CRIME AND PUNISHMENT

By Fyodor Dostoevsky

Translated By Constance Garnett

TRANSLATOR'S PREFACE

A few words about Dostoevsky himself may help the English reader tounderstand his work. 

Dostoevsky was the son of a doctor. His parents were very hard-workingand deeply religious people, but so poor that they lived with their fivechildren in only two rooms. The father and mother spent their eveningsin reading aloud to their children, generally from books of a seriouscharacter. 

Though always sickly and delicate Dostoevsky came out third in thefinal examination of the Petersburg school of Engineering. There he hadalready begun his first work, "Poor Folk. "

This story was published by the poet Nekrassov in his review andwas received with acclamations. The shy, unknown youth found himselfinstantly something of a celebrity. A brilliant and successful careerseemed to open before him, but those hopes were soon dashed. In 1849 hewas arrested. 

Though neither by temperament nor conviction a revolutionist, Dostoevskywas one of a little group of young men who met together to read Fourierand Proudhon. He was accused of "taking part in conversations againstthe censorship, of reading a letter from Byelinsky to Gogol, and ofknowing of the intention to set up a printing press. " Under NicholasI. (that "stern and just man, " as Maurice Baring calls him) this wasenough, and he was condemned to death. After eight months' imprisonmenthe was with twenty-one others taken out to the Semyonovsky Square tobe shot. Writing to his brother Mihail, Dostoevsky says: "They snappedwords over our heads, and they made us put on the white shirts worn bypersons condemned to death. Thereupon we were bound in threes to stakes, to suffer execution. Being the third in the row, I concluded I had onlya few minutes of life before me. I thought of you and your dear ones andI contrived to kiss Plestcheiev and Dourov, who were next to me, and tobid them farewell. Suddenly the troops beat a tattoo, we were unbound, brought back upon the scaffold, and informed that his Majesty had sparedus our lives. " The sentence was commuted to hard labour. 

One of the prisoners, Grigoryev, went mad as soon as he was untied, andnever regained his sanity. 

The intense suffering of this experience left a lasting stamp onDostoevsky's mind. Though his religious temper led him in the end toaccept every suffering with resignation and to regard it as a blessingin his own case, he constantly recurs to the subject in his writings. He describes the awful agony of the condemned man and insists on thecruelty of inflicting such torture. Then followed four years of penalservitude, spent in the company of common criminals in Siberia, wherehe began the "Dead House, " and some years of service in a disciplinarybattalion. 

He had shown signs of some obscure nervous disease before his arrestand this now developed into violent attacks of epilepsy, from which hesuffered for the rest of his life. The fits occurred three or four timesa year and were more frequent in periods of great strain. In 1859 he wasallowed to return to Russia. He started a journal--"Vremya, " which wasforbidden by the Censorship through a misunderstanding. In 1864 he losthis first wife and his brother Mihail. He was in terrible poverty, yethe took upon himself the payment of his brother's debts. He startedanother journal--"The Epoch, " which within a few months was alsoprohibited. He was weighed down by debt, his brother's family wasdependent on him, he was forced to write at heart-breaking speed, and issaid never to have corrected his work. The later years of his life weremuch softened by the tenderness and devotion of his second wife. 

In June 1880 he made his famous speech at the unveiling of themonument to Pushkin in Moscow and he was received with extraordinarydemonstrations of love and honour. 

A few months later Dostoevsky died. He was followed to the grave by avast multitude of mourners, who "gave the hapless man the funeral of aking. " He is still probably the most widely read writer in Russia. 

In the words of a Russian critic, who seeks to explain the feelinginspired by Dostoevsky: "He was one of ourselves, a man of our blood andour bone, but one who has suffered and has seen so much more deeply thanwe have his insight impresses us as wisdom. . . That wisdom of the heartwhich we seek that we may learn from it how to live. All his othergifts came to him from nature, this he won for himself and through it hebecame great. "

CRIME AND PUNISHMENT

PART I

CHAPTER I

On an exceptionally hot evening early in July a young man came out ofthe garret in which he lodged in S. Place and walked slowly, as thoughin hesitation, towards K. Bridge. 

He had successfully avoided meeting his landlady on the staircase. Hisgarret was under the roof of a high, five-storied house and was morelike a cupboard than a room. The landlady who provided him with garret, dinners, and attendance, lived on the floor below, and every timehe went out he was obliged to pass her kitchen, the door of whichinvariably stood open. And each time he passed, the young man had asick, frightened feeling, which made him scowl and feel ashamed. He washopelessly in debt to his landlady, and was afraid of meeting her. 

This was not because he was cowardly and abject, quite the contrary; butfor some time past he had been in an overstrained irritable condition, verging on hypochondria. He had become so completely absorbed inhimself, and isolated from his fellows that he dreaded meeting, notonly his landlady, but anyone at all. He was crushed by poverty, but theanxieties of his position had of late ceased to weigh upon him. He hadgiven up attending to matters of practical importance; he had lost alldesire to do so. Nothing that any landlady could do had a real terrorfor him. But to be stopped on the stairs, to be forced to listen to hertrivial, irrelevant gossip, to pestering demands for payment, threatsand complaints, and to rack his brains for excuses, to prevaricate, tolie--no, rather than that, he would creep down the stairs like a cat andslip out unseen. 

This evening, however, on coming out into the street, he became acutelyaware of his fears. 

"I want to attempt a thing _like that_ and am frightened by thesetrifles, " he thought, with an odd smile. "Hm. . . Yes, all is in a man'shands and he lets it all slip from cowardice, that's an axiom. It wouldbe interesting to know what it is men are most afraid of. Taking a newstep, uttering a new word is what they fear most. . . . But I am talkingtoo much. It's because I chatter that I do nothing. Or perhaps it isthat I chatter because I do nothing. I've learned to chatter thislast month, lying for days together in my den thinking. . . Of Jack theGiant-killer. Why am I going there now? Am I capable of _that_? Is_that_ serious? It is not serious at all. It's simply a fantasy to amusemyself; a plaything! Yes, maybe it is a plaything. "

The heat in the street was terrible: and the airlessness, the bustleand the plaster, scaffolding, bricks, and dust all about him, and thatspecial Petersburg stench, so familiar to all who are unable to get outof town in summer--all worked painfully upon the young man's alreadyoverwrought nerves. The insufferable stench from the pot-houses, whichare particularly numerous in that part of the town, and the drunken menwhom he met continually, although it was a working day, completedthe revolting misery of the picture. An expression of the profoundestdisgust gleamed for a moment in the young man's refined face. He was, by the way, exceptionally handsome, above the average in height, slim, well-built, with beautiful dark eyes and dark brown hair. Soon he sankinto deep thought, or more accurately speaking into a complete blanknessof mind; he walked along not observing what was about him and not caringto observe it. From time to time, he would mutter something, from thehabit of talking to himself, to which he had just confessed. At thesemoments he would become conscious that his ideas were sometimes in atangle and that he was very weak; for two days he had scarcely tastedfood. 

He was so badly dressed that even a man accustomed to shabbiness wouldhave been ashamed to be seen in the street in such rags. In that quarterof the town, however, scarcely any shortcoming in dress would havecreated surprise. Owing to the proximity of the Hay Market, the numberof establishments of bad character, the preponderance of the tradingand working class population crowded in these streets and alleys in theheart of Petersburg, types so various were to be seen in the streetsthat no figure, however queer, would have caused surprise. But there wassuch accumulated bitterness and contempt in the young man's heart, that, in spite of all the fastidiousness of youth, he minded his rags leastof all in the street. It was a different matter when he met withacquaintances or with former fellow students, whom, indeed, he dislikedmeeting at any time. And yet when a drunken man who, for some unknownreason, was being taken somewhere in a huge waggon dragged by a heavydray horse, suddenly shouted at him as he drove past: "Hey there, Germanhatter" bawling at the top of his voice and pointing at him--the youngman stopped suddenly and clutched tremulously at his hat. It was a tallround hat from Zimmerman's, but completely worn out, rusty with age, alltorn and bespattered, brimless and bent on one side in a most unseemlyfashion. Not shame, however, but quite another feeling akin to terrorhad overtaken him. 

"I knew it, " he muttered in confusion, "I thought so! That's the worstof all! Why, a stupid thing like this, the most trivial detail mightspoil the whole plan. Yes, my hat is too noticeable. . . . It looks absurdand that makes it noticeable. . . . With my rags I ought to wear a cap, anysort of old pancake, but not this grotesque thing. Nobody wears sucha hat, it would be noticed a mile off, it would be remembered. . . . Whatmatters is that people would remember it, and that would give thema clue. For this business one should be as little conspicuous aspossible. . . . Trifles, trifles are what matter! Why, it's just suchtrifles that always ruin everything. . . . "

He had not far to go; he knew indeed how many steps it was from the gateof his lodging house: exactly seven hundred and thirty. He had countedthem once when he had been lost in dreams. At the time he had put nofaith in those dreams and was only tantalising himself by their hideousbut daring recklessness. Now, a month later, he had begun to look uponthem differently, and, in spite of the monologues in which he jeered athis own impotence and indecision, he had involuntarily come to regardthis "hideous" dream as an exploit to be attempted, although hestill did not realise this himself. He was positively going now for a"rehearsal" of his project, and at every step his excitement grew moreand more violent. 

With a sinking heart and a nervous tremor, he went up to a huge housewhich on one side looked on to the canal, and on the other into thestreet. This house was let out in tiny tenements and was inhabited byworking people of all kinds--tailors, locksmiths, cooks, Germans ofsorts, girls picking up a living as best they could, petty clerks, etc. There was a continual coming and going through the two gates and in thetwo courtyards of the house. Three or four door-keepers were employed onthe building. The young man was very glad to meet none of them, andat once slipped unnoticed through the door on the right, and up thestaircase. It was a back staircase, dark and narrow, but he was familiarwith it already, and knew his way, and he liked all these surroundings:in such darkness even the most inquisitive eyes were not to be dreaded. 

"If I am so scared now, what would it be if it somehow came to pass thatI were really going to do it?" he could not help asking himself as hereached the fourth storey. There his progress was barred by some porterswho were engaged in moving furniture out of a flat. He knew that theflat had been occupied by a German clerk in the civil service, and hisfamily. This German was moving out then, and so the fourth floor on thisstaircase would be untenanted except by the old woman. "That's a goodthing anyway, " he thought to himself, as he rang the bell of the oldwoman's flat. The bell gave a faint tinkle as though it were made oftin and not of copper. The little flats in such houses always have bellsthat ring like that. He had forgotten the note of that bell, and nowits peculiar tinkle seemed to remind him of something and to bring itclearly before him. . . . He started, his nerves were terribly overstrainedby now. In a little while, the door was opened a tiny crack: the oldwoman eyed her visitor with evident distrust through the crack, andnothing could be seen but her little eyes, glittering in the darkness. But, seeing a number of people on the landing, she grew bolder, andopened the door wide. The young man stepped into the dark entry, whichwas partitioned off from the tiny kitchen. The old woman stood facinghim in silence and looking inquiringly at him. She was a diminutive, withered up old woman of sixty, with sharp malignant eyes and a sharplittle nose. Her colourless, somewhat grizzled hair was thickly smearedwith oil, and she wore no kerchief over it. Round her thin long neck, which looked like a hen's leg, was knotted some sort of flannel rag, and, in spite of the heat, there hung flapping on her shoulders, a mangyfur cape, yellow with age. The old woman coughed and groaned at everyinstant. The young man must have looked at her with a rather peculiarexpression, for a gleam of mistrust came into her eyes again. 

"Raskolnikov, a student, I came here a month ago, " the young man madehaste to mutter, with a half bow, remembering that he ought to be morepolite. 

"I remember, my good sir, I remember quite well your coming here, " theold woman said distinctly, still keeping her inquiring eyes on his face. 

"And here. . . I am again on the same errand, " Raskolnikov continued, alittle disconcerted and surprised at the old woman's mistrust. "Perhapsshe is always like that though, only I did not notice it the othertime, " he thought with an uneasy feeling. 

The old woman paused, as though hesitating; then stepped on one side, and pointing to the door of the room, she said, letting her visitor passin front of her:

"Step in, my good sir. "

The little room into which the young man walked, with yellow paper onthe walls, geraniums and muslin curtains in the windows, was brightlylighted up at that moment by the setting sun. 

"So the sun will shine like this _then_ too!" flashed as it were bychance through Raskolnikov's mind, and with a rapid glance he scannedeverything in the room, trying as far as possible to notice andremember its arrangement. But there was nothing special in the room. Thefurniture, all very old and of yellow wood, consisted of a sofa witha huge bent wooden back, an oval table in front of the sofa, adressing-table with a looking-glass fixed on it between the windows, chairs along the walls and two or three half-penny prints in yellowframes, representing German damsels with birds in their hands--that wasall. In the corner a light was burning before a small ikon. Everythingwas very clean; the floor and the furniture were brightly polished;everything shone. 

"Lizaveta's work, " thought the young man. There was not a speck of dustto be seen in the whole flat. 

"It's in the houses of spiteful old widows that one finds suchcleanliness, " Raskolnikov thought again, and he stole a curious glanceat the cotton curtain over the door leading into another tiny room, inwhich stood the old woman's bed and chest of drawers and into which hehad never looked before. These two rooms made up the whole flat. 

"What do you want?" the old woman said severely, coming into the roomand, as before, standing in front of him so as to look him straight inthe face. 

"I've brought something to pawn here, " and he drew out of his pocketan old-fashioned flat silver watch, on the back of which was engraved aglobe; the chain was of steel. 

"But the time is up for your last pledge. The month was up the daybefore yesterday. "

"I will bring you the interest for another month; wait a little. "

"But that's for me to do as I please, my good sir, to wait or to sellyour pledge at once. "

"How much will you give me for the watch, Alyona Ivanovna?"

"You come with such trifles, my good sir, it's scarcely worth anything. I gave you two roubles last time for your ring and one could buy itquite new at a jeweler's for a rouble and a half. "

"Give me four roubles for it, I shall redeem it, it was my father's. Ishall be getting some money soon. "

"A rouble and a half, and interest in advance, if you like!"

"A rouble and a half!" cried the young man. 

"Please yourself"--and the old woman handed him back the watch. Theyoung man took it, and was so angry that he was on the point of goingaway; but checked himself at once, remembering that there was nowhereelse he could go, and that he had had another object also in coming. 

"Hand it over, " he said roughly. 

The old woman fumbled in her pocket for her keys, and disappeared behindthe curtain into the other room. The young man, left standing alone inthe middle of the room, listened inquisitively, thinking. He could hearher unlocking the chest of drawers. 

"It must be the top drawer, " he reflected. "So she carries the keys ina pocket on the right. All in one bunch on a steel ring. . . . And there'sone key there, three times as big as all the others, with deep notches;that can't be the key of the chest of drawers. . . Then there must be someother chest or strong-box. . . That's worth knowing. Strong-boxes alwayshave keys like that. . . But how degrading it all is. "

The old woman came back. 

"Here, sir: as we say ten copecks the rouble a month, so I must takefifteen copecks from a rouble and a half for the month in advance. Butfor the two roubles I lent you before, you owe me now twenty copeckson the same reckoning in advance. That makes thirty-five copecksaltogether. So I must give you a rouble and fifteen copecks for thewatch. Here it is. "

"What! only a rouble and fifteen copecks now!"

"Just so. "

The young man did not dispute it and took the money. He looked at theold woman, and was in no hurry to get away, as though there was stillsomething he wanted to say or to do, but he did not himself quite knowwhat. 

"I may be bringing you something else in a day or two, AlyonaIvanovna--a valuable thing--silver--a cigarette-box, as soon as I get itback from a friend. . . " he broke off in confusion. 

"Well, we will talk about it then, sir. "

"Good-bye--are you always at home alone, your sister is not here withyou?" He asked her as casually as possible as he went out into thepassage. 

"What business is she of yours, my good sir?"

"Oh, nothing particular, I simply asked. You are too quick. . . . Good-day, Alyona Ivanovna. "

Raskolnikov went out in complete confusion. This confusion became moreand more intense. As he went down the stairs, he even stopped short, twoor three times, as though suddenly struck by some thought. When he wasin the street he cried out, "Oh, God, how loathsome it all is! andcan I, can I possibly. . . . No, it's nonsense, it's rubbish!" he addedresolutely. "And how could such an atrocious thing come into my head?What filthy things my heart is capable of. Yes, filthy above all, disgusting, loathsome, loathsome!--and for a whole month I've been. . . . "But no words, no exclamations, could express his agitation. The feelingof intense repulsion, which had begun to oppress and torture his heartwhile he was on his way to the old woman, had by now reached such apitch and had taken such a definite form that he did not know what todo with himself to escape from his wretchedness. He walked along thepavement like a drunken man, regardless of the passers-by, and jostlingagainst them, and only came to his senses when he was in the nextstreet. Looking round, he noticed that he was standing close to a tavernwhich was entered by steps leading from the pavement to the basement. At that instant two drunken men came out at the door, and abusing andsupporting one another, they mounted the steps. Without stopping tothink, Raskolnikov went down the steps at once. Till that moment he hadnever been into a tavern, but now he felt giddy and was tormented by aburning thirst. He longed for a drink of cold beer, and attributed hissudden weakness to the want of food. He sat down at a sticky littletable in a dark and dirty corner; ordered some beer, and eagerly drankoff the first glassful. At once he felt easier; and his thoughts becameclear. 

"All that's nonsense, " he said hopefully, "and there is nothing in itall to worry about! It's simply physical derangement. Just a glass ofbeer, a piece of dry bread--and in one moment the brain is stronger, the mind is clearer and the will is firm! Phew, how utterly petty it allis!"

But in spite of this scornful reflection, he was by now looking cheerfulas though he were suddenly set free from a terrible burden: and he gazedround in a friendly way at the people in the room. But even at thatmoment he had a dim foreboding that this happier frame of mind was alsonot normal. 

There were few people at the time in the tavern. Besides the two drunkenmen he had met on the steps, a group consisting of about five men anda girl with a concertina had gone out at the same time. Their departureleft the room quiet and rather empty. The persons still in the tavernwere a man who appeared to be an artisan, drunk, but not extremely so, sitting before a pot of beer, and his companion, a huge, stout man witha grey beard, in a short full-skirted coat. He was very drunk: and haddropped asleep on the bench; every now and then, he began as though inhis sleep, cracking his fingers, with his arms wide apart and the upperpart of his body bounding about on the bench, while he hummed somemeaningless refrain, trying to recall some such lines as these:

"His wife a year he fondly loved His wife a--a year he--fondly loved. "

Or suddenly waking up again:

"Walking along the crowded row He met the one he used to know. "

But no one shared his enjoyment: his silent companion looked withpositive hostility and mistrust at all these manifestations. There wasanother man in the room who looked somewhat like a retired governmentclerk. He was sitting apart, now and then sipping from his pot andlooking round at the company. He, too, appeared to be in some agitation. 

CHAPTER II

Raskolnikov was not used to crowds, and, as we said before, he avoidedsociety of every sort, more especially of late. But now all at once hefelt a desire to be with other people. Something new seemed to be takingplace within him, and with it he felt a sort of thirst for company. Hewas so weary after a whole month of concentrated wretchedness and gloomyexcitement that he longed to rest, if only for a moment, in some otherworld, whatever it might be; and, in spite of the filthiness of thesurroundings, he was glad now to stay in the tavern. 

The master of the establishment was in another room, but he frequentlycame down some steps into the main room, his jaunty, tarred boots withred turn-over tops coming into view each time before the rest of hisperson. He wore a full coat and a horribly greasy black satin waistcoat, with no cravat, and his whole face seemed smeared with oil like aniron lock. At the counter stood a boy of about fourteen, and there wasanother boy somewhat younger who handed whatever was wanted. On thecounter lay some sliced cucumber, some pieces of dried black bread, andsome fish, chopped up small, all smelling very bad. It was insufferablyclose, and so heavy with the fumes of spirits that five minutes in suchan atmosphere might well make a man drunk. 

There are chance meetings with strangers that interest us from thefirst moment, before a word is spoken. Such was the impression made onRaskolnikov by the person sitting a little distance from him, who lookedlike a retired clerk. The young man often recalled this impressionafterwards, and even ascribed it to presentiment. He looked repeatedlyat the clerk, partly no doubt because the latter was staringpersistently at him, obviously anxious to enter into conversation. Atthe other persons in the room, including the tavern-keeper, the clerklooked as though he were used to their company, and weary of it, showinga shade of condescending contempt for them as persons of station andculture inferior to his own, with whom it would be useless for him toconverse. He was a man over fifty, bald and grizzled, of medium height, and stoutly built. His face, bloated from continual drinking, was ofa yellow, even greenish, tinge, with swollen eyelids out of which keenreddish eyes gleamed like little chinks. But there was something verystrange in him; there was a light in his eyes as though of intensefeeling--perhaps there were even thought and intelligence, but at thesame time there was a gleam of something like madness. He was wearing anold and hopelessly ragged black dress coat, with all its buttons missingexcept one, and that one he had buttoned, evidently clinging to thislast trace of respectability. A crumpled shirt front, covered with spotsand stains, protruded from his canvas waistcoat. Like a clerk, he woreno beard, nor moustache, but had been so long unshaven that his chinlooked like a stiff greyish brush. And there was something respectableand like an official about his manner too. But he was restless; heruffled up his hair and from time to time let his head drop into hishands dejectedly resting his ragged elbows on the stained and stickytable. At last he looked straight at Raskolnikov, and said loudly andresolutely:

"May I venture, honoured sir, to engage you in polite conversation?Forasmuch as, though your exterior would not command respect, myexperience admonishes me that you are a man of education and notaccustomed to drinking. I have always respected education when inconjunction with genuine sentiments, and I am besides a titularcounsellor in rank. Marmeladov--such is my name; titular counsellor. Imake bold to inquire--have you been in the service?"

"No, I am studying, " answered the young man, somewhat surprised atthe grandiloquent style of the speaker and also at being so directlyaddressed. In spite of the momentary desire he had just been feeling forcompany of any sort, on being actually spoken to he felt immediately hishabitual irritable and uneasy aversion for any stranger who approachedor attempted to approach him. 

"A student then, or formerly a student, " cried the clerk. "Just whatI thought! I'm a man of experience, immense experience, sir, " and hetapped his forehead with his fingers in self-approval. "You've been astudent or have attended some learned institution!. . . But allow me. . . . "He got up, staggered, took up his jug and glass, and sat down besidethe young man, facing him a little sideways. He was drunk, but spokefluently and boldly, only occasionally losing the thread of hissentences and drawling his words. He pounced upon Raskolnikov asgreedily as though he too had not spoken to a soul for a month. 

"Honoured sir, " he began almost with solemnity, "poverty is not a vice, that's a true saying. Yet I know too that drunkenness is not a virtue, and that that's even truer. But beggary, honoured sir, beggary is avice. In poverty you may still retain your innate nobility of soul, butin beggary--never--no one. For beggary a man is not chased out of humansociety with a stick, he is swept out with a broom, so as to make it ashumiliating as possible; and quite right, too, forasmuch as in beggaryI am ready to be the first to humiliate myself. Hence the pot-house!Honoured sir, a month ago Mr. Lebeziatnikov gave my wife a beating, andmy wife is a very different matter from me! Do you understand? Allow meto ask you another question out of simple curiosity: have you ever spenta night on a hay barge, on the Neva?"

"No, I have not happened to, " answered Raskolnikov. "What do you mean?"

"Well, I've just come from one and it's the fifth night I've sleptso. . . . " He filled his glass, emptied it and paused. Bits of hay were infact clinging to his clothes and sticking to his hair. It seemed quiteprobable that he had not undressed or washed for the last five days. His hands, particularly, were filthy. They were fat and red, with blacknails. 

His conversation seemed to excite a general though languid interest. Theboys at the counter fell to sniggering. The innkeeper came down from theupper room, apparently on purpose to listen to the "funny fellow"and sat down at a little distance, yawning lazily, but with dignity. Evidently Marmeladov was a familiar figure here, and he had mostlikely acquired his weakness for high-flown speeches from the habit offrequently entering into conversation with strangers of all sorts inthe tavern. This habit develops into a necessity in some drunkards, andespecially in those who are looked after sharply and kept in orderat home. Hence in the company of other drinkers they try to justifythemselves and even if possible obtain consideration. 

"Funny fellow!" pronounced the innkeeper. "And why don't you work, whyaren't you at your duty, if you are in the service?"

"Why am I not at my duty, honoured sir, " Marmeladov went on, addressinghimself exclusively to Raskolnikov, as though it had been he who putthat question to him. "Why am I not at my duty? Does not my heart acheto think what a useless worm I am? A month ago when Mr. Lebeziatnikovbeat my wife with his own hands, and I lay drunk, didn't I suffer?Excuse me, young man, has it ever happened to you. . . Hm. . . Well, topetition hopelessly for a loan?"

"Yes, it has. But what do you mean by hopelessly?"

"Hopelessly in the fullest sense, when you know beforehand that youwill get nothing by it. You know, for instance, beforehand with positivecertainty that this man, this most reputable and exemplary citizen, willon no consideration give you money; and indeed I ask you why should he?For he knows of course that I shan't pay it back. From compassion? ButMr. Lebeziatnikov who keeps up with modern ideas explained the other daythat compassion is forbidden nowadays by science itself, and that that'swhat is done now in England, where there is political economy. Why, Iask you, should he give it to me? And yet though I know beforehand thathe won't, I set off to him and. . . "

"Why do you go?" put in Raskolnikov. 

"Well, when one has no one, nowhere else one can go! For every man musthave somewhere to go. Since there are times when one absolutely mustgo somewhere! When my own daughter first went out with a yellow ticket, then I had to go. . . (for my daughter has a yellow passport), " he addedin parenthesis, looking with a certain uneasiness at the young man. "No matter, sir, no matter!" he went on hurriedly and with apparentcomposure when both the boys at the counter guffawed and even theinnkeeper smiled--"No matter, I am not confounded by the wagging oftheir heads; for everyone knows everything about it already, and allthat is secret is made open. And I accept it all, not with contempt, butwith humility. So be it! So be it! 'Behold the man!' Excuse me, youngman, can you. . . . No, to put it more strongly and more distinctly; not_can_ you but _dare_ you, looking upon me, assert that I am not a pig?"

The young man did not answer a word. 

"Well, " the orator began again stolidly and with even increased dignity, after waiting for the laughter in the room to subside. "Well, so beit, I am a pig, but she is a lady! I have the semblance of a beast, butKaterina Ivanovna, my spouse, is a person of education and an officer'sdaughter. Granted, granted, I am a scoundrel, but she is a woman of anoble heart, full of sentiments, refined by education. And yet. . . Oh, if only she felt for me! Honoured sir, honoured sir, you know every manought to have at least one place where people feel for him! But KaterinaIvanovna, though she is magnanimous, she is unjust. . . . And yet, althoughI realise that when she pulls my hair she only does it out of pity--forI repeat without being ashamed, she pulls my hair, young man, " hedeclared with redoubled dignity, hearing the sniggering again--"but, myGod, if she would but once. . . . But no, no! It's all in vain and it's nouse talking! No use talking! For more than once, my wish did come trueand more than once she has felt for me but. . . Such is my fate and I am abeast by nature!"

"Rather!" assented the innkeeper yawning. Marmeladov struck his fistresolutely on the table. 

"Such is my fate! Do you know, sir, do you know, I have sold her verystockings for drink? Not her shoes--that would be more or less in theorder of things, but her stockings, her stockings I have sold for drink!Her mohair shawl I sold for drink, a present to her long ago, her ownproperty, not mine; and we live in a cold room and she caught cold thiswinter and has begun coughing and spitting blood too. We have threelittle children and Katerina Ivanovna is at work from morning tillnight; she is scrubbing and cleaning and washing the children, for she'sbeen used to cleanliness from a child. But her chest is weak and she hasa tendency to consumption and I feel it! Do you suppose I don't feel it?And the more I drink the more I feel it. That's why I drink too. I tryto find sympathy and feeling in drink. . . . I drink so that I may suffertwice as much!" And as though in despair he laid his head down on thetable. 

"Young man, " he went on, raising his head again, "in your face I seem toread some trouble of mind. When you came in I read it, and that was whyI addressed you at once. For in unfolding to you the story of my life, Ido not wish to make myself a laughing-stock before these idle listeners, who indeed know all about it already, but I am looking for a manof feeling and education. Know then that my wife was educated in ahigh-class school for the daughters of noblemen, and on leaving shedanced the shawl dance before the governor and other personages forwhich she was presented with a gold medal and a certificate of merit. The medal. . . Well, the medal of course was sold--long ago, hm. . . But thecertificate of merit is in her trunk still and not long ago she showedit to our landlady. And although she is most continually on bad termswith the landlady, yet she wanted to tell someone or other of her pasthonours and of the happy days that are gone. I don't condemn her forit, I don't blame her, for the one thing left her is recollection ofthe past, and all the rest is dust and ashes. Yes, yes, she is a ladyof spirit, proud and determined. She scrubs the floors herself and hasnothing but black bread to eat, but won't allow herself to be treatedwith disrespect. That's why she would not overlook Mr. Lebeziatnikov'srudeness to her, and so when he gave her a beating for it, she took toher bed more from the hurt to her feelings than from the blows. She wasa widow when I married her, with three children, one smaller than theother. She married her first husband, an infantry officer, for love, andran away with him from her father's house. She was exceedingly fond ofher husband; but he gave way to cards, got into trouble and with that hedied. He used to beat her at the end: and although she paid him back, ofwhich I have authentic documentary evidence, to this day she speaks ofhim with tears and she throws him up to me; and I am glad, I am gladthat, though only in imagination, she should think of herself as havingonce been happy. . . . And she was left at his death with three children ina wild and remote district where I happened to be at the time; and shewas left in such hopeless poverty that, although I have seen many upsand downs of all sort, I don't feel equal to describing it even. Herrelations had all thrown her off. And she was proud, too, excessivelyproud. . . . And then, honoured sir, and then, I, being at the time awidower, with a daughter of fourteen left me by my first wife, offeredher my hand, for I could not bear the sight of such suffering. You canjudge the extremity of her calamities, that she, a woman of educationand culture and distinguished family, should have consented to be mywife. But she did! Weeping and sobbing and wringing her hands, shemarried me! For she had nowhere to turn! Do you understand, sir, do youunderstand what it means when you have absolutely nowhere to turn? No, that you don't understand yet. . . . And for a whole year, I performedmy duties conscientiously and faithfully, and did not touch this" (hetapped the jug with his finger), "for I have feelings. But even so, Icould not please her; and then I lost my place too, and that through nofault of mine but through changes in the office; and then I did touchit!. . . It will be a year and a half ago soon since we found ourselves atlast after many wanderings and numerous calamities in this magnificentcapital, adorned with innumerable monuments. Here I obtained asituation. . . . I obtained it and I lost it again. Do you understand? Thistime it was through my own fault I lost it: for my weakness had comeout. . . . We have now part of a room at Amalia Fyodorovna Lippevechsel's;and what we live upon and what we pay our rent with, I could not say. There are a lot of people living there besides ourselves. Dirt anddisorder, a perfect Bedlam. . . Hm. . . Yes. . . And meanwhile my daughter bymy first wife has grown up; and what my daughter has had to put up withfrom her step-mother whilst she was growing up, I won't speak of. For, though Katerina Ivanovna is full of generous feelings, she is a spiritedlady, irritable and short--tempered. . . . Yes. But it's no use going overthat! Sonia, as you may well fancy, has had no education. I did make aneffort four years ago to give her a course of geography and universalhistory, but as I was not very well up in those subjects myself and wehad no suitable books, and what books we had. . . Hm, anyway we have noteven those now, so all our instruction came to an end. We stopped atCyrus of Persia. Since she has attained years of maturity, she has readother books of romantic tendency and of late she had read with greatinterest a book she got through Mr. Lebeziatnikov, Lewes' Physiology--doyou know it?--and even recounted extracts from it to us: and that's thewhole of her education. And now may I venture to address you, honouredsir, on my own account with a private question. Do you suppose thata respectable poor girl can earn much by honest work? Not fifteenfarthings a day can she earn, if she is respectable and has no specialtalent and that without putting her work down for an instant! And what'smore, Ivan Ivanitch Klopstock the civil counsellor--have you heard ofhim?--has not to this day paid her for the half-dozen linen shirts shemade him and drove her roughly away, stamping and reviling her, on thepretext that the shirt collars were not made like the pattern and wereput in askew. And there are the little ones hungry. . . . And KaterinaIvanovna walking up and down and wringing her hands, her cheeks flushedred, as they always are in that disease: 'Here you live with us, ' saysshe, 'you eat and drink and are kept warm and you do nothing to help. 'And much she gets to eat and drink when there is not a crust for thelittle ones for three days! I was lying at the time. . . Well, what ofit! I was lying drunk and I heard my Sonia speaking (she is a gentlecreature with a soft little voice. . . Fair hair and such a pale, thinlittle face). She said: 'Katerina Ivanovna, am I really to do a thinglike that?' And Darya Frantsovna, a woman of evil character and verywell known to the police, had two or three times tried to get at herthrough the landlady. 'And why not?' said Katerina Ivanovna with a jeer, 'you are something mighty precious to be so careful of!' But don't blameher, don't blame her, honoured sir, don't blame her! She was not herselfwhen she spoke, but driven to distraction by her illness and the cryingof the hungry children; and it was said more to wound her than anythingelse. . . . For that's Katerina Ivanovna's character, and when childrencry, even from hunger, she falls to beating them at once. At six o'clockI saw Sonia get up, put on her kerchief and her cape, and go out of theroom and about nine o'clock she came back. She walked straight up toKaterina Ivanovna and she laid thirty roubles on the table before herin silence. She did not utter a word, she did not even look at her, shesimply picked up our big green _drap de dames_ shawl (we have a shawl, made of _drap de dames_), put it over her head and face and lay downon the bed with her face to the wall; only her little shoulders and herbody kept shuddering. . . . And I went on lying there, just as before. . . . And then I saw, young man, I saw Katerina Ivanovna, in the same silencego up to Sonia's little bed; she was on her knees all the eveningkissing Sonia's feet, and would not get up, and then they both fellasleep in each other's arms. . . Together, together. . . Yes. . . And I. . . Laydrunk. "

Marmeladov stopped short, as though his voice had failed him. Then hehurriedly filled his glass, drank, and cleared his throat. 

"Since then, sir, " he went on after a brief pause--"Since then, owingto an unfortunate occurrence and through information given byevil-intentioned persons--in all which Darya Frantsovna took aleading part on the pretext that she had been treated with want ofrespect--since then my daughter Sofya Semyonovna has been forced to takea yellow ticket, and owing to that she is unable to go on living withus. For our landlady, Amalia Fyodorovna would not hear of it (thoughshe had backed up Darya Frantsovna before) and Mr. Lebeziatnikov too. . . Hm. . . . All the trouble between him and Katerina Ivanovna was on Sonia'saccount. At first he was for making up to Sonia himself and then all ofa sudden he stood on his dignity: 'how, ' said he, 'can a highly educatedman like me live in the same rooms with a girl like that?' And KaterinaIvanovna would not let it pass, she stood up for her. . . And so that'show it happened. And Sonia comes to us now, mostly after dark; shecomforts Katerina Ivanovna and gives her all she can. . . . She has a roomat the Kapernaumovs' the tailors, she lodges with them; Kapernaumov isa lame man with a cleft palate and all of his numerous family have cleftpalates too. And his wife, too, has a cleft palate. They all live in oneroom, but Sonia has her own, partitioned off. . . . Hm. . . Yes. . . Very poorpeople and all with cleft palates. . . Yes. Then I got up in the morning, and put on my rags, lifted up my hands to heaven and set off to hisexcellency Ivan Afanasyvitch. His excellency Ivan Afanasyvitch, do youknow him? No? Well, then, it's a man of God you don't know. He is wax. . . Wax before the face of the Lord; even as wax melteth!. . . His eyes weredim when he heard my story. 'Marmeladov, once already you havedeceived my expectations. . . I'll take you once more on my ownresponsibility'--that's what he said, 'remember, ' he said, 'and now youcan go. ' I kissed the dust at his feet--in thought only, for in realityhe would not have allowed me to do it, being a statesman and a man ofmodern political and enlightened ideas. I returned home, and when Iannounced that I'd been taken back into the service and should receive asalary, heavens, what a to-do there was!. . . "

Marmeladov stopped again in violent excitement. At that moment a wholeparty of revellers already drunk came in from the street, and the soundsof a hired concertina and the cracked piping voice of a child of sevensinging "The Hamlet" were heard in the entry. The room was filled withnoise. The tavern-keeper and the boys were busy with the new-comers. Marmeladov paying no attention to the new arrivals continued his story. He appeared by now to be extremely weak, but as he became more and moredrunk, he became more and more talkative. The recollection of hisrecent success in getting the situation seemed to revive him, and waspositively reflected in a sort of radiance on his face. Raskolnikovlistened attentively. 

"That was five weeks ago, sir. Yes. . . . As soon as Katerina Ivanovnaand Sonia heard of it, mercy on us, it was as though I stepped into thekingdom of Heaven. It used to be: you can lie like a beast, nothing butabuse. Now they were walking on tiptoe, hushing the children. 'SemyonZaharovitch is tired with his work at the office, he is resting, shh!'They made me coffee before I went to work and boiled cream for me! Theybegan to get real cream for me, do you hear that? And how they managedto get together the money for a decent outfit--eleven roubles, fiftycopecks, I can't guess. Boots, cotton shirt-fronts--most magnificent, a uniform, they got up all in splendid style, for eleven roubles anda half. The first morning I came back from the office I found KaterinaIvanovna had cooked two courses for dinner--soup and salt meat withhorse radish--which we had never dreamed of till then. She had not anydresses. . . None at all, but she got herself up as though she were goingon a visit; and not that she'd anything to do it with, she smartenedherself up with nothing at all, she'd done her hair nicely, put on aclean collar of some sort, cuffs, and there she was, quite a differentperson, she was younger and better looking. Sonia, my little darling, had only helped with money 'for the time, ' she said, 'it won't do for meto come and see you too often. After dark maybe when no one can see. ' Doyou hear, do you hear? I lay down for a nap after dinner and what do youthink: though Katerina Ivanovna had quarrelled to the last degree withour landlady Amalia Fyodorovna only a week before, she could notresist then asking her in to coffee. For two hours they were sitting, whispering together. 'Semyon Zaharovitch is in the service again, now, and receiving a salary, ' says she, 'and he went himself to hisexcellency and his excellency himself came out to him, made all theothers wait and led Semyon Zaharovitch by the hand before everybody intohis study. ' Do you hear, do you hear? 'To be sure, ' says he, 'SemyonZaharovitch, remembering your past services, ' says he, 'and in spiteof your propensity to that foolish weakness, since you promise now andsince moreover we've got on badly without you, ' (do you hear, do youhear;) 'and so, ' says he, 'I rely now on your word as a gentleman. ' Andall that, let me tell you, she has simply made up for herself, and notsimply out of wantonness, for the sake of bragging; no, she believes itall herself, she amuses herself with her own fancies, upon my word shedoes! And I don't blame her for it, no, I don't blame her!. . . Six daysago when I brought her my first earnings in full--twenty-three roublesforty copecks altogether--she called me her poppet: 'poppet, ' said she, 'my little poppet. ' And when we were by ourselves, you understand?You would not think me a beauty, you would not think much of me as ahusband, would you?. . . Well, she pinched my cheek, 'my little poppet, 'said she. "

Marmeladov broke off, tried to smile, but suddenly his chin beganto twitch. He controlled himself however. The tavern, the degradedappearance of the man, the five nights in the hay barge, and the pot ofspirits, and yet this poignant love for his wife and children bewilderedhis listener. Raskolnikov listened intently but with a sick sensation. He felt vexed that he had come here. 

"Honoured sir, honoured sir, " cried Marmeladov recovering himself--"Oh, sir, perhaps all this seems a laughing matter to you, as it does toothers, and perhaps I am only worrying you with the stupidity of all thetrivial details of my home life, but it is not a laughing matter to me. For I can feel it all. . . . And the whole of that heavenly day of my lifeand the whole of that evening I passed in fleeting dreams of how I wouldarrange it all, and how I would dress all the children, and how I shouldgive her rest, and how I should rescue my own daughter from dishonourand restore her to the bosom of her family. . . . And a great deal more. . . . Quite excusable, sir. Well, then, sir" (Marmeladov suddenly gave a sortof start, raised his head and gazed intently at his listener) "well, onthe very next day after all those dreams, that is to say, exactly fivedays ago, in the evening, by a cunning trick, like a thief in the night, I stole from Katerina Ivanovna the key of her box, took out what wasleft of my earnings, how much it was I have forgotten, and now lookat me, all of you! It's the fifth day since I left home, and they arelooking for me there and it's the end of my employment, and my uniformis lying in a tavern on the Egyptian bridge. I exchanged it for thegarments I have on. . . And it's the end of everything!"

Marmeladov struck his forehead with his fist, clenched his teeth, closedhis eyes and leaned heavily with his elbow on the table. But a minutelater his face suddenly changed and with a certain assumed slyness andaffectation of bravado, he glanced at Raskolnikov, laughed and said:

"This morning I went to see Sonia, I went to ask her for a pick-me-up!He-he-he!"

"You don't say she gave it to you?" cried one of the new-comers; heshouted the words and went off into a guffaw. 

"This very quart was bought with her money, " Marmeladov declared, addressing himself exclusively to Raskolnikov. "Thirty copecks she gaveme with her own hands, her last, all she had, as I saw. . . . She saidnothing, she only looked at me without a word. . . . Not on earth, but upyonder. . . They grieve over men, they weep, but they don't blame them, they don't blame them! But it hurts more, it hurts more when they don'tblame! Thirty copecks yes! And maybe she needs them now, eh? What doyou think, my dear sir? For now she's got to keep up her appearance. Itcosts money, that smartness, that special smartness, you know? Do youunderstand? And there's pomatum, too, you see, she must have things;petticoats, starched ones, shoes, too, real jaunty ones to show off herfoot when she has to step over a puddle. Do you understand, sir, do youunderstand what all that smartness means? And here I, her own father, here I took thirty copecks of that money for a drink! And I am drinkingit! And I have already drunk it! Come, who will have pity on a man likeme, eh? Are you sorry for me, sir, or not? Tell me, sir, are you sorryor not? He-he-he!"

He would have filled his glass, but there was no drink left. The pot wasempty. 

"What are you to be pitied for?" shouted the tavern-keeper who was againnear them. 

Shouts of laughter and even oaths followed. The laughter and the oathscame from those who were listening and also from those who had heardnothing but were simply looking at the figure of the dischargedgovernment clerk. 

"To be pitied! Why am I to be pitied?" Marmeladov suddenly declaimed, standing up with his arm outstretched, as though he had been onlywaiting for that question. 

"Why am I to be pitied, you say? Yes! there's nothing to pity me for! Iought to be crucified, crucified on a cross, not pitied! Crucify me, oh judge, crucify me but pity me! And then I will go of myself to becrucified, for it's not merry-making I seek but tears and tribulation!. . . Do you suppose, you that sell, that this pint of yours has beensweet to me? It was tribulation I sought at the bottom of it, tears andtribulation, and have found it, and I have tasted it; but He will pityus Who has had pity on all men, Who has understood all men and allthings, He is the One, He too is the judge. He will come in that dayand He will ask: 'Where is the daughter who gave herself for her cross, consumptive step-mother and for the little children of another? Where isthe daughter who had pity upon the filthy drunkard, her earthly father, undismayed by his beastliness?' And He will say, 'Come to me! I havealready forgiven thee once. . . . I have forgiven thee once. . . . Thy sinswhich are many are forgiven thee for thou hast loved much. . . . ' And hewill forgive my Sonia, He will forgive, I know it. . . I felt it in myheart when I was with her just now! And He will judge and will forgiveall, the good and the evil, the wise and the meek. . . . And when He hasdone with all of them, then He will summon us. 'You too come forth, 'He will say, 'Come forth ye drunkards, come forth, ye weak ones, comeforth, ye children of shame!' And we shall all come forth, without shameand shall stand before him. And He will say unto us, 'Ye are swine, madein the Image of the Beast and with his mark; but come ye also!' And thewise ones and those of understanding will say, 'Oh Lord, why dost Thoureceive these men?' And He will say, 'This is why I receive them, oh yewise, this is why I receive them, oh ye of understanding, that not oneof them believed himself to be worthy of this. ' And He will hold out Hishands to us and we shall fall down before him. . . And we shall weep. . . And we shall understand all things! Then we shall understand all!. . . Andall will understand, Katerina Ivanovna even. . . She will understand. . . . Lord, Thy kingdom come!" And he sank down on the bench exhausted, andhelpless, looking at no one, apparently oblivious of his surroundingsand plunged in deep thought. His words had created a certain impression;there was a moment of silence; but soon laughter and oaths were heardagain. 

"That's his notion!"

"Talked himself silly!"

"A fine clerk he is!"

And so on, and so on. 

"Let us go, sir, " said Marmeladov all at once, raising his head andaddressing Raskolnikov--"come along with me. . . Kozel's house, lookinginto the yard. I'm going to Katerina Ivanovna--time I did. "

Raskolnikov had for some time been wanting to go and he had meant tohelp him. Marmeladov was much unsteadier on his legs than in his speechand leaned heavily on the young man. They had two or three hundredpaces to go. The drunken man was more and more overcome by dismay andconfusion as they drew nearer the house. 

"It's not Katerina Ivanovna I am afraid of now, " he muttered inagitation--"and that she will begin pulling my hair. What does my hairmatter! Bother my hair! That's what I say! Indeed it will be better ifshe does begin pulling it, that's not what I am afraid of. . . It's hereyes I am afraid of. . . Yes, her eyes. . . The red on her cheeks, too, frightens me. . . And her breathing too. . . . Have you noticed how peoplein that disease breathe. . . When they are excited? I am frightened ofthe children's crying, too. . . . For if Sonia has not taken them food. . . I don't know what's happened! I don't know! But blows I am not afraidof. . . . Know, sir, that such blows are not a pain to me, but even anenjoyment. In fact I can't get on without it. . . . It's better so. Lether strike me, it relieves her heart. . . It's better so. . . There is thehouse. The house of Kozel, the cabinet-maker. . . A German, well-to-do. Lead the way!"

They went in from the yard and up to the fourth storey. The staircasegot darker and darker as they went up. It was nearly eleven o'clockand although in summer in Petersburg there is no real night, yet it wasquite dark at the top of the stairs. 

A grimy little door at the very top of the stairs stood ajar. A verypoor-looking room about ten paces long was lighted up by a candle-end;the whole of it was visible from the entrance. It was all in disorder, littered up with rags of all sorts, especially children's garments. Across the furthest corner was stretched a ragged sheet. Behind itprobably was the bed. There was nothing in the room except two chairsand a sofa covered with American leather, full of holes, before whichstood an old deal kitchen-table, unpainted and uncovered. At the edgeof the table stood a smoldering tallow-candle in an iron candlestick. Itappeared that the family had a room to themselves, not part of a room, but their room was practically a passage. The door leading to the otherrooms, or rather cupboards, into which Amalia Lippevechsel's flat wasdivided stood half open, and there was shouting, uproar and laughterwithin. People seemed to be playing cards and drinking tea there. Wordsof the most unceremonious kind flew out from time to time. 

Raskolnikov recognised Katerina Ivanovna at once. She was a rather tall, slim and graceful woman, terribly emaciated, with magnificent dark brownhair and with a hectic flush in her cheeks. She was pacing up and downin her little room, pressing her hands against her chest; her lipswere parched and her breathing came in nervous broken gasps. Her eyesglittered as in fever and looked about with a harsh immovable stare. Andthat consumptive and excited face with the last flickering light of thecandle-end playing upon it made a sickening impression. She seemed toRaskolnikov about thirty years old and was certainly a strange wife forMarmeladov. . . . She had not heard them and did not notice them coming in. She seemed to be lost in thought, hearing and seeing nothing. The roomwas close, but she had not opened the window; a stench rose from thestaircase, but the door on to the stairs was not closed. From the innerrooms clouds of tobacco smoke floated in, she kept coughing, but did notclose the door. The youngest child, a girl of six, was asleep, sittingcurled up on the floor with her head on the sofa. A boy a year olderstood crying and shaking in the corner, probably he had just had abeating. Beside him stood a girl of nine years old, tall and thin, wearing a thin and ragged chemise with an ancient cashmere pelisse flungover her bare shoulders, long outgrown and barely reaching her knees. Her arm, as thin as a stick, was round her brother's neck. She wastrying to comfort him, whispering something to him, and doing all shecould to keep him from whimpering again. At the same time her largedark eyes, which looked larger still from the thinness of her frightenedface, were watching her mother with alarm. Marmeladov did not enter thedoor, but dropped on his knees in the very doorway, pushing Raskolnikovin front of him. The woman seeing a stranger stopped indifferentlyfacing him, coming to herself for a moment and apparently wondering whathe had come for. But evidently she decided that he was going intothe next room, as he had to pass through hers to get there. Taking nofurther notice of him, she walked towards the outer door to close itand uttered a sudden scream on seeing her husband on his knees in thedoorway. 

