDounia in despair.\n\n\"Which all men shed,\" he put in almost frantically, \"which flows and has\nalways flowed in streams, which is spilt like champagne, and for which\nmen are crowned in the Capitol and are called afterwards benefactors of\nmankind. Look into it more carefully and understand it! I too wanted to\ndo good to men and would have done hundreds, thousands of good deeds\nto make up for that one piece of stupidity, not stupidity even, simply\nclumsiness, for the idea was by no means so stupid as it seems now\nthat it has failed.... (Everything seems stupid when it fails.) By that\nstupidity I only wanted to put myself into an independent position, to\ntake the first step, to obtain means, and then everything would have\nbeen smoothed over by benefits immeasurable in comparison.... But I...\nI couldn't carry out even the first step, because I am contemptible,\nthat's what's the matter! And yet I won't look at it as you do. If I had\nsucceeded I should have been crowned with glory, but now I'm trapped.\"\n\n\"But that's not so, not so! Brother, what are you saying?\"\n\n\"Ah, it's not picturesque, not aesthetically attractive! I fail to\nunderstand why bombarding people by regular siege is more honourable.\nThe fear of appearances is the first symptom of impotence. I've never,\nnever recognised this more clearly than now, and I am further than ever\nfrom seeing that what I did was a crime. I've never, never been stronger\nand more convinced than now.\"\n\nThe colour had rushed into his pale exhausted face, but as he uttered\nhis last explanation, he happened to meet Dounia's eyes and he saw such\nanguish in them that he could not help being checked. He felt that he\nhad, anyway, made these two poor women miserable, that he was, anyway,\nthe cause...\n\n\"Dounia darling, if I am guilty forgive me (though I cannot be forgiven\nif I am guilty). Good-bye! We won't dispute. It's time, high time to go.\nDon't follow me, I beseech you, I have somewhere else to go.... But you\ngo at once and sit with mother. I entreat you to! It's my last request\nof you. Don't leave her at all; I left her in a state of anxiety, that\nshe is not fit to bear; she will die or go out of her mind. Be with\nher! Razumihin will be with you. I've been talking to him.... Don't cry\nabout me: I'll try to be honest and manly all my life, even if I am a\nmurderer. Perhaps I shall some day make a name. I won't disgrace you,\nyou will see; I'll still show.... Now good-bye for the present,\" he\nconcluded hurriedly, noticing again a strange expression in Dounia's\neyes at his last words and promises. \"Why are you crying? Don't cry,\ndon't cry: we are not parting for ever! Ah, yes! Wait a minute, I'd\nforgotten!\"\n\nHe went to the table, took up a thick dusty book, opened it and took\nfrom between the pages a little water-colour portrait on ivory. It was\nthe portrait of his landlady's daughter, who had died of fever, that\nstrange girl who had wanted to be a nun. For a minute he gazed at the\ndelicate expressive face of his betrothed, kissed the portrait and gave\nit to Dounia.\n\n\"I used to talk a great deal about it to her, only to her,\" he said\nthoughtfully. \"To her heart I confided much of what has since been so\nhideously realised. Don't be uneasy,\" he returned to Dounia, \"she was\nas much opposed to it as you, and I am glad that she is gone. The great\npoint is that everything now is going to be different, is going to\nbe broken in two,\" he cried, suddenly returning to his dejection.\n\"Everything, everything, and am I prepared for it? Do I want it myself?\nThey say it is necessary for me to suffer! What's the object of these\nsenseless sufferings? shall I know any better what they are for, when I\nam crushed by hardships and idiocy, and weak as an old man after twenty\nyears' penal servitude? And what shall I have to live for then? Why am I\nconsenting to that life now? Oh, I knew I was contemptible when I stood\nlooking at the Neva at daybreak to-day!\"\n\nAt last they both went out. It was hard for Dounia, but she loved him.\nShe walked away, but after going fifty paces she turned round to look\nat him again. He was still in sight. At the corner he too turned and for\nthe last time their eyes met; but noticing that she was looking at him,\nhe motioned her away with impatience and even vexation, and turned the\ncorner abruptly.\n\n\"I am wicked, I see that,\" he thought to himself, feeling ashamed a\nmoment later of his angry gesture to Dounia. \"But why are they so fond\nof me if I don't deserve it? Oh, if only I were alone and no one loved\nme and I too had never loved anyone! _Nothing of all this would have\nhappened._ But I wonder shall I in those fifteen or twenty years grow so\nmeek that I shall humble myself before people and whimper at every word\nthat I am a criminal? Yes, that's it, that's it, that's what they are\nsending me there for, that's what they want. Look at them running to and\nfro about the streets, every one of them a scoundrel and a criminal at\nheart and, worse still, an idiot. But try to get me off and they'd be\nwild with righteous indignation. Oh, how I hate them all!\"\n\nHe fell to musing by what process it could come to pass, that he could\nbe humbled before all of them, indiscriminately--humbled by conviction.\nAnd yet why not? It must be so. Would not twenty years of continual\nbondage crush him utterly? Water wears out a stone. And why, why should\nhe live after that? Why should he go now when he knew that it would be\nso? It was the hundredth time perhaps that he had asked himself that\nquestion since the previous evening, but still he went.\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VIII\n\nWhen he went into Sonia's room, it was already getting dark. All day\nSonia had been waiting for him in terrible anxiety. Dounia had been\nwaiting with her. She had come to her that morning, remembering\nSvidrigailov's words that Sonia knew. We will not describe the\nconversation and tears of the two girls, and how friendly they became.\nDounia gained one comfort at least from that interview, that her\nbrother would not be alone. He had gone to her, Sonia, first with his\nconfession; he had gone to her for human fellowship when he needed it;\nshe would go with him wherever fate might send him. Dounia did not ask,\nbut she knew it was so. She looked at Sonia almost with reverence and\nat first almost embarrassed her by it. Sonia was almost on the point\nof tears. She felt herself, on the contrary, hardly worthy to look at\nDounia. Dounia's gracious image when she had bowed to her so attentively\nand respectfully at their first meeting in Raskolnikov's room had\nremained in her mind as one of the fairest visions of her life.\n\nDounia at last became impatient and, leaving Sonia, went to her\nbrother's room to await him there; she kept thinking that he would come\nthere first. When she had gone, Sonia began to be tortured by the dread\nof his committing suicide, and Dounia too feared it. But they had spent\nthe day trying to persuade each other that that could not be, and both\nwere less anxious while they were together. As soon as they parted, each\nthought of nothing else. Sonia remembered how Svidrigailov had said to\nher the day before that Raskolnikov had two alternatives--Siberia or...\nBesides she knew his vanity, his pride and his lack of faith.\n\n\"Is it possible that he has nothing but cowardice and fear of death to\nmake him live?\" she thought at last in despair.\n\nMeanwhile the sun was setting. Sonia was standing in dejection, looking\nintently out of the window, but from it she could see nothing but the\nunwhitewashed blank wall of the next house. At last when she began to\nfeel sure of his death--he walked into the room.\n\nShe gave a cry of joy, but looking carefully into his face she turned\npale.\n\n\"Yes,\" said Raskolnikov, smiling. \"I have come for your cross, Sonia. It\nwas you told me to go to the cross-roads; why is it you are frightened\nnow it's come to that?