"Ah!" she cried out in a frenzy, "he has come back! The criminal! themonster!. . . And where is the money? What's in your pocket, show me! Andyour clothes are all different! Where are your clothes? Where is themoney! Speak!"

And she fell to searching him. Marmeladov submissively and obedientlyheld up both arms to facilitate the search. Not a farthing was there. 

"Where is the money?" she cried--"Mercy on us, can he have drunk it all?There were twelve silver roubles left in the chest!" and in a furyshe seized him by the hair and dragged him into the room. Marmeladovseconded her efforts by meekly crawling along on his knees. 

"And this is a consolation to me! This does not hurt me, but is apositive con-so-la-tion, ho-nou-red sir, " he called out, shaken to andfro by his hair and even once striking the ground with his forehead. The child asleep on the floor woke up, and began to cry. The boy in thecorner losing all control began trembling and screaming and rushedto his sister in violent terror, almost in a fit. The eldest girl wasshaking like a leaf. 

"He's drunk it! he's drunk it all, " the poor woman screamed indespair--"and his clothes are gone! And they are hungry, hungry!"--andwringing her hands she pointed to the children. "Oh, accursed life!And you, are you not ashamed?"--she pounced all at once uponRaskolnikov--"from the tavern! Have you been drinking with him? You havebeen drinking with him, too! Go away!"

The young man was hastening away without uttering a word. The inner doorwas thrown wide open and inquisitive faces were peering in at it. Coarselaughing faces with pipes and cigarettes and heads wearing caps thrustthemselves in at the doorway. Further in could be seen figures indressing gowns flung open, in costumes of unseemly scantiness, some ofthem with cards in their hands. They were particularly diverted, whenMarmeladov, dragged about by his hair, shouted that it was a consolationto him. They even began to come into the room; at last a sinister shrilloutcry was heard: this came from Amalia Lippevechsel herself pushing herway amongst them and trying to restore order after her own fashion andfor the hundredth time to frighten the poor woman by ordering herwith coarse abuse to clear out of the room next day. As he went out, Raskolnikov had time to put his hand into his pocket, to snatch up thecoppers he had received in exchange for his rouble in the tavern and tolay them unnoticed on the window. Afterwards on the stairs, he changedhis mind and would have gone back. 

"What a stupid thing I've done, " he thought to himself, "they have Soniaand I want it myself. " But reflecting that it would be impossible totake it back now and that in any case he would not have taken it, hedismissed it with a wave of his hand and went back to his lodging. "Sonia wants pomatum too, " he said as he walked along the street, and helaughed malignantly--"such smartness costs money. . . . Hm! And maybe Soniaherself will be bankrupt to-day, for there is always a risk, huntingbig game. . . Digging for gold. . . Then they would all be without a crustto-morrow except for my money. Hurrah for Sonia! What a mine they've dugthere! And they're making the most of it! Yes, they are making the mostof it! They've wept over it and grown used to it. Man grows used toeverything, the scoundrel!"

He sank into thought. 

"And what if I am wrong, " he cried suddenly after a moment's thought. "What if man is not really a scoundrel, man in general, I mean, thewhole race of mankind--then all the rest is prejudice, simply artificialterrors and there are no barriers and it's all as it should be. "

CHAPTER III

He waked up late next day after a broken sleep. But his sleep had notrefreshed him; he waked up bilious, irritable, ill-tempered, and lookedwith hatred at his room. It was a tiny cupboard of a room about sixpaces in length. It had a poverty-stricken appearance with its dustyyellow paper peeling off the walls, and it was so low-pitched that a manof more than average height was ill at ease in it and felt every momentthat he would knock his head against the ceiling. The furniture was inkeeping with the room: there were three old chairs, rather rickety; apainted table in the corner on which lay a few manuscripts and books;the dust that lay thick upon them showed that they had been longuntouched. A big clumsy sofa occupied almost the whole of one wall andhalf the floor space of the room; it was once covered with chintz, butwas now in rags and served Raskolnikov as a bed. Often he went to sleepon it, as he was, without undressing, without sheets, wrapped in his oldstudent's overcoat, with his head on one little pillow, under which heheaped up all the linen he had, clean and dirty, by way of a bolster. Alittle table stood in front of the sofa. 

It would have been difficult to sink to a lower ebb of disorder, but toRaskolnikov in his present state of mind this was positively agreeable. He had got completely away from everyone, like a tortoise in its shell, and even the sight of a servant girl who had to wait upon him and lookedsometimes into his room made him writhe with nervous irritation. He wasin the condition that overtakes some monomaniacs entirely concentratedupon one thing. His landlady had for the last fortnight given up sendinghim in meals, and he had not yet thought of expostulating with her, though he went without his dinner. Nastasya, the cook and only servant, was rather pleased at the lodger's mood and had entirely given upsweeping and doing his room, only once a week or so she would stray intohis room with a broom. She waked him up that day. 

"Get up, why are you asleep?" she called to him. "It's past nine, I havebrought you some tea; will you have a cup? I should think you're fairlystarving?"

Raskolnikov opened his eyes, started and recognised Nastasya. 

"From the landlady, eh?" he asked, slowly and with a sickly face sittingup on the sofa. 

"From the landlady, indeed!"

She set before him her own cracked teapot full of weak and stale tea andlaid two yellow lumps of sugar by the side of it. 

"Here, Nastasya, take it please, " he said, fumbling in his pocket (forhe had slept in his clothes) and taking out a handful of coppers--"runand buy me a loaf. And get me a little sausage, the cheapest, at thepork-butcher's. "

"The loaf I'll fetch you this very minute, but wouldn't you rather havesome cabbage soup instead of sausage? It's capital soup, yesterday's. Isaved it for you yesterday, but you came in late. It's fine soup. "

When the soup had been brought, and he had begun upon it, Nastasyasat down beside him on the sofa and began chatting. She was a countrypeasant-woman and a very talkative one. 

"Praskovya Pavlovna means to complain to the police about you, " shesaid. 

He scowled. 

"To the police? What does she want?"

"You don't pay her money and you won't turn out of the room. That's whatshe wants, to be sure. "

"The devil, that's the last straw, " he muttered, grinding his teeth, "no, that would not suit me. . . Just now. She is a fool, " he added aloud. "I'll go and talk to her to-day. "

"Fool she is and no mistake, just as I am. But why, if you are soclever, do you lie here like a sack and have nothing to show for it? Onetime you used to go out, you say, to teach children. But why is it youdo nothing now?"

"I am doing. . . " Raskolnikov began sullenly and reluctantly. 

"What are you doing?"

"Work. . . "

"What sort of work?"

"I am thinking, " he answered seriously after a pause. 

Nastasya was overcome with a fit of laughter. She was given to laughterand when anything amused her, she laughed inaudibly, quivering andshaking all over till she felt ill. 

"And have you made much money by your thinking?" she managed toarticulate at last. 

"One can't go out to give lessons without boots. And I'm sick of it. "

"Don't quarrel with your bread and butter. "

"They pay so little for lessons. What's the use of a few coppers?" heanswered, reluctantly, as though replying to his own thought. 

"And you want to get a fortune all at once?"

He looked at her strangely. 

"Yes, I want a fortune, " he answered firmly, after a brief pause. 

"Don't be in such a hurry, you quite frighten me! Shall I get you theloaf or not?"

"As you please. "

"Ah, I forgot! A letter came for you yesterday when you were out. "

"A letter? for me! from whom?"

"I can't say. I gave three copecks of my own to the postman for it. Willyou pay me back?"

"Then bring it to me, for God's sake, bring it, " cried Raskolnikovgreatly excited--"good God!"

A minute later the letter was brought him. That was it: from his mother, from the province of R----. He turned pale when he took it. It was along while since he had received a letter, but another feeling alsosuddenly stabbed his heart. 

"Nastasya, leave me alone, for goodness' sake; here are your threecopecks, but for goodness' sake, make haste and go!"

The letter was quivering in his hand; he did not want to open it in herpresence; he wanted to be left _alone_ with this letter. When Nastasyahad gone out, he lifted it quickly to his lips and kissed it; then hegazed intently at the address, the small, sloping handwriting, so dearand familiar, of the mother who had once taught him to read and write. He delayed; he seemed almost afraid of something. At last he opened it;it was a thick heavy letter, weighing over two ounces, two large sheetsof note paper were covered with very small handwriting. 

"My dear Rodya, " wrote his mother--"it's two months since I last had atalk with you by letter which has distressed me and even kept meawake at night, thinking. But I am sure you will not blame me for myinevitable silence. You know how I love you; you are all we have to lookto, Dounia and I, you are our all, our one hope, our one stay. What agrief it was to me when I heard that you had given up the universitysome months ago, for want of means to keep yourself and that you hadlost your lessons and your other work! How could I help you out of myhundred and twenty roubles a year pension? The fifteen roubles I sentyou four months ago I borrowed, as you know, on security of my pension, from Vassily Ivanovitch Vahrushin a merchant of this town. He is akind-hearted man and was a friend of your father's too. But having givenhim the right to receive the pension, I had to wait till the debt waspaid off and that is only just done, so that I've been unable to sendyou anything all this time. But now, thank God, I believe I shallbe able to send you something more and in fact we may congratulateourselves on our good fortune now, of which I hasten to inform you. Inthe first place, would you have guessed, dear Rodya, that your sisterhas been living with me for the last six weeks and we shall not beseparated in the future. Thank God, her sufferings are over, but I willtell you everything in order, so that you may know just how everythinghas happened and all that we have hitherto concealed from you. When youwrote to me two months ago that you had heard that Dounia had a greatdeal to put up with in the Svidrigraïlovs' house, when you wrote thatand asked me to tell you all about it--what could I write in answer toyou? If I had written the whole truth to you, I dare say you would havethrown up everything and have come to us, even if you had to walk allthe way, for I know your character and your feelings, and you would notlet your sister be insulted. I was in despair myself, but what could Ido? And, besides, I did not know the whole truth myself then. Whatmade it all so difficult was that Dounia received a hundred roublesin advance when she took the place as governess in their family, oncondition of part of her salary being deducted every month, and so itwas impossible to throw up the situation without repaying the debt. This sum (now I can explain it all to you, my precious Rodya) she tookchiefly in order to send you sixty roubles, which you needed so terriblythen and which you received from us last year. We deceived you then, writing that this money came from Dounia's savings, but that was notso, and now I tell you all about it, because, thank God, things havesuddenly changed for the better, and that you may know how Dounia lovesyou and what a heart she has. At first indeed Mr. Svidrigaïlov treatedher very rudely and used to make disrespectful and jeering remarks attable. . . . But I don't want to go into all those painful details, so asnot to worry you for nothing when it is now all over. In short, in spiteof the kind and generous behaviour of Marfa Petrovna, Mr. Svidrigaïlov'swife, and all the rest of the household, Dounia had a very hard time, especially when Mr. Svidrigaïlov, relapsing into his old regimentalhabits, was under the influence of Bacchus. And how do you think itwas all explained later on? Would you believe that the crazy fellow hadconceived a passion for Dounia from the beginning, but had concealedit under a show of rudeness and contempt. Possibly he was ashamed andhorrified himself at his own flighty hopes, considering his years andhis being the father of a family; and that made him angry with Dounia. And possibly, too, he hoped by his rude and sneering behaviour to hidethe truth from others. But at last he lost all control and had the faceto make Dounia an open and shameful proposal, promising her all sorts ofinducements and offering, besides, to throw up everything and take herto another estate of his, or even abroad. You can imagine all she wentthrough! To leave her situation at once was impossible not only onaccount of the money debt, but also to spare the feelings of MarfaPetrovna, whose suspicions would have been aroused: and then Douniawould have been the cause of a rupture in the family. And it wouldhave meant a terrible scandal for Dounia too; that would have beeninevitable. There were various other reasons owing to which Dounia couldnot hope to escape from that awful house for another six weeks. You knowDounia, of course; you know how clever she is and what a strong will shehas. Dounia can endure a great deal and even in the most difficult casesshe has the fortitude to maintain her firmness. She did not even writeto me about everything for fear of upsetting me, although we wereconstantly in communication. It all ended very unexpectedly. MarfaPetrovna accidentally overheard her husband imploring Dounia in thegarden, and, putting quite a wrong interpretation on the position, threwthe blame upon her, believing her to be the cause of it all. An awfulscene took place between them on the spot in the garden; Marfa Petrovnawent so far as to strike Dounia, refused to hear anything and wasshouting at her for a whole hour and then gave orders that Dounia shouldbe packed off at once to me in a plain peasant's cart, into which theyflung all her things, her linen and her clothes, all pell-mell, withoutfolding it up and packing it. And a heavy shower of rain came on, too, and Dounia, insulted and put to shame, had to drive with a peasant in anopen cart all the seventeen versts into town. Only think now what answercould I have sent to the letter I received from you two months ago andwhat could I have written? I was in despair; I dared not write toyou the truth because you would have been very unhappy, mortifiedand indignant, and yet what could you do? You could only perhaps ruinyourself, and, besides, Dounia would not allow it; and fill up my letterwith trifles when my heart was so full of sorrow, I could not. For awhole month the town was full of gossip about this scandal, and it cameto such a pass that Dounia and I dared not even go to church on accountof the contemptuous looks, whispers, and even remarks made aloud aboutus. All our acquaintances avoided us, nobody even bowed to us in thestreet, and I learnt that some shopmen and clerks were intending toinsult us in a shameful way, smearing the gates of our house with pitch, so that the landlord began to tell us we must leave. All this was setgoing by Marfa Petrovna who managed to slander Dounia and throw dirt ather in every family. She knows everyone in the neighbourhood, and thatmonth she was continually coming into the town, and as she israther talkative and fond of gossiping about her family affairs andparticularly of complaining to all and each of her husband--which is notat all right--so in a short time she had spread her story not only inthe town, but over the whole surrounding district. It made me ill, butDounia bore it better than I did, and if only you could have seen howshe endured it all and tried to comfort me and cheer me up! She isan angel! But by God's mercy, our sufferings were cut short: Mr. Svidrigaïlov returned to his senses and repented and, probablyfeeling sorry for Dounia, he laid before Marfa Petrovna a complete andunmistakable proof of Dounia's innocence, in the form of a letter Douniahad been forced to write and give to him, before Marfa Petrovnacame upon them in the garden. This letter, which remained in Mr. Svidrigaïlov's hands after her departure, she had written to refusepersonal explanations and secret interviews, for which he was entreatingher. In that letter she reproached him with great heat and indignationfor the baseness of his behaviour in regard to Marfa Petrovna, remindinghim that he was the father and head of a family and telling him howinfamous it was of him to torment and make unhappy a defenceless girl, unhappy enough already. Indeed, dear Rodya, the letter was so nobly andtouchingly written that I sobbed when I read it and to this day I cannotread it without tears. Moreover, the evidence of the servants, too, cleared Dounia's reputation; they had seen and known a great deal morethan Mr. Svidrigaïlov had himself supposed--as indeed is always the casewith servants. Marfa Petrovna was completely taken aback, and 'againcrushed' as she said herself to us, but she was completely convinced ofDounia's innocence. The very next day, being Sunday, she went straightto the Cathedral, knelt down and prayed with tears to Our Lady to giveher strength to bear this new trial and to do her duty. Then shecame straight from the Cathedral to us, told us the whole story, weptbitterly and, fully penitent, she embraced Dounia and besought her toforgive her. The same morning without any delay, she went round to allthe houses in the town and everywhere, shedding tears, she asserted inthe most flattering terms Dounia's innocence and the nobility ofher feelings and her behavior. What was more, she showed and read toeveryone the letter in Dounia's own handwriting to Mr. Svidrigaïlov andeven allowed them to take copies of it--which I must say I think wassuperfluous. In this way she was busy for several days in driving aboutthe whole town, because some people had taken offence through precedencehaving been given to others. And therefore they had to take turns, sothat in every house she was expected before she arrived, and everyoneknew that on such and such a day Marfa Petrovna would be reading theletter in such and such a place and people assembled for every readingof it, even many who had heard it several times already both in theirown houses and in other people's. In my opinion a great deal, a verygreat deal of all this was unnecessary; but that's Marfa Petrovna'scharacter. Anyway she succeeded in completely re-establishing Dounia'sreputation and the whole ignominy of this affair rested as an indelibledisgrace upon her husband, as the only person to blame, so that I reallybegan to feel sorry for him; it was really treating the crazy fellow tooharshly. Dounia was at once asked to give lessons in several families, but she refused. All of a sudden everyone began to treat her with markedrespect and all this did much to bring about the event by which, one maysay, our whole fortunes are now transformed. You must know, dear Rodya, that Dounia has a suitor and that she has already consented to marryhim. I hasten to tell you all about the matter, and though it has beenarranged without asking your consent, I think you will not be aggrievedwith me or with your sister on that account, for you will see that wecould not wait and put off our decision till we heard from you. And youcould not have judged all the facts without being on the spot. Thiswas how it happened. He is already of the rank of a counsellor, PyotrPetrovitch Luzhin, and is distantly related to Marfa Petrovna, whohas been very active in bringing the match about. It began with hisexpressing through her his desire to make our acquaintance. He wasproperly received, drank coffee with us and the very next day he sentus a letter in which he very courteously made an offer and begged for aspeedy and decided answer. He is a very busy man and is in a great hurryto get to Petersburg, so that every moment is precious to him. At first, of course, we were greatly surprised, as it had all happened so quicklyand unexpectedly. We thought and talked it over the whole day. He is awell-to-do man, to be depended upon, he has two posts in the governmentand has already made his fortune. It is true that he is forty-five yearsold, but he is of a fairly prepossessing appearance and might still bethought attractive by women, and he is altogether a very respectable andpresentable man, only he seems a little morose and somewhat conceited. But possibly that may only be the impression he makes at first sight. And beware, dear Rodya, when he comes to Petersburg, as he shortly willdo, beware of judging him too hastily and severely, as your way is, ifthere is anything you do not like in him at first sight. I give you thiswarning, although I feel sure that he will make a favourable impressionupon you. Moreover, in order to understand any man one must bedeliberate and careful to avoid forming prejudices and mistaken ideas, which are very difficult to correct and get over afterwards. And PyotrPetrovitch, judging by many indications, is a thoroughly estimable man. At his first visit, indeed, he told us that he was a practical man, butstill he shares, as he expressed it, many of the convictions 'of ourmost rising generation' and he is an opponent of all prejudices. Hesaid a good deal more, for he seems a little conceited and likes to belistened to, but this is scarcely a vice. I, of course, understood verylittle of it, but Dounia explained to me that, though he is not a manof great education, he is clever and seems to be good-natured. You knowyour sister's character, Rodya. She is a resolute, sensible, patient andgenerous girl, but she has a passionate heart, as I know very well. Of course, there is no great love either on his side, or on hers, butDounia is a clever girl and has the heart of an angel, and will makeit her duty to make her husband happy who on his side will make herhappiness his care. Of that we have no good reason to doubt, though itmust be admitted the matter has been arranged in great haste. Besides heis a man of great prudence and he will see, to be sure, of himself, thathis own happiness will be the more secure, the happier Dounia is withhim. And as for some defects of character, for some habits and evencertain differences of opinion--which indeed are inevitable even inthe happiest marriages--Dounia has said that, as regards all that, sherelies on herself, that there is nothing to be uneasy about, andthat she is ready to put up with a great deal, if only their futurerelationship can be an honourable and straightforward one. He struck me, for instance, at first, as rather abrupt, but that may well comefrom his being an outspoken man, and that is no doubt how it is. Forinstance, at his second visit, after he had received Dounia's consent, in the course of conversation, he declared that before makingDounia's acquaintance, he had made up his mind to marry a girl ofgood reputation, without dowry and, above all, one who had experiencedpoverty, because, as he explained, a man ought not to be indebted to hiswife, but that it is better for a wife to look upon her husband as herbenefactor. I must add that he expressed it more nicely and politelythan I have done, for I have forgotten his actual phrases and onlyremember the meaning. And, besides, it was obviously not said of design, but slipped out in the heat of conversation, so that he tried afterwardsto correct himself and smooth it over, but all the same it did strikeme as somewhat rude, and I said so afterwards to Dounia. But Dounia wasvexed, and answered that 'words are not deeds, ' and that, of course, isperfectly true. Dounia did not sleep all night before she made upher mind, and, thinking that I was asleep, she got out of bed and waswalking up and down the room all night; at last she knelt down beforethe ikon and prayed long and fervently and in the morning she told methat she had decided. 

"I have mentioned already that Pyotr Petrovitch is just setting off forPetersburg, where he has a great deal of business, and he wants to opena legal bureau. He has been occupied for many years in conducting civiland commercial litigation, and only the other day he won an importantcase. He has to be in Petersburg because he has an important case beforethe Senate. So, Rodya dear, he may be of the greatest use to you, inevery way indeed, and Dounia and I have agreed that from this very dayyou could definitely enter upon your career and might consider thatyour future is marked out and assured for you. Oh, if only this comes topass! This would be such a benefit that we could only look upon it as aprovidential blessing. Dounia is dreaming of nothing else. We have evenventured already to drop a few words on the subject to Pyotr Petrovitch. He was cautious in his answer, and said that, of course, as he could notget on without a secretary, it would be better to be paying a salary toa relation than to a stranger, if only the former were fitted for theduties (as though there could be doubt of your being fitted!) but thenhe expressed doubts whether your studies at the university would leaveyou time for work at his office. The matter dropped for the time, butDounia is thinking of nothing else now. She has been in a sort of feverfor the last few days, and has already made a regular plan foryour becoming in the end an associate and even a partner in PyotrPetrovitch's business, which might well be, seeing that you are astudent of law. I am in complete agreement with her, Rodya, and shareall her plans and hopes, and think there is every probability ofrealising them. And in spite of Pyotr Petrovitch's evasiveness, verynatural at present (since he does not know you), Dounia is firmlypersuaded that she will gain everything by her good influence over herfuture husband; this she is reckoning upon. Of course we are carefulnot to talk of any of these more remote plans to Pyotr Petrovitch, especially of your becoming his partner. He is a practical man and mighttake this very coldly, it might all seem to him simply a day-dream. Norhas either Dounia or I breathed a word to him of the great hopes we haveof his helping us to pay for your university studies; we have not spokenof it in the first place, because it will come to pass of itself, later on, and he will no doubt without wasting words offer to do it ofhimself, (as though he could refuse Dounia that) the more readily sinceyou may by your own efforts become his right hand in the office, andreceive this assistance not as a charity, but as a salary earned by yourown work. Dounia wants to arrange it all like this and I quite agreewith her. And we have not spoken of our plans for another reason, thatis, because I particularly wanted you to feel on an equal footing whenyou first meet him. When Dounia spoke to him with enthusiasm aboutyou, he answered that one could never judge of a man without seeinghim close, for oneself, and that he looked forward to forming his ownopinion when he makes your acquaintance. Do you know, my preciousRodya, I think that perhaps for some reasons (nothing to do with PyotrPetrovitch though, simply for my own personal, perhaps old-womanish, fancies) I should do better to go on living by myself, apart, than withthem, after the wedding. I am convinced that he will be generous anddelicate enough to invite me and to urge me to remain with my daughterfor the future, and if he has said nothing about it hitherto, it issimply because it has been taken for granted; but I shall refuse. I havenoticed more than once in my life that husbands don't quite get on withtheir mothers-in-law, and I don't want to be the least bit in anyone'sway, and for my own sake, too, would rather be quite independent, solong as I have a crust of bread of my own, and such children as you andDounia. If possible, I would settle somewhere near you, for the mostjoyful piece of news, dear Rodya, I have kept for the end of my letter:know then, my dear boy, that we may, perhaps, be all together in avery short time and may embrace one another again after a separation ofalmost three years! It is settled _for certain_ that Dounia and I are toset off for Petersburg, exactly when I don't know, but very, very soon, possibly in a week. It all depends on Pyotr Petrovitch who will let usknow when he has had time to look round him in Petersburg. To suit hisown arrangements he is anxious to have the ceremony as soon as possible, even before the fast of Our Lady, if it could be managed, or if that istoo soon to be ready, immediately after. Oh, with what happiness I shallpress you to my heart! Dounia is all excitement at the joyful thoughtof seeing you, she said one day in joke that she would be ready to marryPyotr Petrovitch for that alone. She is an angel! She is not writinganything to you now, and has only told me to write that she has so much, so much to tell you that she is not going to take up her pen now, fora few lines would tell you nothing, and it would only mean upsettingherself; she bids me send you her love and innumerable kisses. Butalthough we shall be meeting so soon, perhaps I shall send you as muchmoney as I can in a day or two. Now that everyone has heard that Douniais to marry Pyotr Petrovitch, my credit has suddenly improved and I knowthat Afanasy Ivanovitch will trust me now even to seventy-five roubleson the security of my pension, so that perhaps I shall be able to sendyou twenty-five or even thirty roubles. I would send you more, but I amuneasy about our travelling expenses; for though Pyotr Petrovitch hasbeen so kind as to undertake part of the expenses of the journey, thatis to say, he has taken upon himself the conveyance of our bags and bigtrunk (which will be conveyed through some acquaintances of his), wemust reckon upon some expense on our arrival in Petersburg, where wecan't be left without a halfpenny, at least for the first few days. Butwe have calculated it all, Dounia and I, to the last penny, and we seethat the journey will not cost very much. It is only ninety versts fromus to the railway and we have come to an agreement with a driver weknow, so as to be in readiness; and from there Dounia and I can travelquite comfortably third class. So that I may very likely be able to sendto you not twenty-five, but thirty roubles. But enough; I have coveredtwo sheets already and there is no space left for more; our wholehistory, but so many events have happened! And now, my precious Rodya, I embrace you and send you a mother's blessing till we meet. Love Douniayour sister, Rodya; love her as she loves you and understand that sheloves you beyond everything, more than herself. She is an angel and you, Rodya, you are everything to us--our one hope, our one consolation. Ifonly you are happy, we shall be happy. Do you still say your prayers, Rodya, and believe in the mercy of our Creator and our Redeemer? I amafraid in my heart that you may have been visited by the new spirit ofinfidelity that is abroad to-day; If it is so, I pray for you. Remember, dear boy, how in your childhood, when your father was living, you usedto lisp your prayers at my knee, and how happy we all were in thosedays. Good-bye, till we meet then--I embrace you warmly, warmly, withmany kisses. 

"Yours till death, "PULCHERIA RASKOLNIKOV. "

Almost from the first, while he read the letter, Raskolnikov's face waswet with tears; but when he finished it, his face was pale and distortedand a bitter, wrathful and malignant smile was on his lips. He laid hishead down on his threadbare dirty pillow and pondered, pondered a longtime. His heart was beating violently, and his brain was in a turmoil. At last he felt cramped and stifled in the little yellow room that waslike a cupboard or a box. His eyes and his mind craved for space. Hetook up his hat and went out, this time without dread of meetinganyone; he had forgotten his dread. He turned in the direction of theVassilyevsky Ostrov, walking along Vassilyevsky Prospect, as thoughhastening on some business, but he walked, as his habit was, withoutnoticing his way, muttering and even speaking aloud to himself, to theastonishment of the passers-by. Many of them took him to be drunk. 

CHAPTER IV

His mother's letter had been a torture to him, but as regards the chieffact in it, he had felt not one moment's hesitation, even whilst he wasreading the letter. The essential question was settled, and irrevocablysettled, in his mind: "Never such a marriage while I am alive andMr. Luzhin be damned!" "The thing is perfectly clear, " he mutteredto himself, with a malignant smile anticipating the triumph of hisdecision. "No, mother, no, Dounia, you won't deceive me! and then theyapologise for not asking my advice and for taking the decision withoutme! I dare say! They imagine it is arranged now and can't be brokenoff; but we will see whether it can or not! A magnificent excuse:'Pyotr Petrovitch is such a busy man that even his wedding has to be inpost-haste, almost by express. ' No, Dounia, I see it all and I know whatyou want to say to me; and I know too what you were thinking about, whenyou walked up and down all night, and what your prayers were like beforethe Holy Mother of Kazan who stands in mother's bedroom. Bitter isthe ascent to Golgotha. . . . Hm. . . So it is finally settled; you havedetermined to marry a sensible business man, Avdotya Romanovna, onewho has a fortune (has _already_ made his fortune, that is so muchmore solid and impressive) a man who holds two government posts and whoshares the ideas of our most rising generation, as mother writes, andwho _seems_ to be kind, as Dounia herself observes. That _seems_ beatseverything! And that very Dounia for that very '_seems_' is marryinghim! Splendid! splendid!

". . . But I should like to know why mother has written to me about 'ourmost rising generation'? Simply as a descriptive touch, or with the ideaof prepossessing me in favour of Mr. Luzhin? Oh, the cunning of them!I should like to know one thing more: how far they were open with oneanother that day and night and all this time since? Was it all put into_words_, or did both understand that they had the same thing at heartand in their minds, so that there was no need to speak of it aloud, andbetter not to speak of it. Most likely it was partly like that, frommother's letter it's evident: he struck her as rude _a little_, andmother in her simplicity took her observations to Dounia. And she wassure to be vexed and 'answered her angrily. ' I should think so! Whowould not be angered when it was quite clear without any naïve questionsand when it was understood that it was useless to discuss it. And whydoes she write to me, 'love Dounia, Rodya, and she loves you more thanherself'? Has she a secret conscience-prick at sacrificing her daughterto her son? 'You are our one comfort, you are everything to us. ' Oh, mother!"

His bitterness grew more and more intense, and if he had happened tomeet Mr. Luzhin at the moment, he might have murdered him. 

"Hm. . . Yes, that's true, " he continued, pursuing the whirling ideas thatchased each other in his brain, "it is true that 'it needs time and careto get to know a man, ' but there is no mistake about Mr. Luzhin. Thechief thing is he is 'a man of business and _seems_ kind, ' that wassomething, wasn't it, to send the bags and big box for them! A kind man, no doubt after that! But his _bride_ and her mother are to drive in apeasant's cart covered with sacking (I know, I have been driven init). No matter! It is only ninety versts and then they can 'travel verycomfortably, third class, ' for a thousand versts! Quite right, too. Onemust cut one's coat according to one's cloth, but what about you, Mr. Luzhin? She is your bride. . . . And you must be aware that her mother hasto raise money on her pension for the journey. To be sure it's a matterof business, a partnership for mutual benefit, with equal shares andexpenses;--food and drink provided, but pay for your tobacco. Thebusiness man has got the better of them, too. The luggage will cost lessthan their fares and very likely go for nothing. How is it that theydon't both see all that, or is it that they don't want to see? Andthey are pleased, pleased! And to think that this is only the firstblossoming, and that the real fruits are to come! But what reallymatters is not the stinginess, is not the meanness, but the _tone_of the whole thing. For that will be the tone after marriage, it's aforetaste of it. And mother too, why should she be so lavish? What willshe have by the time she gets to Petersburg? Three silver roubles ortwo 'paper ones' as _she_ says. . . . That old woman. . . Hm. What doesshe expect to live upon in Petersburg afterwards? She has her reasonsalready for guessing that she _could not_ live with Dounia after themarriage, even for the first few months. The good man has no doubt letslip something on that subject also, though mother would deny it: 'Ishall refuse, ' says she. On whom is she reckoning then? Is she countingon what is left of her hundred and twenty roubles of pension whenAfanasy Ivanovitch's debt is paid? She knits woollen shawls andembroiders cuffs, ruining her old eyes. And all her shawls don't addmore than twenty roubles a year to her hundred and twenty, I knowthat. So she is building all her hopes all the time on Mr. Luzhin'sgenerosity; 'he will offer it of himself, he will press it on me. 'You may wait a long time for that! That's how it always is with theseSchilleresque noble hearts; till the last moment every goose is a swanwith them, till the last moment, they hope for the best and will seenothing wrong, and although they have an inkling of the other side ofthe picture, yet they won't face the truth till they are forced to; thevery thought of it makes them shiver; they thrust the truth away withboth hands, until the man they deck out in false colours puts a fool'scap on them with his own hands. I should like to know whether Mr. Luzhinhas any orders of merit; I bet he has the Anna in his buttonhole andthat he puts it on when he goes to dine with contractors or merchants. He will be sure to have it for his wedding, too! Enough of him, confoundhim!

"Well, . . . Mother I don't wonder at, it's like her, God bless her, buthow could Dounia? Dounia darling, as though I did not know you! You werenearly twenty when I saw you last: I understood you then. Mother writesthat 'Dounia can put up with a great deal. ' I know that very well. Iknew that two years and a half ago, and for the last two and a halfyears I have been thinking about it, thinking of just that, that 'Douniacan put up with a great deal. ' If she could put up with Mr. Svidrigaïlovand all the rest of it, she certainly can put up with a great deal. Andnow mother and she have taken it into their heads that she can put upwith Mr. Luzhin, who propounds the theory of the superiority ofwives raised from destitution and owing everything to their husband'sbounty--who propounds it, too, almost at the first interview. Grantedthat he 'let it slip, ' though he is a sensible man, (yet maybe itwas not a slip at all, but he meant to make himself clear as soon aspossible) but Dounia, Dounia? She understands the man, of course, butshe will have to live with the man. Why! she'd live on black breadand water, she would not sell her soul, she would not barter her moralfreedom for comfort; she would not barter it for all Schleswig-Holstein, much less Mr. Luzhin's money. No, Dounia was not that sort when I knewher and. . . She is still the same, of course! Yes, there's no denying, the Svidrigaïlovs are a bitter pill! It's a bitter thing to spend one'slife a governess in the provinces for two hundred roubles, but I knowshe would rather be a nigger on a plantation or a Lett with a Germanmaster than degrade her soul, and her moral dignity, by binding herselffor ever to a man whom she does not respect and with whom she hasnothing in common--for her own advantage. And if Mr. Luzhin had been ofunalloyed gold, or one huge diamond, she would never have consented tobecome his legal concubine. Why is she consenting then? What's thepoint of it? What's the answer? It's clear enough: for herself, for hercomfort, to save her life she would not sell herself, but for someoneelse she is doing it! For one she loves, for one she adores, she willsell herself! That's what it all amounts to; for her brother, for hermother, she will sell herself! She will sell everything! In such cases, 'we overcome our moral feeling if necessary, ' freedom, peace, conscienceeven, all, all are brought into the market. Let my life go, if only mydear ones may be happy! More than that, we become casuists, we learnto be Jesuitical and for a time maybe we can soothe ourselves, we canpersuade ourselves that it is one's duty for a good object. That's justlike us, it's as clear as daylight. It's clear that Rodion RomanovitchRaskolnikov is the central figure in the business, and no one else. Oh, yes, she can ensure his happiness, keep him in the university, make hima partner in the office, make his whole future secure; perhaps he mayeven be a rich man later on, prosperous, respected, and may even end hislife a famous man! But my mother? It's all Rodya, precious Rodya, herfirst born! For such a son who would not sacrifice such a daughter! Oh, loving, over-partial hearts! Why, for his sake we would not shrink evenfrom Sonia's fate. Sonia, Sonia Marmeladov, the eternal victim so longas the world lasts. Have you taken the measure of your sacrifice, bothof you? Is it right? Can you bear it? Is it any use? Is there sense init? And let me tell you, Dounia, Sonia's life is no worse than life withMr. Luzhin. 'There can be no question of love, ' mother writes. And whatif there can be no respect either, if on the contrary there is aversion, contempt, repulsion, what then? So you will have to 'keep up yourappearance, ' too. Is not that so? Do you understand what that smartnessmeans? Do you understand that the Luzhin smartness is just the samething as Sonia's and may be worse, viler, baser, because in your case, Dounia, it's a bargain for luxuries, after all, but with Sonia it'ssimply a question of starvation. It has to be paid for, it has to bepaid for, Dounia, this smartness. And what if it's more than you canbear afterwards, if you regret it? The bitterness, the misery, thecurses, the tears hidden from all the world, for you are not a MarfaPetrovna. And how will your mother feel then? Even now she is uneasy, she is worried, but then, when she sees it all clearly? And I? Yes, indeed, what have you taken me for? I won't have your sacrifice, Dounia, I won't have it, mother! It shall not be, so long as I am alive, itshall not, it shall not! I won't accept it!"

He suddenly paused in his reflection and stood still. 

"It shall not be? But what are you going to do to prevent it? You'llforbid it? And what right have you? What can you promise them on yourside to give you such a right? Your whole life, your whole future, youwill devote to them _when you have finished your studies and obtained apost_? Yes, we have heard all that before, and that's all _words_, butnow? Now something must be done, now, do you understand that? Andwhat are you doing now? You are living upon them. They borrow on theirhundred roubles pension. They borrow from the Svidrigaïlovs. How areyou going to save them from Svidrigaïlovs, from Afanasy IvanovitchVahrushin, oh, future millionaire Zeus who would arrange their lives forthem? In another ten years? In another ten years, mother will be blindwith knitting shawls, maybe with weeping too. She will be worn to ashadow with fasting; and my sister? Imagine for a moment what may havebecome of your sister in ten years? What may happen to her during thoseten years? Can you fancy?"

So he tortured himself, fretting himself with such questions, andfinding a kind of enjoyment in it. And yet all these questions were notnew ones suddenly confronting him, they were old familiar aches. It waslong since they had first begun to grip and rend his heart. Long, longago his present anguish had its first beginnings; it had waxed andgathered strength, it had matured and concentrated, until it had takenthe form of a fearful, frenzied and fantastic question, which torturedhis heart and mind, clamouring insistently for an answer. Now hismother's letter had burst on him like a thunderclap. It was clearthat he must not now suffer passively, worrying himself over unsolvedquestions, but that he must do something, do it at once, and do itquickly. Anyway he must decide on something, or else. . . 

"Or throw up life altogether!" he cried suddenly, in a frenzy--"acceptone's lot humbly as it is, once for all and stifle everything inoneself, giving up all claim to activity, life and love!"

"Do you understand, sir, do you understand what it means when you haveabsolutely nowhere to turn?" Marmeladov's question came suddenly intohis mind, "for every man must have somewhere to turn. . . . "

He gave a sudden start; another thought, that he had had yesterday, slipped back into his mind. But he did not start at the thoughtrecurring to him, for he knew, he had _felt beforehand_, that it mustcome back, he was expecting it; besides it was not only yesterday'sthought. The difference was that a month ago, yesterday even, thethought was a mere dream: but now. . . Now it appeared not a dream at all, it had taken a new menacing and quite unfamiliar shape, and he suddenlybecame aware of this himself. . . . He felt a hammering in his head, andthere was a darkness before his eyes. 

He looked round hurriedly, he was searching for something. He wantedto sit down and was looking for a seat; he was walking along the K----Boulevard. There was a seat about a hundred paces in front of him. Hewalked towards it as fast he could; but on the way he met with a littleadventure which absorbed all his attention. Looking for the seat, he hadnoticed a woman walking some twenty paces in front of him, but at firsthe took no more notice of her than of other objects that crossed hispath. It had happened to him many times going home not to notice theroad by which he was going, and he was accustomed to walk like that. Butthere was at first sight something so strange about the woman in frontof him, that gradually his attention was riveted upon her, at firstreluctantly and, as it were, resentfully, and then more and moreintently. He felt a sudden desire to find out what it was that was sostrange about the woman. In the first place, she appeared to be a girlquite young, and she was walking in the great heat bareheaded and withno parasol or gloves, waving her arms about in an absurd way. She hadon a dress of some light silky material, but put on strangely awry, notproperly hooked up, and torn open at the top of the skirt, close to thewaist: a great piece was rent and hanging loose. A little kerchief wasflung about her bare throat, but lay slanting on one side. The girl waswalking unsteadily, too, stumbling and staggering from side to side. Shedrew Raskolnikov's whole attention at last. He overtook the girl at theseat, but, on reaching it, she dropped down on it, in the corner;she let her head sink on the back of the seat and closed her eyes, apparently in extreme exhaustion. Looking at her closely, he saw at oncethat she was completely drunk. It was a strange and shocking sight. Hecould hardly believe that he was not mistaken. He saw before him theface of a quite young, fair-haired girl--sixteen, perhaps not more thanfifteen, years old, pretty little face, but flushed and heavy lookingand, as it were, swollen. The girl seemed hardly to know what she wasdoing; she crossed one leg over the other, lifting it indecorously, andshowed every sign of being unconscious that she was in the street. 

Raskolnikov did not sit down, but he felt unwilling to leave her, and stood facing her in perplexity. This boulevard was never muchfrequented; and now, at two o'clock, in the stifling heat, it was quitedeserted. And yet on the further side of the boulevard, about fifteenpaces away, a gentleman was standing on the edge of the pavement. He, too, would apparently have liked to approach the girl with some objectof his own. He, too, had probably seen her in the distance and hadfollowed her, but found Raskolnikov in his way. He looked angrily athim, though he tried to escape his notice, and stood impatiently bidinghis time, till the unwelcome man in rags should have moved away. Hisintentions were unmistakable. The gentleman was a plump, thickly-setman, about thirty, fashionably dressed, with a high colour, red lips andmoustaches. Raskolnikov felt furious; he had a sudden longing to insultthis fat dandy in some way. He left the girl for a moment and walkedtowards the gentleman. 

"Hey! You Svidrigaïlov! What do you want here?" he shouted, clenchinghis fists and laughing, spluttering with rage. 

"What do you mean?" the gentleman asked sternly, scowling in haughtyastonishment. 

"Get away, that's what I mean. "

"How dare you, you low fellow!"

He raised his cane. Raskolnikov rushed at him with his fists, withoutreflecting that the stout gentleman was a match for two men likehimself. But at that instant someone seized him from behind, and apolice constable stood between them. 

"That's enough, gentlemen, no fighting, please, in a public place. Whatdo you want? Who are you?" he asked Raskolnikov sternly, noticing hisrags. 

Raskolnikov looked at him intently. He had a straight-forward, sensible, soldierly face, with grey moustaches and whiskers. 

"You are just the man I want, " Raskolnikov cried, catching at his arm. "I am a student, Raskolnikov. . . . You may as well know that too, " headded, addressing the gentleman, "come along, I have something to showyou. "

And taking the policeman by the hand he drew him towards the seat. 

"Look here, hopelessly drunk, and she has just come down the boulevard. There is no telling who and what she is, she does not look like aprofessional. It's more likely she has been given drink and deceivedsomewhere. . . For the first time. . . You understand? and they've put herout into the street like that. Look at the way her dress is torn, andthe way it has been put on: she has been dressed by somebody, she hasnot dressed herself, and dressed by unpractised hands, by a man's hands;that's evident. And now look there: I don't know that dandy with whom Iwas going to fight, I see him for the first time, but he, too, has seenher on the road, just now, drunk, not knowing what she is doing, and nowhe is very eager to get hold of her, to get her away somewhere while sheis in this state. . . That's certain, believe me, I am not wrong. I sawhim myself watching her and following her, but I prevented him, and heis just waiting for me to go away. Now he has walked away a little, andis standing still, pretending to make a cigarette. . . . Think how can wekeep her out of his hands, and how are we to get her home?"

The policeman saw it all in a flash. The stout gentleman was easy tounderstand, he turned to consider the girl. The policeman bent over toexamine her more closely, and his face worked with genuine compassion. 

"Ah, what a pity!" he said, shaking his head--"why, she is quite achild! She has been deceived, you can see that at once. Listen, lady, "he began addressing her, "where do you live?" The girl opened her wearyand sleepy-looking eyes, gazed blankly at the speaker and waved herhand. 

"Here, " said Raskolnikov feeling in his pocket and finding twentycopecks, "here, call a cab and tell him to drive her to her address. Theonly thing is to find out her address!"

"Missy, missy!" the policeman began again, taking the money. "I'll fetchyou a cab and take you home myself. Where shall I take you, eh? Where doyou live?"

"Go away! They won't let me alone, " the girl muttered, and once morewaved her hand. 

"Ach, ach, how shocking! It's shameful, missy, it's a shame!" He shookhis head again, shocked, sympathetic and indignant. 

"It's a difficult job, " the policeman said to Raskolnikov, and as hedid so, he looked him up and down in a rapid glance. He, too, must haveseemed a strange figure to him: dressed in rags and handing him money!

"Did you meet her far from here?" he asked him. 

"I tell you she was walking in front of me, staggering, just here, inthe boulevard. She only just reached the seat and sank down on it. "

"Ah, the shameful things that are done in the world nowadays, God havemercy on us! An innocent creature like that, drunk already! She has beendeceived, that's a sure thing. See how her dress has been torn too. . . . Ah, the vice one sees nowadays! And as likely as not she belongs togentlefolk too, poor ones maybe. . . . There are many like that nowadays. She looks refined, too, as though she were a lady, " and he bent over heronce more. 

Perhaps he had daughters growing up like that, "looking like ladies andrefined" with pretensions to gentility and smartness. . . . 

"The chief thing is, " Raskolnikov persisted, "to keep her out of thisscoundrel's hands! Why should he outrage her! It's as clear as day whathe is after; ah, the brute, he is not moving off!"

Raskolnikov spoke aloud and pointed to him. The gentleman heard him, and seemed about to fly into a rage again, but thought better of it, andconfined himself to a contemptuous look. He then walked slowly anotherten paces away and again halted. 

"Keep her out of his hands we can, " said the constable thoughtfully, "if only she'd tell us where to take her, but as it is. . . . Missy, hey, missy!" he bent over her once more. 

She opened her eyes fully all of a sudden, looked at him intently, asthough realising something, got up from the seat and walked away in thedirection from which she had come. "Oh shameful wretches, they won't letme alone!" she said, waving her hand again. She walked quickly, thoughstaggering as before. The dandy followed her, but along another avenue, keeping his eye on her. 

"Don't be anxious, I won't let him have her, " the policeman saidresolutely, and he set off after them. 

"Ah, the vice one sees nowadays!" he repeated aloud, sighing. 

At that moment something seemed to sting Raskolnikov; in an instant acomplete revulsion of feeling came over him. 

"Hey, here!" he shouted after the policeman. 

The latter turned round. 

"Let them be! What is it to do with you? Let her go! Let him amusehimself. " He pointed at the dandy, "What is it to do with you?"

The policeman was bewildered, and stared at him open-eyed. Raskolnikovlaughed. 

"Well!" ejaculated the policeman, with a gesture of contempt, and hewalked after the dandy and the girl, probably taking Raskolnikov for amadman or something even worse. 

"He has carried off my twenty copecks, " Raskolnikov murmured angrilywhen he was left alone. "Well, let him take as much from the otherfellow to allow him to have the girl and so let it end. And why did Iwant to interfere? Is it for me to help? Have I any right to help? Letthem devour each other alive--what is to me? How did I dare to give himtwenty copecks? Were they mine?"

In spite of those strange words he felt very wretched. He sat down onthe deserted seat. His thoughts strayed aimlessly. . . . He found it hardto fix his mind on anything at that moment. He longed to forget himselfaltogether, to forget everything, and then to wake up and begin lifeanew. . . . 

"Poor girl!" he said, looking at the empty corner where she hadsat--"She will come to herself and weep, and then her mother will findout. . . . She will give her a beating, a horrible, shameful beating andthen maybe, turn her out of doors. . . . And even if she does not, theDarya Frantsovnas will get wind of it, and the girl will soon beslipping out on the sly here and there. Then there will be the hospitaldirectly (that's always the luck of those girls with respectablemothers, who go wrong on the sly) and then. . . Again the hospital. . . Drink. . . The taverns. . . And more hospital, in two or three years--awreck, and her life over at eighteen or nineteen. . . . Have not I seencases like that? And how have they been brought to it? Why, they've allcome to it like that. Ugh! But what does it matter? That's as it shouldbe, they tell us. A certain percentage, they tell us, must every yeargo. . . That way. . . To the devil, I suppose, so that the rest may remainchaste, and not be interfered with. A percentage! What splendid wordsthey have; they are so scientific, so consolatory. . . . Once you've said'percentage' there's nothing more to worry about. If we had any otherword. . . Maybe we might feel more uneasy. . . . But what if Dounia were oneof the percentage! Of another one if not that one?

"But where am I going?" he thought suddenly. "Strange, I came out forsomething. As soon as I had read the letter I came out. . . . I was goingto Vassilyevsky Ostrov, to Razumihin. That's what it was. . . Now Iremember. What for, though? And what put the idea of going to Razumihininto my head just now? That's curious. "

He wondered at himself. Razumihin was one of his old comrades at theuniversity. It was remarkable that Raskolnikov had hardly any friends atthe university; he kept aloof from everyone, went to see no one, and didnot welcome anyone who came to see him, and indeed everyone soon gavehim up. He took no part in the students' gatherings, amusements orconversations. He worked with great intensity without sparing himself, and he was respected for this, but no one liked him. He was very poor, and there was a sort of haughty pride and reserve about him, as thoughhe were keeping something to himself. He seemed to some of his comradesto look down upon them all as children, as though he were superior indevelopment, knowledge and convictions, as though their beliefs andinterests were beneath him. 

With Razumihin he had got on, or, at least, he was more unreserved andcommunicative with him. Indeed it was impossible to be on any otherterms with Razumihin. He was an exceptionally good-humoured and candidyouth, good-natured to the point of simplicity, though both depth anddignity lay concealed under that simplicity. The better of his comradesunderstood this, and all were fond of him. He was extremely intelligent, though he was certainly rather a simpleton at times. He was of strikingappearance--tall, thin, blackhaired and always badly shaved. He wassometimes uproarious and was reputed to be of great physical strength. One night, when out in a festive company, he had with one blow laida gigantic policeman on his back. There was no limit to his drinkingpowers, but he could abstain from drink altogether; he sometimes wenttoo far in his pranks; but he could do without pranks altogether. Another thing striking about Razumihin, no failure distressed him, andit seemed as though no unfavourable circumstances could crush him. Hecould lodge anywhere, and bear the extremes of cold and hunger. He wasvery poor, and kept himself entirely on what he could earn by work ofone sort or another. He knew of no end of resources by which to earnmoney. He spent one whole winter without lighting his stove, and used todeclare that he liked it better, because one slept more soundly inthe cold. For the present he, too, had been obliged to give up theuniversity, but it was only for a time, and he was working with all hismight to save enough to return to his studies again. Raskolnikov hadnot been to see him for the last four months, and Razumihin did not evenknow his address. About two months before, they had met in the street, but Raskolnikov had turned away and even crossed to the other side thathe might not be observed. And though Razumihin noticed him, he passedhim by, as he did not want to annoy him. 

CHAPTER V

"Of course, I've been meaning lately to go to Razumihin's to ask forwork, to ask him to get me lessons or something. . . " Raskolnikov thought, "but what help can he be to me now? Suppose he gets me lessons, supposehe shares his last farthing with me, if he has any farthings, so thatI could get some boots and make myself tidy enough to give lessons. . . Hm. . . Well and what then? What shall I do with the few coppers Iearn? That's not what I want now. It's really absurd for me to go toRazumihin. . . . "

The question why he was now going to Razumihin agitated him even morethan he was himself aware; he kept uneasily seeking for some sinistersignificance in this apparently ordinary action. 

"Could I have expected to set it all straight and to find a way out bymeans of Razumihin alone?" he asked himself in perplexity. 

He pondered and rubbed his forehead, and, strange to say, after longmusing, suddenly, as if it were spontaneously and by chance, a fantasticthought came into his head. 

"Hm. . . To Razumihin's, " he said all at once, calmly, as though he hadreached a final determination. "I shall go to Razumihin's of course, but. . . Not now. I shall go to him. . . On the next day after It, when Itwill be over and everything will begin afresh. . . . "

And suddenly he realised what he was thinking. 

"After It, " he shouted, jumping up from the seat, "but is It reallygoing to happen? Is it possible it really will happen?" He left theseat, and went off almost at a run; he meant to turn back, homewards, but the thought of going home suddenly filled him with intense loathing;in that hole, in that awful little cupboard of his, all _this_ had for amonth past been growing up in him; and he walked on at random. 

His nervous shudder had passed into a fever that made him feelshivering; in spite of the heat he felt cold. With a kind of effort hebegan almost unconsciously, from some inner craving, to stare at allthe objects before him, as though looking for something to distract hisattention; but he did not succeed, and kept dropping every moment intobrooding. When with a start he lifted his head again and looked round, he forgot at once what he had just been thinking about and even where hewas going. In this way he walked right across Vassilyevsky Ostrov, cameout on to the Lesser Neva, crossed the bridge and turned towards theislands. The greenness and freshness were at first restful to his wearyeyes after the dust of the town and the huge houses that hemmed him inand weighed upon him. Here there were no taverns, no stifling closeness, no stench. But soon these new pleasant sensations passed into morbidirritability. Sometimes he stood still before a brightly painted summervilla standing among green foliage, he gazed through the fence, he sawin the distance smartly dressed women on the verandahs and balconies, and children running in the gardens. The flowers especially caught hisattention; he gazed at them longer than at anything. He was met, too, byluxurious carriages and by men and women on horseback; he watched themwith curious eyes and forgot about them before they had vanished fromhis sight. Once he stood still and counted his money; he found he hadthirty copecks. "Twenty to the policeman, three to Nastasya for theletter, so I must have given forty-seven or fifty to the Marmeladovsyesterday, " he thought, reckoning it up for some unknown reason, but hesoon forgot with what object he had taken the money out of his pocket. He recalled it on passing an eating-house or tavern, and felt that hewas hungry. . . . Going into the tavern he drank a glass of vodka and ate apie of some sort. He finished eating it as he walked away. It was a longwhile since he had taken vodka and it had an effect upon him at once, though he only drank a wineglassful. His legs felt suddenly heavy anda great drowsiness came upon him. He turned homewards, but reachingPetrovsky Ostrov he stopped completely exhausted, turned off the roadinto the bushes, sank down upon the grass and instantly fell asleep. 

In a morbid condition of the brain, dreams often have a singularactuality, vividness, and extraordinary semblance of reality. At timesmonstrous images are created, but the setting and the whole picture areso truth-like and filled with details so delicate, so unexpectedly, butso artistically consistent, that the dreamer, were he an artist likePushkin or Turgenev even, could never have invented them in the wakingstate. Such sick dreams always remain long in the memory and make apowerful impression on the overwrought and deranged nervous system. 

Raskolnikov had a fearful dream. He dreamt he was back in his childhoodin the little town of his birth. He was a child about seven years old, walking into the country with his father on the evening of a holiday. Itwas a grey and heavy day, the country was exactly as he remembered it;indeed he recalled it far more vividly in his dream than he had done inmemory. The little town stood on a level flat as bare as the hand, noteven a willow near it; only in the far distance, a copse lay, a darkblur on the very edge of the horizon. A few paces beyond the last marketgarden stood a tavern, a big tavern, which had always aroused in him afeeling of aversion, even of fear, when he walked by it with his father. There was always a crowd there, always shouting, laughter and abuse, hideous hoarse singing and often fighting. Drunken and horrible-lookingfigures were hanging about the tavern. He used to cling close to hisfather, trembling all over when he met them. Near the tavern the roadbecame a dusty track, the dust of which was always black. It was awinding road, and about a hundred paces further on, it turned to theright to the graveyard. In the middle of the graveyard stood a stonechurch with a green cupola where he used to go to mass two or threetimes a year with his father and mother, when a service was held inmemory of his grandmother, who had long been dead, and whom he had neverseen. On these occasions they used to take on a white dish tied up in atable napkin a special sort of rice pudding with raisins stuck in it inthe shape of a cross. He loved that church, the old-fashioned, unadornedikons and the old priest with the shaking head. Near his grandmother'sgrave, which was marked by a stone, was the little grave of his youngerbrother who had died at six months old. He did not remember him at all, but he had been told about his little brother, and whenever he visitedthe graveyard he used religiously and reverently to cross himself andto bow down and kiss the little grave. And now he dreamt that he waswalking with his father past the tavern on the way to the graveyard; hewas holding his father's hand and looking with dread at the tavern. Apeculiar circumstance attracted his attention: there seemed to besome kind of festivity going on, there were crowds of gaily dressedtownspeople, peasant women, their husbands, and riff-raff of all sorts, all singing and all more or less drunk. Near the entrance of the tavernstood a cart, but a strange cart. It was one of those big carts usuallydrawn by heavy cart-horses and laden with casks of wine or other heavygoods. He always liked looking at those great cart-horses, with theirlong manes, thick legs, and slow even pace, drawing along a perfectmountain with no appearance of effort, as though it were easier goingwith a load than without it. But now, strange to say, in the shafts ofsuch a cart he saw a thin little sorrel beast, one of those peasants'nags which he had often seen straining their utmost under a heavy loadof wood or hay, especially when the wheels were stuck in the mud or ina rut. And the peasants would beat them so cruelly, sometimes evenabout the nose and eyes, and he felt so sorry, so sorry for them thathe almost cried, and his mother always used to take him away from thewindow. All of a sudden there was a great uproar of shouting, singingand the balalaïka, and from the tavern a number of big and very drunkenpeasants came out, wearing red and blue shirts and coats thrown overtheir shoulders. 

"Get in, get in!" shouted one of them, a young thick-necked peasant witha fleshy face red as a carrot. "I'll take you all, get in!"

But at once there was an outbreak of laughter and exclamations in thecrowd. 

"Take us all with a beast like that!"

"Why, Mikolka, are you crazy to put a nag like that in such a cart?"

"And this mare is twenty if she is a day, mates!"

"Get in, I'll take you all, " Mikolka shouted again, leaping first intothe cart, seizing the reins and standing straight up in front. "The bayhas gone with Matvey, " he shouted from the cart--"and this brute, mates, is just breaking my heart, I feel as if I could kill her. She's justeating her head off. Get in, I tell you! I'll make her gallop! She'llgallop!" and he picked up the whip, preparing himself with relish toflog the little mare. 

"Get in! Come along!" The crowd laughed. "D'you hear, she'll gallop!"

"Gallop indeed! She has not had a gallop in her for the last ten years!"

"She'll jog along!"

"Don't you mind her, mates, bring a whip each of you, get ready!"

"All right! Give it to her!"

They all clambered into Mikolka's cart, laughing and making jokes. Sixmen got in and there was still room for more. They hauled in a fat, rosy-cheeked woman. She was dressed in red cotton, in a pointed, beadedheaddress and thick leather shoes; she was cracking nuts and laughing. The crowd round them was laughing too and indeed, how could they helplaughing? That wretched nag was to drag all the cartload of them at agallop! Two young fellows in the cart were just getting whips ready tohelp Mikolka. With the cry of "now, " the mare tugged with all her might, but far from galloping, could scarcely move forward; she struggled withher legs, gasping and shrinking from the blows of the three whips whichwere showered upon her like hail. The laughter in the cart and in thecrowd was redoubled, but Mikolka flew into a rage and furiously thrashedthe mare, as though he supposed she really could gallop. 

"Let me get in, too, mates, " shouted a young man in the crowd whoseappetite was aroused. 

"Get in, all get in, " cried Mikolka, "she will draw you all. I'll beather to death!" And he thrashed and thrashed at the mare, beside himselfwith fury. 

"Father, father, " he cried, "father, what are they doing? Father, theyare beating the poor horse!"

"Come along, come along!" said his father. "They are drunken andfoolish, they are in fun; come away, don't look!" and he tried to drawhim away, but he tore himself away from his hand, and, beside himselfwith horror, ran to the horse. The poor beast was in a bad way. She wasgasping, standing still, then tugging again and almost falling. 

"Beat her to death, " cried Mikolka, "it's come to that. I'll do forher!"

"What are you about, are you a Christian, you devil?" shouted an old manin the crowd. 

"Did anyone ever see the like? A wretched nag like that pulling such acartload, " said another. 

"You'll kill her, " shouted the third. 

"Don't meddle! It's my property, I'll do what I choose. Get in, more ofyou! Get in, all of you! I will have her go at a gallop!. . . "

All at once laughter broke into a roar and covered everything: the mare, roused by the shower of blows, began feebly kicking. Even the old mancould not help smiling. To think of a wretched little beast like thattrying to kick!

Two lads in the crowd snatched up whips and ran to the mare to beat herabout the ribs. One ran each side. 

"Hit her in the face, in the eyes, in the eyes, " cried Mikolka. 

"Give us a song, mates, " shouted someone in the cart and everyone in thecart joined in a riotous song, jingling a tambourine and whistling. Thewoman went on cracking nuts and laughing. 

. . . He ran beside the mare, ran in front of her, saw her being whippedacross the eyes, right in the eyes! He was crying, he felt choking, histears were streaming. One of the men gave him a cut with the whip acrossthe face, he did not feel it. Wringing his hands and screaming, herushed up to the grey-headed old man with the grey beard, who wasshaking his head in disapproval. One woman seized him by the hand andwould have taken him away, but he tore himself from her and ran back tothe mare. She was almost at the last gasp, but began kicking once more. 

"I'll teach you to kick, " Mikolka shouted ferociously. He threw downthe whip, bent forward and picked up from the bottom of the cart a long, thick shaft, he took hold of one end with both hands and with an effortbrandished it over the mare. 

"He'll crush her, " was shouted round him. "He'll kill her!"

"It's my property, " shouted Mikolka and brought the shaft down with aswinging blow. There was a sound of a heavy thud. 

"Thrash her, thrash her! Why have you stopped?" shouted voices in thecrowd. 

And Mikolka swung the shaft a second time and it fell a second timeon the spine of the luckless mare. She sank back on her haunches, butlurched forward and tugged forward with all her force, tugged first onone side and then on the other, trying to move the cart. But the sixwhips were attacking her in all directions, and the shaft was raisedagain and fell upon her a third time, then a fourth, with heavy measuredblows. Mikolka was in a fury that he could not kill her at one blow. 

"She's a tough one, " was shouted in the crowd. 

"She'll fall in a minute, mates, there will soon be an end of her, " saidan admiring spectator in the crowd. 

"Fetch an axe to her! Finish her off, " shouted a third. 

"I'll show you! Stand off, " Mikolka screamed frantically; he threw downthe shaft, stooped down in the cart and picked up an iron crowbar. "Lookout, " he shouted, and with all his might he dealt a stunning blow at thepoor mare. The blow fell; the mare staggered, sank back, tried to pull, but the bar fell again with a swinging blow on her back and she fell onthe ground like a log. 

"Finish her off, " shouted Mikolka and he leapt beside himself, out ofthe cart. Several young men, also flushed with drink, seized anythingthey could come across--whips, sticks, poles, and ran to the dyingmare. Mikolka stood on one side and began dealing random blows with thecrowbar. The mare stretched out her head, drew a long breath and died. 

"You butchered her, " someone shouted in the crowd. 

"Why wouldn't she gallop then?"

"My property!" shouted Mikolka, with bloodshot eyes, brandishing the barin his hands. He stood as though regretting that he had nothing more tobeat. 

"No mistake about it, you are not a Christian, " many voices wereshouting in the crowd. 

But the poor boy, beside himself, made his way, screaming, through thecrowd to the sorrel nag, put his arms round her bleeding dead head andkissed it, kissed the eyes and kissed the lips. . . . Then he jumped up andflew in a frenzy with his little fists out at Mikolka. At that instanthis father, who had been running after him, snatched him up and carriedhim out of the crowd. 

"Come along, come! Let us go home, " he said to him. 

"Father! Why did they. . . Kill. . . The poor horse!" he sobbed, but hisvoice broke and the words came in shrieks from his panting chest. 

"They are drunk. . . . They are brutal. . . It's not our business!" said hisfather. He put his arms round his father but he felt choked, choked. Hetried to draw a breath, to cry out--and woke up. 

He waked up, gasping for breath, his hair soaked with perspiration, andstood up in terror. 

"Thank God, that was only a dream, " he said, sitting down under a treeand drawing deep breaths. "But what is it? Is it some fever coming on?Such a hideous dream!"

He felt utterly broken: darkness and confusion were in his soul. Herested his elbows on his knees and leaned his head on his hands. 

"Good God!" he cried, "can it be, can it be, that I shall really take anaxe, that I shall strike her on the head, split her skull open. . . That Ishall tread in the sticky warm blood, break the lock, steal and tremble;hide, all spattered in the blood. . . With the axe. . . . Good God, can itbe?"

He was shaking like a leaf as he said this. 

"But why am I going on like this?" he continued, sitting up again, as itwere in profound amazement. "I knew that I could never bring myselfto it, so what have I been torturing myself for till now? Yesterday, yesterday, when I went to make that. . . _experiment_, yesterday Irealised completely that I could never bear to do it. . . . Why am I goingover it again, then? Why am I hesitating? As I came down the stairsyesterday, I said myself that it was base, loathsome, vile, vile. . . Thevery thought of it made me feel sick and filled me with horror. 

"No, I couldn't do it, I couldn't do it! Granted, granted that there isno flaw in all that reasoning, that all that I have concluded this lastmonth is clear as day, true as arithmetic. . . . My God! Anyway I couldn'tbring myself to it! I couldn't do it, I couldn't do it! Why, why then amI still. . . ?"

He rose to his feet, looked round in wonder as though surprised atfinding himself in this place, and went towards the bridge. He was pale, his eyes glowed, he was exhausted in every limb, but he seemed suddenlyto breathe more easily. He felt he had cast off that fearful burden thathad so long been weighing upon him, and all at once there was a senseof relief and peace in his soul. "Lord, " he prayed, "show me my path--Irenounce that accursed. . . Dream of mine. "

Crossing the bridge, he gazed quietly and calmly at the Neva, at theglowing red sun setting in the glowing sky. In spite of his weakness hewas not conscious of fatigue. It was as though an abscess that had beenforming for a month past in his heart had suddenly broken. Freedom, freedom! He was free from that spell, that sorcery, that obsession!

Later on, when he recalled that time and all that happened to him duringthose days, minute by minute, point by point, he was superstitiouslyimpressed by one circumstance, which, though in itself not veryexceptional, always seemed to him afterwards the predestinedturning-point of his fate. He could never understand and explain tohimself why, when he was tired and worn out, when it would have beenmore convenient for him to go home by the shortest and most direct way, he had returned by the Hay Market where he had no need to go. It wasobviously and quite unnecessarily out of his way, though not much so. Itis true that it happened to him dozens of times to return home withoutnoticing what streets he passed through. But why, he was always askinghimself, why had such an important, such a decisive and at the same timesuch an absolutely chance meeting happened in the Hay Market (where hehad moreover no reason to go) at the very hour, the very minute of hislife when he was just in the very mood and in the very circumstancesin which that meeting was able to exert the gravest and most decisiveinfluence on his whole destiny? As though it had been lying in wait forhim on purpose!

It was about nine o'clock when he crossed the Hay Market. At the tablesand the barrows, at the booths and the shops, all the market people wereclosing their establishments or clearing away and packing up theirwares and, like their customers, were going home. Rag pickers andcostermongers of all kinds were crowding round the taverns in the dirtyand stinking courtyards of the Hay Market. Raskolnikov particularlyliked this place and the neighbouring alleys, when he wandered aimlesslyin the streets. Here his rags did not attract contemptuous attention, and one could walk about in any attire without scandalising people. Atthe corner of an alley a huckster and his wife had two tables set outwith tapes, thread, cotton handkerchiefs, etc. They, too, had got up togo home, but were lingering in conversation with a friend, who had justcome up to them. This friend was Lizaveta Ivanovna, or, as everyonecalled her, Lizaveta, the younger sister of the old pawnbroker, AlyonaIvanovna, whom Raskolnikov had visited the previous day to pawn hiswatch and make his _experiment_. . . . He already knew all about Lizavetaand she knew him a little too. She was a single woman of aboutthirty-five, tall, clumsy, timid, submissive and almost idiotic. She wasa complete slave and went in fear and trembling of her sister, whomade her work day and night, and even beat her. She was standing witha bundle before the huckster and his wife, listening earnestly anddoubtfully. They were talking of something with special warmth. Themoment Raskolnikov caught sight of her, he was overcome by a strangesensation as it were of intense astonishment, though there was nothingastonishing about this meeting. 

"You could make up your mind for yourself, Lizaveta Ivanovna, " thehuckster was saying aloud. "Come round to-morrow about seven. They willbe here too. "

"To-morrow?" said Lizaveta slowly and thoughtfully, as though unable tomake up her mind. 

"Upon my word, what a fright you are in of Alyona Ivanovna, " gabbledthe huckster's wife, a lively little woman. "I look at you, you are likesome little babe. And she is not your own sister either-nothing but astep-sister and what a hand she keeps over you!"

"But this time don't say a word to Alyona Ivanovna, " her husbandinterrupted; "that's my advice, but come round to us without asking. It will be worth your while. Later on your sister herself may have anotion. "

"Am I to come?"

"About seven o'clock to-morrow. And they will be here. You will be ableto decide for yourself. "

"And we'll have a cup of tea, " added his wife. 

"All right, I'll come, " said Lizaveta, still pondering, and she beganslowly moving away. 

Raskolnikov had just passed and heard no more. He passed softly, unnoticed, trying not to miss a word. His first amazement was followedby a thrill of horror, like a shiver running down his spine. He hadlearnt, he had suddenly quite unexpectedly learnt, that the next day atseven o'clock Lizaveta, the old woman's sister and only companion, wouldbe away from home and that therefore at seven o'clock precisely the oldwoman _would be left alone_. 

He was only a few steps from his lodging. He went in like a mancondemned to death. He thought of nothing and was incapable of thinking;but he felt suddenly in his whole being that he had no more freedomof thought, no will, and that everything was suddenly and irrevocablydecided. 

Certainly, if he had to wait whole years for a suitable opportunity, hecould not reckon on a more certain step towards the success of the planthan that which had just presented itself. In any case, it would havebeen difficult to find out beforehand and with certainty, withgreater exactness and less risk, and without dangerous inquiries andinvestigations, that next day at a certain time an old woman, on whoselife an attempt was contemplated, would be at home and entirely alone. 

CHAPTER VI

Later on Raskolnikov happened to find out why the huckster and hiswife had invited Lizaveta. It was a very ordinary matter and there wasnothing exceptional about it. A family who had come to the town and beenreduced to poverty were selling their household goods and clothes, allwomen's things. As the things would have fetched little in the market, they were looking for a dealer. This was Lizaveta's business. Sheundertook such jobs and was frequently employed, as she was very honestand always fixed a fair price and stuck to it. She spoke as a rulelittle and, as we have said already, she was very submissive and timid. 

But Raskolnikov had become superstitious of late. The traces ofsuperstition remained in him long after, and were almost ineradicable. And in all this he was always afterwards disposed to see somethingstrange and mysterious, as it were, the presence of some peculiarinfluences and coincidences. In the previous winter a student he knewcalled Pokorev, who had left for Harkov, had chanced in conversation togive him the address of Alyona Ivanovna, the old pawnbroker, in case hemight want to pawn anything. For a long while he did not go to her, forhe had lessons and managed to get along somehow. Six weeks ago he hadremembered the address; he had two articles that could be pawned: hisfather's old silver watch and a little gold ring with three red stones, a present from his sister at parting. He decided to take the ring. Whenhe found the old woman he had felt an insurmountable repulsion for herat the first glance, though he knew nothing special about her. He gottwo roubles from her and went into a miserable little tavern on his wayhome. He asked for tea, sat down and sank into deep thought. A strangeidea was pecking at his brain like a chicken in the egg, and very, verymuch absorbed him. 

Almost beside him at the next table there was sitting a student, whom hedid not know and had never seen, and with him a young officer. They hadplayed a game of billiards and began drinking tea. All at once he heardthe student mention to the officer the pawnbroker Alyona Ivanovna andgive him her address. This of itself seemed strange to Raskolnikov; hehad just come from her and here at once he heard her name. Of courseit was a chance, but he could not shake off a very extraordinaryimpression, and here someone seemed to be speaking expressly for him;the student began telling his friend various details about AlyonaIvanovna. 

"She is first-rate, " he said. "You can always get money from her. She isas rich as a Jew, she can give you five thousand roubles at a time andshe is not above taking a pledge for a rouble. Lots of our fellows havehad dealings with her. But she is an awful old harpy. . . . "

And he began describing how spiteful and uncertain she was, how if youwere only a day late with your interest the pledge was lost; how shegave a quarter of the value of an article and took five and even sevenpercent a month on it and so on. The student chattered on, sayingthat she had a sister Lizaveta, whom the wretched little creature wascontinually beating, and kept in complete bondage like a small child, though Lizaveta was at least six feet high. 

"There's a phenomenon for you, " cried the student and he laughed. 

They began talking about Lizaveta. The student spoke about her with apeculiar relish and was continually laughing and the officer listenedwith great interest and asked him to send Lizaveta to do some mendingfor him. Raskolnikov did not miss a word and learned everything abouther. Lizaveta was younger than the old woman and was her half-sister, being the child of a different mother. She was thirty-five. She workedday and night for her sister, and besides doing the cooking and thewashing, she did sewing and worked as a charwoman and gave her sisterall she earned. She did not dare to accept an order or job of any kindwithout her sister's permission. The old woman had already made herwill, and Lizaveta knew of it, and by this will she would not get afarthing; nothing but the movables, chairs and so on; all the money wasleft to a monastery in the province of N----, that prayers might besaid for her in perpetuity. Lizaveta was of lower rank than her sister, unmarried and awfully uncouth in appearance, remarkably tall with longfeet that looked as if they were bent outwards. She always wore batteredgoatskin shoes, and was clean in her person. What the student expressedmost surprise and amusement about was the fact that Lizaveta wascontinually with child. 

"But you say she is hideous?" observed the officer. 

"Yes, she is so dark-skinned and looks like a soldier dressed up, butyou know she is not at all hideous. She has such a good-natured faceand eyes. Strikingly so. And the proof of it is that lots of people areattracted by her. She is such a soft, gentle creature, ready to put upwith anything, always willing, willing to do anything. And her smile isreally very sweet. "

"You seem to find her attractive yourself, " laughed the officer. 

"From her queerness. No, I'll tell you what. I could kill that damnedold woman and make off with her money, I assure you, without thefaintest conscience-prick, " the student added with warmth. The officerlaughed again while Raskolnikov shuddered. How strange it was!

"Listen, I want to ask you a serious question, " the student said hotly. "I was joking of course, but look here; on one side we have a stupid, senseless, worthless, spiteful, ailing, horrid old woman, not simplyuseless but doing actual mischief, who has not an idea what she isliving for herself, and who will die in a day or two in any case. Youunderstand? You understand?"

"Yes, yes, I understand, " answered the officer, watching his excitedcompanion attentively. 

"Well, listen then. On the other side, fresh young lives thrown away forwant of help and by thousands, on every side! A hundred thousand gooddeeds could be done and helped, on that old woman's money which will beburied in a monastery! Hundreds, thousands perhaps, might be set on theright path; dozens of families saved from destitution, from ruin, fromvice, from the Lock hospitals--and all with her money. Kill her, takeher money and with the help of it devote oneself to the service ofhumanity and the good of all. What do you think, would not one tinycrime be wiped out by thousands of good deeds? For one life thousandswould be saved from corruption and decay. One death, and a hundred livesin exchange--it's simple arithmetic! Besides, what value has the life ofthat sickly, stupid, ill-natured old woman in the balance of existence!No more than the life of a louse, of a black-beetle, less in factbecause the old woman is doing harm. She is wearing out the lives ofothers; the other day she bit Lizaveta's finger out of spite; it almosthad to be amputated. "

"Of course she does not deserve to live, " remarked the officer, "butthere it is, it's nature. "

"Oh, well, brother, but we have to correct and direct nature, and, butfor that, we should drown in an ocean of prejudice. But for that, there would never have been a single great man. They talk ofduty, conscience--I don't want to say anything against duty andconscience;--but the point is, what do we mean by them. Stay, I haveanother question to ask you. Listen!"

"No, you stay, I'll ask you a question. Listen!"

"Well?"

"You are talking and speechifying away, but tell me, would you kill theold woman _yourself_?"

"Of course not! I was only arguing the justice of it. . . . It's nothing todo with me. . . . "

"But I think, if you would not do it yourself, there's no justice aboutit. . . . Let us have another game. "

Raskolnikov was violently agitated. Of course, it was all ordinaryyouthful talk and thought, such as he had often heard before indifferent forms and on different themes. But why had he happened to hearsuch a discussion and such ideas at the very moment when his own brainwas just conceiving. . . _the very same ideas_? And why, just at themoment when he had brought away the embryo of his idea from the oldwoman had he dropped at once upon a conversation about her? Thiscoincidence always seemed strange to him. This trivial talk in a tavernhad an immense influence on him in his later action; as though there hadreally been in it something preordained, some guiding hint. . . . 

*****

On returning from the Hay Market he flung himself on the sofa and satfor a whole hour without stirring. Meanwhile it got dark; he had nocandle and, indeed, it did not occur to him to light up. He could neverrecollect whether he had been thinking about anything at that time. Atlast he was conscious of his former fever and shivering, and he realisedwith relief that he could lie down on the sofa. Soon heavy, leaden sleepcame over him, as it were crushing him. 

He slept an extraordinarily long time and without dreaming. Nastasya, coming into his room at ten o'clock the next morning, had difficultyin rousing him. She brought him in tea and bread. The tea was again thesecond brew and again in her own tea-pot. 

"My goodness, how he sleeps!" she cried indignantly. "And he is alwaysasleep. "

He got up with an effort. His head ached, he stood up, took a turn inhis garret and sank back on the sofa again. 

"Going to sleep again, " cried Nastasya. "Are you ill, eh?"

He made no reply. 

"Do you want some tea?"

"Afterwards, " he said with an effort, closing his eyes again and turningto the wall. 

Nastasya stood over him. 

"Perhaps he really is ill, " she said, turned and went out. She came inagain at two o'clock with soup. He was lying as before. The tea stooduntouched. Nastasya felt positively offended and began wrathfullyrousing him. 

"Why are you lying like a log?" she shouted, looking at him withrepulsion. 

He got up, and sat down again, but said nothing and stared at the floor. 

"Are you ill or not?" asked Nastasya and again received no answer. "You'd better go out and get a breath of air, " she said after a pause. "Will you eat it or not?"

"Afterwards, " he said weakly. "You can go. "

And he motioned her out. 

She remained a little longer, looked at him with compassion and wentout. 

A few minutes afterwards, he raised his eyes and looked for a long whileat the tea and the soup. Then he took the bread, took up a spoon andbegan to eat. 

He ate a little, three or four spoonfuls, without appetite, as it weremechanically. His head ached less. After his meal he stretched himselfon the sofa again, but now he could not sleep; he lay without stirring, with his face in the pillow. He was haunted by day-dreams and suchstrange day-dreams; in one, that kept recurring, he fancied that he wasin Africa, in Egypt, in some sort of oasis. The caravan was resting, the camels were peacefully lying down; the palms stood all around in acomplete circle; all the party were at dinner. But he was drinking waterfrom a spring which flowed gurgling close by. And it was so cool, it waswonderful, wonderful, blue, cold water running among the parti-colouredstones and over the clean sand which glistened here and there likegold. . . . Suddenly he heard a clock strike. He started, roused himself, raised his head, looked out of the window, and seeing how late it was, suddenly jumped up wide awake as though someone had pulled him off thesofa. He crept on tiptoe to the door, stealthily opened it and beganlistening on the staircase. His heart beat terribly. But all was quieton the stairs as if everyone was asleep. . . . It seemed to him strange andmonstrous that he could have slept in such forgetfulness from theprevious day and had done nothing, had prepared nothing yet. . . . Andmeanwhile perhaps it had struck six. And his drowsiness and stupefactionwere followed by an extraordinary, feverish, as it were distractedhaste. But the preparations to be made were few. He concentrated all hisenergies on thinking of everything and forgetting nothing; and his heartkept beating and thumping so that he could hardly breathe. First he hadto make a noose and sew it into his overcoat--a work of a moment. Herummaged under his pillow and picked out amongst the linen stuffed awayunder it, a worn out, old unwashed shirt. From its rags he tore a longstrip, a couple of inches wide and about sixteen inches long. He foldedthis strip in two, took off his wide, strong summer overcoat of somestout cotton material (his only outer garment) and began sewing the twoends of the rag on the inside, under the left armhole. His hands shookas he sewed, but he did it successfully so that nothing showed outsidewhen he put the coat on again. The needle and thread he had got readylong before and they lay on his table in a piece of paper. As for thenoose, it was a very ingenious device of his own; the noose was intendedfor the axe. It was impossible for him to carry the axe through thestreet in his hands. And if hidden under his coat he would still havehad to support it with his hand, which would have been noticeable. Nowhe had only to put the head of the axe in the noose, and it would hangquietly under his arm on the inside. Putting his hand in his coatpocket, he could hold the end of the handle all the way, so that it didnot swing; and as the coat was very full, a regular sack in fact, itcould not be seen from outside that he was holding something with thehand that was in the pocket. This noose, too, he had designed afortnight before. 

When he had finished with this, he thrust his hand into a little openingbetween his sofa and the floor, fumbled in the left corner and drew outthe _pledge_, which he had got ready long before and hidden there. Thispledge was, however, only a smoothly planed piece of wood the size andthickness of a silver cigarette case. He picked up this piece of woodin one of his wanderings in a courtyard where there was some sort ofa workshop. Afterwards he had added to the wood a thin smooth pieceof iron, which he had also picked up at the same time in the street. Putting the iron which was a little the smaller on the piece of wood, he fastened them very firmly, crossing and re-crossing the thread roundthem; then wrapped them carefully and daintily in clean white paper andtied up the parcel so that it would be very difficult to untie it. Thiswas in order to divert the attention of the old woman for a time, whileshe was trying to undo the knot, and so to gain a moment. The iron stripwas added to give weight, so that the woman might not guess the firstminute that the "thing" was made of wood. All this had been stored byhim beforehand under the sofa. He had only just got the pledge out whenhe heard someone suddenly about in the yard. 

"It struck six long ago. "

"Long ago! My God!"

He rushed to the door, listened, caught up his hat and began to descendhis thirteen steps cautiously, noiselessly, like a cat. He had still themost important thing to do--to steal the axe from the kitchen. That thedeed must be done with an axe he had decided long ago. He had also apocket pruning-knife, but he could not rely on the knife and still lesson his own strength, and so resolved finally on the axe. We may note inpassing, one peculiarity in regard to all the final resolutions taken byhim in the matter; they had one strange characteristic: the more finalthey were, the more hideous and the more absurd they at once became inhis eyes. In spite of all his agonising inward struggle, he never fora single instant all that time could believe in the carrying out of hisplans. 

And, indeed, if it had ever happened that everything to the least pointcould have been considered and finally settled, and no uncertainty ofany kind had remained, he would, it seems, have renounced it allas something absurd, monstrous and impossible. But a whole mass ofunsettled points and uncertainties remained. As for getting the axe, that trifling business cost him no anxiety, for nothing could be easier. Nastasya was continually out of the house, especially in the evenings;she would run in to the neighbours or to a shop, and always left thedoor ajar. It was the one thing the landlady was always scolding herabout. And so, when the time came, he would only have to go quietly intothe kitchen and to take the axe, and an hour later (when everythingwas over) go in and put it back again. But these were doubtful points. Supposing he returned an hour later to put it back, and Nastasya hadcome back and was on the spot. He would of course have to go by and waittill she went out again. But supposing she were in the meantime to missthe axe, look for it, make an outcry--that would mean suspicion or atleast grounds for suspicion. 

But those were all trifles which he had not even begun to consider, andindeed he had no time. He was thinking of the chief point, and put offtrifling details, until _he could believe in it all_. But that seemedutterly unattainable. So it seemed to himself at least. He could notimagine, for instance, that he would sometime leave off thinking, getup and simply go there. . . . Even his late experiment (i. E. His visit withthe object of a final survey of the place) was simply an attempt atan experiment, far from being the real thing, as though one should say"come, let us go and try it--why dream about it!"--and at once hehad broken down and had run away cursing, in a frenzy with himself. Meanwhile it would seem, as regards the moral question, that hisanalysis was complete; his casuistry had become keen as a razor, and hecould not find rational objections in himself. But in the last resorthe simply ceased to believe in himself, and doggedly, slavishly soughtarguments in all directions, fumbling for them, as though someone wereforcing and drawing him to it. 

At first--long before indeed--he had been much occupied with onequestion; why almost all crimes are so badly concealed and so easilydetected, and why almost all criminals leave such obvious traces? Hehad come gradually to many different and curious conclusions, and in hisopinion the chief reason lay not so much in the material impossibilityof concealing the crime, as in the criminal himself. Almost everycriminal is subject to a failure of will and reasoning power by achildish and phenomenal heedlessness, at the very instant when prudenceand caution are most essential. It was his conviction that this eclipseof reason and failure of will power attacked a man like a disease, developed gradually and reached its highest point just before theperpetration of the crime, continued with equal violence at the momentof the crime and for longer or shorter time after, according to theindividual case, and then passed off like any other disease. Thequestion whether the disease gives rise to the crime, or whether thecrime from its own peculiar nature is always accompanied by something ofthe nature of disease, he did not yet feel able to decide. 

When he reached these conclusions, he decided that in his own case therecould not be such a morbid reaction, that his reason and will wouldremain unimpaired at the time of carrying out his design, for thesimple reason that his design was "not a crime. . . . " We will omit all theprocess by means of which he arrived at this last conclusion; we haverun too far ahead already. . . . We may add only that the practical, purelymaterial difficulties of the affair occupied a secondary position in hismind. "One has but to keep all one's will-power and reason to dealwith them, and they will all be overcome at the time when once one hasfamiliarised oneself with the minutest details of the business. . . . " Butthis preparation had never been begun. His final decisions were what hecame to trust least, and when the hour struck, it all came to pass quitedifferently, as it were accidentally and unexpectedly. 

One trifling circumstance upset his calculations, before he had evenleft the staircase. When he reached the landlady's kitchen, the doorof which was open as usual, he glanced cautiously in to see whether, inNastasya's absence, the landlady herself was there, or if not, whetherthe door to her own room was closed, so that she might not peep out whenhe went in for the axe. But what was his amazement when he suddenlysaw that Nastasya was not only at home in the kitchen, but was occupiedthere, taking linen out of a basket and hanging it on a line. Seeinghim, she left off hanging the clothes, turned to him and stared at himall the time he was passing. He turned away his eyes, and walked past asthough he noticed nothing. But it was the end of everything; he had notthe axe! He was overwhelmed. 

"What made me think, " he reflected, as he went under the gateway, "whatmade me think that she would be sure not to be at home at that moment!Why, why, why did I assume this so certainly?"

He was crushed and even humiliated. He could have laughed at himself inhis anger. . . . A dull animal rage boiled within him. 

He stood hesitating in the gateway. To go into the street, to go a walkfor appearance' sake was revolting; to go back to his room, even morerevolting. "And what a chance I have lost for ever!" he muttered, standing aimlessly in the gateway, just opposite the porter's littledark room, which was also open. Suddenly he started. From the porter'sroom, two paces away from him, something shining under the bench to theright caught his eye. . . . He looked about him--nobody. He approached theroom on tiptoe, went down two steps into it and in a faint voice calledthe porter. "Yes, not at home! Somewhere near though, in the yard, forthe door is wide open. " He dashed to the axe (it was an axe) and pulledit out from under the bench, where it lay between two chunks of wood;at once, before going out, he made it fast in the noose, he thrust bothhands into his pockets and went out of the room; no one had noticed him!"When reason fails, the devil helps!" he thought with a strange grin. This chance raised his spirits extraordinarily. 

He walked along quietly and sedately, without hurry, to avoid awakeningsuspicion. He scarcely looked at the passers-by, tried to escape lookingat their faces at all, and to be as little noticeable as possible. Suddenly he thought of his hat. "Good heavens! I had the money the daybefore yesterday and did not get a cap to wear instead!" A curse rosefrom the bottom of his soul. 

Glancing out of the corner of his eye into a shop, he saw by a clock onthe wall that it was ten minutes past seven. He had to make haste and atthe same time to go someway round, so as to approach the house from theother side. . . . 

When he had happened to imagine all this beforehand, he had sometimesthought that he would be very much afraid. But he was not very muchafraid now, was not afraid at all, indeed. His mind was even occupiedby irrelevant matters, but by nothing for long. As he passed the Yusupovgarden, he was deeply absorbed in considering the building of greatfountains, and of their refreshing effect on the atmosphere in allthe squares. By degrees he passed to the conviction that if the summergarden were extended to the field of Mars, and perhaps joined to thegarden of the Mihailovsky Palace, it would be a splendid thing and agreat benefit to the town. Then he was interested by the question whyin all great towns men are not simply driven by necessity, but in somepeculiar way inclined to live in those parts of the town where thereare no gardens nor fountains; where there is most dirt and smell and allsorts of nastiness. Then his own walks through the Hay Market came backto his mind, and for a moment he waked up to reality. "What nonsense!"he thought, "better think of nothing at all!"

"So probably men led to execution clutch mentally at every object thatmeets them on the way, " flashed through his mind, but simply flashed, like lightning; he made haste to dismiss this thought. . . . And by nowhe was near; here was the house, here was the gate. Suddenly a clocksomewhere struck once. "What! can it be half-past seven? Impossible, itmust be fast!"

Luckily for him, everything went well again at the gates. At that verymoment, as though expressly for his benefit, a huge waggon of hay hadjust driven in at the gate, completely screening him as he passed underthe gateway, and the waggon had scarcely had time to drive through intothe yard, before he had slipped in a flash to the right. On the otherside of the waggon he could hear shouting and quarrelling; but no onenoticed him and no one met him. Many windows looking into that hugequadrangular yard were open at that moment, but he did not raise hishead--he had not the strength to. The staircase leading to the oldwoman's room was close by, just on the right of the gateway. He wasalready on the stairs. . . . 

Drawing a breath, pressing his hand against his throbbing heart, andonce more feeling for the axe and setting it straight, he began softlyand cautiously ascending the stairs, listening every minute. But thestairs, too, were quite deserted; all the doors were shut; he met noone. One flat indeed on the first floor was wide open and painters wereat work in it, but they did not glance at him. He stood still, thoughta minute and went on. "Of course it would be better if they had not beenhere, but. . . It's two storeys above them. "

And there was the fourth storey, here was the door, here was theflat opposite, the empty one. The flat underneath the old woman's wasapparently empty also; the visiting card nailed on the door had beentorn off--they had gone away!. . . He was out of breath. For one instantthe thought floated through his mind "Shall I go back?" But he made noanswer and began listening at the old woman's door, a dead silence. Thenhe listened again on the staircase, listened long and intently. . . Then looked about him for the last time, pulled himself together, drewhimself up, and once more tried the axe in the noose. "Am I very pale?"he wondered. "Am I not evidently agitated? She is mistrustful. . . . Had Ibetter wait a little longer. . . Till my heart leaves off thumping?"

But his heart did not leave off. On the contrary, as though to spitehim, it throbbed more and more violently. He could stand it no longer, he slowly put out his hand to the bell and rang. Half a minute later herang again, more loudly. 

No answer. To go on ringing was useless and out of place. The old womanwas, of course, at home, but she was suspicious and alone. He had someknowledge of her habits. . . And once more he put his ear to the door. Either his senses were peculiarly keen (which it is difficult tosuppose), or the sound was really very distinct. Anyway, he suddenlyheard something like the cautious touch of a hand on the lock and therustle of a skirt at the very door. Someone was standing stealthilyclose to the lock and just as he was doing on the outside was secretlylistening within, and seemed to have her ear to the door. . . . He moveda little on purpose and muttered something aloud that he might not havethe appearance of hiding, then rang a third time, but quietly, soberly, and without impatience, Recalling it afterwards, that moment stood outin his mind vividly, distinctly, for ever; he could not make out how hehad had such cunning, for his mind was as it were clouded at moments andhe was almost unconscious of his body. . . . An instant later he heard thelatch unfastened. 

CHAPTER VII

The door was as before opened a tiny crack, and again two sharp andsuspicious eyes stared at him out of the darkness. Then Raskolnikov losthis head and nearly made a great mistake. 

Fearing the old woman would be frightened by their being alone, and nothoping that the sight of him would disarm her suspicions, he tookhold of the door and drew it towards him to prevent the old woman fromattempting to shut it again. Seeing this she did not pull the door back, but she did not let go the handle so that he almost dragged her out withit on to the stairs. Seeing that she was standing in the doorway notallowing him to pass, he advanced straight upon her. She stepped backin alarm, tried to say something, but seemed unable to speak and staredwith open eyes at him. 

"Good evening, Alyona Ivanovna, " he began, trying to speak easily, buthis voice would not obey him, it broke and shook. "I have come. . . I havebrought something. . . But we'd better come in. . . To the light. . . . "

And leaving her, he passed straight into the room uninvited. The oldwoman ran after him; her tongue was unloosed. 

"Good heavens! What it is? Who is it? What do you want?"

"Why, Alyona Ivanovna, you know me. . . Raskolnikov. . . Here, I brought youthe pledge I promised the other day. . . " And he held out the pledge. 

The old woman glanced for a moment at the pledge, but at once stared inthe eyes of her uninvited visitor. She looked intently, maliciously andmistrustfully. A minute passed; he even fancied something like a sneerin her eyes, as though she had already guessed everything. He felt thathe was losing his head, that he was almost frightened, so frightenedthat if she were to look like that and not say a word for another halfminute, he thought he would have run away from her. 

"Why do you look at me as though you did not know me?" he said suddenly, also with malice. "Take it if you like, if not I'll go elsewhere, I amin a hurry. "

He had not even thought of saying this, but it was suddenly said ofitself. The old woman recovered herself, and her visitor's resolute toneevidently restored her confidence. 

"But why, my good sir, all of a minute. . . . What is it?" she asked, looking at the pledge. 

"The silver cigarette case; I spoke of it last time, you know. "

She held out her hand. 

"But how pale you are, to be sure. . . And your hands are trembling too?Have you been bathing, or what?"

"Fever, " he answered abruptly. "You can't help getting pale. . . If you'venothing to eat, " he added, with difficulty articulating the words. 

His strength was failing him again. But his answer sounded like thetruth; the old woman took the pledge. 

"What is it?" she asked once more, scanning Raskolnikov intently, andweighing the pledge in her hand. 

"A thing. . . Cigarette case. . . . Silver. . . . Look at it. "

"It does not seem somehow like silver. . . . How he has wrapped it up!"

Trying to untie the string and turning to the window, to the light (allher windows were shut, in spite of the stifling heat), she lefthim altogether for some seconds and stood with her back to him. Heunbuttoned his coat and freed the axe from the noose, but did not yettake it out altogether, simply holding it in his right hand under thecoat. His hands were fearfully weak, he felt them every moment growingmore numb and more wooden. He was afraid he would let the axe slip andfall. . . . A sudden giddiness came over him. 

"But what has he tied it up like this for?" the old woman cried withvexation and moved towards him. 

He had not a minute more to lose. He pulled the axe quite out, swungit with both arms, scarcely conscious of himself, and almost withouteffort, almost mechanically, brought the blunt side down on her head. Heseemed not to use his own strength in this. But as soon as he had oncebrought the axe down, his strength returned to him. 

The old woman was as always bareheaded. Her thin, light hair, streakedwith grey, thickly smeared with grease, was plaited in a rat's tail andfastened by a broken horn comb which stood out on the nape of her neck. As she was so short, the blow fell on the very top of her skull. Shecried out, but very faintly, and suddenly sank all of a heap on thefloor, raising her hands to her head. In one hand she still held "thepledge. " Then he dealt her another and another blow with the blunt sideand on the same spot. The blood gushed as from an overturned glass, thebody fell back. He stepped back, let it fall, and at once bent over herface; she was dead. Her eyes seemed to be starting out of their sockets, the brow and the whole face were drawn and contorted convulsively. 

He laid the axe on the ground near the dead body and felt at once in herpocket (trying to avoid the streaming body)--the same right-hand pocketfrom which she had taken the key on his last visit. He was in fullpossession of his faculties, free from confusion or giddiness, but hishands were still trembling. He remembered afterwards that he had beenparticularly collected and careful, trying all the time not to getsmeared with blood. . . . He pulled out the keys at once, they were all, as before, in one bunch on a steel ring. He ran at once into the bedroomwith them. It was a very small room with a whole shrine of holy images. Against the other wall stood a big bed, very clean and covered witha silk patchwork wadded quilt. Against a third wall was a chest ofdrawers. Strange to say, so soon as he began to fit the keys into thechest, so soon as he heard their jingling, a convulsive shudder passedover him. He suddenly felt tempted again to give it all up and goaway. But that was only for an instant; it was too late to go back. He positively smiled at himself, when suddenly another terrifying ideaoccurred to his mind. He suddenly fancied that the old woman might bestill alive and might recover her senses. Leaving the keys in the chest, he ran back to the body, snatched up the axe and lifted it once moreover the old woman, but did not bring it down. There was no doubt thatshe was dead. Bending down and examining her again more closely, he sawclearly that the skull was broken and even battered in on one side. Hewas about to feel it with his finger, but drew back his hand and indeedit was evident without that. Meanwhile there was a perfect pool ofblood. All at once he noticed a string on her neck; he tugged at it, butthe string was strong and did not snap and besides, it was soakedwith blood. He tried to pull it out from the front of the dress, butsomething held it and prevented its coming. In his impatience he raisedthe axe again to cut the string from above on the body, but did notdare, and with difficulty, smearing his hand and the axe in the blood, after two minutes' hurried effort, he cut the string and took it offwithout touching the body with the axe; he was not mistaken--it was apurse. On the string were two crosses, one of Cyprus wood and one ofcopper, and an image in silver filigree, and with them a small greasychamois leather purse with a steel rim and ring. The purse was stuffedvery full; Raskolnikov thrust it in his pocket without looking at it, flung the crosses on the old woman's body and rushed back into thebedroom, this time taking the axe with him. 