\"\n\nSonia gazed at him astonished. His tone seemed strange to her; a cold\nshiver ran over her, but in a moment she guessed that the tone and the\nwords were a mask. He spoke to her looking away, as though to avoid\nmeeting her eyes.\n\n\"You see, Sonia, I've decided that it will be better so. There is one\nfact.... But it's a long story and there's no need to discuss it. But\ndo you know what angers me? It annoys me that all those stupid brutish\nfaces will be gaping at me directly, pestering me with their stupid\nquestions, which I shall have to answer--they'll point their fingers at\nme.... Tfoo! You know I am not going to Porfiry, I am sick of him. I'd\nrather go to my friend, the Explosive Lieutenant; how I shall surprise\nhim, what a sensation I shall make! But I must be cooler; I've become\ntoo irritable of late. You know I was nearly shaking my fist at my\nsister just now, because she turned to take a last look at me. It's\na brutal state to be in! Ah! what am I coming to! Well, where are the\ncrosses?\"\n\nHe seemed hardly to know what he was doing. He could not stay still or\nconcentrate his attention on anything; his ideas seemed to gallop after\none another, he talked incoherently, his hands trembled slightly.\n\nWithout a word Sonia took out of the drawer two crosses, one of cypress\nwood and one of copper. She made the sign of the cross over herself and\nover him, and put the wooden cross on his neck.\n\n\"It's the symbol of my taking up the cross,\" he laughed. \"As though I\nhad not suffered much till now! The wooden cross, that is the peasant\none; the copper one, that is Lizaveta's--you will wear yourself, show\nme! So she had it on... at that moment? I remember two things like\nthese too, a silver one and a little ikon. I threw them back on the old\nwoman's neck. Those would be appropriate now, really, those are what I\nought to put on now.... But I am talking nonsense and forgetting what\nmatters; I'm somehow forgetful.... You see I have come to warn you,\nSonia, so that you might know... that's all--that's all I came for. But\nI thought I had more to say. You wanted me to go yourself. Well, now I\nam going to prison and you'll have your wish. Well, what are you crying\nfor? You too? Don't. Leave off! Oh, how I hate it all!\"\n\nBut his feeling was stirred; his heart ached, as he looked at her. \"Why\nis she grieving too?\" he thought to himself. \"What am I to her? Why does\nshe weep? Why is she looking after me, like my mother or Dounia? She'll\nbe my nurse.\"\n\n\"Cross yourself, say at least one prayer,\" Sonia begged in a timid\nbroken voice.\n\n\"Oh certainly, as much as you like! And sincerely, Sonia, sincerely....\"\n\nBut he wanted to say something quite different.\n\nHe crossed himself several times. Sonia took up her shawl and put\nit over her head. It was the green _drap de dames_ shawl of which\nMarmeladov had spoken, \"the family shawl.\" Raskolnikov thought of that\nlooking at it, but he did not ask. He began to feel himself that he\nwas certainly forgetting things and was disgustingly agitated. He was\nfrightened at this. He was suddenly struck too by the thought that Sonia\nmeant to go with him.\n\n\"What are you doing? Where are you going? Stay here, stay! I'll go\nalone,\" he cried in cowardly vexation, and almost resentful, he moved\ntowards the door. \"What's the use of going in procession?\" he muttered\ngoing out.\n\nSonia remained standing in the middle of the room. He had not even said\ngood-bye to her; he had forgotten her. A poignant and rebellious doubt\nsurged in his heart.\n\n\"Was it right, was it right, all this?\" he thought again as he went down\nthe stairs. \"Couldn't he stop and retract it all... and not go?\"\n\nBut still he went. He felt suddenly once for all that he mustn't ask\nhimself questions. As he turned into the street he remembered that he\nhad not said good-bye to Sonia, that he had left her in the middle of\nthe room in her green shawl, not daring to stir after he had shouted\nat her, and he stopped short for a moment. At the same instant, another\nthought dawned upon him, as though it had been lying in wait to strike\nhim then.\n\n\"Why, with what object did I go to her just now? I told her--on\nbusiness; on what business? I had no sort of business! To tell her I was\n_going_; but where was the need? Do I love her? No, no, I drove her away\njust now like a dog. Did I want her crosses? Oh, how low I've sunk! No,\nI wanted her tears, I wanted to see her terror, to see how her heart\nached! I had to have something to cling to, something to delay me, some\nfriendly face to see! And I dared to believe in myself, to dream of what\nI would do! I am a beggarly contemptible wretch, contemptible!\"\n\nHe walked along the canal bank, and he had not much further to go. But\non reaching the bridge he stopped and turning out of his way along it\nwent to the Hay Market.\n\nHe looked eagerly to right and left, gazed intently at every object and\ncould not fix his attention on anything; everything slipped away. \"In\nanother week, another month I shall be driven in a prison van over this\nbridge, how shall I look at the canal then? I should like to remember\nthis!\" slipped into his mind. \"Look at this sign! How shall I read those\nletters then? It's written here 'Campany,' that's a thing to remember,\nthat letter _a_, and to look at it again in a month--how shall I look\nat it then? What shall I be feeling and thinking then?... How trivial\nit all must be, what I am fretting about now! Of course it must all be\ninteresting... in its way... (Ha-ha-ha! What am I thinking about?) I am\nbecoming a baby, I am showing off to myself; why am I ashamed? Foo! how\npeople shove! that fat man--a German he must be--who pushed against\nme, does he know whom he pushed? There's a peasant woman with a baby,\nbegging. It's curious that she thinks me happier than she is. I might\ngive her something, for the incongruity of it. Here's a five copeck\npiece left in my pocket, where did I get it? Here, here... take it, my\ngood woman!\"\n\n\"God bless you,\" the beggar chanted in a lachrymose voice.\n\nHe went into the Hay Market. It was distasteful, very distasteful to be\nin a crowd, but he walked just where he saw most people. He would have\ngiven anything in the world to be alone; but he knew himself that he\nwould not have remained alone for a moment. There was a man drunk and\ndisorderly in the crowd; he kept trying to dance and falling down. There\nwas a ring round him. Raskolnikov squeezed his way through the crowd,\nstared for some minutes at the drunken man and suddenly gave a short\njerky laugh. A minute later he had forgotten him and did not see him,\nthough he still stared. He moved away at last, not remembering where he\nwas; but when he got into the middle of the square an emotion suddenly\ncame over him, overwhelming him body and mind.\n\nHe suddenly recalled Sonia's words, \"Go to the cross-roads, bow down to\nthe people, kiss the earth, for you have sinned against it too, and say\naloud to the whole world, 'I am a murderer.'\" He trembled, remembering\nthat. And the hopeless misery and anxiety of all that time, especially\nof the last hours, had weighed so heavily upon him that he positively\nclutched at the chance of this new unmixed, complete sensation. It came\nover him like a fit; it was like a single spark kindled in his soul and\nspreading fire through him. Everything in him softened at once and the\ntears started into his eyes. He fell to the earth on the spot....\n\nHe knelt down in the middle of the square, bowed down to the earth, and\nkissed that filthy earth with bliss and rapture. He got up and bowed\ndown a second time.\n\n\"He's boozed,\" a youth near him observed.\n\nThere was a roar of laughter.\n\n\"He's going to Jerusalem, brothers, and saying good-bye to his children\nand his country. He's bowing down to all the world and kissing the great\ncity of St. Petersburg and its pavement,\" added a workman who was a\nlittle drunk.\n\n\"Quite a young man, too!\" observed a third.\n\n\"And a gentleman,\" someone observed soberly.\n\n\"There's no knowing who's a gentleman and who isn't nowadays.\"\n\nThese exclamations and remarks checked Raskolnikov, and the words, \"I am\na murderer,\" which were perhaps on the point of dropping from his lips,\ndied away. He bore these remarks quietly, however, and, without looking\nround, he turned down a street leading to the police office. He had a\nglimpse of something on the way which did not surprise him; he had felt\nthat it must be so. The second time he bowed down in the Hay Market he\nsaw, standing fifty paces from him on the left, Sonia. She was hiding\nfrom him behind one of the wooden shanties in the market-place. She had\nfollowed him then on his painful way! Raskolnikov at that moment felt\nand knew once for all that Sonia was with him for ever and would follow\nhim to the ends of the earth, wherever fate might take him. It wrung his\nheart... but he was just reaching the fatal place.\n\nHe went into the yard fairly resolutely. He had to mount to the third\nstorey. \"I shall be some time going up,\" he thought. He felt as though\nthe fateful moment was still far off, as though he had plenty of time\nleft for consideration.\n\nAgain the same rubbish, the same eggshells lying about on the spiral\nstairs, again the open doors of the flats, again the same kitchens and\nthe same fumes and stench coming from them. Raskolnikov had not been\nhere since that day. His legs were numb and gave way under him, but\nstill they moved forward. He stopped for a moment to take breath, to\ncollect himself, so as to enter _like a man_. \"But why? what for?\" he\nwondered, reflecting. \"If I must drink the cup what difference does it\nmake? The more revolting the better.\" He imagined for an instant the\nfigure of the \"explosive lieutenant,\" Ilya Petrovitch. Was he actually\ngoing to him? Couldn't he go to someone else? To Nikodim Fomitch?\nCouldn't he turn back and go straight to Nikodim Fomitch's lodgings?\nAt least then it would be done privately.... No, no! To the \"explosive\nlieutenant\"! If he must drink it, drink it off at once.\n\nTurning cold and hardly conscious, he opened the door of the office.\nThere were very few people in it this time--only a house porter and a\npeasant. The doorkeeper did not even peep out from behind his screen.\nRaskolnikov walked into the next room. \"Perhaps I still need not speak,\"\npassed through his mind. Some sort of clerk not wearing a uniform was\nsettling himself at a bureau to write. In a corner another clerk was\nseating himself. Zametov was not there, nor, of course, Nikodim Fomitch.\n\n\"No one in?\" Raskolnikov asked, addressing the person at the bureau.\n\n\"Whom do you want?\"\n\n\"A-ah! Not a sound was heard, not a sight was seen, but I scent the\nRussian... how does it go on in the fairy tale... I've forgotten! 'At\nyour service!'\" a familiar voice cried suddenly.\n\nRaskolnikov shuddered. The Explosive Lieutenant stood before him. He\nhad just come in from the third room. \"It is the hand of fate,\" thought\nRaskolnikov. \"Why is he here?\"\n\n\"You've come to see us? What about?\" cried Ilya Petrovitch. He\nwas obviously in an exceedingly good humour and perhaps a trifle\nexhilarated. \"If it's on business you are rather early.[*] It's only a\nchance that I am here... however I'll do what I can. I must admit, I...\nwhat is it, what is it? Excuse me....\"\n\n     [*] Dostoevsky appears to have forgotten that it is after\n     sunset, and that the last time Raskolnikov visited the\n     police office at two in the afternoon he was reproached for\n     coming too late.--TRANSLATOR.\n\n\"Raskolnikov.\"\n\n\"Of course, Raskolnikov. You didn't imagine I'd forgotten? Don't think I\nam like that... Rodion Ro--Ro--Rodionovitch, that's it, isn't it?\"\n\n\"Rodion Romanovitch.\"\n\n\"Yes, yes, of course, Rodion Romanovitch! I was just getting at it. I\nmade many inquiries about you. I assure you I've been genuinely grieved\nsince that... since I behaved like that... it was explained to me\nafterwards that you were a literary man... and a learned one too... and\nso to say the first steps... Mercy on us! What literary or scientific\nman does not begin by some originality of conduct! My wife and I have\nthe greatest respect for literature, in my wife it's a genuine passion!\nLiterature and art! If only a man is a gentleman, all the rest can be\ngained by talents, learning, good sense, genius. As for a hat--well,\nwhat does a hat matter? I can buy a hat as easily as I can a bun; but\nwhat's under the hat, what the hat covers, I can't buy that! I was even\nmeaning to come and apologise to you, but thought maybe you'd... But I\nam forgetting to ask you, is there anything you want really? I hear your\nfamily have come?\"\n\n\"Yes, my mother and sister.\"\n\n\"I've even had the honour and happiness of meeting your sister--a highly\ncultivated and charming person. I confess I was sorry I got so hot with\nyou. There it is! But as for my looking suspiciously at your fainting\nfit--that affair has been cleared up splendidly! Bigotry and fanaticism!\nI understand your indignation. Perhaps you are changing your lodging on\naccount of your family's arriving?\"\n\n\"No, I only looked in... I came to ask... I thought that I should find\nZametov here.\"\n\n\"Oh, yes! Of course, you've made friends, I heard. Well, no, Zametov is\nnot here. Yes, we've lost Zametov. He's not been here since yesterday...\nhe quarrelled with everyone on leaving... in the rudest way. He is a\nfeather-headed youngster, that's all; one might have expected something\nfrom him, but there, you know what they are, our brilliant young men.\nHe wanted to go in for some examination, but it's only to talk and\nboast about it, it will go no further than that. Of course it's a very\ndifferent matter with you or Mr. Razumihin there, your friend. Your\ncareer is an intellectual one and you won't be deterred by failure. For\nyou, one may say, all the attractions of life _nihil est_--you are an\nascetic, a monk, a hermit!... A book, a pen behind your ear, a learned\nresearch--that's where your spirit soars! I am the same way myself....\nHave you read Livingstone's Travels?\"\n\n\"No.\"\n\n\"Oh, I have. There are a great many Nihilists about nowadays, you know,\nand indeed it is not to be wondered at. What sort of days are they? I\nask you. But we thought... you are not a Nihilist of course? Answer me\nopenly, openly!\"\n\n\"N-no...\"\n\n\"Believe me, you can speak openly to me as you would to yourself!\nOfficial duty is one thing but... you are thinking I meant to say\n_friendship_ is quite another? No, you're wrong! It's not friendship,\nbut the feeling of a man and a citizen, the feeling of humanity and of\nlove for the Almighty. I may be an official, but I am always bound\nto feel myself a man and a citizen.... You were asking about Zametov.\nZametov will make a scandal in the French style in a house of bad\nreputation, over a glass of champagne... that's all your Zametov is good\nfor! While I'm perhaps, so to speak, burning with devotion and lofty\nfeelings, and besides I have rank, consequence, a post! I am married and\nhave children, I fulfil the duties of a man and a citizen, but who is\nhe, may I ask? I appeal to you as a man ennobled by education... Then\nthese midwives, too, have become extraordinarily numerous.\"\n\nRaskolnikov raised his eyebrows inquiringly. The words of Ilya\nPetrovitch, who had obviously been dining, were for the most part a\nstream of empty sounds for him. But some of them he understood. He\nlooked at him inquiringly, not knowing how it would end.