He was in terrible haste, he snatched the keys, and began trying themagain. But he was unsuccessful. They would not fit in the locks. Itwas not so much that his hands were shaking, but that he kept makingmistakes; though he saw for instance that a key was not the right oneand would not fit, still he tried to put it in. Suddenly he rememberedand realised that the big key with the deep notches, which was hangingthere with the small keys could not possibly belong to the chest ofdrawers (on his last visit this had struck him), but to some strong box, and that everything perhaps was hidden in that box. He left the chestof drawers, and at once felt under the bedstead, knowing that oldwomen usually keep boxes under their beds. And so it was; there was agood-sized box under the bed, at least a yard in length, with an archedlid covered with red leather and studded with steel nails. The notchedkey fitted at once and unlocked it. At the top, under a white sheet, wasa coat of red brocade lined with hareskin; under it was a silk dress, then a shawl and it seemed as though there was nothing below butclothes. The first thing he did was to wipe his blood-stained hands onthe red brocade. "It's red, and on red blood will be less noticeable, "the thought passed through his mind; then he suddenly came to himself. "Good God, am I going out of my senses?" he thought with terror. 

But no sooner did he touch the clothes than a gold watch slipped fromunder the fur coat. He made haste to turn them all over. There turnedout to be various articles made of gold among the clothes--probablyall pledges, unredeemed or waiting to be redeemed--bracelets, chains, ear-rings, pins and such things. Some were in cases, others simplywrapped in newspaper, carefully and exactly folded, and tied round withtape. Without any delay, he began filling up the pockets of his trousersand overcoat without examining or undoing the parcels and cases; but hehad not time to take many. . . . 

He suddenly heard steps in the room where the old woman lay. He stoppedshort and was still as death. But all was quiet, so it must have beenhis fancy. All at once he heard distinctly a faint cry, as thoughsomeone had uttered a low broken moan. Then again dead silence fora minute or two. He sat squatting on his heels by the box and waitedholding his breath. Suddenly he jumped up, seized the axe and ran out ofthe bedroom. 

In the middle of the room stood Lizaveta with a big bundle in her arms. She was gazing in stupefaction at her murdered sister, white as a sheetand seeming not to have the strength to cry out. Seeing him run outof the bedroom, she began faintly quivering all over, like a leaf, ashudder ran down her face; she lifted her hand, opened her mouth, butstill did not scream. She began slowly backing away from him into thecorner, staring intently, persistently at him, but still uttered nosound, as though she could not get breath to scream. He rushed at herwith the axe; her mouth twitched piteously, as one sees babies' mouths, when they begin to be frightened, stare intently at what frightens themand are on the point of screaming. And this hapless Lizaveta was sosimple and had been so thoroughly crushed and scared that she did noteven raise a hand to guard her face, though that was the most necessaryand natural action at the moment, for the axe was raised over her face. She only put up her empty left hand, but not to her face, slowly holdingit out before her as though motioning him away. The axe fell with thesharp edge just on the skull and split at one blow all the top of thehead. She fell heavily at once. Raskolnikov completely lost his head, snatching up her bundle, dropped it again and ran into the entry. 

Fear gained more and more mastery over him, especially after thissecond, quite unexpected murder. He longed to run away from the placeas fast as possible. And if at that moment he had been capable of seeingand reasoning more correctly, if he had been able to realise all thedifficulties of his position, the hopelessness, the hideousness and theabsurdity of it, if he could have understood how many obstacles and, perhaps, crimes he had still to overcome or to commit, to get out ofthat place and to make his way home, it is very possible that he wouldhave flung up everything, and would have gone to give himself up, andnot from fear, but from simple horror and loathing of what he haddone. The feeling of loathing especially surged up within him and grewstronger every minute. He would not now have gone to the box or eveninto the room for anything in the world. 

But a sort of blankness, even dreaminess, had begun by degrees to takepossession of him; at moments he forgot himself, or rather, forgot whatwas of importance, and caught at trifles. Glancing, however, into thekitchen and seeing a bucket half full of water on a bench, he bethoughthim of washing his hands and the axe. His hands were sticky with blood. He dropped the axe with the blade in the water, snatched a piece of soapthat lay in a broken saucer on the window, and began washing his handsin the bucket. When they were clean, he took out the axe, washed theblade and spent a long time, about three minutes, washing the wood wherethere were spots of blood rubbing them with soap. Then he wiped it allwith some linen that was hanging to dry on a line in the kitchen andthen he was a long while attentively examining the axe at the window. There was no trace left on it, only the wood was still damp. Hecarefully hung the axe in the noose under his coat. Then as far as waspossible, in the dim light in the kitchen, he looked over his overcoat, his trousers and his boots. At the first glance there seemed to benothing but stains on the boots. He wetted the rag and rubbed the boots. But he knew he was not looking thoroughly, that there might be somethingquite noticeable that he was overlooking. He stood in the middle of theroom, lost in thought. Dark agonising ideas rose in his mind--the ideathat he was mad and that at that moment he was incapable of reasoning, of protecting himself, that he ought perhaps to be doing somethingutterly different from what he was now doing. "Good God!" he muttered "Imust fly, fly, " and he rushed into the entry. But here a shock of terrorawaited him such as he had never known before. 

He stood and gazed and could not believe his eyes: the door, the outerdoor from the stairs, at which he had not long before waited and rung, was standing unfastened and at least six inches open. No lock, no bolt, all the time, all that time! The old woman had not shut it after himperhaps as a precaution. But, good God! Why, he had seen Lizavetaafterwards! And how could he, how could he have failed to reflect thatshe must have come in somehow! She could not have come through the wall!

He dashed to the door and fastened the latch. 

"But no, the wrong thing again! I must get away, get away. . . . "

He unfastened the latch, opened the door and began listening on thestaircase. 

He listened a long time. Somewhere far away, it might be in the gateway, two voices were loudly and shrilly shouting, quarrelling and scolding. "What are they about?" He waited patiently. At last all was still, asthough suddenly cut off; they had separated. He was meaning to go out, but suddenly, on the floor below, a door was noisily opened and someonebegan going downstairs humming a tune. "How is it they all make sucha noise?" flashed through his mind. Once more he closed the door andwaited. At last all was still, not a soul stirring. He was just taking astep towards the stairs when he heard fresh footsteps. 

The steps sounded very far off, at the very bottom of the stairs, buthe remembered quite clearly and distinctly that from the first sound hebegan for some reason to suspect that this was someone coming _there_, to the fourth floor, to the old woman. Why? Were the sounds somehowpeculiar, significant? The steps were heavy, even and unhurried. Now_he_ had passed the first floor, now he was mounting higher, it wasgrowing more and more distinct! He could hear his heavy breathing. Andnow the third storey had been reached. Coming here! And it seemed tohim all at once that he was turned to stone, that it was like a dreamin which one is being pursued, nearly caught and will be killed, and isrooted to the spot and cannot even move one's arms. 

At last when the unknown was mounting to the fourth floor, he suddenlystarted, and succeeded in slipping neatly and quickly back into theflat and closing the door behind him. Then he took the hook and softly, noiselessly, fixed it in the catch. Instinct helped him. When he haddone this, he crouched holding his breath, by the door. The unknownvisitor was by now also at the door. They were now standing opposite oneanother, as he had just before been standing with the old woman, whenthe door divided them and he was listening. 

The visitor panted several times. "He must be a big, fat man, " thoughtRaskolnikov, squeezing the axe in his hand. It seemed like a dreamindeed. The visitor took hold of the bell and rang it loudly. 

As soon as the tin bell tinkled, Raskolnikov seemed to be aware ofsomething moving in the room. For some seconds he listened quiteseriously. The unknown rang again, waited and suddenly tugged violentlyand impatiently at the handle of the door. Raskolnikov gazed in horrorat the hook shaking in its fastening, and in blank terror expected everyminute that the fastening would be pulled out. It certainly did seempossible, so violently was he shaking it. He was tempted to hold thefastening, but _he_ might be aware of it. A giddiness came over himagain. "I shall fall down!" flashed through his mind, but the unknownbegan to speak and he recovered himself at once. 

"What's up? Are they asleep or murdered? D-damn them!" he bawled in athick voice, "Hey, Alyona Ivanovna, old witch! Lizaveta Ivanovna, hey, my beauty! open the door! Oh, damn them! Are they asleep or what?"

And again, enraged, he tugged with all his might a dozen times atthe bell. He must certainly be a man of authority and an intimateacquaintance. 

At this moment light hurried steps were heard not far off, on thestairs. Someone else was approaching. Raskolnikov had not heard them atfirst. 

"You don't say there's no one at home, " the new-comer cried in acheerful, ringing voice, addressing the first visitor, who still went onpulling the bell. "Good evening, Koch. "

"From his voice he must be quite young, " thought Raskolnikov. 

"Who the devil can tell? I've almost broken the lock, " answered Koch. "But how do you come to know me?

"Why! The day before yesterday I beat you three times running atbilliards at Gambrinus'. "

"Oh!"

"So they are not at home? That's queer. It's awfully stupid though. Where could the old woman have gone? I've come on business. "

"Yes; and I have business with her, too. "

"Well, what can we do? Go back, I suppose, Aie--aie! And I was hoping toget some money!" cried the young man. 

"We must give it up, of course, but what did she fix this time for? Theold witch fixed the time for me to come herself. It's out of my way. And where the devil she can have got to, I can't make out. She sits herefrom year's end to year's end, the old hag; her legs are bad and yethere all of a sudden she is out for a walk!"

"Hadn't we better ask the porter?"

"What?"

"Where she's gone and when she'll be back. "

"Hm. . . . Damn it all!. . . We might ask. . . . But you know she never does goanywhere. "

And he once more tugged at the door-handle. 

"Damn it all. There's nothing to be done, we must go!"

"Stay!" cried the young man suddenly. "Do you see how the door shakes ifyou pull it?"

"Well?"

"That shows it's not locked, but fastened with the hook! Do you hear howthe hook clanks?"

"Well?"

"Why, don't you see? That proves that one of them is at home. If theywere all out, they would have locked the door from the outside with thekey and not with the hook from inside. There, do you hear how the hookis clanking? To fasten the hook on the inside they must be at home, don't you see. So there they are sitting inside and don't open thedoor!"

"Well! And so they must be!" cried Koch, astonished. "What are theyabout in there?" And he began furiously shaking the door. 

"Stay!" cried the young man again. "Don't pull at it! There must besomething wrong. . . . Here, you've been ringing and pulling at the doorand still they don't open! So either they've both fainted or. . . "

"What?"

"I tell you what. Let's go fetch the porter, let him wake them up. "

"All right. "

Both were going down. 

"Stay. You stop here while I run down for the porter. "

"What for?"

"Well, you'd better. "

"All right. "

"I'm studying the law you see! It's evident, e-vi-dent there's somethingwrong here!" the young man cried hotly, and he ran downstairs. 

Koch remained. Once more he softly touched the bell which gave onetinkle, then gently, as though reflecting and looking about him, begantouching the door-handle pulling it and letting it go to make sure oncemore that it was only fastened by the hook. Then puffing and panting hebent down and began looking at the keyhole: but the key was in the lockon the inside and so nothing could be seen. 

Raskolnikov stood keeping tight hold of the axe. He was in a sort ofdelirium. He was even making ready to fight when they should come in. While they were knocking and talking together, the idea several timesoccurred to him to end it all at once and shout to them through thedoor. Now and then he was tempted to swear at them, to jeer at them, while they could not open the door! "Only make haste!" was the thoughtthat flashed through his mind. 

"But what the devil is he about?. . . " Time was passing, one minute, andanother--no one came. Koch began to be restless. 

"What the devil?" he cried suddenly and in impatience deserting hissentry duty, he, too, went down, hurrying and thumping with his heavyboots on the stairs. The steps died away. 

"Good heavens! What am I to do?"

Raskolnikov unfastened the hook, opened the door--there was no sound. Abruptly, without any thought at all, he went out, closing the door asthoroughly as he could, and went downstairs. 

He had gone down three flights when he suddenly heard a loud voicebelow--where could he go! There was nowhere to hide. He was just goingback to the flat. 

"Hey there! Catch the brute!"

Somebody dashed out of a flat below, shouting, and rather fell than randown the stairs, bawling at the top of his voice. 

"Mitka! Mitka! Mitka! Mitka! Mitka! Blast him!"

The shout ended in a shriek; the last sounds came from the yard; all wasstill. But at the same instant several men talking loud and fast begannoisily mounting the stairs. There were three or four of them. Hedistinguished the ringing voice of the young man. "They!"

Filled with despair he went straight to meet them, feeling "come whatmust!" If they stopped him--all was lost; if they let him pass--all waslost too; they would remember him. They were approaching; they were onlya flight from him--and suddenly deliverance! A few steps from him on theright, there was an empty flat with the door wide open, the flat on thesecond floor where the painters had been at work, and which, as thoughfor his benefit, they had just left. It was they, no doubt, who had justrun down, shouting. The floor had only just been painted, in the middleof the room stood a pail and a broken pot with paint and brushes. In oneinstant he had whisked in at the open door and hidden behind the walland only in the nick of time; they had already reached the landing. Then they turned and went on up to the fourth floor, talking loudly. Hewaited, went out on tiptoe and ran down the stairs. 

No one was on the stairs, nor in the gateway. He passed quickly throughthe gateway and turned to the left in the street. 

He knew, he knew perfectly well that at that moment they were at theflat, that they were greatly astonished at finding it unlocked, asthe door had just been fastened, that by now they were looking at thebodies, that before another minute had passed they would guess andcompletely realise that the murderer had just been there, and hadsucceeded in hiding somewhere, slipping by them and escaping. They wouldguess most likely that he had been in the empty flat, while they weregoing upstairs. And meanwhile he dared not quicken his pace much, thoughthe next turning was still nearly a hundred yards away. "Should heslip through some gateway and wait somewhere in an unknown street? No, hopeless! Should he fling away the axe? Should he take a cab? Hopeless, hopeless!"

At last he reached the turning. He turned down it more dead than alive. Here he was half way to safety, and he understood it; it was less riskybecause there was a great crowd of people, and he was lost in it like agrain of sand. But all he had suffered had so weakened him that he couldscarcely move. Perspiration ran down him in drops, his neck was all wet. "My word, he has been going it!" someone shouted at him when he came outon the canal bank. 

He was only dimly conscious of himself now, and the farther he went theworse it was. He remembered however, that on coming out on to the canalbank, he was alarmed at finding few people there and so being moreconspicuous, and he had thought of turning back. Though he was almostfalling from fatigue, he went a long way round so as to get home fromquite a different direction. 

He was not fully conscious when he passed through the gateway of hishouse! he was already on the staircase before he recollected the axe. And yet he had a very grave problem before him, to put it back and toescape observation as far as possible in doing so. He was of courseincapable of reflecting that it might perhaps be far better not torestore the axe at all, but to drop it later on in somebody's yard. Butit all happened fortunately, the door of the porter's room was closedbut not locked, so that it seemed most likely that the porter was athome. But he had so completely lost all power of reflection that hewalked straight to the door and opened it. If the porter had asked him, "What do you want?" he would perhaps have simply handed him the axe. Butagain the porter was not at home, and he succeeded in putting the axeback under the bench, and even covering it with the chunk of wood asbefore. He met no one, not a soul, afterwards on the way to his room;the landlady's door was shut. When he was in his room, he flung himselfon the sofa just as he was--he did not sleep, but sank into blankforgetfulness. If anyone had come into his room then, he would havejumped up at once and screamed. Scraps and shreds of thoughts weresimply swarming in his brain, but he could not catch at one, he couldnot rest on one, in spite of all his efforts. . . . 

PART II

CHAPTER I

So he lay a very long while. Now and then he seemed to wake up, and atsuch moments he noticed that it was far into the night, but it did notoccur to him to get up. At last he noticed that it was beginning to getlight. He was lying on his back, still dazed from his recent oblivion. Fearful, despairing cries rose shrilly from the street, sounds which heheard every night, indeed, under his window after two o'clock. They wokehim up now. 

"Ah! the drunken men are coming out of the taverns, " he thought, "it'spast two o'clock, " and at once he leaped up, as though someone hadpulled him from the sofa. 

"What! Past two o'clock!"

He sat down on the sofa--and instantly recollected everything! All atonce, in one flash, he recollected everything. 

For the first moment he thought he was going mad. A dreadful chill cameover him; but the chill was from the fever that had begun long before inhis sleep. Now he was suddenly taken with violent shivering, so that histeeth chattered and all his limbs were shaking. He opened the door andbegan listening--everything in the house was asleep. With amazement hegazed at himself and everything in the room around him, wondering how hecould have come in the night before without fastening the door, and haveflung himself on the sofa without undressing, without even taking hishat off. It had fallen off and was lying on the floor near his pillow. 

"If anyone had come in, what would he have thought? That I'm drunkbut. . . "

He rushed to the window. There was light enough, and he began hurriedlylooking himself all over from head to foot, all his clothes; were thereno traces? But there was no doing it like that; shivering with cold, hebegan taking off everything and looking over again. He turned everythingover to the last threads and rags, and mistrusting himself, went throughhis search three times. 

But there seemed to be nothing, no trace, except in one place, wheresome thick drops of congealed blood were clinging to the frayed edgeof his trousers. He picked up a big claspknife and cut off the frayedthreads. There seemed to be nothing more. 

Suddenly he remembered that the purse and the things he had taken out ofthe old woman's box were still in his pockets! He had not thought tillthen of taking them out and hiding them! He had not even thought of themwhile he was examining his clothes! What next? Instantly he rushedto take them out and fling them on the table. When he had pulled outeverything, and turned the pocket inside out to be sure there wasnothing left, he carried the whole heap to the corner. The paper hadcome off the bottom of the wall and hung there in tatters. He beganstuffing all the things into the hole under the paper: "They're in! Allout of sight, and the purse too!" he thought gleefully, getting up andgazing blankly at the hole which bulged out more than ever. Suddenlyhe shuddered all over with horror; "My God!" he whispered in despair:"what's the matter with me? Is that hidden? Is that the way to hidethings?"

He had not reckoned on having trinkets to hide. He had only thought ofmoney, and so had not prepared a hiding-place. 

"But now, now, what am I glad of?" he thought, "Is that hiding things?My reason's deserting me--simply!"

He sat down on the sofa in exhaustion and was at once shaken by anotherunbearable fit of shivering. Mechanically he drew from a chair besidehim his old student's winter coat, which was still warm though almost inrags, covered himself up with it and once more sank into drowsiness anddelirium. He lost consciousness. 

Not more than five minutes had passed when he jumped up a second time, and at once pounced in a frenzy on his clothes again. 

"How could I go to sleep again with nothing done? Yes, yes; I have nottaken the loop off the armhole! I forgot it, forgot a thing like that!Such a piece of evidence!"

He pulled off the noose, hurriedly cut it to pieces and threw the bitsamong his linen under the pillow. 

"Pieces of torn linen couldn't rouse suspicion, whatever happened; Ithink not, I think not, any way!" he repeated, standing in the middleof the room, and with painful concentration he fell to gazing abouthim again, at the floor and everywhere, trying to make sure he had notforgotten anything. The conviction that all his faculties, even memory, and the simplest power of reflection were failing him, began to be aninsufferable torture. 

"Surely it isn't beginning already! Surely it isn't my punishment comingupon me? It is!"

The frayed rags he had cut off his trousers were actually lying on thefloor in the middle of the room, where anyone coming in would see them!

"What is the matter with me!" he cried again, like one distraught. 

Then a strange idea entered his head; that, perhaps, all his clotheswere covered with blood, that, perhaps, there were a great manystains, but that he did not see them, did not notice them becausehis perceptions were failing, were going to pieces. . . His reason wasclouded. . . . Suddenly he remembered that there had been blood on thepurse too. "Ah! Then there must be blood on the pocket too, for I putthe wet purse in my pocket!"

In a flash he had turned the pocket inside out and, yes!--there weretraces, stains on the lining of the pocket!

"So my reason has not quite deserted me, so I still have some sense andmemory, since I guessed it of myself, " he thought triumphantly, witha deep sigh of relief; "it's simply the weakness of fever, a moment'sdelirium, " and he tore the whole lining out of the left pocket of histrousers. At that instant the sunlight fell on his left boot; on thesock which poked out from the boot, he fancied there were traces! Heflung off his boots; "traces indeed! The tip of the sock was soaked withblood;" he must have unwarily stepped into that pool. . . . "But what am Ito do with this now? Where am I to put the sock and rags and pocket?"

He gathered them all up in his hands and stood in the middle of theroom. 

"In the stove? But they would ransack the stove first of all. Burn them?But what can I burn them with? There are no matches even. No, bettergo out and throw it all away somewhere. Yes, better throw it away, " herepeated, sitting down on the sofa again, "and at once, this minute, without lingering. . . "

But his head sank on the pillow instead. Again the unbearable icyshivering came over him; again he drew his coat over him. 

And for a long while, for some hours, he was haunted by the impulse to"go off somewhere at once, this moment, and fling it all away, so thatit may be out of sight and done with, at once, at once!" Several timeshe tried to rise from the sofa, but could not. 

He was thoroughly waked up at last by a violent knocking at his door. 

"Open, do, are you dead or alive? He keeps sleeping here!" shoutedNastasya, banging with her fist on the door. "For whole days togetherhe's snoring here like a dog! A dog he is too. Open I tell you. It'spast ten. "

"Maybe he's not at home, " said a man's voice. 

"Ha! that's the porter's voice. . . . What does he want?"

He jumped up and sat on the sofa. The beating of his heart was apositive pain. 

"Then who can have latched the door?" retorted Nastasya. "He's taken tobolting himself in! As if he were worth stealing! Open, you stupid, wakeup!"

"What do they want? Why the porter? All's discovered. Resist or open?Come what may!. . . "

He half rose, stooped forward and unlatched the door. 

His room was so small that he could undo the latch without leaving thebed. Yes; the porter and Nastasya were standing there. 

Nastasya stared at him in a strange way. He glanced with a defiant anddesperate air at the porter, who without a word held out a grey foldedpaper sealed with bottle-wax. 

"A notice from the office, " he announced, as he gave him the paper. 

"From what office?"

"A summons to the police office, of course. You know which office. "

"To the police?. . . What for?. . . "

"How can I tell? You're sent for, so you go. "

The man looked at him attentively, looked round the room and turned togo away. 

"He's downright ill!" observed Nastasya, not taking her eyes off him. The porter turned his head for a moment. "He's been in a fever sinceyesterday, " she added. 

Raskolnikov made no response and held the paper in his hands, withoutopening it. "Don't you get up then, " Nastasya went on compassionately, seeing that he was letting his feet down from the sofa. "You're ill, andso don't go; there's no such hurry. What have you got there?"

He looked; in his right hand he held the shreds he had cut from histrousers, the sock, and the rags of the pocket. So he had been asleepwith them in his hand. Afterwards reflecting upon it, he remembered thathalf waking up in his fever, he had grasped all this tightly in his handand so fallen asleep again. 

"Look at the rags he's collected and sleeps with them, as though he hasgot hold of a treasure. . . "

And Nastasya went off into her hysterical giggle. 

Instantly he thrust them all under his great coat and fixed hiseyes intently upon her. Far as he was from being capable of rationalreflection at that moment, he felt that no one would behave like thatwith a person who was going to be arrested. "But. . . The police?"

"You'd better have some tea! Yes? I'll bring it, there's some left. "

"No. . . I'm going; I'll go at once, " he muttered, getting on to his feet. 

"Why, you'll never get downstairs!"

"Yes, I'll go. "

"As you please. "

She followed the porter out. 

At once he rushed to the light to examine the sock and the rags. 

"There are stains, but not very noticeable; all covered with dirt, and rubbed and already discoloured. No one who had no suspicion coulddistinguish anything. Nastasya from a distance could not have noticed, thank God!" Then with a tremor he broke the seal of the notice and beganreading; he was a long while reading, before he understood. It was anordinary summons from the district police-station to appear that day athalf-past nine at the office of the district superintendent. 

"But when has such a thing happened? I never have anything to do withthe police! And why just to-day?" he thought in agonising bewilderment. "Good God, only get it over soon!"

He was flinging himself on his knees to pray, but broke intolaughter--not at the idea of prayer, but at himself. 

He began, hurriedly dressing. "If I'm lost, I am lost, I don't care!Shall I put the sock on?" he suddenly wondered, "it will get dustierstill and the traces will be gone. "

But no sooner had he put it on than he pulled it off again in loathingand horror. He pulled it off, but reflecting that he had no other socks, he picked it up and put it on again--and again he laughed. 

"That's all conventional, that's all relative, merely a way of lookingat it, " he thought in a flash, but only on the top surface of hismind, while he was shuddering all over, "there, I've got it on! I havefinished by getting it on!"

But his laughter was quickly followed by despair. 

"No, it's too much for me. . . " he thought. His legs shook. "From fear, "he muttered. His head swam and ached with fever. "It's a trick! Theywant to decoy me there and confound me over everything, " he mused, ashe went out on to the stairs--"the worst of it is I'm almostlight-headed. . . I may blurt out something stupid. . . "

On the stairs he remembered that he was leaving all the things just asthey were in the hole in the wall, "and very likely, it's on purposeto search when I'm out, " he thought, and stopped short. But he waspossessed by such despair, such cynicism of misery, if one may so callit, that with a wave of his hand he went on. "Only to get it over!"

In the street the heat was insufferable again; not a drop of rain hadfallen all those days. Again dust, bricks and mortar, again the stenchfrom the shops and pot-houses, again the drunken men, the Finnishpedlars and half-broken-down cabs. The sun shone straight in his eyes, so that it hurt him to look out of them, and he felt his head goinground--as a man in a fever is apt to feel when he comes out into thestreet on a bright sunny day. 

When he reached the turning into _the_ street, in an agony oftrepidation he looked down it. . . At _the_ house. . . And at once avertedhis eyes. 

"If they question me, perhaps I'll simply tell, " he thought, as he drewnear the police-station. 

The police-station was about a quarter of a mile off. It had lately beenmoved to new rooms on the fourth floor of a new house. He had been oncefor a moment in the old office but long ago. Turning in at the gateway, he saw on the right a flight of stairs which a peasant was mounting witha book in his hand. "A house-porter, no doubt; so then, the office ishere, " and he began ascending the stairs on the chance. He did not wantto ask questions of anyone. 

"I'll go in, fall on my knees, and confess everything. . . " he thought, ashe reached the fourth floor. 

The staircase was steep, narrow and all sloppy with dirty water. Thekitchens of the flats opened on to the stairs and stood open almostthe whole day. So there was a fearful smell and heat. The staircasewas crowded with porters going up and down with their books under theirarms, policemen, and persons of all sorts and both sexes. The door ofthe office, too, stood wide open. Peasants stood waiting within. There, too, the heat was stifling and there was a sickening smell of freshpaint and stale oil from the newly decorated rooms. 

After waiting a little, he decided to move forward into the next room. All the rooms were small and low-pitched. A fearful impatience drew himon and on. No one paid attention to him. In the second room someclerks sat writing, dressed hardly better than he was, and rather aqueer-looking set. He went up to one of them. 

"What is it?"

He showed the notice he had received. 

"You are a student?" the man asked, glancing at the notice. 

"Yes, formerly a student. "

The clerk looked at him, but without the slightest interest. He was aparticularly unkempt person with the look of a fixed idea in his eye. 

"There would be no getting anything out of him, because he has nointerest in anything, " thought Raskolnikov. 

"Go in there to the head clerk, " said the clerk, pointing towards thefurthest room. 

He went into that room--the fourth in order; it was a small room andpacked full of people, rather better dressed than in the outer rooms. Among them were two ladies. One, poorly dressed in mourning, sat at thetable opposite the chief clerk, writing something at his dictation. The other, a very stout, buxom woman with a purplish-red, blotchy face, excessively smartly dressed with a brooch on her bosom as big as asaucer, was standing on one side, apparently waiting for something. Raskolnikov thrust his notice upon the head clerk. The latter glancedat it, said: "Wait a minute, " and went on attending to the lady inmourning. 

He breathed more freely. "It can't be that!"

By degrees he began to regain confidence, he kept urging himself to havecourage and be calm. 

"Some foolishness, some trifling carelessness, and I may betray myself!Hm. . . It's a pity there's no air here, " he added, "it's stifling. . . . Itmakes one's head dizzier than ever. . . And one's mind too. . . "

He was conscious of a terrible inner turmoil. He was afraid of losinghis self-control; he tried to catch at something and fix his mind on it, something quite irrelevant, but he could not succeed in this at all. Yetthe head clerk greatly interested him, he kept hoping to see through himand guess something from his face. 

He was a very young man, about two and twenty, with a dark mobileface that looked older than his years. He was fashionably dressed andfoppish, with his hair parted in the middle, well combed and pomaded, and wore a number of rings on his well-scrubbed fingers and a gold chainon his waistcoat. He said a couple of words in French to a foreigner whowas in the room, and said them fairly correctly. 

"Luise Ivanovna, you can sit down, " he said casually to thegaily-dressed, purple-faced lady, who was still standing as though notventuring to sit down, though there was a chair beside her. 

"Ich danke, " said the latter, and softly, with a rustle of silk she sankinto the chair. Her light blue dress trimmed with white lace floatedabout the table like an air-balloon and filled almost half the room. Shesmelt of scent. But she was obviously embarrassed at filling halfthe room and smelling so strongly of scent; and though her smile wasimpudent as well as cringing, it betrayed evident uneasiness. 

The lady in mourning had done at last, and got up. All at once, withsome noise, an officer walked in very jauntily, with a peculiar swing ofhis shoulders at each step. He tossed his cockaded cap on the table andsat down in an easy-chair. The small lady positively skipped from herseat on seeing him, and fell to curtsying in a sort of ecstasy; but theofficer took not the smallest notice of her, and she did not venture tosit down again in his presence. He was the assistant superintendent. Hehad a reddish moustache that stood out horizontally on each side of hisface, and extremely small features, expressive of nothing much excepta certain insolence. He looked askance and rather indignantly atRaskolnikov; he was so very badly dressed, and in spite of hishumiliating position, his bearing was by no means in keeping with hisclothes. Raskolnikov had unwarily fixed a very long and direct look onhim, so that he felt positively affronted. 

"What do you want?" he shouted, apparently astonished that such a raggedfellow was not annihilated by the majesty of his glance. 

"I was summoned. . . By a notice. . . " Raskolnikov faltered. 

"For the recovery of money due, from _the student_, " the head clerkinterfered hurriedly, tearing himself from his papers. "Here!" and heflung Raskolnikov a document and pointed out the place. "Read that!"

"Money? What money?" thought Raskolnikov, "but. . . Then. . . It's certainlynot _that_. "

And he trembled with joy. He felt sudden intense indescribable relief. Aload was lifted from his back. 

"And pray, what time were you directed to appear, sir?" shouted theassistant superintendent, seeming for some unknown reason more and moreaggrieved. "You are told to come at nine, and now it's twelve!"

"The notice was only brought me a quarter of an hour ago, " Raskolnikovanswered loudly over his shoulder. To his own surprise he, too, grewsuddenly angry and found a certain pleasure in it. "And it's enough thatI have come here ill with fever. "

"Kindly refrain from shouting!"

"I'm not shouting, I'm speaking very quietly, it's you who are shoutingat me. I'm a student, and allow no one to shout at me. "

The assistant superintendent was so furious that for the first minute hecould only splutter inarticulately. He leaped up from his seat. 

"Be silent! You are in a government office. Don't be impudent, sir!"

"You're in a government office, too, " cried Raskolnikov, "and you'resmoking a cigarette as well as shouting, so you are showing disrespectto all of us. "

He felt an indescribable satisfaction at having said this. 

The head clerk looked at him with a smile. The angry assistantsuperintendent was obviously disconcerted. 

"That's not your business!" he shouted at last with unnatural loudness. "Kindly make the declaration demanded of you. Show him. AlexandrGrigorievitch. There is a complaint against you! You don't pay yourdebts! You're a fine bird!"

But Raskolnikov was not listening now; he had eagerly clutched at thepaper, in haste to find an explanation. He read it once, and a secondtime, and still did not understand. 

"What is this?" he asked the head clerk. 

"It is for the recovery of money on an I O U, a writ. You musteither pay it, with all expenses, costs and so on, or give a writtendeclaration when you can pay it, and at the same time an undertaking notto leave the capital without payment, and nor to sell or conceal yourproperty. The creditor is at liberty to sell your property, and proceedagainst you according to the law. "

"But I. . . Am not in debt to anyone!"

"That's not our business. Here, an I O U for a hundred and fifteenroubles, legally attested, and due for payment, has been brought usfor recovery, given by you to the widow of the assessor Zarnitsyn, ninemonths ago, and paid over by the widow Zarnitsyn to one Mr. Tchebarov. We therefore summon you, hereupon. "

"But she is my landlady!"

"And what if she is your landlady?"

The head clerk looked at him with a condescending smile of compassion, and at the same time with a certain triumph, as at a novice under firefor the first time--as though he would say: "Well, how do you feel now?"But what did he care now for an I O U, for a writ of recovery! Was thatworth worrying about now, was it worth attention even! He stood, heread, he listened, he answered, he even asked questions himself, butall mechanically. The triumphant sense of security, of deliverance fromoverwhelming danger, that was what filled his whole soul that momentwithout thought for the future, without analysis, without suppositionsor surmises, without doubts and without questioning. It was an instantof full, direct, purely instinctive joy. But at that very momentsomething like a thunderstorm took place in the office. The assistantsuperintendent, still shaken by Raskolnikov's disrespect, still fumingand obviously anxious to keep up his wounded dignity, pounced on theunfortunate smart lady, who had been gazing at him ever since he came inwith an exceedingly silly smile. 

"You shameful hussy!" he shouted suddenly at the top of his voice. (Thelady in mourning had left the office. ) "What was going on at your houselast night? Eh! A disgrace again, you're a scandal to the whole street. Fighting and drinking again. Do you want the house of correction? Why, I have warned you ten times over that I would not let you off theeleventh! And here you are again, again, you. . . You. . . !"

The paper fell out of Raskolnikov's hands, and he looked wildly at thesmart lady who was so unceremoniously treated. But he soon saw what itmeant, and at once began to find positive amusement in the scandal. Helistened with pleasure, so that he longed to laugh and laugh. . . All hisnerves were on edge. 

"Ilya Petrovitch!" the head clerk was beginning anxiously, but stoppedshort, for he knew from experience that the enraged assistant could notbe stopped except by force. 

As for the smart lady, at first she positively trembled before thestorm. But, strange to say, the more numerous and violent the terms ofabuse became, the more amiable she looked, and the more seductive thesmiles she lavished on the terrible assistant. She moved uneasily, andcurtsied incessantly, waiting impatiently for a chance of putting in herword: and at last she found it. 

"There was no sort of noise or fighting in my house, Mr. Captain, " shepattered all at once, like peas dropping, speaking Russian confidently, though with a strong German accent, "and no sort of scandal, and hishonour came drunk, and it's the whole truth I am telling, Mr. Captain, and I am not to blame. . . . Mine is an honourable house, Mr. Captain, and honourable behaviour, Mr. Captain, and I always, always dislike anyscandal myself. But he came quite tipsy, and asked for three bottlesagain, and then he lifted up one leg, and began playing the pianofortewith one foot, and that is not at all right in an honourable house, andhe _ganz_ broke the piano, and it was very bad manners indeed and I saidso. And he took up a bottle and began hitting everyone with it. And thenI called the porter, and Karl came, and he took Karl and hit him in theeye; and he hit Henriette in the eye, too, and gave me five slaps on thecheek. And it was so ungentlemanly in an honourable house, Mr. Captain, and I screamed. And he opened the window over the canal, and stood inthe window, squealing like a little pig; it was a disgrace. The idea ofsquealing like a little pig at the window into the street! Fie upon him!And Karl pulled him away from the window by his coat, and it is true, Mr. Captain, he tore _sein rock_. And then he shouted that _man muss_pay him fifteen roubles damages. And I did pay him, Mr. Captain, fiveroubles for _sein rock_. And he is an ungentlemanly visitor and causedall the scandal. 'I will show you up, ' he said, 'for I can write to allthe papers about you. '"

"Then he was an author?"

"Yes, Mr. Captain, and what an ungentlemanly visitor in an honourablehouse. . . . "

"Now then! Enough! I have told you already. . . "

"Ilya Petrovitch!" the head clerk repeated significantly. 

The assistant glanced rapidly at him; the head clerk slightly shook hishead. 

". . . So I tell you this, most respectable Luise Ivanovna, and I tell ityou for the last time, " the assistant went on. "If there is a scandalin your honourable house once again, I will put you yourself in thelock-up, as it is called in polite society. Do you hear? So a literaryman, an author took five roubles for his coat-tail in an 'honourablehouse'? A nice set, these authors!"

And he cast a contemptuous glance at Raskolnikov. "There was a scandalthe other day in a restaurant, too. An author had eaten his dinner andwould not pay; 'I'll write a satire on you, ' says he. And there wasanother of them on a steamer last week used the most disgracefullanguage to the respectable family of a civil councillor, his wife anddaughter. And there was one of them turned out of a confectioner's shopthe other day. They are like that, authors, literary men, students, town-criers. . . . Pfoo! You get along! I shall look in upon you myself oneday. Then you had better be careful! Do you hear?"

With hurried deference, Luise Ivanovna fell to curtsying in alldirections, and so curtsied herself to the door. But at the door, shestumbled backwards against a good-looking officer with a fresh, openface and splendid thick fair whiskers. This was the superintendent ofthe district himself, Nikodim Fomitch. Luise Ivanovna made hasteto curtsy almost to the ground, and with mincing little steps, shefluttered out of the office. 

"Again thunder and lightning--a hurricane!" said Nikodim Fomitch to IlyaPetrovitch in a civil and friendly tone. "You are aroused again, you arefuming again! I heard it on the stairs!"

"Well, what then!" Ilya Petrovitch drawled with gentlemanly nonchalance;and he walked with some papers to another table, with a jaunty swing ofhis shoulders at each step. "Here, if you will kindly look: an author, or a student, has been one at least, does not pay his debts, has givenan I O U, won't clear out of his room, and complaints are constantlybeing lodged against him, and here he has been pleased to make a protestagainst my smoking in his presence! He behaves like a cad himself, andjust look at him, please. Here's the gentleman, and very attractive heis!"

"Poverty is not a vice, my friend, but we know you go off like powder, you can't bear a slight, I daresay you took offence at something andwent too far yourself, " continued Nikodim Fomitch, turning affably toRaskolnikov. "But you were wrong there; he is a capital fellow, I assureyou, but explosive, explosive! He gets hot, fires up, boils over, and nostopping him! And then it's all over! And at the bottom he's a heart ofgold! His nickname in the regiment was the Explosive Lieutenant. . . . "

"And what a regiment it was, too, " cried Ilya Petrovitch, much gratifiedat this agreeable banter, though still sulky. 

Raskolnikov had a sudden desire to say something exceptionally pleasantto them all. "Excuse me, Captain, " he began easily, suddenly addressingNikodim Fomitch, "will you enter into my position?. . . I am ready toask pardon, if I have been ill-mannered. I am a poor student, sickand shattered (shattered was the word he used) by poverty. I am notstudying, because I cannot keep myself now, but I shall get money. . . . Ihave a mother and sister in the province of X. They will send it tome, and I will pay. My landlady is a good-hearted woman, but she is soexasperated at my having lost my lessons, and not paying her for thelast four months, that she does not even send up my dinner. . . And Idon't understand this I O U at all. She is asking me to pay her on thisI O U. How am I to pay her? Judge for yourselves!. . . "

"But that is not our business, you know, " the head clerk was observing. 

"Yes, yes. I perfectly agree with you. But allow me to explain. . . "Raskolnikov put in again, still addressing Nikodim Fomitch, but tryinghis best to address Ilya Petrovitch also, though the latter persistentlyappeared to be rummaging among his papers and to be contemptuouslyoblivious of him. "Allow me to explain that I have been living with herfor nearly three years and at first. . . At first. . . For why should I notconfess it, at the very beginning I promised to marry her daughter, itwas a verbal promise, freely given. . . She was a girl. . . Indeed, I likedher, though I was not in love with her. . . A youthful affair in fact. . . That is, I mean to say, that my landlady gave me credit freely in thosedays, and I led a life of. . . I was very heedless. . . "

"Nobody asks you for these personal details, sir, we've no time towaste, " Ilya Petrovitch interposed roughly and with a note of triumph;but Raskolnikov stopped him hotly, though he suddenly found itexceedingly difficult to speak. 

"But excuse me, excuse me. It is for me to explain. . . How it allhappened. . . In my turn. . . Though I agree with you. . . It is unnecessary. But a year ago, the girl died of typhus. I remained lodging there asbefore, and when my landlady moved into her present quarters, she saidto me. . . And in a friendly way. . . That she had complete trust in me, but still, would I not give her an I O U for one hundred and fifteenroubles, all the debt I owed her. She said if only I gave her that, she would trust me again, as much as I liked, and that she would never, never--those were her own words--make use of that I O U till I could payof myself. . . And now, when I have lost my lessons and have nothing toeat, she takes action against me. What am I to say to that?"

"All these affecting details are no business of ours. " Ilya Petrovitchinterrupted rudely. "You must give a written undertaking but as for yourlove affairs and all these tragic events, we have nothing to do withthat. "

"Come now. . . You are harsh, " muttered Nikodim Fomitch, sitting down atthe table and also beginning to write. He looked a little ashamed. 

"Write!" said the head clerk to Raskolnikov. 

"Write what?" the latter asked, gruffly. 

"I will dictate to you. "

Raskolnikov fancied that the head clerk treated him more casually andcontemptuously after his speech, but strange to say he suddenly feltcompletely indifferent to anyone's opinion, and this revulsion tookplace in a flash, in one instant. If he had cared to think a little, he would have been amazed indeed that he could have talked to them likethat a minute before, forcing his feelings upon them. And where hadthose feelings come from? Now if the whole room had been filled, notwith police officers, but with those nearest and dearest to him, hewould not have found one human word for them, so empty was his heart. Agloomy sensation of agonising, everlasting solitude and remoteness, tookconscious form in his soul. It was not the meanness of his sentimentaleffusions before Ilya Petrovitch, nor the meanness of the latter'striumph over him that had caused this sudden revulsion in his heart. Oh, what had he to do now with his own baseness, with all these pettyvanities, officers, German women, debts, police-offices? If he had beensentenced to be burnt at that moment, he would not have stirred, wouldhardly have heard the sentence to the end. Something was happening tohim entirely new, sudden and unknown. It was not that he understood, buthe felt clearly with all the intensity of sensation that he couldnever more appeal to these people in the police-office with sentimentaleffusions like his recent outburst, or with anything whatever; and thatif they had been his own brothers and sisters and not police-officers, it would have been utterly out of the question to appeal to them in anycircumstance of life. He had never experienced such a strange and awfulsensation. And what was most agonising--it was more a sensation than aconception or idea, a direct sensation, the most agonising of all thesensations he had known in his life. 

The head clerk began dictating to him the usual form of declaration, that he could not pay, that he undertook to do so at a future date, thathe would not leave the town, nor sell his property, and so on. 

"But you can't write, you can hardly hold the pen, " observed the headclerk, looking with curiosity at Raskolnikov. "Are you ill?"

"Yes, I am giddy. Go on!"

"That's all. Sign it. "

The head clerk took the paper, and turned to attend to others. 

Raskolnikov gave back the pen; but instead of getting up and going away, he put his elbows on the table and pressed his head in his hands. Hefelt as if a nail were being driven into his skull. A strange ideasuddenly occurred to him, to get up at once, to go up to NikodimFomitch, and tell him everything that had happened yesterday, and thento go with him to his lodgings and to show him the things in the holein the corner. The impulse was so strong that he got up from his seatto carry it out. "Hadn't I better think a minute?" flashed through hismind. "No, better cast off the burden without thinking. " But all at oncehe stood still, rooted to the spot. Nikodim Fomitch was talking eagerlywith Ilya Petrovitch, and the words reached him:

"It's impossible, they'll both be released. To begin with, the wholestory contradicts itself. Why should they have called the porter, if ithad been their doing? To inform against themselves? Or as a blind? No, that would be too cunning! Besides, Pestryakov, the student, was seen atthe gate by both the porters and a woman as he went in. He was walkingwith three friends, who left him only at the gate, and he asked theporters to direct him, in the presence of the friends. Now, would hehave asked his way if he had been going with such an object? As forKoch, he spent half an hour at the silversmith's below, before he wentup to the old woman and he left him at exactly a quarter to eight. Nowjust consider. . . "

"But excuse me, how do you explain this contradiction? They statethemselves that they knocked and the door was locked; yet three minuteslater when they went up with the porter, it turned out the door wasunfastened. "

"That's just it; the murderer must have been there and bolted himselfin; and they'd have caught him for a certainty if Koch had not beenan ass and gone to look for the porter too. _He_ must have seized theinterval to get downstairs and slip by them somehow. Koch keeps crossinghimself and saying: 'If I had been there, he would have jumped out andkilled me with his axe. ' He is going to have a thanksgiving service--ha, ha!"

"And no one saw the murderer?"

"They might well not see him; the house is a regular Noah's Ark, " saidthe head clerk, who was listening. 

"It's clear, quite clear, " Nikodim Fomitch repeated warmly. 

"No, it is anything but clear, " Ilya Petrovitch maintained. 

Raskolnikov picked up his hat and walked towards the door, but he didnot reach it. . . . 

When he recovered consciousness, he found himself sitting in a chair, supported by someone on the right side, while someone else was standingon the left, holding a yellowish glass filled with yellow water, andNikodim Fomitch standing before him, looking intently at him. He got upfrom the chair. 

"What's this? Are you ill?" Nikodim Fomitch asked, rather sharply. 

"He could hardly hold his pen when he was signing, " said the head clerk, settling back in his place, and taking up his work again. 

"Have you been ill long?" cried Ilya Petrovitch from his place, wherehe, too, was looking through papers. He had, of course, come to look atthe sick man when he fainted, but retired at once when he recovered. 

"Since yesterday, " muttered Raskolnikov in reply. 

"Did you go out yesterday?"

"Yes. "

"Though you were ill?"

"Yes. "

"At what time?"

"About seven. "

"And where did you go, my I ask?"

"Along the street. "

"Short and clear. "

Raskolnikov, white as a handkerchief, had answered sharply, jerkily, without dropping his black feverish eyes before Ilya Petrovitch's stare. 

"He can scarcely stand upright. And you. . . " Nikodim Fomitch wasbeginning. 

"No matter, " Ilya Petrovitch pronounced rather peculiarly. 

Nikodim Fomitch would have made some further protest, but glancing atthe head clerk who was looking very hard at him, he did not speak. Therewas a sudden silence. It was strange. 

"Very well, then, " concluded Ilya Petrovitch, "we will not detain you. "

Raskolnikov went out. He caught the sound of eager conversation on hisdeparture, and above the rest rose the questioning voice of NikodimFomitch. In the street, his faintness passed off completely. 

"A search--there will be a search at once, " he repeated to himself, hurrying home. "The brutes! they suspect. "

His former terror mastered him completely again. 

CHAPTER II

"And what if there has been a search already? What if I find them in myroom?"

But here was his room. Nothing and no one in it. No one had peeped in. Even Nastasya had not touched it. But heavens! how could he have leftall those things in the hole?

He rushed to the corner, slipped his hand under the paper, pulled thethings out and lined his pockets with them. There were eight articles inall: two little boxes with ear-rings or something of the sort, he hardlylooked to see; then four small leather cases. There was a chain, too, merely wrapped in newspaper and something else in newspaper, that lookedlike a decoration. . . . He put them all in the different pockets of hisovercoat, and the remaining pocket of his trousers, trying to concealthem as much as possible. He took the purse, too. Then he went out ofhis room, leaving the door open. He walked quickly and resolutely, andthough he felt shattered, he had his senses about him. He was afraid ofpursuit, he was afraid that in another half-hour, another quarter of anhour perhaps, instructions would be issued for his pursuit, and so atall costs, he must hide all traces before then. He must clear everythingup while he still had some strength, some reasoning power left him. . . . Where was he to go?

That had long been settled: "Fling them into the canal, and all traceshidden in the water, the thing would be at an end. " So he had decided inthe night of his delirium when several times he had had the impulse toget up and go away, to make haste, and get rid of it all. But to getrid of it, turned out to be a very difficult task. He wandered alongthe bank of the Ekaterininsky Canal for half an hour or more and lookedseveral times at the steps running down to the water, but he could notthink of carrying out his plan; either rafts stood at the steps' edge, and women were washing clothes on them, or boats were moored there, andpeople were swarming everywhere. Moreover he could be seen and noticedfrom the banks on all sides; it would look suspicious for a man to godown on purpose, stop, and throw something into the water. And what ifthe boxes were to float instead of sinking? And of course they would. Even as it was, everyone he met seemed to stare and look round, as ifthey had nothing to do but to watch him. "Why is it, or can it be myfancy?" he thought. 

At last the thought struck him that it might be better to go to theNeva. There were not so many people there, he would be less observed, and it would be more convenient in every way, above all it was furtheroff. He wondered how he could have been wandering for a good half-hour, worried and anxious in this dangerous past without thinking of itbefore. And that half-hour he had lost over an irrational plan, simplybecause he had thought of it in delirium! He had become extremely absentand forgetful and he was aware of it. He certainly must make haste. 