\n\n\"I mean those crop-headed wenches,\" the talkative Ilya Petrovitch\ncontinued. \"Midwives is my name for them. I think it a very satisfactory\none, ha-ha! They go to the Academy, study anatomy. If I fall ill, am\nI to send for a young lady to treat me? What do you say? Ha-ha!\" Ilya\nPetrovitch laughed, quite pleased with his own wit. \"It's an immoderate\nzeal for education, but once you're educated, that's enough. Why abuse\nit? Why insult honourable people, as that scoundrel Zametov does? Why\ndid he insult me, I ask you? Look at these suicides, too, how common\nthey are, you can't fancy! People spend their last halfpenny and kill\nthemselves, boys and girls and old people. Only this morning we heard\nabout a gentleman who had just come to town. Nil Pavlitch, I say, what\nwas the name of that gentleman who shot himself?\"\n\n\"Svidrigailov,\" someone answered from the other room with drowsy\nlistlessness.\n\nRaskolnikov started.\n\n\"Svidrigailov! Svidrigailov has shot himself!\" he cried.\n\n\"What, do you know Svidrigailov?\"\n\n\"Yes... I knew him.... He hadn't been here long.\"\n\n\"Yes, that's so. He had lost his wife, was a man of reckless habits and\nall of a sudden shot himself, and in such a shocking way.... He left\nin his notebook a few words: that he dies in full possession of his\nfaculties and that no one is to blame for his death. He had money, they\nsay. How did you come to know him?\"\n\n\"I... was acquainted... my sister was governess in his family.\"\n\n\"Bah-bah-bah! Then no doubt you can tell us something about him. You had\nno suspicion?\"\n\n\"I saw him yesterday... he... was drinking wine; I knew nothing.\"\n\nRaskolnikov felt as though something had fallen on him and was stifling\nhim.\n\n\"You've turned pale again. It's so stuffy here...\"\n\n\"Yes, I must go,\" muttered Raskolnikov. \"Excuse my troubling you....\"\n\n\"Oh, not at all, as often as you like. It's a pleasure to see you and I\nam glad to say so.\"\n\nIlya Petrovitch held out his hand.\n\n\"I only wanted... I came to see Zametov.\"\n\n\"I understand, I understand, and it's a pleasure to see you.\"\n\n\"I... am very glad... good-bye,\" Raskolnikov smiled.\n\nHe went out; he reeled, he was overtaken with giddiness and did not know\nwhat he was doing. He began going down the stairs, supporting himself\nwith his right hand against the wall. He fancied that a porter pushed\npast him on his way upstairs to the police office, that a dog in\nthe lower storey kept up a shrill barking and that a woman flung a\nrolling-pin at it and shouted. He went down and out into the yard.\nThere, not far from the entrance, stood Sonia, pale and horror-stricken.\nShe looked wildly at him. He stood still before her. There was a look of\npoignant agony, of despair, in her face. She clasped her hands. His lips\nworked in an ugly, meaningless smile. He stood still a minute, grinned\nand went back to the police office.\n\nIlya Petrovitch had sat down and was rummaging among some papers. Before\nhim stood the same peasant who had pushed by on the stairs.\n\n\"Hulloa! Back again! have you left something behind? What's the matter?\"\n\nRaskolnikov, with white lips and staring eyes, came slowly nearer.\nHe walked right to the table, leaned his hand on it, tried to say\nsomething, but could not; only incoherent sounds were audible.\n\n\"You are feeling ill, a chair! Here, sit down! Some water!\"\n\nRaskolnikov dropped on to a chair, but he kept his eyes fixed on the\nface of Ilya Petrovitch, which expressed unpleasant surprise. Both\nlooked at one another for a minute and waited. Water was brought.\n\n\"It was I...\" began Raskolnikov.\n\n\"Drink some water.\"\n\nRaskolnikov refused the water with his hand, and softly and brokenly,\nbut distinctly said:\n\n\"_It was I killed the old pawnbroker woman and her sister Lizaveta with\nan axe and robbed them._\"\n\nIlya Petrovitch opened his mouth. People ran up on all sides.\n\nRaskolnikov repeated his statement.\n\n\n\nEPILOGUE\n\nI\n\nSiberia. On the banks of a broad solitary river stands a town, one of\nthe administrative centres of Russia; in the town there is a fortress,\nin the fortress there is a prison. In the prison the second-class\nconvict Rodion Raskolnikov has been confined for nine months. Almost a\nyear and a half has passed since his crime.\n\nThere had been little difficulty about his trial. The criminal adhered\nexactly, firmly, and clearly to his statement. He did not confuse nor\nmisrepresent the facts, nor soften them in his own interest, nor omit\nthe smallest detail. He explained every incident of the murder, the\nsecret of _the pledge_ (the piece of wood with a strip of metal) which\nwas found in the murdered woman's hand. He described minutely how he\nhad taken her keys, what they were like, as well as the chest and its\ncontents; he explained the mystery of Lizaveta's murder; described how\nKoch and, after him, the student knocked, and repeated all they had said\nto one another; how he afterwards had run downstairs and heard Nikolay\nand Dmitri shouting; how he had hidden in the empty flat and afterwards\ngone home. He ended by indicating the stone in the yard off the\nVoznesensky Prospect under which the purse and the trinkets were found.\nThe whole thing, in fact, was perfectly clear. The lawyers and the\njudges were very much struck, among other things, by the fact that he\nhad hidden the trinkets and the purse under a stone, without making\nuse of them, and that, what was more, he did not now remember what the\ntrinkets were like, or even how many there were. The fact that he had\nnever opened the purse and did not even know how much was in it seemed\nincredible. There turned out to be in the purse three hundred and\nseventeen roubles and sixty copecks. From being so long under the stone,\nsome of the most valuable notes lying uppermost had suffered from the\ndamp. They were a long while trying to discover why the accused man\nshould tell a lie about this, when about everything else he had made\na truthful and straightforward confession. Finally some of the lawyers\nmore versed in psychology admitted that it was possible he had really\nnot looked into the purse, and so didn't know what was in it when he\nhid it under the stone. But they immediately drew the deduction that\nthe crime could only have been committed through temporary mental\nderangement, through homicidal mania, without object or the pursuit of\ngain. This fell in with the most recent fashionable theory of temporary\ninsanity, so often applied in our days in criminal cases. Moreover\nRaskolnikov's hypochondriacal condition was proved by many witnesses, by\nDr. Zossimov, his former fellow students, his landlady and her servant.\nAll this pointed strongly to the conclusion that Raskolnikov was not\nquite like an ordinary murderer and robber, but that there was another\nelement in the case.\n\nTo the intense annoyance of those who maintained this opinion, the\ncriminal scarcely attempted to defend himself. To the decisive question\nas to what motive impelled him to the murder and the robbery, he\nanswered very clearly with the coarsest frankness that the cause was\nhis miserable position, his poverty and helplessness, and his desire to\nprovide for his first steps in life by the help of the three thousand\nroubles he had reckoned on finding. He had been led to the murder\nthrough his shallow and cowardly nature, exasperated moreover by\nprivation and failure. To the question what led him to confess, he\nanswered that it was his heartfelt repentance. All this was almost\ncoarse....\n\nThe sentence however was more merciful than could have been expected,\nperhaps partly because the criminal had not tried to justify himself,\nbut had rather shown a desire to exaggerate his guilt. All the strange\nand peculiar circumstances of the crime were taken into consideration.\nThere could be no doubt of the abnormal and poverty-stricken condition\nof the criminal at the time. The fact that he had made no use of what he\nhad stolen was put down partly to the effect of remorse, partly to his\nabnormal mental condition at the time of the crime. Incidentally the\nmurder of Lizaveta served indeed to confirm the last hypothesis: a man\ncommits two murders and forgets that the door is open! Finally, the\nconfession, at the very moment when the case was hopelessly muddled by\nthe false evidence given by Nikolay through melancholy and fanaticism,\nand when, moreover, there were no proofs against the real criminal, no\nsuspicions even (Porfiry Petrovitch fully kept his word)--all this did\nmuch to soften the sentence. Other circumstances, too, in the prisoner's\nfavour came out quite unexpectedly. Razumihin somehow discovered and\nproved that while Raskolnikov was at the university he had helped a poor\nconsumptive fellow student and had spent his last penny on supporting\nhim for six months, and when this student died, leaving a decrepit\nold father whom he had maintained almost from his thirteenth year,\nRaskolnikov had got the old man into a hospital and paid for his funeral\nwhen he died. Raskolnikov's landlady bore witness, too, that when they\nhad lived in another house at Five Corners, Raskolnikov had rescued two\nlittle children from a house on fire and was burnt in doing so. This was\ninvestigated and fairly well confirmed by many witnesses. These facts\nmade an impression in his favour.\n\nAnd in the end the criminal was, in consideration of extenuating\ncircumstances, condemned to penal servitude in the second class for a\nterm of eight years only.\n\nAt the very beginning of the trial Raskolnikov's mother fell ill. Dounia\nand Razumihin found it possible to get her out of Petersburg during the\ntrial. Razumihin chose a town on the railway not far from Petersburg, so\nas to be able to follow every step of the trial and at the same time\nto see Avdotya Romanovna as often as possible. Pulcheria Alexandrovna's\nillness was a strange nervous one and was accompanied by a partial\nderangement of her intellect.\n\nWhen Dounia returned from her last interview with her brother, she\nhad found her mother already ill, in feverish delirium. That evening\nRazumihin and she agreed what answers they must make to her mother's\nquestions about Raskolnikov and made up a complete story for her\nmother's benefit of his having to go away to a distant part of Russia\non a business commission, which would bring him in the end money and\nreputation.\n\nBut they were struck by the fact that Pulcheria Alexandrovna never\nasked them anything on the subject, neither then nor thereafter. On the\ncontrary, she had her own version of her son's sudden departure; she\ntold them with tears how he had come to say good-bye to her, hinting\nthat she alone knew many mysterious and important facts, and that Rodya\nhad many very powerful enemies, so that it was necessary for him to be\nin hiding. As for his future career, she had no doubt that it would be\nbrilliant when certain sinister influences could be removed. She assured\nRazumihin that her son would be one day a great statesman, that his\narticle and brilliant literary talent proved it. This article she was\ncontinually reading, she even read it aloud, almost took it to bed\nwith her, but scarcely asked where Rodya was, though the subject was\nobviously avoided by the others, which might have been enough to awaken\nher suspicions.\n\nThey began to be frightened at last at Pulcheria Alexandrovna's strange\nsilence on certain subjects. She did not, for instance, complain of\ngetting no letters from him, though in previous years she had only lived\non the hope of letters from her beloved Rodya. This was the cause of\ngreat uneasiness to Dounia; the idea occurred to her that her mother\nsuspected that there was something terrible in her son's fate and was\nafraid to ask, for fear of hearing something still more awful. In any\ncase, Dounia saw clearly that her mother was not in full possession of\nher faculties.\n\nIt happened once or twice, however, that Pulcheria Alexandrovna gave\nsuch a turn to the conversation that it was impossible to answer her\nwithout mentioning where Rodya was, and on receiving unsatisfactory and\nsuspicious answers she became at once gloomy and silent, and this mood\nlasted for a long time. Dounia saw at last that it was hard to deceive\nher and came to the conclusion that it was better to be absolutely\nsilent on certain points; but it became more and more evident that\nthe poor mother suspected something terrible. Dounia remembered her\nbrother's telling her that her mother had overheard her talking in her\nsleep on the night after her interview with Svidrigailov and before the\nfatal day of the confession: had not she made out something from that?\nSometimes days and even weeks of gloomy silence and tears would be\nsucceeded by a period of hysterical animation, and the invalid would\nbegin to talk almost incessantly of her son, of her hopes of his\nfuture.... Her fancies were sometimes very strange. They humoured her,\npretended to agree with her (she saw perhaps that they were pretending),\nbut she still went on talking.\n\nFive months after Raskolnikov's confession, he was sentenced. Razumihin\nand Sonia saw him in prison as often as it was possible. At last\nthe moment of separation came. Dounia swore to her brother that the\nseparation should not be for ever, Razumihin did the same. Razumihin, in\nhis youthful ardour, had firmly resolved to lay the foundations at least\nof a secure livelihood during the next three or four years, and saving\nup a certain sum, to emigrate to Siberia, a country rich in every\nnatural resource and in need of workers, active men and capital. There\nthey would settle in the town where Rodya was and all together would\nbegin a new life. They all wept at parting.\n\nRaskolnikov had been very dreamy for a few days before. He asked a great\ndeal about his mother and was constantly anxious about her. He worried\nso much about her that it alarmed Dounia. When he heard about his\nmother's illness he became very gloomy. With Sonia he was particularly\nreserved all the time. With the help of the money left to her by\nSvidrigailov, Sonia had long ago made her preparations to follow the\nparty of convicts in which he was despatched to Siberia. Not a word\npassed between Raskolnikov and her on the subject, but both knew it\nwould be so. At the final leave-taking he smiled strangely at his\nsister's and Razumihin's fervent anticipations of their happy future\ntogether when he should come out of prison. He predicted that their\nmother's illness would soon have a fatal ending. Sonia and he at last\nset off.\n\nTwo months later Dounia was married to Razumihin. It was a quiet and\nsorrowful wedding; Porfiry Petrovitch and Zossimov were invited however.\nDuring all this period Razumihin wore an air of resolute determination.\nDounia put implicit faith in his carrying out his plans and indeed she\ncould not but believe in him. He displayed a rare strength of will.\nAmong other things he began attending university lectures again in order\nto take his degree. They were continually making plans for the future;\nboth counted on settling in Siberia within five years at least. Till\nthen they rested their hopes on Sonia.\n\nPulcheria Alexandrovna was delighted to give her blessing to Dounia's\nmarriage with Razumihin; but after the marriage she became even more\nmelancholy and anxious. To give her pleasure Razumihin told her how\nRaskolnikov had looked after the poor student and his decrepit father\nand how a year ago he had been burnt and injured in rescuing two\nlittle children from a fire. These two pieces of news excited Pulcheria\nAlexandrovna's disordered imagination almost to ecstasy. She was\ncontinually talking about them, even entering into conversation with\nstrangers in the street, though Dounia always accompanied her. In public\nconveyances and shops, wherever she could capture a listener, she would\nbegin the discourse about her son, his article, how he had helped the\nstudent, how he had been burnt at the fire, and so on! Dounia did\nnot know how to restrain her. Apart from the danger of her morbid\nexcitement, there was the risk of someone's recalling Raskolnikov's name\nand speaking of the recent trial. Pulcheria Alexandrovna found out the\naddress of the mother of the two children her son had saved and insisted\non going to see her.