He walked towards the Neva along V---- Prospect, but on the wayanother idea struck him. "Why to the Neva? Would it not be better to gosomewhere far off, to the Islands again, and there hide the thingsin some solitary place, in a wood or under a bush, and mark the spotperhaps?" And though he felt incapable of clear judgment, the ideaseemed to him a sound one. But he was not destined to go there. Forcoming out of V---- Prospect towards the square, he saw on the left apassage leading between two blank walls to a courtyard. On the righthand, the blank unwhitewashed wall of a four-storied house stretched farinto the court; on the left, a wooden hoarding ran parallel with it fortwenty paces into the court, and then turned sharply to the left. Herewas a deserted fenced-off place where rubbish of different sorts waslying. At the end of the court, the corner of a low, smutty, stone shed, apparently part of some workshop, peeped from behind the hoarding. Itwas probably a carriage builder's or carpenter's shed; the whole placefrom the entrance was black with coal dust. Here would be the place tothrow it, he thought. Not seeing anyone in the yard, he slipped in, andat once saw near the gate a sink, such as is often put in yards wherethere are many workmen or cab-drivers; and on the hoarding above hadbeen scribbled in chalk the time-honoured witticism, "Standing herestrictly forbidden. " This was all the better, for there would be nothingsuspicious about his going in. "Here I could throw it all in a heap andget away!"

Looking round once more, with his hand already in his pocket, he noticedagainst the outer wall, between the entrance and the sink, a big unhewnstone, weighing perhaps sixty pounds. The other side of the wall was astreet. He could hear passers-by, always numerous in that part, but hecould not be seen from the entrance, unless someone came in from thestreet, which might well happen indeed, so there was need of haste. 

He bent down over the stone, seized the top of it firmly in both hands, and using all his strength turned it over. Under the stone was a smallhollow in the ground, and he immediately emptied his pocket into it. The purse lay at the top, and yet the hollow was not filled up. Then heseized the stone again and with one twist turned it back, so that it wasin the same position again, though it stood a very little higher. Buthe scraped the earth about it and pressed it at the edges with his foot. Nothing could be noticed. 

Then he went out, and turned into the square. Again an intense, almost unbearable joy overwhelmed him for an instant, as it had inthe police-office. "I have buried my tracks! And who, who can think oflooking under that stone? It has been lying there most likely ever sincethe house was built, and will lie as many years more. And if it werefound, who would think of me? It is all over! No clue!" And he laughed. Yes, he remembered that he began laughing a thin, nervous noiselesslaugh, and went on laughing all the time he was crossing the square. Butwhen he reached the K---- Boulevard where two days before he had comeupon that girl, his laughter suddenly ceased. Other ideas crept into hismind. He felt all at once that it would be loathsome to pass that seaton which after the girl was gone, he had sat and pondered, and that itwould be hateful, too, to meet that whiskered policeman to whom he hadgiven the twenty copecks: "Damn him!"

He walked, looking about him angrily and distractedly. All his ideas nowseemed to be circling round some single point, and he felt that therereally was such a point, and that now, now, he was left facing thatpoint--and for the first time, indeed, during the last two months. 

"Damn it all!" he thought suddenly, in a fit of ungovernable fury. "If it has begun, then it has begun. Hang the new life! Good Lord, howstupid it is!. . . And what lies I told to-day! How despicably I fawnedupon that wretched Ilya Petrovitch! But that is all folly! What do Icare for them all, and my fawning upon them! It is not that at all! Itis not that at all!"

Suddenly he stopped; a new utterly unexpected and exceedingly simplequestion perplexed and bitterly confounded him. 

"If it all has really been done deliberately and not idiotically, ifI really had a certain and definite object, how is it I did not evenglance into the purse and don't know what I had there, for which I haveundergone these agonies, and have deliberately undertaken this base, filthy degrading business? And here I wanted at once to throw into thewater the purse together with all the things which I had not seeneither. . . How's that?"

Yes, that was so, that was all so. Yet he had known it all before, andit was not a new question for him, even when it was decided in the nightwithout hesitation and consideration, as though so it must be, as thoughit could not possibly be otherwise. . . . Yes, he had known it all, andunderstood it all; it surely had all been settled even yesterday at themoment when he was bending over the box and pulling the jewel-cases outof it. . . . Yes, so it was. 

"It is because I am very ill, " he decided grimly at last, "I have beenworrying and fretting myself, and I don't know what I am doing. . . . Yesterday and the day before yesterday and all this time I have beenworrying myself. . . . I shall get well and I shall not worry. . . . But whatif I don't get well at all? Good God, how sick I am of it all!"

He walked on without resting. He had a terrible longing for somedistraction, but he did not know what to do, what to attempt. A newoverwhelming sensation was gaining more and more mastery over himevery moment; this was an immeasurable, almost physical, repulsion foreverything surrounding him, an obstinate, malignant feeling of hatred. All who met him were loathsome to him--he loathed their faces, theirmovements, their gestures. If anyone had addressed him, he felt that hemight have spat at him or bitten him. . . . 

He stopped suddenly, on coming out on the bank of the Little Neva, nearthe bridge to Vassilyevsky Ostrov. "Why, he lives here, in that house, "he thought, "why, I have not come to Razumihin of my own accord! Hereit's the same thing over again. . . . Very interesting to know, though;have I come on purpose or have I simply walked here by chance? Nevermind, I said the day before yesterday that I would go and see him theday _after_; well, and so I will! Besides I really cannot go furthernow. "

He went up to Razumihin's room on the fifth floor. 

The latter was at home in his garret, busily writing at the moment, andhe opened the door himself. It was four months since they had seen eachother. Razumihin was sitting in a ragged dressing-gown, with slippers onhis bare feet, unkempt, unshaven and unwashed. His face showed surprise. 

"Is it you?" he cried. He looked his comrade up and down; then after abrief pause, he whistled. "As hard up as all that! Why, brother, you'vecut me out!" he added, looking at Raskolnikov's rags. "Come sit down, you are tired, I'll be bound. "

And when he had sunk down on the American leather sofa, which wasin even worse condition than his own, Razumihin saw at once that hisvisitor was ill. 

"Why, you are seriously ill, do you know that?" He began feeling hispulse. Raskolnikov pulled away his hand. 

"Never mind, " he said, "I have come for this: I have no lessons. . . . Iwanted, . . . But I don't really want lessons. . . . "

"But I say! You are delirious, you know!" Razumihin observed, watchinghim carefully. 

"No, I am not. "

Raskolnikov got up from the sofa. As he had mounted the stairs toRazumihin's, he had not realised that he would be meeting his friendface to face. Now, in a flash, he knew, that what he was least of alldisposed for at that moment was to be face to face with anyone in thewide world. His spleen rose within him. He almost choked with rage athimself as soon as he crossed Razumihin's threshold. 

"Good-bye, " he said abruptly, and walked to the door. 

"Stop, stop! You queer fish. "

"I don't want to, " said the other, again pulling away his hand. 

"Then why the devil have you come? Are you mad, or what? Why, thisis. . . Almost insulting! I won't let you go like that. "

"Well, then, I came to you because I know no one but you who couldhelp. . . To begin. . . Because you are kinder than anyone--cleverer, Imean, and can judge. . . And now I see that I want nothing. Do you hear?Nothing at all. . . No one's services. . . No one's sympathy. I am bymyself. . . Alone. Come, that's enough. Leave me alone. "

"Stay a minute, you sweep! You are a perfect madman. As you like for allI care. I have no lessons, do you see, and I don't care about that, butthere's a bookseller, Heruvimov--and he takes the place of a lesson. I would not exchange him for five lessons. He's doing publishing of akind, and issuing natural science manuals and what a circulation theyhave! The very titles are worth the money! You always maintained that Iwas a fool, but by Jove, my boy, there are greater fools than I am!Now he is setting up for being advanced, not that he has an inkling ofanything, but, of course, I encourage him. Here are two signatures ofthe German text--in my opinion, the crudest charlatanism; it discussesthe question, 'Is woman a human being?' And, of course, triumphantlyproves that she is. Heruvimov is going to bring out this work as acontribution to the woman question; I am translating it; he will expandthese two and a half signatures into six, we shall make up a gorgeoustitle half a page long and bring it out at half a rouble. It will do! Hepays me six roubles the signature, it works out to about fifteen roublesfor the job, and I've had six already in advance. When we have finishedthis, we are going to begin a translation about whales, and then some ofthe dullest scandals out of the second part of _Les Confessions_ we havemarked for translation; somebody has told Heruvimov, that Rousseau wasa kind of Radishchev. You may be sure I don't contradict him, hang him!Well, would you like to do the second signature of '_Is woman a humanbeing?_' If you would, take the German and pens and paper--all thoseare provided, and take three roubles; for as I have had six roubles inadvance on the whole thing, three roubles come to you for your share. And when you have finished the signature there will be another threeroubles for you. And please don't think I am doing you a service; quitethe contrary, as soon as you came in, I saw how you could help me; tobegin with, I am weak in spelling, and secondly, I am sometimes utterlyadrift in German, so that I make it up as I go along for the most part. The only comfort is, that it's bound to be a change for the better. Though who can tell, maybe it's sometimes for the worse. Will you takeit?"

Raskolnikov took the German sheets in silence, took the three roublesand without a word went out. Razumihin gazed after him in astonishment. But when Raskolnikov was in the next street, he turned back, mounted thestairs to Razumihin's again and laying on the table the German articleand the three roubles, went out again, still without uttering a word. 

"Are you raving, or what?" Razumihin shouted, roused to fury at last. "What farce is this? You'll drive me crazy too. . . What did you come tosee me for, damn you?"

"I don't want. . . Translation, " muttered Raskolnikov from the stairs. 

"Then what the devil do you want?" shouted Razumihin from above. Raskolnikov continued descending the staircase in silence. 

"Hey, there! Where are you living?"

No answer. 

"Well, confound you then!"

But Raskolnikov was already stepping into the street. On the NikolaevskyBridge he was roused to full consciousness again by an unpleasantincident. A coachman, after shouting at him two or three times, gave hima violent lash on the back with his whip, for having almost fallen underhis horses' hoofs. The lash so infuriated him that he dashed away to therailing (for some unknown reason he had been walking in the very middleof the bridge in the traffic). He angrily clenched and ground his teeth. He heard laughter, of course. 

"Serves him right!"

"A pickpocket I dare say. "

"Pretending to be drunk, for sure, and getting under the wheels onpurpose; and you have to answer for him. "

"It's a regular profession, that's what it is. "

But while he stood at the railing, still looking angry and bewilderedafter the retreating carriage, and rubbing his back, he suddenly feltsomeone thrust money into his hand. He looked. It was an elderly womanin a kerchief and goatskin shoes, with a girl, probably her daughterwearing a hat, and carrying a green parasol. 

"Take it, my good man, in Christ's name. "

He took it and they passed on. It was a piece of twenty copecks. Fromhis dress and appearance they might well have taken him for a beggarasking alms in the streets, and the gift of the twenty copecks hedoubtless owed to the blow, which made them feel sorry for him. 

He closed his hand on the twenty copecks, walked on for ten paces, andturned facing the Neva, looking towards the palace. The sky was withouta cloud and the water was almost bright blue, which is so rare in theNeva. The cupola of the cathedral, which is seen at its best from thebridge about twenty paces from the chapel, glittered in the sunlight, and in the pure air every ornament on it could be clearly distinguished. The pain from the lash went off, and Raskolnikov forgot about it; oneuneasy and not quite definite idea occupied him now completely. He stoodstill, and gazed long and intently into the distance; this spot wasespecially familiar to him. When he was attending the university, he hadhundreds of times--generally on his way home--stood still on this spot, gazed at this truly magnificent spectacle and almost always marvelled ata vague and mysterious emotion it roused in him. It left him strangelycold; this gorgeous picture was for him blank and lifeless. He wonderedevery time at his sombre and enigmatic impression and, mistrustinghimself, put off finding the explanation of it. He vividly recalledthose old doubts and perplexities, and it seemed to him that it wasno mere chance that he recalled them now. It struck him as strange andgrotesque, that he should have stopped at the same spot as before, as though he actually imagined he could think the same thoughts, beinterested in the same theories and pictures that had interested him. . . So short a time ago. He felt it almost amusing, and yet it wrung hisheart. Deep down, hidden far away out of sight all that seemed to himnow--all his old past, his old thoughts, his old problems and theories, his old impressions and that picture and himself and all, all. . . . Hefelt as though he were flying upwards, and everything were vanishingfrom his sight. Making an unconscious movement with his hand, hesuddenly became aware of the piece of money in his fist. He opened hishand, stared at the coin, and with a sweep of his arm flung it intothe water; then he turned and went home. It seemed to him, he had cuthimself off from everyone and from everything at that moment. 

Evening was coming on when he reached home, so that he must have beenwalking about six hours. How and where he came back he did not remember. Undressing, and quivering like an overdriven horse, he lay down on thesofa, drew his greatcoat over him, and at once sank into oblivion. . . . 

It was dusk when he was waked up by a fearful scream. Good God, what ascream! Such unnatural sounds, such howling, wailing, grinding, tears, blows and curses he had never heard. 

He could never have imagined such brutality, such frenzy. In terror hesat up in bed, almost swooning with agony. But the fighting, wailingand cursing grew louder and louder. And then to his intense amazementhe caught the voice of his landlady. She was howling, shrieking andwailing, rapidly, hurriedly, incoherently, so that he could not makeout what she was talking about; she was beseeching, no doubt, not to bebeaten, for she was being mercilessly beaten on the stairs. The voice ofher assailant was so horrible from spite and rage that it was almosta croak; but he, too, was saying something, and just as quicklyand indistinctly, hurrying and spluttering. All at once Raskolnikovtrembled; he recognised the voice--it was the voice of Ilya Petrovitch. Ilya Petrovitch here and beating the landlady! He is kicking her, banging her head against the steps--that's clear, that can be toldfrom the sounds, from the cries and the thuds. How is it, is the worldtopsy-turvy? He could hear people running in crowds from all the storeysand all the staircases; he heard voices, exclamations, knocking, doorsbanging. "But why, why, and how could it be?" he repeated, thinkingseriously that he had gone mad. But no, he heard too distinctly! Andthey would come to him then next, "for no doubt. . . It's all aboutthat. . . About yesterday. . . . Good God!" He would have fastened his doorwith the latch, but he could not lift his hand. . . Besides, it wouldbe useless. Terror gripped his heart like ice, tortured him and numbedhim. . . . But at last all this uproar, after continuing about ten minutes, began gradually to subside. The landlady was moaning and groaning; IlyaPetrovitch was still uttering threats and curses. . . . But at last he, too, seemed to be silent, and now he could not be heard. "Can he havegone away? Good Lord!" Yes, and now the landlady is going too, stillweeping and moaning. . . And then her door slammed. . . . Now the crowd wasgoing from the stairs to their rooms, exclaiming, disputing, callingto one another, raising their voices to a shout, dropping them to awhisper. There must have been numbers of them--almost all the inmatesof the block. "But, good God, how could it be! And why, why had he comehere!"

Raskolnikov sank worn out on the sofa, but could not close his eyes. Helay for half an hour in such anguish, such an intolerable sensation ofinfinite terror as he had never experienced before. Suddenly a brightlight flashed into his room. Nastasya came in with a candle and a plateof soup. Looking at him carefully and ascertaining that he was notasleep, she set the candle on the table and began to lay out what shehad brought--bread, salt, a plate, a spoon. 

"You've eaten nothing since yesterday, I warrant. You've been trudgingabout all day, and you're shaking with fever. "

"Nastasya. . . What were they beating the landlady for?"

She looked intently at him. 

"Who beat the landlady?"

"Just now. . . Half an hour ago, Ilya Petrovitch, the assistantsuperintendent, on the stairs. . . . Why was he ill-treating her like that, and. . . Why was he here?"

Nastasya scrutinised him, silent and frowning, and her scrutiny lasted along time. He felt uneasy, even frightened at her searching eyes. 

"Nastasya, why don't you speak?" he said timidly at last in a weakvoice. 

"It's the blood, " she answered at last softly, as though speaking toherself. 

"Blood? What blood?" he muttered, growing white and turning towards thewall. 

Nastasya still looked at him without speaking. 

"Nobody has been beating the landlady, " she declared at last in a firm, resolute voice. 

He gazed at her, hardly able to breathe. 

"I heard it myself. . . . I was not asleep. . . I was sitting up, " hesaid still more timidly. "I listened a long while. The assistantsuperintendent came. . . . Everyone ran out on to the stairs from all theflats. "

"No one has been here. That's the blood crying in your ears. Whenthere's no outlet for it and it gets clotted, you begin fancyingthings. . . . Will you eat something?"

He made no answer. Nastasya still stood over him, watching him. 

"Give me something to drink. . . Nastasya. "

She went downstairs and returned with a white earthenware jug of water. He remembered only swallowing one sip of the cold water and spillingsome on his neck. Then followed forgetfulness. 

CHAPTER III

He was not completely unconscious, however, all the time he was ill; hewas in a feverish state, sometimes delirious, sometimes half conscious. He remembered a great deal afterwards. Sometimes it seemed as thoughthere were a number of people round him; they wanted to take him awaysomewhere, there was a great deal of squabbling and discussing abouthim. Then he would be alone in the room; they had all gone away afraidof him, and only now and then opened the door a crack to look at him;they threatened him, plotted something together, laughed, and mockedat him. He remembered Nastasya often at his bedside; he distinguishedanother person, too, whom he seemed to know very well, though he couldnot remember who he was, and this fretted him, even made him cry. Sometimes he fancied he had been lying there a month; at other timesit all seemed part of the same day. But of _that_--of _that_ he hadno recollection, and yet every minute he felt that he had forgottensomething he ought to remember. He worried and tormented himself tryingto remember, moaned, flew into a rage, or sank into awful, intolerableterror. Then he struggled to get up, would have run away, but someonealways prevented him by force, and he sank back into impotence andforgetfulness. At last he returned to complete consciousness. 

It happened at ten o'clock in the morning. On fine days the sun shoneinto the room at that hour, throwing a streak of light on the rightwall and the corner near the door. Nastasya was standing beside himwith another person, a complete stranger, who was looking at himvery inquisitively. He was a young man with a beard, wearing a full, short-waisted coat, and looked like a messenger. The landlady waspeeping in at the half-opened door. Raskolnikov sat up. 

"Who is this, Nastasya?" he asked, pointing to the young man. 

"I say, he's himself again!" she said. 

"He is himself, " echoed the man. 

Concluding that he had returned to his senses, the landlady closed thedoor and disappeared. She was always shy and dreaded conversations ordiscussions. She was a woman of forty, not at all bad-looking, fatand buxom, with black eyes and eyebrows, good-natured from fatness andlaziness, and absurdly bashful. 

"Who. . . Are you?" he went on, addressing the man. But at that momentthe door was flung open, and, stooping a little, as he was so tall, Razumihin came in. 

"What a cabin it is!" he cried. "I am always knocking my head. You callthis a lodging! So you are conscious, brother? I've just heard the newsfrom Pashenka. "

"He has just come to, " said Nastasya. 

"Just come to, " echoed the man again, with a smile. 

"And who are you?" Razumihin asked, suddenly addressing him. "My name isVrazumihin, at your service; not Razumihin, as I am always called, butVrazumihin, a student and gentleman; and he is my friend. And who areyou?"

"I am the messenger from our office, from the merchant Shelopaev, andI've come on business. "

"Please sit down. " Razumihin seated himself on the other side of thetable. "It's a good thing you've come to, brother, " he went on toRaskolnikov. "For the last four days you have scarcely eaten or drunkanything. We had to give you tea in spoonfuls. I brought Zossimov to seeyou twice. You remember Zossimov? He examined you carefully and said atonce it was nothing serious--something seemed to have gone to your head. Some nervous nonsense, the result of bad feeding, he says you have nothad enough beer and radish, but it's nothing much, it will pass and youwill be all right. Zossimov is a first-rate fellow! He is making quite aname. Come, I won't keep you, " he said, addressing the man again. "Willyou explain what you want? You must know, Rodya, this is the second timethey have sent from the office; but it was another man last time, and Italked to him. Who was it came before?"

"That was the day before yesterday, I venture to say, if you please, sir. That was Alexey Semyonovitch; he is in our office, too. "

"He was more intelligent than you, don't you think so?"

"Yes, indeed, sir, he is of more weight than I am. "

"Quite so; go on. "

"At your mamma's request, through Afanasy Ivanovitch Vahrushin, of whomI presume you have heard more than once, a remittance is sent to youfrom our office, " the man began, addressing Raskolnikov. "If you are inan intelligible condition, I've thirty-five roubles to remit to you, asSemyon Semyonovitch has received from Afanasy Ivanovitch at your mamma'srequest instructions to that effect, as on previous occasions. Do youknow him, sir?"

"Yes, I remember. . . Vahrushin, " Raskolnikov said dreamily. 

"You hear, he knows Vahrushin, " cried Razumihin. "He is in 'anintelligible condition'! And I see you are an intelligent man too. Well, it's always pleasant to hear words of wisdom. "

"That's the gentleman, Vahrushin, Afanasy Ivanovitch. And at the requestof your mamma, who has sent you a remittance once before in thesame manner through him, he did not refuse this time also, and sentinstructions to Semyon Semyonovitch some days since to hand youthirty-five roubles in the hope of better to come. "

"That 'hoping for better to come' is the best thing you've said, though'your mamma' is not bad either. Come then, what do you say? Is he fullyconscious, eh?"

"That's all right. If only he can sign this little paper. "

"He can scrawl his name. Have you got the book?"

"Yes, here's the book. "

"Give it to me. Here, Rodya, sit up. I'll hold you. Take the pen andscribble 'Raskolnikov' for him. For just now, brother, money is sweeterto us than treacle. "

"I don't want it, " said Raskolnikov, pushing away the pen. 

"Not want it?"

"I won't sign it. "

"How the devil can you do without signing it?"

"I don't want. . . The money. "

"Don't want the money! Come, brother, that's nonsense, I bear witness. Don't trouble, please, it's only that he is on his travels again. Butthat's pretty common with him at all times though. . . . You are a man ofjudgment and we will take him in hand, that is, more simply, take hishand and he will sign it. Here. "

"But I can come another time. "

"No, no. Why should we trouble you? You are a man of judgment. . . . Now, Rodya, don't keep your visitor, you see he is waiting, " and he madeready to hold Raskolnikov's hand in earnest. 

"Stop, I'll do it alone, " said the latter, taking the pen and signinghis name. 

The messenger took out the money and went away. 

"Bravo! And now, brother, are you hungry?"

"Yes, " answered Raskolnikov. 

"Is there any soup?"

"Some of yesterday's, " answered Nastasya, who was still standing there. 

"With potatoes and rice in it?"

"Yes. "

"I know it by heart. Bring soup and give us some tea. "

"Very well. "

Raskolnikov looked at all this with profound astonishment and a dull, unreasoning terror. He made up his mind to keep quiet and see whatwould happen. "I believe I am not wandering. I believe it's reality, " hethought. 

In a couple of minutes Nastasya returned with the soup, and announcedthat the tea would be ready directly. With the soup she brought twospoons, two plates, salt, pepper, mustard for the beef, and so on. Thetable was set as it had not been for a long time. The cloth was clean. 

"It would not be amiss, Nastasya, if Praskovya Pavlovna were to send usup a couple of bottles of beer. We could empty them. "

"Well, you are a cool hand, " muttered Nastasya, and she departed tocarry out his orders. 

Raskolnikov still gazed wildly with strained attention. MeanwhileRazumihin sat down on the sofa beside him, as clumsily as a bear put hisleft arm round Raskolnikov's head, although he was able to sit up, andwith his right hand gave him a spoonful of soup, blowing on it thatit might not burn him. But the soup was only just warm. Raskolnikovswallowed one spoonful greedily, then a second, then a third. But aftergiving him a few more spoonfuls of soup, Razumihin suddenly stopped, andsaid that he must ask Zossimov whether he ought to have more. 

Nastasya came in with two bottles of beer. 

"And will you have tea?"

"Yes. "

"Cut along, Nastasya, and bring some tea, for tea we may venture onwithout the faculty. But here is the beer!" He moved back to his chair, pulled the soup and meat in front of him, and began eating as though hehad not touched food for three days. 

"I must tell you, Rodya, I dine like this here every day now, " hemumbled with his mouth full of beef, "and it's all Pashenka, your dearlittle landlady, who sees to that; she loves to do anything for me. Idon't ask for it, but, of course, I don't object. And here's Nastasyawith the tea. She is a quick girl. Nastasya, my dear, won't you havesome beer?"

"Get along with your nonsense!"

"A cup of tea, then?"

"A cup of tea, maybe. "

"Pour it out. Stay, I'll pour it out myself. Sit down. "

He poured out two cups, left his dinner, and sat on the sofa again. Asbefore, he put his left arm round the sick man's head, raised him upand gave him tea in spoonfuls, again blowing each spoonful steadily andearnestly, as though this process was the principal and most effectivemeans towards his friend's recovery. Raskolnikov said nothing and madeno resistance, though he felt quite strong enough to sit up on the sofawithout support and could not merely have held a cup or a spoon, buteven perhaps could have walked about. But from some queer, almostanimal, cunning he conceived the idea of hiding his strength and lyinglow for a time, pretending if necessary not to be yet in full possessionof his faculties, and meanwhile listening to find out what was going on. Yet he could not overcome his sense of repugnance. After sipping a dozenspoonfuls of tea, he suddenly released his head, pushed the spoon awaycapriciously, and sank back on the pillow. There were actually realpillows under his head now, down pillows in clean cases, he observedthat, too, and took note of it. 

"Pashenka must give us some raspberry jam to-day to make him someraspberry tea, " said Razumihin, going back to his chair and attackinghis soup and beer again. 

"And where is she to get raspberries for you?" asked Nastasya, balancinga saucer on her five outspread fingers and sipping tea through a lump ofsugar. 

"She'll get it at the shop, my dear. You see, Rodya, all sorts of thingshave been happening while you have been laid up. When you decamped inthat rascally way without leaving your address, I felt so angry that Iresolved to find you out and punish you. I set to work that very day. How I ran about making inquiries for you! This lodging of yours I hadforgotten, though I never remembered it, indeed, because I did not knowit; and as for your old lodgings, I could only remember it was at theFive Corners, Harlamov's house. I kept trying to find that Harlamov'shouse, and afterwards it turned out that it was not Harlamov's, butBuch's. How one muddles up sound sometimes! So I lost my temper, and Iwent on the chance to the address bureau next day, and only fancy, intwo minutes they looked you up! Your name is down there. "

"My name!"

"I should think so; and yet a General Kobelev they could not find whileI was there. Well, it's a long story. But as soon as I did land on thisplace, I soon got to know all your affairs--all, all, brother, I knoweverything; Nastasya here will tell you. I made the acquaintance ofNikodim Fomitch and Ilya Petrovitch, and the house-porter and Mr. Zametov, Alexandr Grigorievitch, the head clerk in the police office, and, last, but not least, of Pashenka; Nastasya here knows. . . . "

"He's got round her, " Nastasya murmured, smiling slyly. 

"Why don't you put the sugar in your tea, Nastasya Nikiforovna?"

"You are a one!" Nastasya cried suddenly, going off into a giggle. "I amnot Nikiforovna, but Petrovna, " she added suddenly, recovering from hermirth. 

"I'll make a note of it. Well, brother, to make a long story short, I was going in for a regular explosion here to uproot all malignantinfluences in the locality, but Pashenka won the day. I had notexpected, brother, to find her so. . . Prepossessing. Eh, what do youthink?"

Raskolnikov did not speak, but he still kept his eyes fixed upon him, full of alarm. 

"And all that could be wished, indeed, in every respect, " Razumihin wenton, not at all embarrassed by his silence. 

"Ah, the sly dog!" Nastasya shrieked again. This conversation affordedher unspeakable delight. 

"It's a pity, brother, that you did not set to work in the right wayat first. You ought to have approached her differently. She is, soto speak, a most unaccountable character. But we will talk about hercharacter later. . . . How could you let things come to such a pass thatshe gave up sending you your dinner? And that I O U? You must have beenmad to sign an I O U. And that promise of marriage when her daughter, Natalya Yegorovna, was alive?. . . I know all about it! But I see that'sa delicate matter and I am an ass; forgive me. But, talking offoolishness, do you know Praskovya Pavlovna is not nearly so foolish asyou would think at first sight?"

"No, " mumbled Raskolnikov, looking away, but feeling that it was betterto keep up the conversation. 

"She isn't, is she?" cried Razumihin, delighted to get an answer outof him. "But she is not very clever either, eh? She is essentially, essentially an unaccountable character! I am sometimes quite at a loss, I assure you. . . . She must be forty; she says she is thirty-six, andof course she has every right to say so. But I swear I judge herintellectually, simply from the metaphysical point of view; there is asort of symbolism sprung up between us, a sort of algebra or what not!I don't understand it! Well, that's all nonsense. Only, seeing that youare not a student now and have lost your lessons and your clothes, andthat through the young lady's death she has no need to treat you asa relation, she suddenly took fright; and as you hid in your den anddropped all your old relations with her, she planned to get rid of you. And she's been cherishing that design a long time, but was sorry to losethe I O U, for you assured her yourself that your mother would pay. "

"It was base of me to say that. . . . My mother herself is almosta beggar. . . And I told a lie to keep my lodging. . . And be fed, "Raskolnikov said loudly and distinctly. 

"Yes, you did very sensibly. But the worst of it is that at that pointMr. Tchebarov turns up, a business man. Pashenka would never havethought of doing anything on her own account, she is too retiring; butthe business man is by no means retiring, and first thing he puts thequestion, 'Is there any hope of realising the I O U?' Answer: there is, because he has a mother who would save her Rodya with her hundred andtwenty-five roubles pension, if she has to starve herself; and a sister, too, who would go into bondage for his sake. That's what he was buildingupon. . . . Why do you start? I know all the ins and outs of your affairsnow, my dear boy--it's not for nothing that you were so open withPashenka when you were her prospective son-in-law, and I say all this asa friend. . . . But I tell you what it is; an honest and sensitive man isopen; and a business man 'listens and goes on eating' you up. Well, then she gave the I O U by way of payment to this Tchebarov, and withouthesitation he made a formal demand for payment. When I heard of all thisI wanted to blow him up, too, to clear my conscience, but by that timeharmony reigned between me and Pashenka, and I insisted on stoppingthe whole affair, engaging that you would pay. I went security for you, brother. Do you understand? We called Tchebarov, flung him tenroubles and got the I O U back from him, and here I have the honour ofpresenting it to you. She trusts your word now. Here, take it, you see Ihave torn it. "

Razumihin put the note on the table. Raskolnikov looked at him andturned to the wall without uttering a word. Even Razumihin felt atwinge. 

"I see, brother, " he said a moment later, "that I have been playing thefool again. I thought I should amuse you with my chatter, and I believeI have only made you cross. "

"Was it you I did not recognise when I was delirious?" Raskolnikovasked, after a moment's pause without turning his head. 

"Yes, and you flew into a rage about it, especially when I broughtZametov one day. "

"Zametov? The head clerk? What for?" Raskolnikov turned round quicklyand fixed his eyes on Razumihin. 

"What's the matter with you?. . . What are you upset about? He wanted tomake your acquaintance because I talked to him a lot about you. . . . Howcould I have found out so much except from him? He is a capitalfellow, brother, first-rate. . . In his own way, of course. Now we arefriends--see each other almost every day. I have moved into this part, you know. I have only just moved. I've been with him to Luise Ivanovnaonce or twice. . . . Do you remember Luise, Luise Ivanovna?

"Did I say anything in delirium?"

"I should think so! You were beside yourself. "

"What did I rave about?"

"What next? What did you rave about? What people do rave about. . . . Well, brother, now I must not lose time. To work. " He got up from the tableand took up his cap. 

"What did I rave about?"

"How he keeps on! Are you afraid of having let out some secret? Don'tworry yourself; you said nothing about a countess. But you said a lotabout a bulldog, and about ear-rings and chains, and about KrestovskyIsland, and some porter, and Nikodim Fomitch and Ilya Petrovitch, theassistant superintendent. And another thing that was of special interestto you was your own sock. You whined, 'Give me my sock. ' Zametovhunted all about your room for your socks, and with his own scented, ring-bedecked fingers he gave you the rag. And only then were youcomforted, and for the next twenty-four hours you held the wretchedthing in your hand; we could not get it from you. It is most likelysomewhere under your quilt at this moment. And then you asked sopiteously for fringe for your trousers. We tried to find out what sortof fringe, but we could not make it out. Now to business! Here arethirty-five roubles; I take ten of them, and shall give you an accountof them in an hour or two. I will let Zossimov know at the same time, though he ought to have been here long ago, for it is nearly twelve. Andyou, Nastasya, look in pretty often while I am away, to see whether hewants a drink or anything else. And I will tell Pashenka what is wantedmyself. Good-bye!"

"He calls her Pashenka! Ah, he's a deep one!" said Nastasya as he wentout; then she opened the door and stood listening, but could not resistrunning downstairs after him. She was very eager to hear what he wouldsay to the landlady. She was evidently quite fascinated by Razumihin. 

No sooner had she left the room than the sick man flung off thebedclothes and leapt out of bed like a madman. With burning, twitchingimpatience he had waited for them to be gone so that he might set towork. But to what work? Now, as though to spite him, it eluded him. 

"Good God, only tell me one thing: do they know of it yet or not? Whatif they know it and are only pretending, mocking me while I am laid up, and then they will come in and tell me that it's been discovered longago and that they have only. . . What am I to do now? That's what I'veforgotten, as though on purpose; forgotten it all at once, I remembereda minute ago. "

He stood in the middle of the room and gazed in miserable bewildermentabout him; he walked to the door, opened it, listened; but that was notwhat he wanted. Suddenly, as though recalling something, he rushed tothe corner where there was a hole under the paper, began examining it, put his hand into the hole, fumbled--but that was not it. He went to thestove, opened it and began rummaging in the ashes; the frayed edges ofhis trousers and the rags cut off his pocket were lying there just ashe had thrown them. No one had looked, then! Then he remembered the sockabout which Razumihin had just been telling him. Yes, there it lay onthe sofa under the quilt, but it was so covered with dust and grime thatZametov could not have seen anything on it. 

"Bah, Zametov! The police office! And why am I sent for to the policeoffice? Where's the notice? Bah! I am mixing it up; that was then. Ilooked at my sock then, too, but now. . . Now I have been ill. Butwhat did Zametov come for? Why did Razumihin bring him?" he muttered, helplessly sitting on the sofa again. "What does it mean? Am I still indelirium, or is it real? I believe it is real. . . . Ah, I remember; I mustescape! Make haste to escape. Yes, I must, I must escape! Yes. . . Butwhere? And where are my clothes? I've no boots. They've taken them away!They've hidden them! I understand! Ah, here is my coat--they passed thatover! And here is money on the table, thank God! And here's the I O U. . . I'll take the money and go and take another lodging. They won't findme!. . . Yes, but the address bureau? They'll find me, Razumihin will findme. Better escape altogether. . . Far away. . . To America, and let themdo their worst! And take the I O U. . . It would be of use there. . . . Whatelse shall I take? They think I am ill! They don't know that I can walk, ha-ha-ha! I could see by their eyes that they know all about it! Ifonly I could get downstairs! And what if they have set a watchthere--policemen! What's this tea? Ah, and here is beer left, half abottle, cold!"

He snatched up the bottle, which still contained a glassful of beer, andgulped it down with relish, as though quenching a flame in his breast. But in another minute the beer had gone to his head, and a faint andeven pleasant shiver ran down his spine. He lay down and pulled thequilt over him. His sick and incoherent thoughts grew more and moredisconnected, and soon a light, pleasant drowsiness came upon him. Witha sense of comfort he nestled his head into the pillow, wrapped moreclosely about him the soft, wadded quilt which had replaced the old, ragged greatcoat, sighed softly and sank into a deep, sound, refreshingsleep. 

He woke up, hearing someone come in. He opened his eyes and sawRazumihin standing in the doorway, uncertain whether to come in ornot. Raskolnikov sat up quickly on the sofa and gazed at him, as thoughtrying to recall something. 

"Ah, you are not asleep! Here I am! Nastasya, bring in the parcel!"Razumihin shouted down the stairs. "You shall have the accountdirectly. "

"What time is it?" asked Raskolnikov, looking round uneasily. 

"Yes, you had a fine sleep, brother, it's almost evening, it will be sixo'clock directly. You have slept more than six hours. "

"Good heavens! Have I?"

"And why not? It will do you good. What's the hurry? A tryst, is it?We've all time before us. I've been waiting for the last three hours foryou; I've been up twice and found you asleep. I've called on Zossimovtwice; not at home, only fancy! But no matter, he will turn up. AndI've been out on my own business, too. You know I've been moving to-day, moving with my uncle. I have an uncle living with me now. But that'sno matter, to business. Give me the parcel, Nastasya. We will open itdirectly. And how do you feel now, brother?"

"I am quite well, I am not ill. Razumihin, have you been here long?"

"I tell you I've been waiting for the last three hours. "

"No, before. "

"How do you mean?"

"How long have you been coming here?"

"Why I told you all about it this morning. Don't you remember?"

Raskolnikov pondered. The morning seemed like a dream to him. He couldnot remember alone, and looked inquiringly at Razumihin. 

"Hm!" said the latter, "he has forgotten. I fancied then that you werenot quite yourself. Now you are better for your sleep. . . . You reallylook much better. First-rate! Well, to business. Look here, my dearboy. "

He began untying the bundle, which evidently interested him. 

"Believe me, brother, this is something specially near my heart. For wemust make a man of you. Let's begin from the top. Do you see thiscap?" he said, taking out of the bundle a fairly good though cheap andordinary cap. "Let me try it on. "

"Presently, afterwards, " said Raskolnikov, waving it off pettishly. 

"Come, Rodya, my boy, don't oppose it, afterwards will be too late; andI shan't sleep all night, for I bought it by guess, without measure. Just right!" he cried triumphantly, fitting it on, "just your size! Aproper head-covering is the first thing in dress and a recommendation inits own way. Tolstyakov, a friend of mine, is always obliged to take offhis pudding basin when he goes into any public place where otherpeople wear their hats or caps. People think he does it from slavishpoliteness, but it's simply because he is ashamed of his bird's nest;he is such a boastful fellow! Look, Nastasya, here are two specimens ofheadgear: this Palmerston"--he took from the corner Raskolnikov's old, battered hat, which for some unknown reason, he called a Palmerston--"orthis jewel! Guess the price, Rodya, what do you suppose I paid for it, Nastasya!" he said, turning to her, seeing that Raskolnikov did notspeak. 

"Twenty copecks, no more, I dare say, " answered Nastasya. 

"Twenty copecks, silly!" he cried, offended. "Why, nowadays you wouldcost more than that--eighty copecks! And that only because it has beenworn. And it's bought on condition that when's it's worn out, they willgive you another next year. Yes, on my word! Well, now let us pass tothe United States of America, as they called them at school. I assureyou I am proud of these breeches, " and he exhibited to Raskolnikov apair of light, summer trousers of grey woollen material. "No holes, nospots, and quite respectable, although a little worn; and a waistcoatto match, quite in the fashion. And its being worn really is animprovement, it's softer, smoother. . . . You see, Rodya, to my thinking, the great thing for getting on in the world is always to keep to theseasons; if you don't insist on having asparagus in January, you keepyour money in your purse; and it's the same with this purchase. It'ssummer now, so I've been buying summer things--warmer materials will bewanted for autumn, so you will have to throw these away in any case. . . Especially as they will be done for by then from their own lack ofcoherence if not your higher standard of luxury. Come, price them! Whatdo you say? Two roubles twenty-five copecks! And remember the condition:if you wear these out, you will have another suit for nothing! They onlydo business on that system at Fedyaev's; if you've bought a thing once, you are satisfied for life, for you will never go there again of yourown free will. Now for the boots. What do you say? You see that they area bit worn, but they'll last a couple of months, for it's foreign workand foreign leather; the secretary of the English Embassy sold them lastweek--he had only worn them six days, but he was very short of cash. Price--a rouble and a half. A bargain?"

"But perhaps they won't fit, " observed Nastasya. 

"Not fit? Just look!" and he pulled out of his pocket Raskolnikov'sold, broken boot, stiffly coated with dry mud. "I did not goempty-handed--they took the size from this monster. We all did our best. And as to your linen, your landlady has seen to that. Here, to beginwith are three shirts, hempen but with a fashionable front. . . . Wellnow then, eighty copecks the cap, two roubles twenty-five copecks thesuit--together three roubles five copecks--a rouble and a half for theboots--for, you see, they are very good--and that makes four roublesfifty-five copecks; five roubles for the underclothes--they werebought in the lo--which makes exactly nine roubles fifty-five copecks. Forty-five copecks change in coppers. Will you take it? And so, Rodya, you are set up with a complete new rig-out, for your overcoat willserve, and even has a style of its own. That comes from getting one'sclothes from Sharmer's! As for your socks and other things, I leave themto you; we've twenty-five roubles left. And as for Pashenka and payingfor your lodging, don't you worry. I tell you she'll trust you foranything. And now, brother, let me change your linen, for I daresay youwill throw off your illness with your shirt. "

"Let me be! I don't want to!" Raskolnikov waved him off. He had listenedwith disgust to Razumihin's efforts to be playful about his purchases. 

"Come, brother, don't tell me I've been trudging around for nothing, "Razumihin insisted. "Nastasya, don't be bashful, but help me--that'sit, " and in spite of Raskolnikov's resistance he changed his linen. Thelatter sank back on the pillows and for a minute or two said nothing. 

"It will be long before I get rid of them, " he thought. "What money wasall that bought with?" he asked at last, gazing at the wall. 

"Money? Why, your own, what the messenger brought from Vahrushin, yourmother sent it. Have you forgotten that, too?"

"I remember now, " said Raskolnikov after a long, sullen silence. Razumihin looked at him, frowning and uneasy. 

The door opened and a tall, stout man whose appearance seemed familiarto Raskolnikov came in. 

CHAPTER IV

Zossimov was a tall, fat man with a puffy, colourless, clean-shaven faceand straight flaxen hair. He wore spectacles, and a big gold ring onhis fat finger. He was twenty-seven. He had on a light grey fashionableloose coat, light summer trousers, and everything about him loose, fashionable and spick and span; his linen was irreproachable, hiswatch-chain was massive. In manner he was slow and, as it were, nonchalant, and at the same time studiously free and easy; he madeefforts to conceal his self-importance, but it was apparent at everyinstant. All his acquaintances found him tedious, but said he was cleverat his work. 

"I've been to you twice to-day, brother. You see, he's come to himself, "cried Razumihin. 

"I see, I see; and how do we feel now, eh?" said Zossimov toRaskolnikov, watching him carefully and, sitting down at the foot of thesofa, he settled himself as comfortably as he could. 

"He is still depressed, " Razumihin went on. "We've just changed hislinen and he almost cried. "

"That's very natural; you might have put it off if he did not wishit. . . . His pulse is first-rate. Is your head still aching, eh?"

"I am well, I am perfectly well!" Raskolnikov declared positivelyand irritably. He raised himself on the sofa and looked at them withglittering eyes, but sank back on to the pillow at once and turned tothe wall. Zossimov watched him intently. 

"Very good. . . . Going on all right, " he said lazily. "Has he eatenanything?"

They told him, and asked what he might have. 

"He may have anything. . . Soup, tea. . . Mushrooms and cucumbers, ofcourse, you must not give him; he'd better not have meat either, and. . . But no need to tell you that!" Razumihin and he looked at eachother. "No more medicine or anything. I'll look at him again to-morrow. Perhaps, to-day even. . . But never mind. . . "

"To-morrow evening I shall take him for a walk, " said Razumihin. "We aregoing to the Yusupov garden and then to the Palais de Crystal. "

"I would not disturb him to-morrow at all, but I don't know. . . A little, maybe. . . But we'll see. "

"Ach, what a nuisance! I've got a house-warming party to-night; it'sonly a step from here. Couldn't he come? He could lie on the sofa. Youare coming?" Razumihin said to Zossimov. "Don't forget, you promised. "

"All right, only rather later. What are you going to do?"

"Oh, nothing--tea, vodka, herrings. There will be a pie. . . Just ourfriends. "

"And who?"

"All neighbours here, almost all new friends, except my old uncle, andhe is new too--he only arrived in Petersburg yesterday to see to somebusiness of his. We meet once in five years. "

"What is he?"

"He's been stagnating all his life as a district postmaster; gets alittle pension. He is sixty-five--not worth talking about. . . . But Iam fond of him. Porfiry Petrovitch, the head of the InvestigationDepartment here. . . But you know him. "

"Is he a relation of yours, too?"

"A very distant one. But why are you scowling? Because you quarrelledonce, won't you come then?"

"I don't care a damn for him. "

"So much the better. Well, there will be some students, a teacher, agovernment clerk, a musician, an officer and Zametov. "

"Do tell me, please, what you or he"--Zossimov nodded atRaskolnikov--"can have in common with this Zametov?"

"Oh, you particular gentleman! Principles! You are worked by principles, as it were by springs; you won't venture to turn round on your ownaccount. If a man is a nice fellow, that's the only principle I go upon. Zametov is a delightful person. "

"Though he does take bribes. "

"Well, he does! and what of it? I don't care if he does take bribes, "Razumihin cried with unnatural irritability. "I don't praise him fortaking bribes. I only say he is a nice man in his own way! But if onelooks at men in all ways--are there many good ones left? Why, I am sureI shouldn't be worth a baked onion myself. . . Perhaps with you thrownin. "

"That's too little; I'd give two for you. "

"And I wouldn't give more than one for you. No more of your jokes!Zametov is no more than a boy. I can pull his hair and one must draw himnot repel him. You'll never improve a man by repelling him, especiallya boy. One has to be twice as careful with a boy. Oh, you progressivedullards! You don't understand. You harm yourselves running another mandown. . . . But if you want to know, we really have something in common. "

"I should like to know what. "

"Why, it's all about a house-painter. . . . We are getting him out ofa mess! Though indeed there's nothing to fear now. The matter isabsolutely self-evident. We only put on steam. "

"A painter?"

"Why, haven't I told you about it? I only told you the beginning thenabout the murder of the old pawnbroker-woman. Well, the painter is mixedup in it. . . "

"Oh, I heard about that murder before and was rather interested in it. . . Partly. . . For one reason. . . . I read about it in the papers, too. . . . "

"Lizaveta was murdered, too, " Nastasya blurted out, suddenly addressingRaskolnikov. She remained in the room all the time, standing by the doorlistening. 

"Lizaveta, " murmured Raskolnikov hardly audibly. 

"Lizaveta, who sold old clothes. Didn't you know her? She used to comehere. She mended a shirt for you, too. "

Raskolnikov turned to the wall where in the dirty, yellow paper hepicked out one clumsy, white flower with brown lines on it and beganexamining how many petals there were in it, how many scallops in thepetals and how many lines on them. He felt his arms and legs as lifelessas though they had been cut off. He did not attempt to move, but staredobstinately at the flower. 

"But what about the painter?" Zossimov interrupted Nastasya's chatterwith marked displeasure. She sighed and was silent. 

"Why, he was accused of the murder, " Razumihin went on hotly. 

"Was there evidence against him then?"

"Evidence, indeed! Evidence that was no evidence, and that's what wehave to prove. It was just as they pitched on those fellows, Koch andPestryakov, at first. Foo! how stupidly it's all done, it makes onesick, though it's not one's business! Pestryakov may be comingto-night. . . . By the way, Rodya, you've heard about the business already;it happened before you were ill, the day before you fainted at thepolice office while they were talking about it. "

Zossimov looked curiously at Raskolnikov. He did not stir. 

"But I say, Razumihin, I wonder at you. What a busybody you are!"Zossimov observed. 

"Maybe I am, but we will get him off anyway, " shouted Razumihin, bringing his fist down on the table. "What's the most offensive is nottheir lying--one can always forgive lying--lying is a delightful thing, for it leads to truth--what is offensive is that they lie and worshiptheir own lying. . . . I respect Porfiry, but. . . What threw them out atfirst? The door was locked, and when they came back with the porterit was open. So it followed that Koch and Pestryakov were themurderers--that was their logic!"

"But don't excite yourself; they simply detained them, they could nothelp that. . . . And, by the way, I've met that man Koch. He used to buyunredeemed pledges from the old woman? Eh?"

"Yes, he is a swindler. He buys up bad debts, too. He makes a professionof it. But enough of him! Do you know what makes me angry? It's theirsickening rotten, petrified routine. . . . And this case might be the meansof introducing a new method. One can show from the psychological dataalone how to get on the track of the real man. 'We have facts, ' theysay. But facts are not everything--at least half the business lies inhow you interpret them!"

"Can you interpret them, then?"

"Anyway, one can't hold one's tongue when one has a feeling, a tangiblefeeling, that one might be a help if only. . . . Eh! Do you know thedetails of the case?"