\n\nAt last her restlessness reached an extreme point. She would sometimes\nbegin to cry suddenly and was often ill and feverishly delirious. One\nmorning she declared that by her reckoning Rodya ought soon to be home,\nthat she remembered when he said good-bye to her he said that they must\nexpect him back in nine months. She began to prepare for his coming,\nbegan to do up her room for him, to clean the furniture, to wash and\nput up new hangings and so on. Dounia was anxious, but said nothing and\nhelped her to arrange the room. After a fatiguing day spent in continual\nfancies, in joyful day-dreams and tears, Pulcheria Alexandrovna was\ntaken ill in the night and by morning she was feverish and delirious.\nIt was brain fever. She died within a fortnight. In her delirium she\ndropped words which showed that she knew a great deal more about her\nson's terrible fate than they had supposed.\n\nFor a long time Raskolnikov did not know of his mother's death, though\na regular correspondence had been maintained from the time he reached\nSiberia. It was carried on by means of Sonia, who wrote every month\nto the Razumihins and received an answer with unfailing regularity. At\nfirst they found Sonia's letters dry and unsatisfactory, but later on\nthey came to the conclusion that the letters could not be better, for\nfrom these letters they received a complete picture of their unfortunate\nbrother's life. Sonia's letters were full of the most matter-of-fact\ndetail, the simplest and clearest description of all Raskolnikov's\nsurroundings as a convict. There was no word of her own hopes, no\nconjecture as to the future, no description of her feelings. Instead of\nany attempt to interpret his state of mind and inner life, she gave the\nsimple facts--that is, his own words, an exact account of his health,\nwhat he asked for at their interviews, what commission he gave her\nand so on. All these facts she gave with extraordinary minuteness. The\npicture of their unhappy brother stood out at last with great clearness\nand precision. There could be no mistake, because nothing was given but\nfacts.\n\nBut Dounia and her husband could get little comfort out of the news,\nespecially at first. Sonia wrote that he was constantly sullen and not\nready to talk, that he scarcely seemed interested in the news she gave\nhim from their letters, that he sometimes asked after his mother and\nthat when, seeing that he had guessed the truth, she told him at last\nof her death, she was surprised to find that he did not seem greatly\naffected by it, not externally at any rate. She told them that, although\nhe seemed so wrapped up in himself and, as it were, shut himself off\nfrom everyone--he took a very direct and simple view of his new life;\nthat he understood his position, expected nothing better for the time,\nhad no ill-founded hopes (as is so common in his position) and scarcely\nseemed surprised at anything in his surroundings, so unlike anything he\nhad known before. She wrote that his health was satisfactory; he did his\nwork without shirking or seeking to do more; he was almost indifferent\nabout food, but except on Sundays and holidays the food was so bad that\nat last he had been glad to accept some money from her, Sonia, to have\nhis own tea every day. He begged her not to trouble about anything else,\ndeclaring that all this fuss about him only annoyed him. Sonia wrote\nfurther that in prison he shared the same room with the rest, that she\nhad not seen the inside of their barracks, but concluded that they were\ncrowded, miserable and unhealthy; that he slept on a plank bed with a\nrug under him and was unwilling to make any other arrangement. But that\nhe lived so poorly and roughly, not from any plan or design, but simply\nfrom inattention and indifference.\n\nSonia wrote simply that he had at first shown no interest in her visits,\nhad almost been vexed with her indeed for coming, unwilling to talk and\nrude to her. But that in the end these visits had become a habit and\nalmost a necessity for him, so that he was positively distressed when\nshe was ill for some days and could not visit him. She used to see him\non holidays at the prison gates or in the guard-room, to which he was\nbrought for a few minutes to see her. On working days she would go to\nsee him at work either at the workshops or at the brick kilns, or at the\nsheds on the banks of the Irtish.\n\nAbout herself, Sonia wrote that she had succeeded in making some\nacquaintances in the town, that she did sewing, and, as there\nwas scarcely a dressmaker in the town, she was looked upon as an\nindispensable person in many houses. But she did not mention that the\nauthorities were, through her, interested in Raskolnikov; that his task\nwas lightened and so on.\n\nAt last the news came (Dounia had indeed noticed signs of alarm and\nuneasiness in the preceding letters) that he held aloof from everyone,\nthat his fellow prisoners did not like him, that he kept silent for days\nat a time and was becoming very pale. In the last letter Sonia wrote\nthat he had been taken very seriously ill and was in the convict ward of\nthe hospital.\n\n\n\nII\n\nHe was ill a long time. But it was not the horrors of prison life, not\nthe hard labour, the bad food, the shaven head, or the patched clothes\nthat crushed him. What did he care for all those trials and hardships!\nhe was even glad of the hard work. Physically exhausted, he could at\nleast reckon on a few hours of quiet sleep. And what was the food to\nhim--the thin cabbage soup with beetles floating in it? In the past as a\nstudent he had often not had even that. His clothes were warm and suited\nto his manner of life. He did not even feel the fetters. Was he ashamed\nof his shaven head and parti-coloured coat? Before whom? Before Sonia?\nSonia was afraid of him, how could he be ashamed before her? And yet he\nwas ashamed even before Sonia, whom he tortured because of it with\nhis contemptuous rough manner. But it was not his shaven head and his\nfetters he was ashamed of: his pride had been stung to the quick. It was\nwounded pride that made him ill. Oh, how happy he would have been if he\ncould have blamed himself! He could have borne anything then, even\nshame and disgrace. But he judged himself severely, and his exasperated\nconscience found no particularly terrible fault in his past, except\na simple _blunder_ which might happen to anyone. He was ashamed just\nbecause he, Raskolnikov, had so hopelessly, stupidly come to grief\nthrough some decree of blind fate, and must humble himself and submit to\n\"the idiocy\" of a sentence, if he were anyhow to be at peace.\n\nVague and objectless anxiety in the present, and in the future a\ncontinual sacrifice leading to nothing--that was all that lay before\nhim. And what comfort was it to him that at the end of eight years he\nwould only be thirty-two and able to begin a new life! What had he to\nlive for? What had he to look forward to? Why should he strive? To live\nin order to exist? Why, he had been ready a thousand times before to\ngive up existence for the sake of an idea, for a hope, even for a fancy.\nMere existence had always been too little for him; he had always wanted\nmore. Perhaps it was just because of the strength of his desires that he\nhad thought himself a man to whom more was permissible than to others.\n\nAnd if only fate would have sent him repentance--burning repentance that\nwould have torn his heart and robbed him of sleep, that repentance, the\nawful agony of which brings visions of hanging or drowning! Oh, he would\nhave been glad of it! Tears and agonies would at least have been life.\nBut he did not repent of his crime.\n\nAt least he might have found relief in raging at his stupidity, as he\nhad raged at the grotesque blunders that had brought him to prison.\nBut now in prison, _in freedom_, he thought over and criticised all his\nactions again and by no means found them so blundering and so grotesque\nas they had seemed at the fatal time.\n\n\"In what way,\" he asked himself, \"was my theory stupider than others\nthat have swarmed and clashed from the beginning of the world? One has\nonly to look at the thing quite independently, broadly, and uninfluenced\nby commonplace ideas, and my idea will by no means seem so... strange.\nOh, sceptics and halfpenny philosophers, why do you halt half-way!\n\n\"Why does my action strike them as so horrible?\" he said to himself. \"Is\nit because it was a crime? What is meant by crime? My conscience is at\nrest. Of course, it was a legal crime, of course, the letter of the law\nwas broken and blood was shed. Well, punish me for the letter of the\nlaw... and that's enough. Of course, in that case many of the\nbenefactors of mankind who snatched power for themselves instead of\ninheriting it ought to have been punished at their first steps. But\nthose men succeeded and so _they were right_, and I didn't, and so I\nhad no right to have taken that step.\"\n\nIt was only in that that he recognised his criminality, only in the fact\nthat he had been unsuccessful and had confessed it.\n\nHe suffered too from the question: why had he not killed himself? Why\nhad he stood looking at the river and preferred to confess? Was the\ndesire to live so strong and was it so hard to overcome it? Had not\nSvidrigailov overcome it, although he was afraid of death?\n\nIn misery he asked himself this question, and could not understand that,\nat the very time he had been standing looking into the river, he had\nperhaps been dimly conscious of the fundamental falsity in himself and\nhis convictions. He didn't understand that that consciousness might be\nthe promise of a future crisis, of a new view of life and of his future\nresurrection.\n\nHe preferred to attribute it to the dead weight of instinct which he\ncould not step over, again through weakness and meanness. He looked at\nhis fellow prisoners and was amazed to see how they all loved life and\nprized it. It seemed to him that they loved and valued life more in\nprison than in freedom. What terrible agonies and privations some of\nthem, the tramps for instance, had endured! Could they care so much for\na ray of sunshine, for the primeval forest, the cold spring hidden away\nin some unseen spot, which the tramp had marked three years before, and\nlonged to see again, as he might to see his sweetheart, dreaming of the\ngreen grass round it and the bird singing in the bush? As he went on he\nsaw still more inexplicable examples.\n\nIn prison, of course, there was a great deal he did not see and did not\nwant to see; he lived as it were with downcast eyes. It was loathsome\nand unbearable for him to look. But in the end there was much that\nsurprised him and he began, as it were involuntarily, to notice much\nthat he had not suspected before. What surprised him most of all was\nthe terrible impossible gulf that lay between him and all the rest. They\nseemed to be a different species, and he looked at them and they at\nhim with distrust and hostility. He felt and knew the reasons of his\nisolation, but he would never have admitted till then that those reasons\nwere so deep and strong. There were some Polish exiles, political\nprisoners, among them. They simply looked down upon all the rest as\nignorant churls; but Raskolnikov could not look upon them like that.\nHe saw that these ignorant men were in many respects far wiser than the\nPoles. There were some Russians who were just as contemptuous, a former\nofficer and two seminarists. Raskolnikov saw their mistake as clearly.\nHe was disliked and avoided by everyone; they even began to hate him at\nlast--why, he could not tell. Men who had been far more guilty despised\nand laughed at his crime.\n\n\"You're a gentleman,\" they used to say. \"You shouldn't hack about with\nan axe; that's not a gentleman's work.\"\n\nThe second week in Lent, his turn came to take the sacrament with his\ngang. He went to church and prayed with the others. A quarrel broke out\none day, he did not know how. All fell on him at once in a fury.\n\n\"You're an infidel! You don't believe in God,\" they shouted. \"You ought\nto be killed.\"\n\nHe had never talked to them about God nor his belief, but they wanted to\nkill him as an infidel. He said nothing. One of the prisoners rushed at\nhim in a perfect frenzy. Raskolnikov awaited him calmly and silently;\nhis eyebrows did not quiver, his face did not flinch. The guard\nsucceeded in intervening between him and his assailant, or there would\nhave been bloodshed.\n\nThere was another question he could not decide: why were they all so\nfond of Sonia? She did not try to win their favour; she rarely met\nthem, sometimes only she came to see him at work for a moment. And yet\neverybody knew her, they knew that she had come out to follow _him_,\nknew how and where she lived. She never gave them money, did them no\nparticular services. Only once at Christmas she sent them all presents\nof pies and rolls. But by degrees closer relations sprang up between\nthem and Sonia. She would write and post letters for them to their\nrelations. Relations of the prisoners who visited the town, at their\ninstructions, left with Sonia presents and money for them. Their wives\nand sweethearts knew her and used to visit her. And when she visited\nRaskolnikov at work, or met a party of the prisoners on the road, they\nall took off their hats to her. \"Little mother Sofya Semyonovna, you\nare our dear, good little mother,\" coarse branded criminals said to that\nfrail little creature. She would smile and bow to them and everyone was\ndelighted when she smiled. They even admired her gait and turned round\nto watch her walking; they admired her too for being so little, and, in\nfact, did not know what to admire her most for. They even came to her\nfor help in their illnesses.\n\nHe was in the hospital from the middle of Lent till after Easter. When\nhe was better, he remembered the dreams he had had while he was feverish\nand delirious. He dreamt that the whole world was condemned to a\nterrible new strange plague that had come to Europe from the depths of\nAsia. All were to be destroyed except a very few chosen. Some new sorts\nof microbes were attacking the bodies of men, but these microbes were\nendowed with intelligence and will. Men attacked by them became at once\nmad and furious. But never had men considered themselves so intellectual\nand so completely in possession of the truth as these sufferers, never\nhad they considered their decisions, their scientific conclusions, their\nmoral convictions so infallible. Whole villages, whole towns and peoples\nwent mad from the infection. All were excited and did not understand\none another. Each thought that he alone had the truth and was wretched\nlooking at the others, beat himself on the breast, wept, and wrung\nhis hands. They did not know how to judge and could not agree what to\nconsider evil and what good; they did not know whom to blame, whom\nto justify. Men killed each other in a sort of senseless spite. They\ngathered together in armies against one another, but even on the march\nthe armies would begin attacking each other, the ranks would be broken\nand the soldiers would fall on each other, stabbing and cutting, biting\nand devouring each other. The alarm bell was ringing all day long in\nthe towns; men rushed together, but why they were summoned and who was\nsummoning them no one knew. The most ordinary trades were abandoned,\nbecause everyone proposed his own ideas, his own improvements, and they\ncould not agree. The land too was abandoned. Men met in groups, agreed\non something, swore to keep together, but at once began on something\nquite different from what they had proposed. They accused one another,\nfought and killed each other. There were conflagrations and famine. All\nmen and all things were involved in destruction. The plague spread and\nmoved further and further. Only a few men could be saved in the whole\nworld. They were a pure chosen people, destined to found a new race and\na new life, to renew and purify the earth, but no one had seen these\nmen, no one had heard their words and their voices.