"I am waiting to hear about the painter. "

"Oh, yes! Well, here's the story. Early on the third day after themurder, when they were still dandling Koch and Pestryakov--though theyaccounted for every step they took and it was as plain as a pikestaff-anunexpected fact turned up. A peasant called Dushkin, who keeps adram-shop facing the house, brought to the police office a jeweller'scase containing some gold ear-rings, and told a long rigamarole. 'Theday before yesterday, just after eight o'clock'--mark the day and thehour!--'a journeyman house-painter, Nikolay, who had been in to see mealready that day, brought me this box of gold ear-rings and stones, andasked me to give him two roubles for them. When I asked him where he gotthem, he said that he picked them up in the street. I did not ask himanything more. ' I am telling you Dushkin's story. 'I gave him a note'--arouble that is--'for I thought if he did not pawn it with me he wouldwith another. It would all come to the same thing--he'd spend it ondrink, so the thing had better be with me. The further you hide itthe quicker you will find it, and if anything turns up, if I hear anyrumours, I'll take it to the police. ' Of course, that's all taradiddle;he lies like a horse, for I know this Dushkin, he is a pawnbroker anda receiver of stolen goods, and he did not cheat Nikolay out of athirty-rouble trinket in order to give it to the police. He was simplyafraid. But no matter, to return to Dushkin's story. 'I've knownthis peasant, Nikolay Dementyev, from a child; he comes from the sameprovince and district of Zaraïsk, we are both Ryazan men. And thoughNikolay is not a drunkard, he drinks, and I knew he had a job in thathouse, painting work with Dmitri, who comes from the same village, too. As soon as he got the rouble he changed it, had a couple of glasses, took his change and went out. But I did not see Dmitri with him then. And the next day I heard that someone had murdered Alyona Ivanovna andher sister, Lizaveta Ivanovna, with an axe. I knew them, and I feltsuspicious about the ear-rings at once, for I knew the murdered womanlent money on pledges. I went to the house, and began to make carefulinquiries without saying a word to anyone. First of all I asked, "IsNikolay here?" Dmitri told me that Nikolay had gone off on the spree; hehad come home at daybreak drunk, stayed in the house about ten minutes, and went out again. Dmitri didn't see him again and is finishing thejob alone. And their job is on the same staircase as the murder, onthe second floor. When I heard all that I did not say a word toanyone'--that's Dushkin's tale--'but I found out what I could aboutthe murder, and went home feeling as suspicious as ever. And at eighto'clock this morning'--that was the third day, you understand--'I sawNikolay coming in, not sober, though not to say very drunk--he couldunderstand what was said to him. He sat down on the bench and did notspeak. There was only one stranger in the bar and a man I knew asleepon a bench and our two boys. "Have you seen Dmitri?" said I. "No, Ihaven't, " said he. "And you've not been here either?" "Not since the daybefore yesterday, " said he. "And where did you sleep last night?""In Peski, with the Kolomensky men. " "And where did you get thoseear-rings?" I asked. "I found them in the street, " and the way he saidit was a bit queer; he did not look at me. "Did you hear what happenedthat very evening, at that very hour, on that same staircase?" said I. "No, " said he, "I had not heard, " and all the while he was listening, his eyes were staring out of his head and he turned as white as chalk. Itold him all about it and he took his hat and began getting up. I wantedto keep him. "Wait a bit, Nikolay, " said I, "won't you have a drink?"And I signed to the boy to hold the door, and I came out from behind thebar; but he darted out and down the street to the turning at a run. I have not seen him since. Then my doubts were at an end--it was hisdoing, as clear as could be. . . . '"

"I should think so, " said Zossimov. 

"Wait! Hear the end. Of course they sought high and low for Nikolay;they detained Dushkin and searched his house; Dmitri, too, was arrested;the Kolomensky men also were turned inside out. And the day beforeyesterday they arrested Nikolay in a tavern at the end of the town. Hehad gone there, taken the silver cross off his neck and asked for a dramfor it. They gave it to him. A few minutes afterwards the woman wentto the cowshed, and through a crack in the wall she saw in the stableadjoining he had made a noose of his sash from the beam, stood on ablock of wood, and was trying to put his neck in the noose. The womanscreeched her hardest; people ran in. 'So that's what you are up to!''Take me, ' he says, 'to such-and-such a police officer; I'll confesseverything. ' Well, they took him to that police station--that ishere--with a suitable escort. So they asked him this and that, how oldhe is, 'twenty-two, ' and so on. At the question, 'When you were workingwith Dmitri, didn't you see anyone on the staircase at such-and-such atime?'--answer: 'To be sure folks may have gone up and down, but I didnot notice them. ' 'And didn't you hear anything, any noise, and so on?''We heard nothing special. ' 'And did you hear, Nikolay, that on the sameday Widow So-and-so and her sister were murdered and robbed?' 'Inever knew a thing about it. The first I heard of it was from AfanasyPavlovitch the day before yesterday. ' 'And where did you find theear-rings?' 'I found them on the pavement. ' 'Why didn't you go to workwith Dmitri the other day?' 'Because I was drinking. ' 'And where wereyou drinking?' 'Oh, in such-and-such a place. ' 'Why did you run awayfrom Dushkin's?' 'Because I was awfully frightened. ' 'What wereyou frightened of?' 'That I should be accused. ' 'How could you befrightened, if you felt free from guilt?' Now, Zossimov, you may notbelieve me, that question was put literally in those words. I know itfor a fact, it was repeated to me exactly! What do you say to that?"

"Well, anyway, there's the evidence. "

"I am not talking of the evidence now, I am talking about that question, of their own idea of themselves. Well, so they squeezed and squeezedhim and he confessed: 'I did not find it in the street, but in the flatwhere I was painting with Dmitri. ' 'And how was that?' 'Why, Dmitri andI were painting there all day, and we were just getting ready to go, andDmitri took a brush and painted my face, and he ran off and I after him. I ran after him, shouting my hardest, and at the bottom of the stairs Iran right against the porter and some gentlemen--and how many gentlemenwere there I don't remember. And the porter swore at me, and the otherporter swore, too, and the porter's wife came out, and swore at us, too;and a gentleman came into the entry with a lady, and he swore at us, too, for Dmitri and I lay right across the way. I got hold of Dmitri'shair and knocked him down and began beating him. And Dmitri, too, caughtme by the hair and began beating me. But we did it all not for temperbut in a friendly way, for sport. And then Dmitri escaped and ran intothe street, and I ran after him; but I did not catch him, and went backto the flat alone; I had to clear up my things. I began putting themtogether, expecting Dmitri to come, and there in the passage, in thecorner by the door, I stepped on the box. I saw it lying there wrappedup in paper. I took off the paper, saw some little hooks, undid them, and in the box were the ear-rings. . . . '"

"Behind the door? Lying behind the door? Behind the door?" Raskolnikovcried suddenly, staring with a blank look of terror at Razumihin, and heslowly sat up on the sofa, leaning on his hand. 

"Yes. . . Why? What's the matter? What's wrong?" Razumihin, too, got upfrom his seat. 

"Nothing, " Raskolnikov answered faintly, turning to the wall. All weresilent for a while. 

"He must have waked from a dream, " Razumihin said at last, lookinginquiringly at Zossimov. The latter slightly shook his head. 

"Well, go on, " said Zossimov. "What next?"

"What next? As soon as he saw the ear-rings, forgetting Dmitri andeverything, he took up his cap and ran to Dushkin and, as we know, gota rouble from him. He told a lie saying he found them in the street, andwent off drinking. He keeps repeating his old story about the murder:'I know nothing of it, never heard of it till the day before yesterday. ''And why didn't you come to the police till now?' 'I was frightened. ''And why did you try to hang yourself?' 'From anxiety. ' 'What anxiety?''That I should be accused of it. ' Well, that's the whole story. And nowwhat do you suppose they deduced from that?"

"Why, there's no supposing. There's a clue, such as it is, a fact. Youwouldn't have your painter set free?"

"Now they've simply taken him for the murderer. They haven't a shadow ofdoubt. "

"That's nonsense. You are excited. But what about the ear-rings? Youmust admit that, if on the very same day and hour ear-rings from the oldwoman's box have come into Nikolay's hands, they must have come theresomehow. That's a good deal in such a case. "

"How did they get there? How did they get there?" cried Razumihin. "How can you, a doctor, whose duty it is to study man and who has moreopportunity than anyone else for studying human nature--how can you failto see the character of the man in the whole story? Don't you see atonce that the answers he has given in the examination are the holytruth? They came into his hand precisely as he has told us--he steppedon the box and picked it up. "

"The holy truth! But didn't he own himself that he told a lie at first?"

"Listen to me, listen attentively. The porter and Koch and Pestryakovand the other porter and the wife of the first porter and the woman whowas sitting in the porter's lodge and the man Kryukov, who had just gotout of a cab at that minute and went in at the entry with a lady on hisarm, that is eight or ten witnesses, agree that Nikolay had Dmitri onthe ground, was lying on him beating him, while Dmitri hung on to hishair, beating him, too. They lay right across the way, blocking thethoroughfare. They were sworn at on all sides while they 'like children'(the very words of the witnesses) were falling over one another, squealing, fighting and laughing with the funniest faces, and, chasingone another like children, they ran into the street. Now take carefulnote. The bodies upstairs were warm, you understand, warm when theyfound them! If they, or Nikolay alone, had murdered them and broken openthe boxes, or simply taken part in the robbery, allow me to ask you onequestion: do their state of mind, their squeals and giggles and childishscuffling at the gate fit in with axes, bloodshed, fiendish cunning, robbery? They'd just killed them, not five or ten minutes before, forthe bodies were still warm, and at once, leaving the flat open, knowingthat people would go there at once, flinging away their booty, theyrolled about like children, laughing and attracting general attention. And there are a dozen witnesses to swear to that!"

"Of course it is strange! It's impossible, indeed, but. . . "

"No, brother, no _buts_. And if the ear-rings being found in Nikolay'shands at the very day and hour of the murder constitutes an importantpiece of circumstantial evidence against him--although the explanationgiven by him accounts for it, and therefore it does not tell seriouslyagainst him--one must take into consideration the facts which prove himinnocent, especially as they are facts that _cannot be denied_. Anddo you suppose, from the character of our legal system, that they willaccept, or that they are in a position to accept, this fact--restingsimply on a psychological impossibility--as irrefutable and conclusivelybreaking down the circumstantial evidence for the prosecution? No, theywon't accept it, they certainly won't, because they found the jewel-caseand the man tried to hang himself, 'which he could not have done if hehadn't felt guilty. ' That's the point, that's what excites me, you mustunderstand!"

"Oh, I see you are excited! Wait a bit. I forgot to ask you; what proofis there that the box came from the old woman?"

"That's been proved, " said Razumihin with apparent reluctance, frowning. "Koch recognised the jewel-case and gave the name of the owner, whoproved conclusively that it was his. "

"That's bad. Now another point. Did anyone see Nikolay at the timethat Koch and Pestryakov were going upstairs at first, and is there noevidence about that?"

"Nobody did see him, " Razumihin answered with vexation. "That's theworst of it. Even Koch and Pestryakov did not notice them on their wayupstairs, though, indeed, their evidence could not have been worth much. They said they saw the flat was open, and that there must be work goingon in it, but they took no special notice and could not remember whetherthere actually were men at work in it. "

"Hm!. . . So the only evidence for the defence is that they were beatingone another and laughing. That constitutes a strong presumption, but. . . How do you explain the facts yourself?"

"How do I explain them? What is there to explain? It's clear. At anyrate, the direction in which explanation is to be sought is clear, andthe jewel-case points to it. The real murderer dropped those ear-rings. The murderer was upstairs, locked in, when Koch and Pestryakov knockedat the door. Koch, like an ass, did not stay at the door; so themurderer popped out and ran down, too; for he had no other way ofescape. He hid from Koch, Pestryakov and the porter in the flat whenNikolay and Dmitri had just run out of it. He stopped there while theporter and others were going upstairs, waited till they were out ofhearing, and then went calmly downstairs at the very minute when Dmitriand Nikolay ran out into the street and there was no one in the entry;possibly he was seen, but not noticed. There are lots of people goingin and out. He must have dropped the ear-rings out of his pocket whenhe stood behind the door, and did not notice he dropped them, because hehad other things to think of. The jewel-case is a conclusive proof thathe did stand there. . . . That's how I explain it. "

"Too clever! No, my boy, you're too clever. That beats everything. "

"But, why, why?"

"Why, because everything fits too well. . . It's too melodramatic. "

"A-ach!" Razumihin was exclaiming, but at that moment the door openedand a personage came in who was a stranger to all present. 

CHAPTER V

This was a gentleman no longer young, of a stiff and portly appearance, and a cautious and sour countenance. He began by stopping short in thedoorway, staring about him with offensive and undisguised astonishment, as though asking himself what sort of place he had come to. Mistrustfully and with an affectation of being alarmed and almostaffronted, he scanned Raskolnikov's low and narrow "cabin. " With thesame amazement he stared at Raskolnikov, who lay undressed, dishevelled, unwashed, on his miserable dirty sofa, looking fixedly at him. Then withthe same deliberation he scrutinised the uncouth, unkempt figure andunshaven face of Razumihin, who looked him boldly and inquiringly in theface without rising from his seat. A constrained silence lasted for acouple of minutes, and then, as might be expected, some scene-shiftingtook place. Reflecting, probably from certain fairly unmistakable signs, that he would get nothing in this "cabin" by attempting to overawe them, the gentleman softened somewhat, and civilly, though with some severity, emphasising every syllable of his question, addressed Zossimov:

"Rodion Romanovitch Raskolnikov, a student, or formerly a student?"

Zossimov made a slight movement, and would have answered, had notRazumihin anticipated him. 

"Here he is lying on the sofa! What do you want?"

This familiar "what do you want" seemed to cut the ground from thefeet of the pompous gentleman. He was turning to Razumihin, but checkedhimself in time and turned to Zossimov again. 

"This is Raskolnikov, " mumbled Zossimov, nodding towards him. Then hegave a prolonged yawn, opening his mouth as wide as possible. Then helazily put his hand into his waistcoat-pocket, pulled out a huge goldwatch in a round hunter's case, opened it, looked at it and as slowlyand lazily proceeded to put it back. 

Raskolnikov himself lay without speaking, on his back, gazingpersistently, though without understanding, at the stranger. Now thathis face was turned away from the strange flower on the paper, itwas extremely pale and wore a look of anguish, as though he had justundergone an agonising operation or just been taken from the rack. Butthe new-comer gradually began to arouse his attention, then his wonder, then suspicion and even alarm. When Zossimov said "This is Raskolnikov"he jumped up quickly, sat on the sofa and with an almost defiant, butweak and breaking, voice articulated:

"Yes, I am Raskolnikov! What do you want?"

The visitor scrutinised him and pronounced impressively:

"Pyotr Petrovitch Luzhin. I believe I have reason to hope that my nameis not wholly unknown to you?"

But Raskolnikov, who had expected something quite different, gazedblankly and dreamily at him, making no reply, as though he heard thename of Pyotr Petrovitch for the first time. 

"Is it possible that you can up to the present have received noinformation?" asked Pyotr Petrovitch, somewhat disconcerted. 

In reply Raskolnikov sank languidly back on the pillow, put his handsbehind his head and gazed at the ceiling. A look of dismay came intoLuzhin's face. Zossimov and Razumihin stared at him more inquisitivelythan ever, and at last he showed unmistakable signs of embarrassment. 

"I had presumed and calculated, " he faltered, "that a letter posted morethan ten days, if not a fortnight ago. . . "

"I say, why are you standing in the doorway?" Razumihin interruptedsuddenly. "If you've something to say, sit down. Nastasya and you are socrowded. Nastasya, make room. Here's a chair, thread your way in!"

He moved his chair back from the table, made a little space between thetable and his knees, and waited in a rather cramped position for thevisitor to "thread his way in. " The minute was so chosen that it wasimpossible to refuse, and the visitor squeezed his way through, hurryingand stumbling. Reaching the chair, he sat down, looking suspiciously atRazumihin. 

"No need to be nervous, " the latter blurted out. "Rodya has been ill forthe last five days and delirious for three, but now he is recovering andhas got an appetite. This is his doctor, who has just had a look at him. I am a comrade of Rodya's, like him, formerly a student, and now I amnursing him; so don't you take any notice of us, but go on with yourbusiness. "

"Thank you. But shall I not disturb the invalid by my presence andconversation?" Pyotr Petrovitch asked of Zossimov. 

"N-no, " mumbled Zossimov; "you may amuse him. " He yawned again. 

"He has been conscious a long time, since the morning, " went onRazumihin, whose familiarity seemed so much like unaffected good-naturethat Pyotr Petrovitch began to be more cheerful, partly, perhaps, because this shabby and impudent person had introduced himself as astudent. 

"Your mamma, " began Luzhin. 

"Hm!" Razumihin cleared his throat loudly. Luzhin looked at himinquiringly. 

"That's all right, go on. "

Luzhin shrugged his shoulders. 

"Your mamma had commenced a letter to you while I was sojourning inher neighbourhood. On my arrival here I purposely allowed a few days toelapse before coming to see you, in order that I might be fullyassured that you were in full possession of the tidings; but now, to myastonishment. . . "

"I know, I know!" Raskolnikov cried suddenly with impatient vexation. "So you are the _fiancé_? I know, and that's enough!"

There was no doubt about Pyotr Petrovitch's being offended this time, but he said nothing. He made a violent effort to understand what it allmeant. There was a moment's silence. 

Meanwhile Raskolnikov, who had turned a little towards him when heanswered, began suddenly staring at him again with marked curiosity, asthough he had not had a good look at him yet, or as though somethingnew had struck him; he rose from his pillow on purpose to stare athim. There certainly was something peculiar in Pyotr Petrovitch's wholeappearance, something which seemed to justify the title of "fiancé" sounceremoniously applied to him. In the first place, it was evident, fartoo much so indeed, that Pyotr Petrovitch had made eager use of his fewdays in the capital to get himself up and rig himself out in expectationof his betrothed--a perfectly innocent and permissible proceeding, indeed. Even his own, perhaps too complacent, consciousness of theagreeable improvement in his appearance might have been forgiven in suchcircumstances, seeing that Pyotr Petrovitch had taken up the rôle offiancé. All his clothes were fresh from the tailor's and were allright, except for being too new and too distinctly appropriate. Eventhe stylish new round hat had the same significance. Pyotr Petrovitchtreated it too respectfully and held it too carefully in his hands. Theexquisite pair of lavender gloves, real Louvain, told the same tale, if only from the fact of his not wearing them, but carrying them inhis hand for show. Light and youthful colours predominated in PyotrPetrovitch's attire. He wore a charming summer jacket of a fawn shade, light thin trousers, a waistcoat of the same, new and fine linen, acravat of the lightest cambric with pink stripes on it, and the bestof it was, this all suited Pyotr Petrovitch. His very fresh and evenhandsome face looked younger than his forty-five years at all times. His dark, mutton-chop whiskers made an agreeable setting on both sides, growing thickly upon his shining, clean-shaven chin. Even his hair, touched here and there with grey, though it had been combed and curledat a hairdresser's, did not give him a stupid appearance, as curled hairusually does, by inevitably suggesting a German on his wedding-day. If there really was something unpleasing and repulsive in his rathergood-looking and imposing countenance, it was due to quite othercauses. After scanning Mr. Luzhin unceremoniously, Raskolnikov smiledmalignantly, sank back on the pillow and stared at the ceiling asbefore. 

But Mr. Luzhin hardened his heart and seemed to determine to take nonotice of their oddities. 

"I feel the greatest regret at finding you in this situation, " he began, again breaking the silence with an effort. "If I had been aware of yourillness I should have come earlier. But you know what business is. Ihave, too, a very important legal affair in the Senate, not to mentionother preoccupations which you may well conjecture. I am expecting yourmamma and sister any minute. "

Raskolnikov made a movement and seemed about to speak; his face showedsome excitement. Pyotr Petrovitch paused, waited, but as nothingfollowed, he went on:

". . . Any minute. I have found a lodging for them on their arrival. "

"Where?" asked Raskolnikov weakly. 

"Very near here, in Bakaleyev's house. "

"That's in Voskresensky, " put in Razumihin. "There are two storeys ofrooms, let by a merchant called Yushin; I've been there. "

"Yes, rooms. . . "

"A disgusting place--filthy, stinking and, what's more, of doubtfulcharacter. Things have happened there, and there are all sorts of queerpeople living there. And I went there about a scandalous business. It'scheap, though. . . "

"I could not, of course, find out so much about it, for I am a strangerin Petersburg myself, " Pyotr Petrovitch replied huffily. "However, thetwo rooms are exceedingly clean, and as it is for so short a time. . . I have already taken a permanent, that is, our future flat, " he said, addressing Raskolnikov, "and I am having it done up. And meanwhile I ammyself cramped for room in a lodging with my friend Andrey SemyonovitchLebeziatnikov, in the flat of Madame Lippevechsel; it was he who told meof Bakaleyev's house, too. . . "

"Lebeziatnikov?" said Raskolnikov slowly, as if recalling something. 

"Yes, Andrey Semyonovitch Lebeziatnikov, a clerk in the Ministry. Do youknow him?"

"Yes. . . No, " Raskolnikov answered. 

"Excuse me, I fancied so from your inquiry. I was once his guardian. . . . A very nice young man and advanced. I like to meet young people: onelearns new things from them. " Luzhin looked round hopefully at them all. 

"How do you mean?" asked Razumihin. 

"In the most serious and essential matters, " Pyotr Petrovitch replied, as though delighted at the question. "You see, it's ten years since Ivisited Petersburg. All the novelties, reforms, ideas have reached us inthe provinces, but to see it all more clearly one must be in Petersburg. And it's my notion that you observe and learn most by watching theyounger generation. And I confess I am delighted. . . "

"At what?"

"Your question is a wide one. I may be mistaken, but I fancy I findclearer views, more, so to say, criticism, more practicality. . . "

"That's true, " Zossimov let drop. 

"Nonsense! There's no practicality. " Razumihin flew at him. "Practicality is a difficult thing to find; it does not drop down fromheaven. And for the last two hundred years we have been divorced fromall practical life. Ideas, if you like, are fermenting, " he said toPyotr Petrovitch, "and desire for good exists, though it's in a childishform, and honesty you may find, although there are crowds of brigands. Anyway, there's no practicality. Practicality goes well shod. "

"I don't agree with you, " Pyotr Petrovitch replied, with evidentenjoyment. "Of course, people do get carried away and make mistakes, but one must have indulgence; those mistakes are merely evidence ofenthusiasm for the cause and of abnormal external environment. If littlehas been done, the time has been but short; of means I will not speak. It's my personal view, if you care to know, that something has beenaccomplished already. New valuable ideas, new valuable works arecirculating in the place of our old dreamy and romantic authors. Literature is taking a maturer form, many injurious prejudice have beenrooted up and turned into ridicule. . . . In a word, we have cut ourselvesoff irrevocably from the past, and that, to my thinking, is a greatthing. . . "

"He's learnt it by heart to show off!" Raskolnikov pronounced suddenly. 

"What?" asked Pyotr Petrovitch, not catching his words; but he receivedno reply. 

"That's all true, " Zossimov hastened to interpose. 

"Isn't it so?" Pyotr Petrovitch went on, glancing affably at Zossimov. "You must admit, " he went on, addressing Razumihin with a shade oftriumph and superciliousness--he almost added "young man"--"that thereis an advance, or, as they say now, progress in the name of science andeconomic truth. . . "

"A commonplace. "

"No, not a commonplace! Hitherto, for instance, if I were told, 'lovethy neighbour, ' what came of it?" Pyotr Petrovitch went on, perhaps withexcessive haste. "It came to my tearing my coat in half to share with myneighbour and we both were left half naked. As a Russian proverb hasit, 'Catch several hares and you won't catch one. ' Science now tellsus, love yourself before all men, for everything in the world rests onself-interest. You love yourself and manage your own affairs properlyand your coat remains whole. Economic truth adds that the better privateaffairs are organised in society--the more whole coats, so to say--thefirmer are its foundations and the better is the common welfareorganised too. Therefore, in acquiring wealth solely and exclusively formyself, I am acquiring, so to speak, for all, and helping to bring topass my neighbour's getting a little more than a torn coat; and that notfrom private, personal liberality, but as a consequence of the generaladvance. The idea is simple, but unhappily it has been a long timereaching us, being hindered by idealism and sentimentality. And yet itwould seem to want very little wit to perceive it. . . "

"Excuse me, I've very little wit myself, " Razumihin cut in sharply, "and so let us drop it. I began this discussion with an object, but I'vegrown so sick during the last three years of this chattering to amuseoneself, of this incessant flow of commonplaces, always the same, that, by Jove, I blush even when other people talk like that. You are in ahurry, no doubt, to exhibit your acquirements; and I don't blame you, that's quite pardonable. I only wanted to find out what sort of man youare, for so many unscrupulous people have got hold of the progressivecause of late and have so distorted in their own interests everythingthey touched, that the whole cause has been dragged in the mire. That'senough!"

"Excuse me, sir, " said Luzhin, affronted, and speaking with excessivedignity. "Do you mean to suggest so unceremoniously that I too. . . "

"Oh, my dear sir. . . How could I?. . . Come, that's enough, " Razumihinconcluded, and he turned abruptly to Zossimov to continue their previousconversation. 

Pyotr Petrovitch had the good sense to accept the disavowal. He made uphis mind to take leave in another minute or two. 

"I trust our acquaintance, " he said, addressing Raskolnikov, "may, uponyour recovery and in view of the circumstances of which you are aware, become closer. . . Above all, I hope for your return to health. . . "

Raskolnikov did not even turn his head. Pyotr Petrovitch began gettingup from his chair. 

"One of her customers must have killed her, " Zossimov declaredpositively. 

"Not a doubt of it, " replied Razumihin. "Porfiry doesn't give hisopinion, but is examining all who have left pledges with her there. "

"Examining them?" Raskolnikov asked aloud. 

"Yes. What then?"

"Nothing. "

"How does he get hold of them?" asked Zossimov. 

"Koch has given the names of some of them, other names are on thewrappers of the pledges and some have come forward of themselves. "

"It must have been a cunning and practised ruffian! The boldness of it!The coolness!"

"That's just what it wasn't!" interposed Razumihin. "That's what throwsyou all off the scent. But I maintain that he is not cunning, notpractised, and probably this was his first crime! The supposition thatit was a calculated crime and a cunning criminal doesn't work. Supposehim to have been inexperienced, and it's clear that it was only a chancethat saved him--and chance may do anything. Why, he did not foreseeobstacles, perhaps! And how did he set to work? He took jewels worthten or twenty roubles, stuffing his pockets with them, ransacked theold woman's trunks, her rags--and they found fifteen hundred roubles, besides notes, in a box in the top drawer of the chest! He did not knowhow to rob; he could only murder. It was his first crime, I assure you, his first crime; he lost his head. And he got off more by luck than goodcounsel!"

"You are talking of the murder of the old pawnbroker, I believe?" PyotrPetrovitch put in, addressing Zossimov. He was standing, hat and glovesin hand, but before departing he felt disposed to throw off a few moreintellectual phrases. He was evidently anxious to make a favourableimpression and his vanity overcame his prudence. 

"Yes. You've heard of it?"

"Oh, yes, being in the neighbourhood. "

"Do you know the details?"

"I can't say that; but another circumstance interests me in thecase--the whole question, so to say. Not to speak of the fact that crimehas been greatly on the increase among the lower classes during the lastfive years, not to speak of the cases of robbery and arson everywhere, what strikes me as the strangest thing is that in the higher classes, too, crime is increasing proportionately. In one place one hears of astudent's robbing the mail on the high road; in another place people ofgood social position forge false banknotes; in Moscow of late a wholegang has been captured who used to forge lottery tickets, and one ofthe ringleaders was a lecturer in universal history; then our secretaryabroad was murdered from some obscure motive of gain. . . . And if this oldwoman, the pawnbroker, has been murdered by someone of a higher classin society--for peasants don't pawn gold trinkets--how are we to explainthis demoralisation of the civilised part of our society?"

"There are many economic changes, " put in Zossimov. 

"How are we to explain it?" Razumihin caught him up. "It might beexplained by our inveterate impracticality. "

"How do you mean?"

"What answer had your lecturer in Moscow to make to the question why hewas forging notes? 'Everybody is getting rich one way or another, so Iwant to make haste to get rich too. ' I don't remember the exact words, but the upshot was that he wants money for nothing, without waiting orworking! We've grown used to having everything ready-made, to walkingon crutches, to having our food chewed for us. Then the great hourstruck, [*] and every man showed himself in his true colours. "

 [*] The emancipation of the serfs in 1861 is meant. --TRANSLATOR'S NOTE. 

"But morality? And so to speak, principles. . . "

"But why do you worry about it?" Raskolnikov interposed suddenly. "It'sin accordance with your theory!"

"In accordance with my theory?"

"Why, carry out logically the theory you were advocating just now, andit follows that people may be killed. . . "

"Upon my word!" cried Luzhin. 

"No, that's not so, " put in Zossimov. 

Raskolnikov lay with a white face and twitching upper lip, breathingpainfully. 

"There's a measure in all things, " Luzhin went on superciliously. "Economic ideas are not an incitement to murder, and one has but tosuppose. . . "

"And is it true, " Raskolnikov interposed once more suddenly, again in avoice quivering with fury and delight in insulting him, "is it true thatyou told your _fiancée_. . . Within an hour of her acceptance, that whatpleased you most. . . Was that she was a beggar. . . Because it was betterto raise a wife from poverty, so that you may have complete control overher, and reproach her with your being her benefactor?"

"Upon my word, " Luzhin cried wrathfully and irritably, crimson withconfusion, "to distort my words in this way! Excuse me, allow me toassure you that the report which has reached you, or rather, let me say, has been conveyed to you, has no foundation in truth, and I. . . Suspectwho. . . In a word. . . This arrow. . . In a word, your mamma. . . She seemedto me in other things, with all her excellent qualities, of a somewhathigh-flown and romantic way of thinking. . . . But I was a thousand milesfrom supposing that she would misunderstand and misrepresent things inso fanciful a way. . . . And indeed. . . Indeed. . . "

"I tell you what, " cried Raskolnikov, raising himself on his pillow andfixing his piercing, glittering eyes upon him, "I tell you what. "

"What?" Luzhin stood still, waiting with a defiant and offended face. Silence lasted for some seconds. 

"Why, if ever again. . . You dare to mention a single word. . . About mymother. . . I shall send you flying downstairs!"

"What's the matter with you?" cried Razumihin. 

"So that's how it is?" Luzhin turned pale and bit his lip. "Let me tellyou, sir, " he began deliberately, doing his utmost to restrain himselfbut breathing hard, "at the first moment I saw you you were ill-disposedto me, but I remained here on purpose to find out more. I could forgivea great deal in a sick man and a connection, but you. . . Never afterthis. . . "

"I am not ill, " cried Raskolnikov. 

"So much the worse. . . "

"Go to hell!"

But Luzhin was already leaving without finishing his speech, squeezingbetween the table and the chair; Razumihin got up this time to let himpass. Without glancing at anyone, and not even nodding to Zossimov, whohad for some time been making signs to him to let the sick man alone, he went out, lifting his hat to the level of his shoulders to avoidcrushing it as he stooped to go out of the door. And even the curve ofhis spine was expressive of the horrible insult he had received. 

"How could you--how could you!" Razumihin said, shaking his head inperplexity. 

"Let me alone--let me alone all of you!" Raskolnikov cried in a frenzy. "Will you ever leave off tormenting me? I am not afraid of you! I amnot afraid of anyone, anyone now! Get away from me! I want to be alone, alone, alone!"

"Come along, " said Zossimov, nodding to Razumihin. 

"But we can't leave him like this!"

"Come along, " Zossimov repeated insistently, and he went out. Razumihinthought a minute and ran to overtake him. 

"It might be worse not to obey him, " said Zossimov on the stairs. "Hemustn't be irritated. "

"What's the matter with him?"

"If only he could get some favourable shock, that's what would do it! Atfirst he was better. . . . You know he has got something on his mind! Somefixed idea weighing on him. . . . I am very much afraid so; he must have!"

"Perhaps it's that gentleman, Pyotr Petrovitch. From his conversationI gather he is going to marry his sister, and that he had received aletter about it just before his illness. . . . "

"Yes, confound the man! he may have upset the case altogether. But haveyou noticed, he takes no interest in anything, he does not respond toanything except one point on which he seems excited--that's the murder?"

"Yes, yes, " Razumihin agreed, "I noticed that, too. He is interested, frightened. It gave him a shock on the day he was ill in the policeoffice; he fainted. "

"Tell me more about that this evening and I'll tell you somethingafterwards. He interests me very much! In half an hour I'll go and seehim again. . . . There'll be no inflammation though. "

"Thanks! And I'll wait with Pashenka meantime and will keep watch on himthrough Nastasya. . . . "

Raskolnikov, left alone, looked with impatience and misery at Nastasya, but she still lingered. 

"Won't you have some tea now?" she asked. 

"Later! I am sleepy! Leave me. "

He turned abruptly to the wall; Nastasya went out. 

CHAPTER VI

But as soon as she went out, he got up, latched the door, undid theparcel which Razumihin had brought in that evening and had tied up againand began dressing. Strange to say, he seemed immediately to have becomeperfectly calm; not a trace of his recent delirium nor of the panicfear that had haunted him of late. It was the first moment of a strangesudden calm. His movements were precise and definite; a firm purpose wasevident in them. "To-day, to-day, " he muttered to himself. He understoodthat he was still weak, but his intense spiritual concentration gave himstrength and self-confidence. He hoped, moreover, that he would notfall down in the street. When he had dressed in entirely new clothes, helooked at the money lying on the table, and after a moment's thoughtput it in his pocket. It was twenty-five roubles. He took also all thecopper change from the ten roubles spent by Razumihin on the clothes. Then he softly unlatched the door, went out, slipped downstairs andglanced in at the open kitchen door. Nastasya was standing with her backto him, blowing up the landlady's samovar. She heard nothing. Who wouldhave dreamed of his going out, indeed? A minute later he was in thestreet. 

It was nearly eight o'clock, the sun was setting. It was as stifling asbefore, but he eagerly drank in the stinking, dusty town air. His headfelt rather dizzy; a sort of savage energy gleamed suddenly in hisfeverish eyes and his wasted, pale and yellow face. He did not know anddid not think where he was going, he had one thought only: "that all_this_ must be ended to-day, once for all, immediately; that he wouldnot return home without it, because he _would not go on living likethat_. " How, with what to make an end? He had not an idea about it, he did not even want to think of it. He drove away thought; thoughttortured him. All he knew, all he felt was that everything must bechanged "one way or another, " he repeated with desperate and immovableself-confidence and determination. 

From old habit he took his usual walk in the direction of the HayMarket. A dark-haired young man with a barrel organ was standing inthe road in front of a little general shop and was grinding out a verysentimental song. He was accompanying a girl of fifteen, who stoodon the pavement in front of him. She was dressed up in a crinoline, amantle and a straw hat with a flame-coloured feather in it, all veryold and shabby. In a strong and rather agreeable voice, cracked andcoarsened by street singing, she sang in hope of getting a copper fromthe shop. Raskolnikov joined two or three listeners, took out a fivecopeck piece and put it in the girl's hand. She broke off abruptly on asentimental high note, shouted sharply to the organ grinder "Come on, "and both moved on to the next shop. 

"Do you like street music?" said Raskolnikov, addressing a middle-agedman standing idly by him. The man looked at him, startled and wondering. 

"I love to hear singing to a street organ, " said Raskolnikov, and hismanner seemed strangely out of keeping with the subject--"I like iton cold, dark, damp autumn evenings--they must be damp--when all thepassers-by have pale green, sickly faces, or better still when wetsnow is falling straight down, when there's no wind--you know what Imean?--and the street lamps shine through it. . . "

"I don't know. . . . Excuse me. . . " muttered the stranger, frightened by thequestion and Raskolnikov's strange manner, and he crossed over to theother side of the street. 

Raskolnikov walked straight on and came out at the corner of the HayMarket, where the huckster and his wife had talked with Lizaveta; butthey were not there now. Recognising the place, he stopped, looked roundand addressed a young fellow in a red shirt who stood gaping before acorn chandler's shop. 

"Isn't there a man who keeps a booth with his wife at this corner?"

"All sorts of people keep booths here, " answered the young man, glancingsuperciliously at Raskolnikov. 

"What's his name?"

"What he was christened. "

"Aren't you a Zaraïsky man, too? Which province?"

The young man looked at Raskolnikov again. 

"It's not a province, your excellency, but a district. Graciouslyforgive me, your excellency!"

"Is that a tavern at the top there?"

"Yes, it's an eating-house and there's a billiard-room and you'll findprincesses there too. . . . La-la!"

Raskolnikov crossed the square. In that corner there was a dense crowdof peasants. He pushed his way into the thickest part of it, lookingat the faces. He felt an unaccountable inclination to enter intoconversation with people. But the peasants took no notice of him; theywere all shouting in groups together. He stood and thought a little andtook a turning to the right in the direction of V. 

He had often crossed that little street which turns at an angle, leadingfrom the market-place to Sadovy Street. Of late he had often felt drawnto wander about this district, when he felt depressed, that he mightfeel more so. 

Now he walked along, thinking of nothing. At that point there is a greatblock of buildings, entirely let out in dram shops and eating-houses;women were continually running in and out, bare-headed and in theirindoor clothes. Here and there they gathered in groups, on the pavement, especially about the entrances to various festive establishments inthe lower storeys. From one of these a loud din, sounds of singing, thetinkling of a guitar and shouts of merriment, floated into the street. A crowd of women were thronging round the door; some were sitting on thesteps, others on the pavement, others were standing talking. A drunkensoldier, smoking a cigarette, was walking near them in the road, swearing; he seemed to be trying to find his way somewhere, but hadforgotten where. One beggar was quarrelling with another, and a man deaddrunk was lying right across the road. Raskolnikov joined the throng ofwomen, who were talking in husky voices. They were bare-headed and worecotton dresses and goatskin shoes. There were women of forty and somenot more than seventeen; almost all had blackened eyes. 

He felt strangely attracted by the singing and all the noise anduproar in the saloon below. . . . Someone could be heard within dancingfrantically, marking time with his heels to the sounds of the guitarand of a thin falsetto voice singing a jaunty air. He listened intently, gloomily and dreamily, bending down at the entrance and peepinginquisitively in from the pavement. 

"Oh, my handsome soldier Don't beat me for nothing, "

trilled the thin voice of the singer. Raskolnikov felt a great desire tomake out what he was singing, as though everything depended on that. 

"Shall I go in?" he thought. "They are laughing. From drink. Shall I getdrunk?"

"Won't you come in?" one of the women asked him. Her voice wasstill musical and less thick than the others, she was young and notrepulsive--the only one of the group. 

"Why, she's pretty, " he said, drawing himself up and looking at her. 

She smiled, much pleased at the compliment. 

"You're very nice looking yourself, " she said. 

"Isn't he thin though!" observed another woman in a deep bass. "Have youjust come out of a hospital?"

"They're all generals' daughters, it seems, but they have all snubnoses, " interposed a tipsy peasant with a sly smile on his face, wearinga loose coat. "See how jolly they are. "

"Go along with you!"

"I'll go, sweetie!"

And he darted down into the saloon below. Raskolnikov moved on. 

"I say, sir, " the girl shouted after him. 

"What is it?"

She hesitated. 

"I'll always be pleased to spend an hour with you, kind gentleman, butnow I feel shy. Give me six copecks for a drink, there's a nice youngman!"

Raskolnikov gave her what came first--fifteen copecks. 

"Ah, what a good-natured gentleman!"

"What's your name?"

"Ask for Duclida. "

"Well, that's too much, " one of the women observed, shaking her headat Duclida. "I don't know how you can ask like that. I believe I shoulddrop with shame. . . . "

Raskolnikov looked curiously at the speaker. She was a pock-marked wenchof thirty, covered with bruises, with her upper lip swollen. She madeher criticism quietly and earnestly. "Where is it, " thought Raskolnikov. "Where is it I've read that someone condemned to death says or thinks, an hour before his death, that if he had to live on some high rock, on such a narrow ledge that he'd only room to stand, and the ocean, everlasting darkness, everlasting solitude, everlasting tempest aroundhim, if he had to remain standing on a square yard of space all hislife, a thousand years, eternity, it were better to live so than to dieat once! Only to live, to live and live! Life, whatever it may be!. . . How true it is! Good God, how true! Man is a vile creature!. . . And vileis he who calls him vile for that, " he added a moment later. 

He went into another street. "Bah, the Palais de Cristal! Razumihinwas just talking of the Palais de Cristal. But what on earth was itI wanted? Yes, the newspapers. . . . Zossimov said he'd read it in thepapers. Have you the papers?" he asked, going into a very spacious andpositively clean restaurant, consisting of several rooms, which were, however, rather empty. Two or three people were drinking tea, and in aroom further away were sitting four men drinking champagne. Raskolnikovfancied that Zametov was one of them, but he could not be sure at thatdistance. "What if it is?" he thought. 

"Will you have vodka?" asked the waiter. 

"Give me some tea and bring me the papers, the old ones for the lastfive days, and I'll give you something. "

"Yes, sir, here's to-day's. No vodka?"

The old newspapers and the tea were brought. Raskolnikov sat down andbegan to look through them. 

"Oh, damn. . . These are the items of intelligence. An accident on astaircase, spontaneous combustion of a shopkeeper from alcohol, a firein Peski. . . A fire in the Petersburg quarter. . . Another fire in thePetersburg quarter. . . And another fire in the Petersburg quarter. . . . Ah, here it is!" He found at last what he was seeking and began toread it. The lines danced before his eyes, but he read it all and beganeagerly seeking later additions in the following numbers. His handsshook with nervous impatience as he turned the sheets. Suddenly someonesat down beside him at his table. He looked up, it was the head clerkZametov, looking just the same, with the rings on his fingers and thewatch-chain, with the curly, black hair, parted and pomaded, with thesmart waistcoat, rather shabby coat and doubtful linen. He was in a goodhumour, at least he was smiling very gaily and good-humouredly. His darkface was rather flushed from the champagne he had drunk. 

"What, you here?" he began in surprise, speaking as though he'd knownhim all his life. "Why, Razumihin told me only yesterday you wereunconscious. How strange! And do you know I've been to see you?"

Raskolnikov knew he would come up to him. He laid aside the papers andturned to Zametov. There was a smile on his lips, and a new shade ofirritable impatience was apparent in that smile. 

"I know you have, " he answered. "I've heard it. You looked for mysock. . . . And you know Razumihin has lost his heart to you? He saysyou've been with him to Luise Ivanovna's--you know, the woman you triedto befriend, for whom you winked to the Explosive Lieutenant and hewould not understand. Do you remember? How could he fail tounderstand--it was quite clear, wasn't it?"

"What a hot head he is!"

"The explosive one?"

"No, your friend Razumihin. "

"You must have a jolly life, Mr. Zametov; entrance free to the mostagreeable places. Who's been pouring champagne into you just now?"

"We've just been. . . Having a drink together. . . . You talk about pouringit into me!"

"By way of a fee! You profit by everything!" Raskolnikov laughed, "it'sall right, my dear boy, " he added, slapping Zametov on the shoulder. "Iam not speaking from temper, but in a friendly way, for sport, as thatworkman of yours said when he was scuffling with Dmitri, in the case ofthe old woman. . . . "

"How do you know about it?"

"Perhaps I know more about it than you do. "

"How strange you are. . . . I am sure you are still very unwell. Yououghtn't to have come out. "

"Oh, do I seem strange to you?"

"Yes. What are you doing, reading the papers?"

"Yes. "

"There's a lot about the fires. "

"No, I am not reading about the fires. " Here he looked mysteriously atZametov; his lips were twisted again in a mocking smile. "No, I am notreading about the fires, " he went on, winking at Zametov. "But confessnow, my dear fellow, you're awfully anxious to know what I am readingabout?"

"I am not in the least. Mayn't I ask a question? Why do you keepon. . . ?"

"Listen, you are a man of culture and education?"

"I was in the sixth class at the gymnasium, " said Zametov with somedignity. 

"Sixth class! Ah, my cock-sparrow! With your parting and your rings--youare a gentleman of fortune. Foo! what a charming boy!" Here Raskolnikovbroke into a nervous laugh right in Zametov's face. The latter drewback, more amazed than offended. 

"Foo! how strange you are!" Zametov repeated very seriously. "I can'thelp thinking you are still delirious. "

"I am delirious? You are fibbing, my cock-sparrow! So I am strange? Youfind me curious, do you?"

"Yes, curious. "

"Shall I tell you what I was reading about, what I was looking for? Seewhat a lot of papers I've made them bring me. Suspicious, eh?"

"Well, what is it?"

"You prick up your ears?"

"How do you mean--'prick up my ears'?"

"I'll explain that afterwards, but now, my boy, I declare to you. . . No, better 'I confess'. . . No, that's not right either; 'I make a depositionand you take it. ' I depose that I was reading, that I was looking andsearching. . . . " he screwed up his eyes and paused. "I was searching--andcame here on purpose to do it--for news of the murder of the oldpawnbroker woman, " he articulated at last, almost in a whisper, bringinghis face exceedingly close to the face of Zametov. Zametov looked at himsteadily, without moving or drawing his face away. What struck Zametovafterwards as the strangest part of it all was that silence followed forexactly a minute, and that they gazed at one another all the while. 

"What if you have been reading about it?" he cried at last, perplexedand impatient. "That's no business of mine! What of it?"

"The same old woman, " Raskolnikov went on in the same whisper, notheeding Zametov's explanation, "about whom you were talking in thepolice-office, you remember, when I fainted. Well, do you understandnow?"

"What do you mean? Understand. . . What?" Zametov brought out, almostalarmed. 

Raskolnikov's set and earnest face was suddenly transformed, and hesuddenly went off into the same nervous laugh as before, as thoughutterly unable to restrain himself. And in one flash he recalled withextraordinary vividness of sensation a moment in the recent past, thatmoment when he stood with the axe behind the door, while the latchtrembled and the men outside swore and shook it, and he had a suddendesire to shout at them, to swear at them, to put out his tongue atthem, to mock them, to laugh, and laugh, and laugh!

"You are either mad, or. . . " began Zametov, and he broke off, as thoughstunned by the idea that had suddenly flashed into his mind. 

"Or? Or what? What? Come, tell me!"

"Nothing, " said Zametov, getting angry, "it's all nonsense!"

Both were silent. After his sudden fit of laughter Raskolnikov becamesuddenly thoughtful and melancholy. He put his elbow on the table andleaned his head on his hand. He seemed to have completely forgottenZametov. The silence lasted for some time. 

"Why don't you drink your tea? It's getting cold, " said Zametov. 

"What! Tea? Oh, yes. . . . " Raskolnikov sipped the glass, put a morsel ofbread in his mouth and, suddenly looking at Zametov, seemed to remembereverything and pulled himself together. At the same moment his faceresumed its original mocking expression. He went on drinking tea. 

"There have been a great many of these crimes lately, " said Zametov. "Only the other day I read in the _Moscow News_ that a whole gang offalse coiners had been caught in Moscow. It was a regular society. Theyused to forge tickets!"

"Oh, but it was a long time ago! I read about it a month ago, "Raskolnikov answered calmly. "So you consider them criminals?" he added, smiling. 

"Of course they are criminals. "

"They? They are children, simpletons, not criminals! Why, half a hundredpeople meeting for such an object--what an idea! Three would be toomany, and then they want to have more faith in one another than inthemselves! One has only to blab in his cups and it all collapses. Simpletons! They engaged untrustworthy people to change the notes--whata thing to trust to a casual stranger! Well, let us suppose that thesesimpletons succeed and each makes a million, and what follows for therest of their lives? Each is dependent on the others for the rest of hislife! Better hang oneself at once! And they did not know how to changethe notes either; the man who changed the notes took five thousandroubles, and his hands trembled. He counted the first four thousand, but did not count the fifth thousand--he was in such a hurry to get themoney into his pocket and run away. Of course he roused suspicion. Andthe whole thing came to a crash through one fool! Is it possible?"

"That his hands trembled?" observed Zametov, "yes, that's quitepossible. That, I feel quite sure, is possible. Sometimes one can'tstand things. "

"Can't stand that?"

"Why, could you stand it then? No, I couldn't. For the sake of a hundredroubles to face such a terrible experience? To go with false notesinto a bank where it's their business to spot that sort of thing! No, Ishould not have the face to do it. Would you?"

Raskolnikov had an intense desire again "to put his tongue out. " Shiverskept running down his spine. 