\n\nRaskolnikov was worried that this senseless dream haunted his memory so\nmiserably, the impression of this feverish delirium persisted so long.\nThe second week after Easter had come. There were warm bright spring\ndays; in the prison ward the grating windows under which the sentinel\npaced were opened. Sonia had only been able to visit him twice during\nhis illness; each time she had to obtain permission, and it was\ndifficult. But she often used to come to the hospital yard, especially\nin the evening, sometimes only to stand a minute and look up at the\nwindows of the ward.\n\nOne evening, when he was almost well again, Raskolnikov fell asleep. On\nwaking up he chanced to go to the window, and at once saw Sonia in the\ndistance at the hospital gate. She seemed to be waiting for someone.\nSomething stabbed him to the heart at that minute. He shuddered and\nmoved away from the window. Next day Sonia did not come, nor the day\nafter; he noticed that he was expecting her uneasily. At last he was\ndischarged. On reaching the prison he learnt from the convicts that\nSofya Semyonovna was lying ill at home and was unable to go out.\n\nHe was very uneasy and sent to inquire after her; he soon learnt that\nher illness was not dangerous. Hearing that he was anxious about her,\nSonia sent him a pencilled note, telling him that she was much better,\nthat she had a slight cold and that she would soon, very soon come and\nsee him at his work. His heart throbbed painfully as he read it.\n\nAgain it was a warm bright day. Early in the morning, at six o'clock, he\nwent off to work on the river bank, where they used to pound alabaster\nand where there was a kiln for baking it in a shed. There were only\nthree of them sent. One of the convicts went with the guard to the\nfortress to fetch a tool; the other began getting the wood ready and\nlaying it in the kiln. Raskolnikov came out of the shed on to the river\nbank, sat down on a heap of logs by the shed and began gazing at the\nwide deserted river. From the high bank a broad landscape opened before\nhim, the sound of singing floated faintly audible from the other bank.\nIn the vast steppe, bathed in sunshine, he could just see, like black\nspecks, the nomads' tents. There there was freedom, there other men were\nliving, utterly unlike those here; there time itself seemed to stand\nstill, as though the age of Abraham and his flocks had not passed.\nRaskolnikov sat gazing, his thoughts passed into day-dreams, into\ncontemplation; he thought of nothing, but a vague restlessness excited\nand troubled him. Suddenly he found Sonia beside him; she had come up\nnoiselessly and sat down at his side. It was still quite early; the\nmorning chill was still keen. She wore her poor old burnous and the\ngreen shawl; her face still showed signs of illness, it was thinner and\npaler. She gave him a joyful smile of welcome, but held out her hand\nwith her usual timidity. She was always timid of holding out her hand\nto him and sometimes did not offer it at all, as though afraid he would\nrepel it. He always took her hand as though with repugnance, always\nseemed vexed to meet her and was sometimes obstinately silent throughout\nher visit. Sometimes she trembled before him and went away deeply\ngrieved. But now their hands did not part. He stole a rapid glance\nat her and dropped his eyes on the ground without speaking. They were\nalone, no one had seen them. The guard had turned away for the time.\n\nHow it happened he did not know. But all at once something seemed to\nseize him and fling him at her feet. He wept and threw his arms round\nher knees. For the first instant she was terribly frightened and she\nturned pale. She jumped up and looked at him trembling. But at the same\nmoment she understood, and a light of infinite happiness came into her\neyes. She knew and had no doubt that he loved her beyond everything and\nthat at last the moment had come....\n\nThey wanted to speak, but could not; tears stood in their eyes. They\nwere both pale and thin; but those sick pale faces were bright with the\ndawn of a new future, of a full resurrection into a new life. They were\nrenewed by love; the heart of each held infinite sources of life for the\nheart of the other.\n\nThey resolved to wait and be patient. They had another seven years to\nwait, and what terrible suffering and what infinite happiness before\nthem! But he had risen again and he knew it and felt it in all his\nbeing, while she--she only lived in his life.\n\nOn the evening of the same day, when the barracks were locked,\nRaskolnikov lay on his plank bed and thought of her. He had even fancied\nthat day that all the convicts who had been his enemies looked at him\ndifferently; he had even entered into talk with them and they answered\nhim in a friendly way. He remembered that now, and thought it was bound\nto be so. Wasn't everything now bound to be changed?\n\nHe thought of her. He remembered how continually he had tormented her\nand wounded her heart. He remembered her pale and thin little face.\nBut these recollections scarcely troubled him now; he knew with what\ninfinite love he would now repay all her sufferings. And what were all,\n_all_ the agonies of the past! Everything, even his crime, his sentence\nand imprisonment, seemed to him now in the first rush of feeling an\nexternal, strange fact with which he had no concern. But he could not\nthink for long together of anything that evening, and he could not have\nanalysed anything consciously; he was simply feeling. Life had stepped\ninto the place of theory and something quite different would work itself\nout in his mind.\n\nUnder his pillow lay the New Testament. He took it up mechanically.\nThe book belonged to Sonia; it was the one from which she had read the\nraising of Lazarus to him. At first he was afraid that she would worry\nhim about religion, would talk about the gospel and pester him with\nbooks. But to his great surprise she had not once approached the subject\nand had not even offered him the Testament. He had asked her for it\nhimself not long before his illness and she brought him the book without\na word. Till now he had not opened it.\n\nHe did not open it now, but one thought passed through his mind: \"Can\nher convictions not be mine now? Her feelings, her aspirations at\nleast....\"\n\nShe too had been greatly agitated that day, and at night she was taken\nill again. But she was so happy--and so unexpectedly happy--that she was\nalmost frightened of her happiness. Seven years, _only_ seven years! At\nthe beginning of their happiness at some moments they were both ready\nto look on those seven years as though they were seven days. He did not\nknow that the new life would not be given him for nothing, that he would\nhave to pay dearly for it, that it would cost him great striving, great\nsuffering.\n\nBut that is the beginning of a new story--the story of the gradual\nrenewal of a man, the story of his gradual regeneration, of his passing\nfrom one world into another, of his initiation into a new unknown life.\nThat might be the subject of a new story, but our present story is\nended."