"I should do it quite differently, " Raskolnikov began. "This is how Iwould change the notes: I'd count the first thousand three or four timesbackwards and forwards, looking at every note and then I'd set to thesecond thousand; I'd count that half-way through and then hold somefifty-rouble note to the light, then turn it, then hold it to the lightagain--to see whether it was a good one. 'I am afraid, ' I would say, 'arelation of mine lost twenty-five roubles the other day through afalse note, ' and then I'd tell them the whole story. And after I begancounting the third, 'No, excuse me, ' I would say, 'I fancy I made amistake in the seventh hundred in that second thousand, I am not sure. 'And so I would give up the third thousand and go back to the second andso on to the end. And when I had finished, I'd pick out one from thefifth and one from the second thousand and take them again to the lightand ask again, 'Change them, please, ' and put the clerk into such a stewthat he would not know how to get rid of me. When I'd finished and hadgone out, I'd come back, 'No, excuse me, ' and ask for some explanation. That's how I'd do it. "

"Foo! what terrible things you say!" said Zametov, laughing. "But allthat is only talk. I dare say when it came to deeds you'd make a slip. I believe that even a practised, desperate man cannot always reckon onhimself, much less you and I. To take an example near home--that oldwoman murdered in our district. The murderer seems to have been adesperate fellow, he risked everything in open daylight, was saved bya miracle--but his hands shook, too. He did not succeed in robbing theplace, he couldn't stand it. That was clear from the. . . "

Raskolnikov seemed offended. 

"Clear? Why don't you catch him then?" he cried, maliciously gibing atZametov. 

"Well, they will catch him. "

"Who? You? Do you suppose you could catch him? You've a tough job! Agreat point for you is whether a man is spending money or not. If he hadno money and suddenly begins spending, he must be the man. So that anychild can mislead you. "

"The fact is they always do that, though, " answered Zametov. "A man willcommit a clever murder at the risk of his life and then at once he goesdrinking in a tavern. They are caught spending money, they are not allas cunning as you are. You wouldn't go to a tavern, of course?"

Raskolnikov frowned and looked steadily at Zametov. 

"You seem to enjoy the subject and would like to know how I shouldbehave in that case, too?" he asked with displeasure. 

"I should like to, " Zametov answered firmly and seriously. Somewhat toomuch earnestness began to appear in his words and looks. 

"Very much?"

"Very much!"

"All right then. This is how I should behave, " Raskolnikov began, againbringing his face close to Zametov's, again staring at him and speakingin a whisper, so that the latter positively shuddered. "This is whatI should have done. I should have taken the money and jewels, I shouldhave walked out of there and have gone straight to some deserted placewith fences round it and scarcely anyone to be seen, some kitchen gardenor place of that sort. I should have looked out beforehand some stoneweighing a hundredweight or more which had been lying in the corner fromthe time the house was built. I would lift that stone--there would sureto be a hollow under it, and I would put the jewels and money in thathole. Then I'd roll the stone back so that it would look as before, would press it down with my foot and walk away. And for a year or two, three maybe, I would not touch it. And, well, they could search! There'dbe no trace. "

"You are a madman, " said Zametov, and for some reason he too spoke in awhisper, and moved away from Raskolnikov, whose eyes were glittering. Hehad turned fearfully pale and his upper lip was twitching and quivering. He bent down as close as possible to Zametov, and his lips began to movewithout uttering a word. This lasted for half a minute; he knew what hewas doing, but could not restrain himself. The terrible word trembled onhis lips, like the latch on that door; in another moment it will breakout, in another moment he will let it go, he will speak out. 

"And what if it was I who murdered the old woman and Lizaveta?" he saidsuddenly and--realised what he had done. 

Zametov looked wildly at him and turned white as the tablecloth. Hisface wore a contorted smile. 

"But is it possible?" he brought out faintly. Raskolnikov lookedwrathfully at him. 

"Own up that you believed it, yes, you did?"

"Not a bit of it, I believe it less than ever now, " Zametov criedhastily. 

"I've caught my cock-sparrow! So you did believe it before, if now youbelieve less than ever?"

"Not at all, " cried Zametov, obviously embarrassed. "Have you beenfrightening me so as to lead up to this?"

"You don't believe it then? What were you talking about behind myback when I went out of the police-office? And why did the explosivelieutenant question me after I fainted? Hey, there, " he shouted to thewaiter, getting up and taking his cap, "how much?"

"Thirty copecks, " the latter replied, running up. 

"And there is twenty copecks for vodka. See what a lot of money!" heheld out his shaking hand to Zametov with notes in it. "Red notes andblue, twenty-five roubles. Where did I get them? And where did my newclothes come from? You know I had not a copeck. You've cross-examined mylandlady, I'll be bound. . . . Well, that's enough! _Assez causé!_ Till wemeet again!"

He went out, trembling all over from a sort of wild hystericalsensation, in which there was an element of insufferable rapture. Yet hewas gloomy and terribly tired. His face was twisted as after a fit. His fatigue increased rapidly. Any shock, any irritating sensationstimulated and revived his energies at once, but his strength failed asquickly when the stimulus was removed. 

Zametov, left alone, sat for a long time in the same place, plunged inthought. Raskolnikov had unwittingly worked a revolution in his brain ona certain point and had made up his mind for him conclusively. 

"Ilya Petrovitch is a blockhead, " he decided. 

Raskolnikov had hardly opened the door of the restaurant when hestumbled against Razumihin on the steps. They did not see each othertill they almost knocked against each other. For a moment they stoodlooking each other up and down. Razumihin was greatly astounded, thenanger, real anger gleamed fiercely in his eyes. 

"So here you are!" he shouted at the top of his voice--"you ran awayfrom your bed! And here I've been looking for you under the sofa! Wewent up to the garret. I almost beat Nastasya on your account. And herehe is after all. Rodya! What is the meaning of it? Tell me the wholetruth! Confess! Do you hear?"

"It means that I'm sick to death of you all and I want to be alone, "Raskolnikov answered calmly. 

"Alone? When you are not able to walk, when your face is as white as asheet and you are gasping for breath! Idiot!. . . What have you been doingin the Palais de Cristal? Own up at once!"

"Let me go!" said Raskolnikov and tried to pass him. This was too muchfor Razumihin; he gripped him firmly by the shoulder. 

"Let you go? You dare tell me to let you go? Do you know what I'll dowith you directly? I'll pick you up, tie you up in a bundle, carry youhome under my arm and lock you up!"

"Listen, Razumihin, " Raskolnikov began quietly, apparently calm--"can'tyou see that I don't want your benevolence? A strange desire you have toshower benefits on a man who. . . Curses them, who feels them a burden infact! Why did you seek me out at the beginning of my illness? Maybe Iwas very glad to die. Didn't I tell you plainly enough to-day thatyou were torturing me, that I was. . . Sick of you! You seem to want totorture people! I assure you that all that is seriously hindering myrecovery, because it's continually irritating me. You saw Zossimovwent away just now to avoid irritating me. You leave me alone too, forgoodness' sake! What right have you, indeed, to keep me by force? Don'tyou see that I am in possession of all my faculties now? How, how canI persuade you not to persecute me with your kindness? I may beungrateful, I may be mean, only let me be, for God's sake, let me be!Let me be, let me be!"

He began calmly, gloating beforehand over the venomous phrases he wasabout to utter, but finished, panting for breath, in a frenzy, as he hadbeen with Luzhin. 

Razumihin stood a moment, thought and let his hand drop. 

"Well, go to hell then, " he said gently and thoughtfully. "Stay, " heroared, as Raskolnikov was about to move. "Listen to me. Let me tellyou, that you are all a set of babbling, posing idiots! If you've anylittle trouble you brood over it like a hen over an egg. And you areplagiarists even in that! There isn't a sign of independent life inyou! You are made of spermaceti ointment and you've lymph in your veinsinstead of blood. I don't believe in anyone of you! In any circumstancesthe first thing for all of you is to be unlike a human being! Stop!" hecried with redoubled fury, noticing that Raskolnikov was again makinga movement--"hear me out! You know I'm having a house-warming thisevening, I dare say they've arrived by now, but I left my uncle there--Ijust ran in--to receive the guests. And if you weren't a fool, a commonfool, a perfect fool, if you were an original instead of a translation. . . You see, Rodya, I recognise you're a clever fellow, but you're afool!--and if you weren't a fool you'd come round to me this eveninginstead of wearing out your boots in the street! Since you have goneout, there's no help for it! I'd give you a snug easy chair, my landladyhas one. . . A cup of tea, company. . . . Or you could lie on the sofa--anyway you would be with us. . . . Zossimov will be there too. Will you come?"

"No. "

"R-rubbish!" Razumihin shouted, out of patience. "How do you know?You can't answer for yourself! You don't know anything about it. . . . Thousands of times I've fought tooth and nail with people and run backto them afterwards. . . . One feels ashamed and goes back to a man! Soremember, Potchinkov's house on the third storey. . . . "

"Why, Mr. Razumihin, I do believe you'd let anybody beat you from sheerbenevolence. "

"Beat? Whom? Me? I'd twist his nose off at the mere idea! Potchinkov'shouse, 47, Babushkin's flat. . . . "

"I shall not come, Razumihin. " Raskolnikov turned and walked away. 

"I bet you will, " Razumihin shouted after him. "I refuse to know you ifyou don't! Stay, hey, is Zametov in there?"

"Yes. "

"Did you see him?"

"Yes. "

"Talked to him?"

"Yes. "

"What about? Confound you, don't tell me then. Potchinkov's house, 47, Babushkin's flat, remember!"

Raskolnikov walked on and turned the corner into Sadovy Street. Razumihin looked after him thoughtfully. Then with a wave of his hand hewent into the house but stopped short of the stairs. 

"Confound it, " he went on almost aloud. "He talked sensibly but yet. . . I am a fool! As if madmen didn't talk sensibly! And this was just whatZossimov seemed afraid of. " He struck his finger on his forehead. "Whatif. . . How could I let him go off alone? He may drown himself. . . . Ach, what a blunder! I can't. " And he ran back to overtake Raskolnikov, butthere was no trace of him. With a curse he returned with rapid steps tothe Palais de Cristal to question Zametov. 

Raskolnikov walked straight to X---- Bridge, stood in the middle, andleaning both elbows on the rail stared into the distance. On partingwith Razumihin, he felt so much weaker that he could scarcely reach thisplace. He longed to sit or lie down somewhere in the street. Bendingover the water, he gazed mechanically at the last pink flush of thesunset, at the row of houses growing dark in the gathering twilight, atone distant attic window on the left bank, flashing as though on fire inthe last rays of the setting sun, at the darkening water of the canal, and the water seemed to catch his attention. At last red circles flashedbefore his eyes, the houses seemed moving, the passers-by, the canalbanks, the carriages, all danced before his eyes. Suddenly he started, saved again perhaps from swooning by an uncanny and hideous sight. Hebecame aware of someone standing on the right side of him; he lookedand saw a tall woman with a kerchief on her head, with a long, yellow, wasted face and red sunken eyes. She was looking straight at him, butobviously she saw nothing and recognised no one. Suddenly she leaned herright hand on the parapet, lifted her right leg over the railing, thenher left and threw herself into the canal. The filthy water parted andswallowed up its victim for a moment, but an instant later the drowningwoman floated to the surface, moving slowly with the current, her headand legs in the water, her skirt inflated like a balloon over her back. 

"A woman drowning! A woman drowning!" shouted dozens of voices; peopleran up, both banks were thronged with spectators, on the bridge peoplecrowded about Raskolnikov, pressing up behind him. 

"Mercy on it! it's our Afrosinya!" a woman cried tearfully close by. "Mercy! save her! kind people, pull her out!"

"A boat, a boat" was shouted in the crowd. But there was no need of aboat; a policeman ran down the steps to the canal, threw off his greatcoat and his boots and rushed into the water. It was easy to reach her:she floated within a couple of yards from the steps, he caught hold ofher clothes with his right hand and with his left seized a pole which acomrade held out to him; the drowning woman was pulled out at once. Theylaid her on the granite pavement of the embankment. She soon recoveredconsciousness, raised her head, sat up and began sneezing and coughing, stupidly wiping her wet dress with her hands. She said nothing. 

"She's drunk herself out of her senses, " the same woman's voice wailedat her side. "Out of her senses. The other day she tried to hangherself, we cut her down. I ran out to the shop just now, left my littlegirl to look after her--and here she's in trouble again! A neighbour, gentleman, a neighbour, we live close by, the second house from the end, see yonder. . . . "

The crowd broke up. The police still remained round the woman, someonementioned the police station. . . . Raskolnikov looked on with a strangesensation of indifference and apathy. He felt disgusted. "No, that'sloathsome. . . Water. . . It's not good enough, " he muttered to himself. "Nothing will come of it, " he added, "no use to wait. What about thepolice office. . . ? And why isn't Zametov at the police office? The policeoffice is open till ten o'clock. . . . " He turned his back to the railingand looked about him. 

"Very well then!" he said resolutely; he moved from the bridge andwalked in the direction of the police office. His heart felt hollow andempty. He did not want to think. Even his depression had passed, therewas not a trace now of the energy with which he had set out "to make anend of it all. " Complete apathy had succeeded to it. 

"Well, it's a way out of it, " he thought, walking slowly and listlesslyalong the canal bank. "Anyway I'll make an end, for I want to. . . . Butis it a way out? What does it matter! There'll be the square yard ofspace--ha! But what an end! Is it really the end? Shall I tell them ornot? Ah. . . Damn! How tired I am! If I could find somewhere to sit or liedown soon! What I am most ashamed of is its being so stupid. But I don'tcare about that either! What idiotic ideas come into one's head. "

To reach the police office he had to go straight forward and take thesecond turning to the left. It was only a few paces away. But at thefirst turning he stopped and, after a minute's thought, turned into aside street and went two streets out of his way, possibly without anyobject, or possibly to delay a minute and gain time. He walked, lookingat the ground; suddenly someone seemed to whisper in his ear; he liftedhis head and saw that he was standing at the very gate of _the_ house. He had not passed it, he had not been near it since _that_ evening. An overwhelming, unaccountable prompting drew him on. He went into thehouse, passed through the gateway, then into the first entrance on theright, and began mounting the familiar staircase to the fourth storey. The narrow, steep staircase was very dark. He stopped at each landingand looked round him with curiosity; on the first landing the frameworkof the window had been taken out. "That wasn't so then, " he thought. Here was the flat on the second storey where Nikolay and Dmitri had beenworking. "It's shut up and the door newly painted. So it's to let. " Thenthe third storey and the fourth. "Here!" He was perplexed to find thedoor of the flat wide open. There were men there, he could hear voices;he had not expected that. After brief hesitation he mounted the laststairs and went into the flat. It, too, was being done up; there wereworkmen in it. This seemed to amaze him; he somehow fancied that hewould find everything as he left it, even perhaps the corpses in thesame places on the floor. And now, bare walls, no furniture; it seemedstrange. He walked to the window and sat down on the window-sill. Therewere two workmen, both young fellows, but one much younger than theother. They were papering the walls with a new white paper covered withlilac flowers, instead of the old, dirty, yellow one. Raskolnikov forsome reason felt horribly annoyed by this. He looked at the new paperwith dislike, as though he felt sorry to have it all so changed. The workmen had obviously stayed beyond their time and now they werehurriedly rolling up their paper and getting ready to go home. They tookno notice of Raskolnikov's coming in; they were talking. Raskolnikovfolded his arms and listened. 

"She comes to me in the morning, " said the elder to the younger, "veryearly, all dressed up. 'Why are you preening and prinking?' says I. 'Iam ready to do anything to please you, Tit Vassilitch!' That's a way ofgoing on! And she dressed up like a regular fashion book!"

"And what is a fashion book?" the younger one asked. He obviouslyregarded the other as an authority. 

"A fashion book is a lot of pictures, coloured, and they come to thetailors here every Saturday, by post from abroad, to show folks howto dress, the male sex as well as the female. They're pictures. Thegentlemen are generally wearing fur coats and for the ladies' fluffles, they're beyond anything you can fancy. "

"There's nothing you can't find in Petersburg, " the younger criedenthusiastically, "except father and mother, there's everything!"

"Except them, there's everything to be found, my boy, " the elderdeclared sententiously. 

Raskolnikov got up and walked into the other room where the strong box, the bed, and the chest of drawers had been; the room seemed to him verytiny without furniture in it. The paper was the same; the paper in thecorner showed where the case of ikons had stood. He looked at it andwent to the window. The elder workman looked at him askance. 

"What do you want?" he asked suddenly. 

Instead of answering Raskolnikov went into the passage and pulled thebell. The same bell, the same cracked note. He rang it a second anda third time; he listened and remembered. The hideous and agonisinglyfearful sensation he had felt then began to come back more and morevividly. He shuddered at every ring and it gave him more and moresatisfaction. 

"Well, what do you want? Who are you?" the workman shouted, going out tohim. Raskolnikov went inside again. 

"I want to take a flat, " he said. "I am looking round. "

"It's not the time to look at rooms at night! and you ought to come upwith the porter. "

"The floors have been washed, will they be painted?" Raskolnikov wenton. "Is there no blood?"

"What blood?"

"Why, the old woman and her sister were murdered here. There was aperfect pool there. "

"But who are you?" the workman cried, uneasy. 

"Who am I?"

"Yes. "

"You want to know? Come to the police station, I'll tell you. "

The workmen looked at him in amazement. 

"It's time for us to go, we are late. Come along, Alyoshka. We must lockup, " said the elder workman. 

"Very well, come along, " said Raskolnikov indifferently, and goingout first, he went slowly downstairs. "Hey, porter, " he cried in thegateway. 

At the entrance several people were standing, staring at the passers-by;the two porters, a peasant woman, a man in a long coat and a few others. Raskolnikov went straight up to them. 

"What do you want?" asked one of the porters. 

"Have you been to the police office?"

"I've just been there. What do you want?"

"Is it open?"

"Of course. "

"Is the assistant there?"

"He was there for a time. What do you want?"

Raskolnikov made no reply, but stood beside them lost in thought. 

"He's been to look at the flat, " said the elder workman, coming forward. 

"Which flat?"

"Where we are at work. 'Why have you washed away the blood?' says he. 'There has been a murder here, ' says he, 'and I've come to take it. 'And he began ringing at the bell, all but broke it. 'Come to the policestation, ' says he. 'I'll tell you everything there. ' He wouldn't leaveus. "

The porter looked at Raskolnikov, frowning and perplexed. 

"Who are you?" he shouted as impressively as he could. 

"I am Rodion Romanovitch Raskolnikov, formerly a student, I live inShil's house, not far from here, flat Number 14, ask the porter, heknows me. " Raskolnikov said all this in a lazy, dreamy voice, notturning round, but looking intently into the darkening street. 

"Why have you been to the flat?"

"To look at it. "

"What is there to look at?"

"Take him straight to the police station, " the man in the long coatjerked in abruptly. 

Raskolnikov looked intently at him over his shoulder and said in thesame slow, lazy tones:

"Come along. "

"Yes, take him, " the man went on more confidently. "Why was he goinginto _that_, what's in his mind, eh?"

"He's not drunk, but God knows what's the matter with him, " muttered theworkman. 

"But what do you want?" the porter shouted again, beginning to get angryin earnest--"Why are you hanging about?"

"You funk the police station then?" said Raskolnikov jeeringly. 

"How funk it? Why are you hanging about?"

"He's a rogue!" shouted the peasant woman. 

"Why waste time talking to him?" cried the other porter, a huge peasantin a full open coat and with keys on his belt. "Get along! He is a rogueand no mistake. Get along!"

And seizing Raskolnikov by the shoulder he flung him into the street. Helurched forward, but recovered his footing, looked at the spectators insilence and walked away. 

"Strange man!" observed the workman. 

"There are strange folks about nowadays, " said the woman. 

"You should have taken him to the police station all the same, " said theman in the long coat. 

"Better have nothing to do with him, " decided the big porter. "A regularrogue! Just what he wants, you may be sure, but once take him up, youwon't get rid of him. . . . We know the sort!"

"Shall I go there or not?" thought Raskolnikov, standing in the middleof the thoroughfare at the cross-roads, and he looked about him, asthough expecting from someone a decisive word. But no sound came, allwas dead and silent like the stones on which he walked, dead to him, tohim alone. . . . All at once at the end of the street, two hundred yardsaway, in the gathering dusk he saw a crowd and heard talk and shouts. In the middle of the crowd stood a carriage. . . . A light gleamed in themiddle of the street. "What is it?" Raskolnikov turned to the rightand went up to the crowd. He seemed to clutch at everything and smiledcoldly when he recognised it, for he had fully made up his mind to go tothe police station and knew that it would all soon be over. 

CHAPTER VII

An elegant carriage stood in the middle of the road with a pair ofspirited grey horses; there was no one in it, and the coachman had gotoff his box and stood by; the horses were being held by the bridle. . . . A mass of people had gathered round, the police standing in front. Oneof them held a lighted lantern which he was turning on something lyingclose to the wheels. Everyone was talking, shouting, exclaiming; thecoachman seemed at a loss and kept repeating:

"What a misfortune! Good Lord, what a misfortune!"

Raskolnikov pushed his way in as far as he could, and succeeded at lastin seeing the object of the commotion and interest. On the ground aman who had been run over lay apparently unconscious, and covered withblood; he was very badly dressed, but not like a workman. Blood wasflowing from his head and face; his face was crushed, mutilated anddisfigured. He was evidently badly injured. 

"Merciful heaven!" wailed the coachman, "what more could I do? If I'dbeen driving fast or had not shouted to him, but I was going quietly, not in a hurry. Everyone could see I was going along just like everybodyelse. A drunken man can't walk straight, we all know. . . . I saw himcrossing the street, staggering and almost falling. I shouted againand a second and a third time, then I held the horses in, but he fellstraight under their feet! Either he did it on purpose or he was verytipsy. . . . The horses are young and ready to take fright. . . They started, he screamed. . . That made them worse. That's how it happened!"

"That's just how it was, " a voice in the crowd confirmed. 

"He shouted, that's true, he shouted three times, " another voicedeclared. 

"Three times it was, we all heard it, " shouted a third. 

But the coachman was not very much distressed and frightened. It wasevident that the carriage belonged to a rich and important person whowas awaiting it somewhere; the police, of course, were in no littleanxiety to avoid upsetting his arrangements. All they had to do was totake the injured man to the police station and the hospital. No one knewhis name. 

Meanwhile Raskolnikov had squeezed in and stooped closer over him. Thelantern suddenly lighted up the unfortunate man's face. He recognisedhim. 

"I know him! I know him!" he shouted, pushing to the front. "It's agovernment clerk retired from the service, Marmeladov. He lives closeby in Kozel's house. . . . Make haste for a doctor! I will pay, see?" Hepulled money out of his pocket and showed it to the policeman. He was inviolent agitation. 

The police were glad that they had found out who the man was. Raskolnikov gave his own name and address, and, as earnestly as if ithad been his father, he besought the police to carry the unconsciousMarmeladov to his lodging at once. 

"Just here, three houses away, " he said eagerly, "the house belongs toKozel, a rich German. He was going home, no doubt drunk. I know him, he is a drunkard. He has a family there, a wife, children, he has onedaughter. . . . It will take time to take him to the hospital, and there issure to be a doctor in the house. I'll pay, I'll pay! At least he willbe looked after at home. . . They will help him at once. But he'll diebefore you get him to the hospital. " He managed to slip somethingunseen into the policeman's hand. But the thing was straightforwardand legitimate, and in any case help was closer here. They raised theinjured man; people volunteered to help. 

Kozel's house was thirty yards away. Raskolnikov walked behind, carefully holding Marmeladov's head and showing the way. 

"This way, this way! We must take him upstairs head foremost. Turnround! I'll pay, I'll make it worth your while, " he muttered. 

Katerina Ivanovna had just begun, as she always did at every freemoment, walking to and fro in her little room from window to stove andback again, with her arms folded across her chest, talking to herselfand coughing. Of late she had begun to talk more than ever to her eldestgirl, Polenka, a child of ten, who, though there was much she did notunderstand, understood very well that her mother needed her, and soalways watched her with her big clever eyes and strove her utmostto appear to understand. This time Polenka was undressing her littlebrother, who had been unwell all day and was going to bed. The boy waswaiting for her to take off his shirt, which had to be washed at night. He was sitting straight and motionless on a chair, with a silent, serious face, with his legs stretched out straight before him--heelstogether and toes turned out. 

He was listening to what his mother was saying to his sister, sittingperfectly still with pouting lips and wide-open eyes, just as all goodlittle boys have to sit when they are undressed to go to bed. A littlegirl, still younger, dressed literally in rags, stood at the screen, waiting for her turn. The door on to the stairs was open to relievethem a little from the clouds of tobacco smoke which floated in from theother rooms and brought on long terrible fits of coughing in the poor, consumptive woman. Katerina Ivanovna seemed to have grown even thinnerduring that week and the hectic flush on her face was brighter thanever. 

"You wouldn't believe, you can't imagine, Polenka, " she said, walkingabout the room, "what a happy luxurious life we had in my papa's houseand how this drunkard has brought me, and will bring you all, to ruin!Papa was a civil colonel and only a step from being a governor; so thateveryone who came to see him said, 'We look upon you, Ivan Mihailovitch, as our governor!' When I. . . When. . . " she coughed violently, "oh, cursedlife, " she cried, clearing her throat and pressing her hands to herbreast, "when I. . . When at the last ball. . . At the marshal's. . . Princess Bezzemelny saw me--who gave me the blessing when your fatherand I were married, Polenka--she asked at once 'Isn't that the prettygirl who danced the shawl dance at the breaking-up?' (You must mendthat tear, you must take your needle and darn it as I showed you, orto-morrow--cough, cough, cough--he will make the hole bigger, " shearticulated with effort. ) "Prince Schegolskoy, a kammerjunker, had justcome from Petersburg then. . . He danced the mazurka with me and wanted tomake me an offer next day; but I thanked him in flattering expressionsand told him that my heart had long been another's. That other was yourfather, Polya; papa was fearfully angry. . . . Is the water ready? Give methe shirt, and the stockings! Lida, " said she to the youngest one, "youmust manage without your chemise to-night. . . And lay your stockings outwith it. . . I'll wash them together. . . . How is it that drunken vagabonddoesn't come in? He has worn his shirt till it looks like a dish-clout, he has torn it to rags! I'd do it all together, so as not to have towork two nights running! Oh, dear! (Cough, cough, cough, cough!) Again!What's this?" she cried, noticing a crowd in the passage and the men, who were pushing into her room, carrying a burden. "What is it? What arethey bringing? Mercy on us!"

"Where are we to put him?" asked the policeman, looking round whenMarmeladov, unconscious and covered with blood, had been carried in. 

"On the sofa! Put him straight on the sofa, with his head this way, "Raskolnikov showed him. 

"Run over in the road! Drunk!" someone shouted in the passage. 

Katerina Ivanovna stood, turning white and gasping for breath. Thechildren were terrified. Little Lida screamed, rushed to Polenka andclutched at her, trembling all over. 

Having laid Marmeladov down, Raskolnikov flew to Katerina Ivanovna. 

"For God's sake be calm, don't be frightened!" he said, speakingquickly, "he was crossing the road and was run over by a carriage, don'tbe frightened, he will come to, I told them bring him here. . . I've beenhere already, you remember? He will come to; I'll pay!"

"He's done it this time!" Katerina Ivanovna cried despairingly and sherushed to her husband. 

Raskolnikov noticed at once that she was not one of those women whoswoon easily. She instantly placed under the luckless man's head apillow, which no one had thought of and began undressing and examininghim. She kept her head, forgetting herself, biting her trembling lipsand stifling the screams which were ready to break from her. 

Raskolnikov meanwhile induced someone to run for a doctor. There was adoctor, it appeared, next door but one. 

"I've sent for a doctor, " he kept assuring Katerina Ivanovna, "don't beuneasy, I'll pay. Haven't you water?. . . And give me a napkin or a towel, anything, as quick as you can. . . . He is injured, but not killed, believeme. . . . We shall see what the doctor says!"

Katerina Ivanovna ran to the window; there, on a broken chair in thecorner, a large earthenware basin full of water had been stood, inreadiness for washing her children's and husband's linen that night. This washing was done by Katerina Ivanovna at night at least twice aweek, if not oftener. For the family had come to such a pass that theywere practically without change of linen, and Katerina Ivanovna couldnot endure uncleanliness and, rather than see dirt in the house, shepreferred to wear herself out at night, working beyond her strength whenthe rest were asleep, so as to get the wet linen hung on a line and dryby the morning. She took up the basin of water at Raskolnikov's request, but almost fell down with her burden. But the latter had alreadysucceeded in finding a towel, wetted it and began washing the blood offMarmeladov's face. 

Katerina Ivanovna stood by, breathing painfully and pressing her handsto her breast. She was in need of attention herself. Raskolnikov beganto realise that he might have made a mistake in having the injured manbrought here. The policeman, too, stood in hesitation. 

"Polenka, " cried Katerina Ivanovna, "run to Sonia, make haste. If youdon't find her at home, leave word that her father has been run overand that she is to come here at once. . . When she comes in. Run, Polenka!there, put on the shawl. "

"Run your fastest!" cried the little boy on the chair suddenly, afterwhich he relapsed into the same dumb rigidity, with round eyes, hisheels thrust forward and his toes spread out. 

Meanwhile the room had become so full of people that you couldn't havedropped a pin. The policemen left, all except one, who remained for atime, trying to drive out the people who came in from the stairs. Almostall Madame Lippevechsel's lodgers had streamed in from the inner roomsof the flat; at first they were squeezed together in the doorway, butafterwards they overflowed into the room. Katerina Ivanovna flew into afury. 

"You might let him die in peace, at least, " she shouted at the crowd, "is it a spectacle for you to gape at? With cigarettes! (Cough, cough, cough!) You might as well keep your hats on. . . . And there is one in hishat!. . . Get away! You should respect the dead, at least!"

Her cough choked her--but her reproaches were not without result. Theyevidently stood in some awe of Katerina Ivanovna. The lodgers, one afteranother, squeezed back into the doorway with that strange inner feelingof satisfaction which may be observed in the presence of a suddenaccident, even in those nearest and dearest to the victim, from whichno living man is exempt, even in spite of the sincerest sympathy andcompassion. 

Voices outside were heard, however, speaking of the hospital and sayingthat they'd no business to make a disturbance here. 

"No business to die!" cried Katerina Ivanovna, and she was rushing tothe door to vent her wrath upon them, but in the doorway came face toface with Madame Lippevechsel who had only just heard of the accidentand ran in to restore order. She was a particularly quarrelsome andirresponsible German. 

"Ah, my God!" she cried, clasping her hands, "your husband drunkenhorses have trampled! To the hospital with him! I am the landlady!"

"Amalia Ludwigovna, I beg you to recollect what you are saying, "Katerina Ivanovna began haughtily (she always took a haughty tone withthe landlady that she might "remember her place" and even now could notdeny herself this satisfaction). "Amalia Ludwigovna. . . "

"I have you once before told that you to call me Amalia Ludwigovna maynot dare; I am Amalia Ivanovna. "

"You are not Amalia Ivanovna, but Amalia Ludwigovna, and as I am notone of your despicable flatterers like Mr. Lebeziatnikov, who's laughingbehind the door at this moment (a laugh and a cry of 'they are at itagain' was in fact audible at the door) so I shall always call youAmalia Ludwigovna, though I fail to understand why you dislike thatname. You can see for yourself what has happened to Semyon Zaharovitch;he is dying. I beg you to close that door at once and to admit no one. Let him at least die in peace! Or I warn you the Governor-General, himself, shall be informed of your conduct to-morrow. The prince knewme as a girl; he remembers Semyon Zaharovitch well and has often beena benefactor to him. Everyone knows that Semyon Zaharovitch had manyfriends and protectors, whom he abandoned himself from an honourablepride, knowing his unhappy weakness, but now (she pointed toRaskolnikov) a generous young man has come to our assistance, who haswealth and connections and whom Semyon Zaharovitch has known from achild. You may rest assured, Amalia Ludwigovna. . . "

All this was uttered with extreme rapidity, getting quicker and quicker, but a cough suddenly cut short Katerina Ivanovna's eloquence. At thatinstant the dying man recovered consciousness and uttered a groan; sheran to him. The injured man opened his eyes and without recognition orunderstanding gazed at Raskolnikov who was bending over him. He drewdeep, slow, painful breaths; blood oozed at the corners of his mouthand drops of perspiration came out on his forehead. Not recognisingRaskolnikov, he began looking round uneasily. Katerina Ivanovna lookedat him with a sad but stern face, and tears trickled from her eyes. 

"My God! His whole chest is crushed! How he is bleeding, " she saidin despair. "We must take off his clothes. Turn a little, SemyonZaharovitch, if you can, " she cried to him. 

Marmeladov recognised her. 

"A priest, " he articulated huskily. 

Katerina Ivanovna walked to the window, laid her head against the windowframe and exclaimed in despair:

"Oh, cursed life!"

"A priest, " the dying man said again after a moment's silence. 

"They've gone for him, " Katerina Ivanovna shouted to him, he obeyed hershout and was silent. With sad and timid eyes he looked for her; shereturned and stood by his pillow. He seemed a little easier but not forlong. 

Soon his eyes rested on little Lida, his favourite, who was shaking inthe corner, as though she were in a fit, and staring at him with herwondering childish eyes. 

"A-ah, " he signed towards her uneasily. He wanted to say something. 

"What now?" cried Katerina Ivanovna. 

"Barefoot, barefoot!" he muttered, indicating with frenzied eyes thechild's bare feet. 

"Be silent, " Katerina Ivanovna cried irritably, "you know why she isbarefooted. "

"Thank God, the doctor, " exclaimed Raskolnikov, relieved. 

The doctor came in, a precise little old man, a German, looking abouthim mistrustfully; he went up to the sick man, took his pulse, carefullyfelt his head and with the help of Katerina Ivanovna he unbuttoned theblood-stained shirt, and bared the injured man's chest. It was gashed, crushed and fractured, several ribs on the right side were broken. On the left side, just over the heart, was a large, sinister-lookingyellowish-black bruise--a cruel kick from the horse's hoof. The doctorfrowned. The policeman told him that he was caught in the wheel andturned round with it for thirty yards on the road. 

"It's wonderful that he has recovered consciousness, " the doctorwhispered softly to Raskolnikov. 

"What do you think of him?" he asked. 

"He will die immediately. "

"Is there really no hope?"

"Not the faintest! He is at the last gasp. . . . His head is badly injured, too. . . Hm. . . I could bleed him if you like, but. . . It would be useless. He is bound to die within the next five or ten minutes. "

"Better bleed him then. "

"If you like. . . . But I warn you it will be perfectly useless. "

At that moment other steps were heard; the crowd in the passage parted, and the priest, a little, grey old man, appeared in the doorway bearingthe sacrament. A policeman had gone for him at the time of the accident. The doctor changed places with him, exchanging glances with him. Raskolnikov begged the doctor to remain a little while. He shrugged hisshoulders and remained. 

All stepped back. The confession was soon over. The dying man probablyunderstood little; he could only utter indistinct broken sounds. Katerina Ivanovna took little Lida, lifted the boy from the chair, kneltdown in the corner by the stove and made the children kneel in front ofher. The little girl was still trembling; but the boy, kneeling on hislittle bare knees, lifted his hand rhythmically, crossing himself withprecision and bowed down, touching the floor with his forehead, whichseemed to afford him especial satisfaction. Katerina Ivanovna bit herlips and held back her tears; she prayed, too, now and then pullingstraight the boy's shirt, and managed to cover the girl's bare shoulderswith a kerchief, which she took from the chest without rising from herknees or ceasing to pray. Meanwhile the door from the inner rooms wasopened inquisitively again. In the passage the crowd of spectators fromall the flats on the staircase grew denser and denser, but they did notventure beyond the threshold. A single candle-end lighted up the scene. 

At that moment Polenka forced her way through the crowd at the door. Shecame in panting from running so fast, took off her kerchief, looked forher mother, went up to her and said, "She's coming, I met her in thestreet. " Her mother made her kneel beside her. 

Timidly and noiselessly a young girl made her way through the crowd, and strange was her appearance in that room, in the midst of want, rags, death and despair. She, too, was in rags, her attire was all ofthe cheapest, but decked out in gutter finery of a special stamp, unmistakably betraying its shameful purpose. Sonia stopped short in thedoorway and looked about her bewildered, unconscious of everything. She forgot her fourth-hand, gaudy silk dress, so unseemly here withits ridiculous long train, and her immense crinoline that filled up thewhole doorway, and her light-coloured shoes, and the parasol she broughtwith her, though it was no use at night, and the absurd round straw hatwith its flaring flame-coloured feather. Under this rakishly-tilted hatwas a pale, frightened little face with lips parted and eyes staring interror. Sonia was a small thin girl of eighteen with fair hair, ratherpretty, with wonderful blue eyes. She looked intently at the bed and thepriest; she too was out of breath with running. At last whispers, somewords in the crowd probably, reached her. She looked down and took astep forward into the room, still keeping close to the door. 

The service was over. Katerina Ivanovna went up to her husband again. The priest stepped back and turned to say a few words of admonition andconsolation to Katerina Ivanovna on leaving. 

"What am I to do with these?" she interrupted sharply and irritably, pointing to the little ones. 

"God is merciful; look to the Most High for succour, " the priest began. 

"Ach! He is merciful, but not to us. "

"That's a sin, a sin, madam, " observed the priest, shaking his head. 

"And isn't that a sin?" cried Katerina Ivanovna, pointing to the dyingman. 

"Perhaps those who have involuntarily caused the accident will agree tocompensate you, at least for the loss of his earnings. "

"You don't understand!" cried Katerina Ivanovna angrily waving her hand. "And why should they compensate me? Why, he was drunk and threw himselfunder the horses! What earnings? He brought us in nothing but misery. He drank everything away, the drunkard! He robbed us to get drink, hewasted their lives and mine for drink! And thank God he's dying! Oneless to keep!"

"You must forgive in the hour of death, that's a sin, madam, suchfeelings are a great sin. "

Katerina Ivanovna was busy with the dying man; she was giving him water, wiping the blood and sweat from his head, setting his pillow straight, and had only turned now and then for a moment to address the priest. Nowshe flew at him almost in a frenzy. 

"Ah, father! That's words and only words! Forgive! If he'd not been runover, he'd have come home to-day drunk and his only shirt dirty andin rags and he'd have fallen asleep like a log, and I should have beensousing and rinsing till daybreak, washing his rags and the children'sand then drying them by the window and as soon as it was daylight Ishould have been darning them. That's how I spend my nights!. . . What'sthe use of talking of forgiveness! I have forgiven as it is!"

A terrible hollow cough interrupted her words. She put her handkerchiefto her lips and showed it to the priest, pressing her other hand to heraching chest. The handkerchief was covered with blood. The priest bowedhis head and said nothing. 

Marmeladov was in the last agony; he did not take his eyes off the faceof Katerina Ivanovna, who was bending over him again. He kept tryingto say something to her; he began moving his tongue with difficulty andarticulating indistinctly, but Katerina Ivanovna, understanding that hewanted to ask her forgiveness, called peremptorily to him:

"Be silent! No need! I know what you want to say!" And the sick manwas silent, but at the same instant his wandering eyes strayed to thedoorway and he saw Sonia. 

Till then he had not noticed her: she was standing in the shadow in acorner. 

"Who's that? Who's that?" he said suddenly in a thick gasping voice, in agitation, turning his eyes in horror towards the door where hisdaughter was standing, and trying to sit up. 

"Lie down! Lie do-own!" cried Katerina Ivanovna. 

With unnatural strength he had succeeded in propping himself on hiselbow. He looked wildly and fixedly for some time on his daughter, asthough not recognising her. He had never seen her before in such attire. Suddenly he recognised her, crushed and ashamed in her humiliation andgaudy finery, meekly awaiting her turn to say good-bye to her dyingfather. His face showed intense suffering. 

"Sonia! Daughter! Forgive!" he cried, and he tried to hold out his handto her, but losing his balance, he fell off the sofa, face downwards onthe floor. They rushed to pick him up, they put him on the sofa; but hewas dying. Sonia with a faint cry ran up, embraced him and remained sowithout moving. He died in her arms. 

"He's got what he wanted, " Katerina Ivanovna cried, seeing her husband'sdead body. "Well, what's to be done now? How am I to bury him! What canI give them to-morrow to eat?"

Raskolnikov went up to Katerina Ivanovna. 

"Katerina Ivanovna, " he began, "last week your husband told me all hislife and circumstances. . . . Believe me, he spoke of you with passionatereverence. From that evening, when I learnt how devoted he was to youall and how he loved and respected you especially, Katerina Ivanovna, in spite of his unfortunate weakness, from that evening we becamefriends. . . . Allow me now. . . To do something. . . To repay my debt to mydead friend. Here are twenty roubles, I think--and if that can be of anyassistance to you, then. . . I. . . In short, I will come again, I willbe sure to come again. . . I shall, perhaps, come again to-morrow. . . . Good-bye!"

And he went quickly out of the room, squeezing his way through the crowdto the stairs. But in the crowd he suddenly jostled against NikodimFomitch, who had heard of the accident and had come to give instructionsin person. They had not met since the scene at the police station, butNikodim Fomitch knew him instantly. 

"Ah, is that you?" he asked him. 

"He's dead, " answered Raskolnikov. "The doctor and the priest have been, all as it should have been. Don't worry the poor woman too much, she isin consumption as it is. Try and cheer her up, if possible. . . You are akind-hearted man, I know. . . " he added with a smile, looking straight inhis face. 

"But you are spattered with blood, " observed Nikodim Fomitch, noticingin the lamplight some fresh stains on Raskolnikov's waistcoat. 

"Yes. . . I'm covered with blood, " Raskolnikov said with a peculiar air;then he smiled, nodded and went downstairs. 

He walked down slowly and deliberately, feverish but not consciousof it, entirely absorbed in a new overwhelming sensation of life andstrength that surged up suddenly within him. This sensation might becompared to that of a man condemned to death who has suddenly beenpardoned. Halfway down the staircase he was overtaken by the priest onhis way home; Raskolnikov let him pass, exchanging a silent greetingwith him. He was just descending the last steps when he heard rapidfootsteps behind him. Someone overtook him; it was Polenka. She wasrunning after him, calling "Wait! wait!"

He turned round. She was at the bottom of the staircase and stoppedshort a step above him. A dim light came in from the yard. Raskolnikovcould distinguish the child's thin but pretty little face, looking athim with a bright childish smile. She had run after him with a messagewhich she was evidently glad to give. 

"Tell me, what is your name?. . . And where do you live?" she saidhurriedly in a breathless voice. 

He laid both hands on her shoulders and looked at her with a sort ofrapture. It was such a joy to him to look at her, he could not have saidwhy. 

"Who sent you?"

"Sister Sonia sent me, " answered the girl, smiling still more brightly. 

"I knew it was sister Sonia sent you. "

"Mamma sent me, too. . . When sister Sonia was sending me, mamma came up, too, and said 'Run fast, Polenka. '"

"Do you love sister Sonia?"

"I love her more than anyone, " Polenka answered with a peculiarearnestness, and her smile became graver. 

"And will you love me?"

By way of answer he saw the little girl's face approaching him, her fulllips naïvely held out to kiss him. Suddenly her arms as thin as sticksheld him tightly, her head rested on his shoulder and the little girlwept softly, pressing her face against him. 

"I am sorry for father, " she said a moment later, raising hertear-stained face and brushing away the tears with her hands. "It'snothing but misfortunes now, " she added suddenly with that peculiarlysedate air which children try hard to assume when they want to speaklike grown-up people. 

"Did your father love you?"

"He loved Lida most, " she went on very seriously without a smile, exactly like grown-up people, "he loved her because she is little andbecause she is ill, too. And he always used to bring her presents. Buthe taught us to read and me grammar and scripture, too, " she added withdignity. "And mother never used to say anything, but we knew that sheliked it and father knew it, too. And mother wants to teach me French, for it's time my education began. "

"And do you know your prayers?"

"Of course, we do! We knew them long ago. I say my prayers to myselfas I am a big girl now, but Kolya and Lida say them aloud with mother. First they repeat the 'Ave Maria' and then another prayer: 'Lord, forgive and bless sister Sonia, ' and then another, 'Lord, forgive andbless our second father. ' For our elder father is dead and this isanother one, but we do pray for the other as well. "

"Polenka, my name is Rodion. Pray sometimes for me, too. 'And Thyservant Rodion, ' nothing more. "

"I'll pray for you all the rest of my life, " the little girl declaredhotly, and suddenly smiling again she rushed at him and hugged himwarmly once more. 

Raskolnikov told her his name and address and promised to be sure tocome next day. The child went away quite enchanted with him. It was pastten when he came out into the street. In five minutes he was standing onthe bridge at the spot where the woman had jumped in. 

"Enough, " he pronounced resolutely and triumphantly. "I've done withfancies, imaginary terrors and phantoms! Life is real! haven't I livedjust now? My life has not yet died with that old woman! The Kingdom ofHeaven to her--and now enough, madam, leave me in peace! Now for thereign of reason and light. . . And of will, and of strength. . . And nowwe will see! We will try our strength!" he added defiantly, as thoughchallenging some power of darkness. "And I was ready to consent to livein a square of space!

"I am very weak at this moment, but. . . I believe my illness is all over. I knew it would be over when I went out. By the way, Potchinkov's houseis only a few steps away. I certainly must go to Razumihin even ifit were not close by. . . Let him win his bet! Let us give him somesatisfaction, too--no matter! Strength, strength is what one wants, youcan get nothing without it, and strength must be won by strength--that'swhat they don't know, " he added proudly and self-confidently andhe walked with flagging footsteps from the bridge. Pride andself-confidence grew continually stronger in him; he was becominga different man every moment. What was it had happened to work thisrevolution in him? He did not know himself; like a man catching at astraw, he suddenly felt that he, too, 'could live, that there was stilllife for him, that his life had not died with the old woman. ' Perhaps hewas in too great a hurry with his conclusions, but he did not think ofthat. 

"But I did ask her to remember 'Thy servant Rodion' in her prayers, " theidea struck him. "Well, that was. . . In case of emergency, " he added andlaughed himself at his boyish sally. He was in the best of spirits. 

He easily found Razumihin; the new lodger was already known atPotchinkov's and the porter at once showed him the way. Half-wayupstairs he could hear the noise and animated conversation of a biggathering of people. The door was wide open on the stairs; he couldhear exclamations and discussion. Razumihin's room was fairly large; thecompany consisted of fifteen people. Raskolnikov stopped in the entry, where two of the landlady's servants were busy behind a screen with twosamovars, bottles, plates and dishes of pie and savouries, brought upfrom the landlady's kitchen. Raskolnikov sent in for Razumihin. He ranout delighted. At the first glance it was apparent that he had had agreat deal to drink and, though no amount of liquor made Razumihin quitedrunk, this time he was perceptibly affected by it. 

"Listen, " Raskolnikov hastened to say, "I've only just come to tell youyou've won your bet and that no one really knows what may not happen tohim. I can't come in; I am so weak that I shall fall down directly. Andso good evening and good-bye! Come and see me to-morrow. "

"Do you know what? I'll see you home. If you say you're weak yourself, you must. . . "

"And your visitors? Who is the curly-headed one who has just peepedout?"

"He? Goodness only knows! Some friend of uncle's, I expect, or perhapshe has come without being invited. . . I'll leave uncle with them, heis an invaluable person, pity I can't introduce you to him now. Butconfound them all now! They won't notice me, and I need a little freshair, for you've come just in the nick of time--another two minutes and Ishould have come to blows! They are talking such a lot of wild stuff. . . You simply can't imagine what men will say! Though why shouldn't youimagine? Don't we talk nonsense ourselves? And let them. . . That's theway to learn not to!. . . Wait a minute, I'll fetch Zossimov. "

Zossimov pounced upon Raskolnikov almost greedily; he showed a specialinterest in him; soon his face brightened. 

"You must go to bed at once, " he pronounced, examining the patient asfar as he could, "and take something for the night. Will you take it? Igot it ready some time ago. . . A powder. "

"Two, if you like, " answered Raskolnikov. The powder was taken at once. 

"It's a good thing you are taking him home, " observed Zossimov toRazumihin--"we shall see how he is to-morrow, to-day he's not at allamiss--a considerable change since the afternoon. Live and learn. . . "

"Do you know what Zossimov whispered to me when we were coming out?"Razumihin blurted out, as soon as they were in the street. "I won't tellyou everything, brother, because they are such fools. Zossimov told meto talk freely to you on the way and get you to talk freely to me, andafterwards I am to tell him about it, for he's got a notion in his headthat you are. . . Mad or close on it. Only fancy! In the first place, you've three times the brains he has; in the second, if you are not mad, you needn't care a hang that he has got such a wild idea; and thirdly, that piece of beef whose specialty is surgery has gone mad on mentaldiseases, and what's brought him to this conclusion about you was yourconversation to-day with Zametov. "

"Zametov told you all about it?"

"Yes, and he did well. Now I understand what it all means and so doesZametov. . . . Well, the fact is, Rodya. . . The point is. . . I am a littledrunk now. . . . But that's. . . No matter. . . The point is that thisidea. . . You understand? was just being hatched in their brains. . . Youunderstand? That is, no one ventured to say it aloud, because the ideais too absurd and especially since the arrest of that painter, thatbubble's burst and gone for ever. But why are they such fools? I gaveZametov a bit of a thrashing at the time--that's between ourselves, brother; please don't let out a hint that you know of it; I've noticedhe is a ticklish subject; it was at Luise Ivanovna's. But to-day, to-dayit's all cleared up. That Ilya Petrovitch is at the bottom of it! Hetook advantage of your fainting at the police station, but he is ashamedof it himself now; I know that. . . "

Raskolnikov listened greedily. Razumihin was drunk enough to talk toofreely. 

"I fainted then because it was so close and the smell of paint, " saidRaskolnikov. 

"No need to explain that! And it wasn't the paint only: the fever hadbeen coming on for a month; Zossimov testifies to that! But how crushedthat boy is now, you wouldn't believe! 'I am not worth his littlefinger, ' he says. Yours, he means. He has good feelings at times, brother. But the lesson, the lesson you gave him to-day in the Palaisde Cristal, that was too good for anything! You frightened him at first, you know, he nearly went into convulsions! You almost convincedhim again of the truth of all that hideous nonsense, and then yousuddenly--put out your tongue at him: 'There now, what do you make ofit?' It was perfect! He is crushed, annihilated now! It was masterly, byJove, it's what they deserve! Ah, that I wasn't there! He was hoping tosee you awfully. Porfiry, too, wants to make your acquaintance. . . "

"Ah!. . . He too. . . But why did they put me down as mad?"

"Oh, not mad. I must have said too much, brother. . . . What struck him, you see, was that only that subject seemed to interest you; now it'sclear why it did interest you; knowing all the circumstances. . . Andhow that irritated you and worked in with your illness. . . I am a littledrunk, brother, only, confound him, he has some idea of his own. . . Itell you, he's mad on mental diseases. But don't you mind him. . . "

For half a minute both were silent. 

"Listen, Razumihin, " began Raskolnikov, "I want to tell you plainly:I've just been at a death-bed, a clerk who died. . . I gave them all mymoney. . . And besides I've just been kissed by someone who, if I hadkilled anyone, would just the same. . . In fact I saw someone elsethere. . . With a flame-coloured feather. . . But I am talking nonsense; Iam very weak, support me. . . We shall be at the stairs directly. . . "

"What's the matter? What's the matter with you?" Razumihin askedanxiously. 

"I am a little giddy, but that's not the point, I am so sad, so sad. . . Like a woman. Look, what's that? Look, look!"

"What is it?"

"Don't you see? A light in my room, you see? Through the crack. . . "

They were already at the foot of the last flight of stairs, at the levelof the landlady's door, and they could, as a fact, see from below thatthere was a light in Raskolnikov's garret. 

"Queer! Nastasya, perhaps, " observed Razumihin. 

"She is never in my room at this time and she must be in bed long ago, but. . . I don't care! Good-bye!"

"What do you mean? I am coming with you, we'll come in together!"

"I know we are going in together, but I want to shake hands here and saygood-bye to you here. So give me your hand, good-bye!"

"What's the matter with you, Rodya?"

"Nothing. . . Come along. . . You shall be witness. "

They began mounting the stairs, and the idea struck Razumihin thatperhaps Zossimov might be right after all. "Ah, I've upset him with mychatter!" he muttered to himself. 

When they reached the door they heard voices in the room. 

"What is it?" cried Razumihin. Raskolnikov was the first to open thedoor; he flung it wide and stood still in the doorway, dumbfoundered. 

His mother and sister were sitting on his sofa and had been waiting anhour and a half for him. Why had he never expected, never thought ofthem, though the news that they had started, were on their way and wouldarrive immediately, had been repeated to him only that day? They hadspent that hour and a half plying Nastasya with questions. She wasstanding before them and had told them everything by now. They werebeside themselves with alarm when they heard of his "running away"to-day, ill and, as they understood from her story, delirious! "GoodHeavens, what had become of him?" Both had been weeping, both had beenin anguish for that hour and a half. 

A cry of joy, of ecstasy, greeted Raskolnikov's entrance. Both rushed tohim. But he stood like one dead; a sudden intolerable sensation struckhim like a thunderbolt. He did not lift his arms to embrace them, hecould not. His mother and sister clasped him in their arms, kissed him, laughed and cried. He took a step, tottered and fell to the ground, fainting. 

Anxiety, cries of horror, moans. . . Razumihin who was standing in thedoorway flew into the room, seized the sick man in his strong arms andin a moment had him on the sofa. 

"It's nothing, nothing!" he cried to the mother and sister--"it's only afaint, a mere trifle! Only just now the doctor said he was much better, that he is perfectly well! Water! See, he is coming to himself, he isall right again!"

And seizing Dounia by the arm so that he almost dislocated it, he madeher bend down to see that "he is all right again. " The mother and sisterlooked on him with emotion and gratitude, as their Providence. Theyhad heard already from Nastasya all that had been done for their Rodyaduring his illness, by this "very competent young man, " as PulcheriaAlexandrovna Raskolnikov called him that evening in conversation withDounia. 

PART III

CHAPTER I

Raskolnikov got up, and sat down on the sofa. He waved his hand weaklyto Razumihin to cut short the flow of warm and incoherent consolationshe was addressing to his mother and sister, took them both by the handand for a minute or two gazed from one to the other without speaking. His mother was alarmed by his expression. It revealed an emotionagonisingly poignant, and at the same time something immovable, almostinsane. Pulcheria Alexandrovna began to cry. 

Avdotya Romanovna was pale; her hand trembled in her brother's. 

"Go home. . . With him, " he said in a broken voice, pointing to Razumihin, "good-bye till to-morrow; to-morrow everything. . . Is it long since youarrived?"

"This evening, Rodya, " answered Pulcheria Alexandrovna, "the train wasawfully late. But, Rodya, nothing would induce me to leave you now! Iwill spend the night here, near you. . . "

"Don't torture me!" he said with a gesture of irritation. 

"I will stay with him, " cried Razumihin, "I won't leave him for amoment. Bother all my visitors! Let them rage to their hearts' content!My uncle is presiding there. "

"How, how can I thank you!" Pulcheria Alexandrovna was beginning, oncemore pressing Razumihin's hands, but Raskolnikov interrupted her again. 

"I can't have it! I can't have it!" he repeated irritably, "don't worryme! Enough, go away. . . I can't stand it!"

"Come, mamma, come out of the room at least for a minute, " Douniawhispered in dismay; "we are distressing him, that's evident. "

"Mayn't I look at him after three years?" wept Pulcheria Alexandrovna. 

"Stay, " he stopped them again, "you keep interrupting me, and my ideasget muddled. . . . Have you seen Luzhin?"

"No, Rodya, but he knows already of our arrival. We have heard, Rodya, that Pyotr Petrovitch was so kind as to visit you today, " PulcheriaAlexandrovna added somewhat timidly. 

"Yes. . . He was so kind. . . Dounia, I promised Luzhin I'd throw himdownstairs and told him to go to hell. . . . "

"Rodya, what are you saying! Surely, you don't mean to tell us. . . "Pulcheria Alexandrovna began in alarm, but she stopped, looking atDounia. 

Avdotya Romanovna was looking attentively at her brother, waitingfor what would come next. Both of them had heard of the quarrel fromNastasya, so far as she had succeeded in understanding and reporting it, and were in painful perplexity and suspense. 

"Dounia, " Raskolnikov continued with an effort, "I don't want thatmarriage, so at the first opportunity to-morrow you must refuse Luzhin, so that we may never hear his name again. "

"Good Heavens!" cried Pulcheria Alexandrovna. 

"Brother, think what you are saying!" Avdotya Romanovna beganimpetuously, but immediately checked herself. "You are not fit to talknow, perhaps; you are tired, " she added gently. 

"You think I am delirious? No. . . You are marrying Luzhin for _my_sake. But I won't accept the sacrifice. And so write a letter beforeto-morrow, to refuse him. . . Let me read it in the morning and that willbe the end of it!"

"That I can't do!" the girl cried, offended, "what right have you. . . "

"Dounia, you are hasty, too, be quiet, to-morrow. . . Don't you see. . . "the mother interposed in dismay. "Better come away!"

"He is raving, " Razumihin cried tipsily, "or how would he dare!To-morrow all this nonsense will be over. . . To-day he certainly diddrive him away. That was so. And Luzhin got angry, too. . . . He madespeeches here, wanted to show off his learning and he went outcrest-fallen. . . . "

"Then it's true?" cried Pulcheria Alexandrovna. 

"Good-bye till to-morrow, brother, " said Dounia compassionately--"let usgo, mother. . . Good-bye, Rodya. "

"Do you hear, sister, " he repeated after them, making a last effort, "I am not delirious; this marriage is--an infamy. Let me act likea scoundrel, but you mustn't. . . One is enough. . . And though I am ascoundrel, I wouldn't own such a sister. It's me or Luzhin! Go now. . . . "

"But you're out of your mind! Despot!" roared Razumihin; but Raskolnikovdid not and perhaps could not answer. He lay down on the sofa, andturned to the wall, utterly exhausted. Avdotya Romanovna looked withinterest at Razumihin; her black eyes flashed; Razumihin positivelystarted at her glance. 

Pulcheria Alexandrovna stood overwhelmed. 

"Nothing would induce me to go, " she whispered in despair to Razumihin. "I will stay somewhere here. . . Escort Dounia home. "

"You'll spoil everything, " Razumihin answered in the same whisper, losing patience--"come out on to the stairs, anyway. Nastasya, show alight! I assure you, " he went on in a half whisper on the stairs-"thathe was almost beating the doctor and me this afternoon! Do youunderstand? The doctor himself! Even he gave way and left him, so as notto irritate him. I remained downstairs on guard, but he dressed at onceand slipped off. And he will slip off again if you irritate him, at thistime of night, and will do himself some mischief. . . . "

"What are you saying?"

"And Avdotya Romanovna can't possibly be left in those lodgings withoutyou. Just think where you are staying! That blackguard Pyotr Petrovitchcouldn't find you better lodgings. . . But you know I've had a little todrink, and that's what makes me. . . Swear; don't mind it. . . . "

"But I'll go to the landlady here, " Pulcheria Alexandrovna insisted, "Ill beseech her to find some corner for Dounia and me for the night. Ican't leave him like that, I cannot!"

This conversation took place on the landing just before the landlady'sdoor. Nastasya lighted them from a step below. Razumihin was inextraordinary excitement. Half an hour earlier, while he was bringingRaskolnikov home, he had indeed talked too freely, but he was aware ofit himself, and his head was clear in spite of the vast quantities hehad imbibed. Now he was in a state bordering on ecstasy, and all that hehad drunk seemed to fly to his head with redoubled effect. He stood withthe two ladies, seizing both by their hands, persuading them, and givingthem reasons with astonishing plainness of speech, and at almost everyword he uttered, probably to emphasise his arguments, he squeezed theirhands painfully as in a vise. He stared at Avdotya Romanovna without theleast regard for good manners. They sometimes pulled their hands out ofhis huge bony paws, but far from noticing what was the matter, he drewthem all the closer to him. If they'd told him to jump head foremostfrom the staircase, he would have done it without thought or hesitationin their service. Though Pulcheria Alexandrovna felt that the young manwas really too eccentric and pinched her hand too much, in her anxietyover her Rodya she looked on his presence as providential, and wasunwilling to notice all his peculiarities. But though Avdotya Romanovnashared her anxiety, and was not of timorous disposition, she could notsee the glowing light in his eyes without wonder and almost alarm. Itwas only the unbounded confidence inspired by Nastasya's account of herbrother's queer friend, which prevented her from trying to run away fromhim, and to persuade her mother to do the same. She realised, too, that even running away was perhaps impossible now. Ten minutes later, however, she was considerably reassured; it was characteristic ofRazumihin that he showed his true nature at once, whatever mood he mightbe in, so that people quickly saw the sort of man they had to deal with. 

"You can't go to the landlady, that's perfect nonsense!" he cried. "Ifyou stay, though you are his mother, you'll drive him to a frenzy, andthen goodness knows what will happen! Listen, I'll tell you what I'lldo: Nastasya will stay with him now, and I'll conduct you both home, youcan't be in the streets alone; Petersburg is an awful place in thatway. . . . But no matter! Then I'll run straight back here and a quarter ofan hour later, on my word of honour, I'll bring you news how he is, whether he is asleep, and all that. Then, listen! Then I'll run home ina twinkling--I've a lot of friends there, all drunk--I'll fetchZossimov--that's the doctor who is looking after him, he is there, too, but he is not drunk; he is not drunk, he is never drunk! I'll drag himto Rodya, and then to you, so that you'll get two reports in thehour--from the doctor, you understand, from the doctor himself, that's avery different thing from my account of him! If there's anything wrong, I swear I'll bring you here myself, but, if it's all right, you go tobed. And I'll spend the night here, in the passage, he won't hear me, and I'll tell Zossimov to sleep at the landlady's, to be at hand. Whichis better for him: you or the doctor? So come home then! But thelandlady is out of the question; it's all right for me, but it's out ofthe question for you: she wouldn't take you, for she's. . . For she's afool. . . She'd be jealous on my account of Avdotya Romanovna and of you, too, if you want to know. . . Of Avdotya Romanovna certainly. She is anabsolutely, absolutely unaccountable character! But I am a fool, too!. . . No matter! Come along! Do you trust me? Come, do you trust me or not?"

"Let us go, mother, " said Avdotya Romanovna, "he will certainly do whathe has promised. He has saved Rodya already, and if the doctor reallywill consent to spend the night here, what could be better?"

"You see, you. . . You. . . Understand me, because you are an angel!"Razumihin cried in ecstasy, "let us go! Nastasya! Fly upstairs and sitwith him with a light; I'll come in a quarter of an hour. "

Though Pulcheria Alexandrovna was not perfectly convinced, she made nofurther resistance. Razumihin gave an arm to each and drew them downthe stairs. He still made her uneasy, as though he was competent andgood-natured, was he capable of carrying out his promise? He seemed insuch a condition. . . . 

"Ah, I see you think I am in such a condition!" Razumihin broke in uponher thoughts, guessing them, as he strolled along the pavement with hugesteps, so that the two ladies could hardly keep up with him, a fact hedid not observe, however. "Nonsense! That is. . . I am drunk like a fool, but that's not it; I am not drunk from wine. It's seeing you has turnedmy head. . . But don't mind me! Don't take any notice: I am talkingnonsense, I am not worthy of you. . . . I am utterly unworthy of you! Theminute I've taken you home, I'll pour a couple of pailfuls of water overmy head in the gutter here, and then I shall be all right. . . . If onlyyou knew how I love you both! Don't laugh, and don't be angry! You maybe angry with anyone, but not with me! I am his friend, and therefore Iam your friend, too, I want to be. . . I had a presentiment. . . Last yearthere was a moment. . . Though it wasn't a presentiment really, foryou seem to have fallen from heaven. And I expect I shan't sleep allnight. . . Zossimov was afraid a little time ago that he would go mad. . . That's why he mustn't be irritated. "

"What do you say?" cried the mother. 

"Did the doctor really say that?" asked Avdotya Romanovna, alarmed. 

"Yes, but it's not so, not a bit of it. He gave him some medicine, apowder, I saw it, and then your coming here. . . . Ah! It would have beenbetter if you had come to-morrow. It's a good thing we went away. And inan hour Zossimov himself will report to you about everything. He is notdrunk! And I shan't be drunk. . . . And what made me get so tight? Becausethey got me into an argument, damn them! I've sworn never to argue! Theytalk such trash! I almost came to blows! I've left my uncle to preside. Would you believe, they insist on complete absence of individualismand that's just what they relish! Not to be themselves, to be as unlikethemselves as they can. That's what they regard as the highest point ofprogress. If only their nonsense were their own, but as it is. . . "

"Listen!" Pulcheria Alexandrovna interrupted timidly, but it only addedfuel to the flames. 

"What do you think?" shouted Razumihin, louder than ever, "you think Iam attacking them for talking nonsense? Not a bit! I like them to talknonsense. That's man's one privilege over all creation. Through erroryou come to the truth! I am a man because I err! You never reach anytruth without making fourteen mistakes and very likely a hundred andfourteen. And a fine thing, too, in its way; but we can't even makemistakes on our own account! Talk nonsense, but talk your own nonsense, and I'll kiss you for it. To go wrong in one's own way is better thanto go right in someone else's. In the first case you are a man, in thesecond you're no better than a bird. Truth won't escape you, but lifecan be cramped. There have been examples. And what are we doing now?In science, development, thought, invention, ideals, aims, liberalism, judgment, experience and everything, everything, everything, we arestill in the preparatory class at school. We prefer to live on otherpeople's ideas, it's what we are used to! Am I right, am I right?" criedRazumihin, pressing and shaking the two ladies' hands. 

"Oh, mercy, I do not know, " cried poor Pulcheria Alexandrovna. 

"Yes, yes. . . Though I don't agree with you in everything, " added AvdotyaRomanovna earnestly and at once uttered a cry, for he squeezed her handso painfully. 

"Yes, you say yes. . . Well after that you. . . You. . . " he cried ina transport, "you are a fount of goodness, purity, sense. . . Andperfection. Give me your hand. . . You give me yours, too! I want to kissyour hands here at once, on my knees. . . " and he fell on his knees on thepavement, fortunately at that time deserted. 

"Leave off, I entreat you, what are you doing?" Pulcheria Alexandrovnacried, greatly distressed. 

"Get up, get up!" said Dounia laughing, though she, too, was upset. 

"Not for anything till you let me kiss your hands! That's it! Enough! Iget up and we'll go on! I am a luckless fool, I am unworthy of you anddrunk. . . And I am ashamed. . . . I am not worthy to love you, but to dohomage to you is the duty of every man who is not a perfect beast! AndI've done homage. . . . Here are your lodgings, and for that alone Rodyawas right in driving your Pyotr Petrovitch away. . . . How dare he! howdare he put you in such lodgings! It's a scandal! Do you know thesort of people they take in here? And you his betrothed! You arehis betrothed? Yes? Well, then, I'll tell you, your _fiancé_ is ascoundrel. "

"Excuse me, Mr. Razumihin, you are forgetting. . . " Pulcheria Alexandrovnawas beginning. 

"Yes, yes, you are right, I did forget myself, I am ashamed of it, "Razumihin made haste to apologise. "But. . . But you can't be angry withme for speaking so! For I speak sincerely and not because. . . Hm, hm!That would be disgraceful; in fact not because I'm in. . . Hm! Well, anyway, I won't say why, I daren't. . . . But we all saw to-day when hecame in that that man is not of our sort. Not because he had his haircurled at the barber's, not because he was in such a hurry to show hiswit, but because he is a spy, a speculator, because he is a skin-flintand a buffoon. That's evident. Do you think him clever? No, he is afool, a fool. And is he a match for you? Good heavens! Do you see, ladies?" he stopped suddenly on the way upstairs to their rooms, "thoughall my friends there are drunk, yet they are all honest, and though wedo talk a lot of trash, and I do, too, yet we shall talk our way to thetruth at last, for we are on the right path, while Pyotr Petrovitch. . . Is not on the right path. Though I've been calling them all sorts ofnames just now, I do respect them all. . . Though I don't respect Zametov, I like him, for he is a puppy, and that bullock Zossimov, because heis an honest man and knows his work. But enough, it's all said andforgiven. Is it forgiven? Well, then, let's go on. I know this corridor, I've been here, there was a scandal here at Number 3. . . . Where are youhere? Which number? eight? Well, lock yourselves in for the night, then. Don't let anybody in. In a quarter of an hour I'll come back with news, and half an hour later I'll bring Zossimov, you'll see! Good-bye, I'llrun. "

"Good heavens, Dounia, what is going to happen?" said PulcheriaAlexandrovna, addressing her daughter with anxiety and dismay. 

"Don't worry yourself, mother, " said Dounia, taking off her hat andcape. "God has sent this gentleman to our aid, though he has come from adrinking party. We can depend on him, I assure you. And all that he hasdone for Rodya. . . . "

"Ah. Dounia, goodness knows whether he will come! How could I bringmyself to leave Rodya?. . . And how different, how different I had fanciedour meeting! How sullen he was, as though not pleased to see us. . . . "

Tears came into her eyes. 

"No, it's not that, mother. You didn't see, you were crying all thetime. He is quite unhinged by serious illness--that's the reason. "

"Ah, that illness! What will happen, what will happen? And how he talkedto you, Dounia!" said the mother, looking timidly at her daughter, trying to read her thoughts and, already half consoled by Dounia'sstanding up for her brother, which meant that she had already forgivenhim. "I am sure he will think better of it to-morrow, " she added, probing her further. 

"And I am sure that he will say the same to-morrow. . . About that, "Avdotya Romanovna said finally. And, of course, there was no goingbeyond that, for this was a point which Pulcheria Alexandrovna wasafraid to discuss. Dounia went up and kissed her mother. The latterwarmly embraced her without speaking. Then she sat down to waitanxiously for Razumihin's return, timidly watching her daughter whowalked up and down the room with her arms folded, lost in thought. This walking up and down when she was thinking was a habit of AvdotyaRomanovna's and the mother was always afraid to break in on herdaughter's mood at such moments. 

Razumihin, of course, was ridiculous in his sudden drunken infatuationfor Avdotya Romanovna. Yet apart from his eccentric condition, manypeople would have thought it justified if they had seen AvdotyaRomanovna, especially at that moment when she was walking to andfro with folded arms, pensive and melancholy. Avdotya Romanovna wasremarkably good looking; she was tall, strikingly well-proportioned, strong and self-reliant--the latter quality was apparent in everygesture, though it did not in the least detract from the grace andsoftness of her movements. In face she resembled her brother, but shemight be described as really beautiful. Her hair was dark brown, alittle lighter than her brother's; there was a proud light in her almostblack eyes and yet at times a look of extraordinary kindness. She waspale, but it was a healthy pallor; her face was radiant with freshnessand vigour. Her mouth was rather small; the full red lower lip projecteda little as did her chin; it was the only irregularity in her beautifulface, but it gave it a peculiarly individual and almost haughtyexpression. Her face was always more serious and thoughtful than gay;but how well smiles, how well youthful, lighthearted, irresponsible, laughter suited her face! It was natural enough that a warm, open, simple-hearted, honest giant like Razumihin, who had never seen anyonelike her and was not quite sober at the time, should lose his headimmediately. Besides, as chance would have it, he saw Dounia for thefirst time transfigured by her love for her brother and her joy atmeeting him. Afterwards he saw her lower lip quiver with indignationat her brother's insolent, cruel and ungrateful words--and his fate wassealed. 

He had spoken the truth, moreover, when he blurted out in his drunkentalk on the stairs that Praskovya Pavlovna, Raskolnikov's eccentriclandlady, would be jealous of Pulcheria Alexandrovna as well as ofAvdotya Romanovna on his account. Although Pulcheria Alexandrovna wasforty-three, her face still retained traces of her former beauty; shelooked much younger than her age, indeed, which is almost always thecase with women who retain serenity of spirit, sensitiveness and puresincere warmth of heart to old age. We may add in parenthesis that topreserve all this is the only means of retaining beauty to old age. Herhair had begun to grow grey and thin, there had long been little crow'sfoot wrinkles round her eyes, her cheeks were hollow and sunken fromanxiety and grief, and yet it was a handsome face. She was Douniaover again, twenty years older, but without the projecting underlip. Pulcheria Alexandrovna was emotional, but not sentimental, timid andyielding, but only to a certain point. She could give way and accept agreat deal even of what was contrary to her convictions, but there was acertain barrier fixed by honesty, principle and the deepest convictionswhich nothing would induce her to cross. 

Exactly twenty minutes after Razumihin's departure, there came twosubdued but hurried knocks at the door: he had come back. 

"I won't come in, I haven't time, " he hastened to say when the door wasopened. "He sleeps like a top, soundly, quietly, and God grant he maysleep ten hours. Nastasya's with him; I told her not to leave till Icame. Now I am fetching Zossimov, he will report to you and then you'dbetter turn in; I can see you are too tired to do anything. . . . "

And he ran off down the corridor. 

"What a very competent and. . . Devoted young man!" cried PulcheriaAlexandrovna exceedingly delighted. 

"He seems a splendid person!" Avdotya Romanovna replied with somewarmth, resuming her walk up and down the room. 

It was nearly an hour later when they heard footsteps in the corridorand another knock at the door. Both women waited this time completelyrelying on Razumihin's promise; he actually had succeeded in bringingZossimov. Zossimov had agreed at once to desert the drinking party togo to Raskolnikov's, but he came reluctantly and with the greatestsuspicion to see the ladies, mistrusting Razumihin in his exhilaratedcondition. But his vanity was at once reassured and flattered; he sawthat they were really expecting him as an oracle. He stayed just tenminutes and succeeded in completely convincing and comforting PulcheriaAlexandrovna. He spoke with marked sympathy, but with the reserve andextreme seriousness of a young doctor at an important consultation. He did not utter a word on any other subject and did not display theslightest desire to enter into more personal relations with the twoladies. Remarking at his first entrance the dazzling beauty of AvdotyaRomanovna, he endeavoured not to notice her at all during his visit andaddressed himself solely to Pulcheria Alexandrovna. All this gave himextraordinary inward satisfaction. He declared that he thought theinvalid at this moment going on very satisfactorily. According to hisobservations the patient's illness was due partly to his unfortunatematerial surroundings during the last few months, but it had partly alsoa moral origin, "was, so to speak, the product of several material andmoral influences, anxieties, apprehensions, troubles, certain ideas. . . And so on. " Noticing stealthily that Avdotya Romanovna was following hiswords with close attention, Zossimov allowed himself to enlarge on thistheme. On Pulcheria Alexandrovna's anxiously and timidly inquiring asto "some suspicion of insanity, " he replied with a composed and candidsmile that his words had been exaggerated; that certainly the patienthad some fixed idea, something approaching a monomania--he, Zossimov, was now particularly studying this interesting branch of medicine--butthat it must be recollected that until to-day the patient had been indelirium and. . . And that no doubt the presence of his family would havea favourable effect on his recovery and distract his mind, "if only allfresh shocks can be avoided, " he added significantly. Then he got up, took leave with an impressive and affable bow, while blessings, warmgratitude, and entreaties were showered upon him, and Avdotya Romanovnaspontaneously offered her hand to him. He went out exceedingly pleasedwith his visit and still more so with himself. 

"We'll talk to-morrow; go to bed at once!" Razumihin said in conclusion, following Zossimov out. "I'll be with you to-morrow morning as early aspossible with my report. "

"That's a fetching little girl, Avdotya Romanovna, " remarked Zossimov, almost licking his lips as they both came out into the street. 

"Fetching? You said fetching?" roared Razumihin and he flew at Zossimovand seized him by the throat. "If you ever dare. . . . Do you understand?Do you understand?" he shouted, shaking him by the collar and squeezinghim against the wall. "Do you hear?"

"Let me go, you drunken devil, " said Zossimov, struggling and when hehad let him go, he stared at him and went off into a sudden guffaw. Razumihin stood facing him in gloomy and earnest reflection. 

"Of course, I am an ass, " he observed, sombre as a storm cloud, "butstill. . . You are another. "

"No, brother, not at all such another. I am not dreaming of any folly. "

They walked along in silence and only when they were close toRaskolnikov's lodgings, Razumihin broke the silence in considerableanxiety. 

"Listen, " he said, "you're a first-rate fellow, but among your otherfailings, you're a loose fish, that I know, and a dirty one, too. Youare a feeble, nervous wretch, and a mass of whims, you're getting fatand lazy and can't deny yourself anything--and I call that dirty becauseit leads one straight into the dirt. You've let yourself get so slackthat I don't know how it is you are still a good, even a devoted doctor. You--a doctor--sleep on a feather bed and get up at night to yourpatients! In another three or four years you won't get up for yourpatients. . . But hang it all, that's not the point!. . . You are goingto spend to-night in the landlady's flat here. (Hard work I've had topersuade her!) And I'll be in the kitchen. So here's a chance for you toget to know her better. . . . It's not as you think! There's not a trace ofanything of the sort, brother. . . !"

"But I don't think!"

"Here you have modesty, brother, silence, bashfulness, a savagevirtue. . . And yet she's sighing and melting like wax, simply melting!Save me from her, by all that's unholy! She's most prepossessing. . . I'llrepay you, I'll do anything. . . . "

Zossimov laughed more violently than ever. 

"Well, you are smitten! But what am I to do with her?"

"It won't be much trouble, I assure you. Talk any rot you like to her, as long as you sit by her and talk. You're a doctor, too; try curingher of something. I swear you won't regret it. She has a piano, and youknow, I strum a little. I have a song there, a genuine Russian one: 'Ished hot tears. ' She likes the genuine article--and well, it allbegan with that song; Now you're a regular performer, a _maître_, aRubinstein. . . . I assure you, you won't regret it!"

"But have you made her some promise? Something signed? A promise ofmarriage, perhaps?"

"Nothing, nothing, absolutely nothing of the kind! Besides she is notthat sort at all. . . . Tchebarov tried that. . . . "

"Well then, drop her!"

"But I can't drop her like that!"

"Why can't you?"

"Well, I can't, that's all about it! There's an element of attractionhere, brother. "

"Then why have you fascinated her?"

"I haven't fascinated her; perhaps I was fascinated myself in my folly. But she won't care a straw whether it's you or I, so long as somebodysits beside her, sighing. . . . I can't explain the position, brother. . . Look here, you are good at mathematics, and working at it now. . . Beginteaching her the integral calculus; upon my soul, I'm not joking, I'min earnest, it'll be just the same to her. She will gaze at you and sighfor a whole year together. I talked to her once for two days at a timeabout the Prussian House of Lords (for one must talk of something)--shejust sighed and perspired! And you mustn't talk of love--she's bashfulto hysterics--but just let her see you can't tear yourself away--that'senough. It's fearfully comfortable; you're quite at home, you canread, sit, lie about, write. You may even venture on a kiss, if you'recareful. "

"But what do I want with her?"

"Ach, I can't make you understand! You see, you are made for each other!I have often been reminded of you!. . . You'll come to it in the end! Sodoes it matter whether it's sooner or later? There's the feather-bedelement here, brother--ach! and not only that! There's an attractionhere--here you have the end of the world, an anchorage, a quiet haven, the navel of the earth, the three fishes that are the foundation of theworld, the essence of pancakes, of savoury fish-pies, of the eveningsamovar, of soft sighs and warm shawls, and hot stoves to sleep on--assnug as though you were dead, and yet you're alive--the advantagesof both at once! Well, hang it, brother, what stuff I'm talking, it'sbedtime! Listen. I sometimes wake up at night; so I'll go in and look athim. But there's no need, it's all right. Don't you worry yourself, yet if you like, you might just look in once, too. But if you noticeanything--delirium or fever--wake me at once. But there can't be. . . . "

CHAPTER II

Razumihin waked up next morning at eight o'clock, troubled and serious. He found himself confronted with many new and unlooked-for perplexities. He had never expected that he would ever wake up feeling like that. Heremembered every detail of the previous day and he knew that a perfectlynovel experience had befallen him, that he had received an impressionunlike anything he had known before. At the same time he recognisedclearly that the dream which had fired his imagination was hopelesslyunattainable--so unattainable that he felt positively ashamed of it, andhe hastened to pass to the other more practical cares and difficultiesbequeathed him by that "thrice accursed yesterday. "

The most awful recollection of the previous day was the way he had shownhimself "base and mean, " not only because he had been drunk, butbecause he had taken advantage of the young girl's position to abuseher _fiancé_ in his stupid jealousy, knowing nothing of their mutualrelations and obligations and next to nothing of the man himself. Andwhat right had he to criticise him in that hasty and unguarded manner?Who had asked for his opinion? Was it thinkable that such a creature asAvdotya Romanovna would be marrying an unworthy man for money? So theremust be something in him. The lodgings? But after all how could he knowthe character of the lodgings? He was furnishing a flat. . . Foo! howdespicable it all was! And what justification was it that he was drunk?Such a stupid excuse was even more degrading! In wine is truth, and thetruth had all come out, "that is, all the uncleanness of his coarseand envious heart"! And would such a dream ever be permissible tohim, Razumihin? What was he beside such a girl--he, the drunken noisybraggart of last night? Was it possible to imagine so absurd and cynicala juxtaposition? Razumihin blushed desperately at the very idea andsuddenly the recollection forced itself vividly upon him of how he hadsaid last night on the stairs that the landlady would be jealous ofAvdotya Romanovna. . . That was simply intolerable. He brought his fistdown heavily on the kitchen stove, hurt his hand and sent one of thebricks flying. 

"Of course, " he muttered to himself a minute later with a feeling ofself-abasement, "of course, all these infamies can never be wiped out orsmoothed over. . . And so it's useless even to think of it, and I mustgo to them in silence and do my duty. . . In silence, too. . . And not askforgiveness, and say nothing. . . For all is lost now!"

And yet as he dressed he examined his attire more carefully than usual. He hadn't another suit--if he had had, perhaps he wouldn't have put iton. "I would have made a point of not putting it on. " But in any case hecould not remain a cynic and a dirty sloven; he had no right to offendthe feelings of others, especially when they were in need of hisassistance and asking him to see them. He brushed his clothes carefully. His linen was always decent; in that respect he was especially clean. 

He washed that morning scrupulously--he got some soap from Nastasya--hewashed his hair, his neck and especially his hands. When it came to thequestion whether to shave his stubbly chin or not (Praskovya Pavlovnahad capital razors that had been left by her late husband), the questionwas angrily answered in the negative. "Let it stay as it is! What ifthey think that I shaved on purpose to. . . ? They certainly would thinkso! Not on any account!"

"And. . . The worst of it was he was so coarse, so dirty, he had themanners of a pothouse; and. . . And even admitting that he knew he hadsome of the essentials of a gentleman. . . What was there in that to beproud of? Everyone ought to be a gentleman and more than that. . . And allthe same (he remembered) he, too, had done little things. . . Not exactlydishonest, and yet. . . . And what thoughts he sometimes had; hm. . . And toset all that beside Avdotya Romanovna! Confound it! So be it! Well, he'dmake a point then of being dirty, greasy, pothouse in his manners and hewouldn't care! He'd be worse!"

He was engaged in such monologues when Zossimov, who had spent the nightin Praskovya Pavlovna's parlour, came in. 

He was going home and was in a hurry to look at the invalid first. Razumihin informed him that Raskolnikov was sleeping like a dormouse. Zossimov gave orders that they shouldn't wake him and promised to seehim again about eleven. 

"If he is still at home, " he added. "Damn it all! If one can't controlone's patients, how is one to cure them? Do you know whether _he_ willgo to them, or whether _they_ are coming here?"

"They are coming, I think, " said Razumihin, understanding the objectof the question, "and they will discuss their family affairs, no doubt. I'll be off. You, as the doctor, have more right to be here than I. "

"But I am not a father confessor; I shall come and go away; I've plentyto do besides looking after them. "

"One thing worries me, " interposed Razumihin, frowning. "On the way homeI talked a lot of drunken nonsense to him. . . All sorts of things. . . Andamongst them that you were afraid that he. . . Might become insane. "

"You told the ladies so, too. "

"I know it was stupid! You may beat me if you like! Did you think soseriously?"

"That's nonsense, I tell you, how could I think it seriously? You, yourself, described him as a monomaniac when you fetched me tohim. . . And we added fuel to the fire yesterday, you did, that is, withyour story about the painter; it was a nice conversation, when he was, perhaps, mad on that very point! If only I'd known what happened thenat the police station and that some wretch. . . Had insulted him with thissuspicion! Hm. . . I would not have allowed that conversation yesterday. These monomaniacs will make a mountain out of a mole-hill. . . Andsee their fancies as solid realities. . . . As far as I remember, it wasZametov's story that cleared up half the mystery, to my mind. Why, Iknow one case in which a hypochondriac, a man of forty, cut the throatof a little boy of eight, because he couldn't endure the jokes he madeevery day at table! And in this case his rags, the insolent policeofficer, the fever and this suspicion! All that working upon a man halffrantic with hypochondria, and with his morbid exceptional vanity! Thatmay well have been the starting-point of illness. Well, bother itall!. . . And, by the way, that Zametov certainly is a nice fellow, buthm. . . He shouldn't have told all that last night. He is an awfulchatterbox!"

"But whom did he tell it to? You and me?"

"And Porfiry. "

"What does that matter?"

"And, by the way, have you any influence on them, his mother and sister?Tell them to be more careful with him to-day. . . . "

"They'll get on all right!" Razumihin answered reluctantly. 

"Why is he so set against this Luzhin? A man with money and she doesn'tseem to dislike him. . . And they haven't a farthing, I suppose? eh?"

"But what business is it of yours?" Razumihin cried with annoyance. "Howcan I tell whether they've a farthing? Ask them yourself and perhapsyou'll find out. . . . "

"Foo! what an ass you are sometimes! Last night's wine has not gone offyet. . . . Good-bye; thank your Praskovya Pavlovna from me for my night'slodging. She locked herself in, made no reply to my _bonjour_ throughthe door; she was up at seven o'clock, the samovar was taken into herfrom the kitchen. I was not vouchsafed a personal interview. . . . "

At nine o'clock precisely Razumihin reached the lodgings at Bakaleyev'shouse. Both ladies were waiting for him with nervous impatience. Theyhad risen at seven o'clock or earlier. He entered looking as black asnight, bowed awkwardly and was at once furious with himself for it. Hehad reckoned without his host: Pulcheria Alexandrovna fairly rushed athim, seized him by both hands and was almost kissing them. He glancedtimidly at Avdotya Romanovna, but her proud countenance wore at thatmoment an expression of such gratitude and friendliness, suchcomplete and unlooked-for respect (in place of the sneering looks andill-disguised contempt he had expected), that it threw him into greaterconfusion than if he had been met with abuse. Fortunately there was asubject for conversation, and he made haste to snatch at it. 

Hearing that everything was going well and that Rodya had not yet waked, Pulcheria Alexandrovna declared that she was glad to hear it, because"she had something which it was very, very necessary to talk overbeforehand. " Then followed an inquiry about breakfast and an invitationto have it with them; they had waited to have it with him. AvdotyaRomanovna rang the bell: it was answered by a ragged dirty waiter, andthey asked him to bring tea which was served at last, but in sucha dirty and disorderly way that the ladies were ashamed. Razumihinvigorously attacked the lodgings, but, remembering Luzhin, stoppedin embarrassment and was greatly relieved by Pulcheria Alexandrovna'squestions, which showered in a continual stream upon him. 

He talked for three quarters of an hour, being constantly interruptedby their questions, and succeeded in describing to them all themost important facts he knew of the last year of Raskolnikov's life, concluding with a circumstantial account of his illness. He omitted, however, many things, which were better omitted, including the scene atthe police station with all its consequences. They listened eagerlyto his story, and, when he thought he had finished and satisfied hislisteners, he found that they considered he had hardly begun. 

"Tell me, tell me! What do you think. . . ? Excuse me, I still don't knowyour name!" Pulcheria Alexandrovna put in hastily. 

"Dmitri Prokofitch. "

"I should like very, very much to know, Dmitri Prokofitch. . . How helooks. . . On things in general now, that is, how can I explain, what arehis likes and dislikes? Is he always so irritable? Tell me, if you can, what are his hopes and, so to say, his dreams? Under what influences ishe now? In a word, I should like. . . "

"Ah, mother, how can he answer all that at once?" observed Dounia. 

"Good heavens, I had not expected to find him in the least like this, Dmitri Prokofitch!"

"Naturally, " answered Razumihin. "I have no mother, but my uncle comesevery year and almost every time he can scarcely recognise me, even inappearance, though he is a clever man; and your three years' separationmeans a great deal. What am I to tell you? I have known Rodion fora year and a half; he is morose, gloomy, proud and haughty, and oflate--and perhaps for a long time before--he has been suspicious andfanciful. He has a noble nature and a kind heart. He does not likeshowing his feelings and would rather do a cruel thing than open hisheart freely. Sometimes, though, he is not at all morbid, but simplycold and inhumanly callous; it's as though he were alternating betweentwo characters. Sometimes he is fearfully reserved! He says he isso busy that everything is a hindrance, and yet he lies in bed doingnothing. He doesn't jeer at things, not because he hasn't the wit, butas though he hadn't time to waste on such trifles. He never listensto what is said to him. He is never interested in what interests otherpeople at any given moment. He thinks very highly of himself and perhapshe is right. Well, what more? I think your arrival will have a mostbeneficial influence upon him. "

"God grant it may, " cried Pulcheria Alexandrovna, distressed byRazumihin's account of her Rodya. 

And Razumihin ventured to look more boldly at Avdotya Romanovna at last. He glanced at her often while he was talking, but only for a moment andlooked away again at once. Avdotya Romanovna sat at the table, listeningattentively, then got up again and began walking to and fro with herarms folded and her lips compressed, occasionally putting in a question, without stopping her walk. She had the same habit of not listening towhat was said. She was wearing a dress of thin dark stuff and she had awhite transparent scarf round her neck. Razumihin soon detected signs ofextreme poverty in their belongings. Had Avdotya Romanovna been dressedlike a queen, he felt that he would not be afraid of her, but perhapsjust because she was poorly dressed and that he noticed all the miseryof her surroundings, his heart was filled with dread and he began to beafraid of every word he uttered, every gesture he made, which was verytrying for a man who already felt diffident. 

"You've told us a great deal that is interesting about my brother'scharacter. . . And have told it impartially. I am glad. I thought that youwere too uncritically devoted to him, " observed Avdotya Romanovna witha smile. "I think you are right that he needs a woman's care, " she addedthoughtfully. 

"I didn't say so; but I daresay you are right, only. . . "

"What?"

"He loves no one and perhaps he never will, " Razumihin declareddecisively. 

"You mean he is not capable of love?"

"Do you know, Avdotya Romanovna, you are awfully like your brother, ineverything, indeed!" he blurted out suddenly to his own surprise, butremembering at once what he had just before said of her brother, he turned as red as a crab and was overcome with confusion. AvdotyaRomanovna couldn't help laughing when she looked at him. 

"You may both be mistaken about Rodya, " Pulcheria Alexandrovna remarked, slightly piqued. "I am not talking of our present difficulty, Dounia. What Pyotr Petrovitch writes in this letter and what you and I havesupposed may be mistaken, but you can't imagine, Dmitri Prokofitch, howmoody and, so to say, capricious he is. I never could depend on whathe would do when he was only fifteen. And I am sure that he mightdo something now that nobody else would think of doing. . . Well, forinstance, do you know how a year and a half ago he astounded me and gaveme a shock that nearly killed me, when he had the idea of marrying thatgirl--what was her name--his landlady's daughter?"

"Did you hear about that affair?" asked Avdotya Romanovna. 

"Do you suppose----" Pulcheria Alexandrovna continued warmly. "Do yousuppose that my tears, my entreaties, my illness, my possible death fromgrief, our poverty would have made him pause? No, he would calmly havedisregarded all obstacles. And yet it isn't that he doesn't love us!"

"He has never spoken a word of that affair to me, " Razumihin answeredcautiously. "But I did hear something from Praskovya Pavlovna herself, though she is by no means a gossip. And what I heard certainly wasrather strange. "

"And what did you hear?" both the ladies asked at once. 

"Well, nothing very special. I only learned that the marriage, whichonly failed to take place through the girl's death, was not at all toPraskovya Pavlovna's liking. They say, too, the girl was not at allpretty, in fact I am told positively ugly. . . And such an invalid. . . Andqueer. But she seems to have had some good qualities. She must havehad some good qualities or it's quite inexplicable. . . . She had no moneyeither and he wouldn't have considered her money. . . . But it's alwaysdifficult to judge in such matters. "

"I am sure she was a good girl, " Avdotya Romanovna observed briefly. 

"God forgive me, I simply rejoiced at her death. Though I don't knowwhich of them would have caused most misery to the other--he to heror she to him, " Pulcheria Alexandrovna concluded. Then she begantentatively questioning him about the scene on the previous day withLuzhin, hesitating and continually glancing at Dounia, obviously tothe latter's annoyance. This incident more than all the rest evidentlycaused her uneasiness, even consternation. Razumihin described it indetail again, but this time he added his own conclusions: he openlyblamed Raskolnikov for intentionally insulting Pyotr Petrovitch, notseeking to excuse him on the score of his illness. 

"He had planned it before his illness, " he added. 

"I think so, too, " Pulcheria Alexandrovna agreed with a dejected air. But she was very much surprised at hearing Razumihin express himselfso carefully and even with a certain respect about Pyotr Petrovitch. Avdotya Romanovna, too, was struck by it. 

"So this is your opinion of Pyotr Petrovitch?" Pulcheria Alexandrovnacould not resist asking. 

"I can have no other opinion of your daughter's future husband, "Razumihin answered firmly and with warmth, "and I don't say it simplyfrom vulgar politeness, but because. . . Simply because Avdotya Romanovnahas of her own free will deigned to accept this man. If I spoke sorudely of him last night, it was because I was disgustingly drunk and. . . Mad besides; yes, mad, crazy, I lost my head completely. . . And thismorning I am ashamed of it. "

He crimsoned and ceased speaking. Avdotya Romanovna flushed, but did notbreak the silence. She had not uttered a word from the moment they beganto speak of Luzhin. 

Without her support Pulcheria Alexandrovna obviously did not know whatto do. At last, faltering and continually glancing at her daughter, sheconfessed that she was exceedingly worried by one circumstance. 

"You see, Dmitri Prokofitch, " she began. "I'll be perfectly open withDmitri Prokofitch, Dounia?"

"Of course, mother, " said Avdotya Romanovna emphatically. 

"This is what it is, " she began in haste, as though the permission tospeak of her trouble lifted a weight off her mind. "Very early thismorning we got a note from Pyotr Petrovitch in reply to our letterannouncing our arrival. He promised to meet us at the station, youknow; instead of that he sent a servant to bring us the address of theselodgings and to show us the way; and he sent a message that he wouldbe here himself this morning. But this morning this note came from him. You'd better read it yourself; there is one point in it which worries mevery much. . . You will soon see what that is, and. . . Tell me your candidopinion, Dmitri Prokofitch! You know Rodya's character better thananyone and no one can advise us better than you can. Dounia, I must tellyou, made her decision at once, but I still don't feel sure how to actand I. . . I've been waiting for your opinion. "

Razumihin opened the note which was dated the previous evening and readas follows:

"Dear Madam, Pulcheria Alexandrovna, I have the honour to inform youthat owing to unforeseen obstacles I was rendered unable to meet you atthe railway station; I sent a very competent person with the same objectin view. I likewise shall be deprived of the honour of an interview withyou to-morrow morning by business in the Senate that does not admit ofdelay, and also that I may not intrude on your family circle while youare meeting your son, and Avdotya Romanovna her brother. I shall havethe honour of visiting you and paying you my respects at your lodgingsnot later than to-morrow evening at eight o'clock precisely, andherewith I venture to present my earnest and, I may add, imperativerequest that Rodion Romanovitch may not be present at our interview--ashe offered me a gross and unprecedented affront on the occasion of myvisit to him in his illness yesterday, and, moreover, since I desirefrom you personally an indispensable and circumstantial explanationupon a certain point, in regard to which I wish to learn your owninterpretation. I have the honour to inform you, in anticipation, that if, in spite of my request, I meet Rodion Romanovitch, I shall becompelled to withdraw immediately and then you have only yourself toblame. I write on the assumption that Rodion Romanovitch who appeared soill at my visit, suddenly recovered two hours later and so, being ableto leave the house, may visit you also. I was confirmed in that beliefby the testimony of my own eyes in the lodging of a drunken man whowas run over and has since died, to whose daughter, a young woman ofnotorious behaviour, he gave twenty-five roubles on the pretext of thefuneral, which gravely surprised me knowing what pains you were at toraise that sum. Herewith expressing my special respect to your estimabledaughter, Avdotya Romanovna, I beg you to accept the respectful homageof

"Your humble servant, "P. LUZHIN. "

"What am I to do now, Dmitri Prokofitch?" began Pulcheria Alexandrovna, almost weeping. "How can I ask Rodya not to come? Yesterday he insistedso earnestly on our refusing Pyotr Petrovitch and now we are ordered notto receive Rodya! He will come on purpose if he knows, and. . . What willhappen then?"

"Act on Avdotya Romanovna's decision, " Razumihin answered calmly atonce. 

"Oh, dear me! She says. . . Goodness knows what she says, she doesn'texplain her object! She says that it would be best, at least, not thatit would be best, but that it's absolutely necessary that Rodya shouldmake a point of being here at eight o'clock and that they must meet. . . . I didn't want even to show him the letter, but to prevent himfrom coming by some stratagem with your help. . . Because he is soirritable. . . . Besides I don't understand about that drunkard who diedand that daughter, and how he could have given the daughter all themoney. . . Which. . . "

"Which cost you such sacrifice, mother, " put in Avdotya Romanovna. 

"He was not himself yesterday, " Razumihin said thoughtfully, "if youonly knew what he was up to in a restaurant yesterday, though therewas sense in it too. . . . Hm! He did say something, as we were going homeyesterday evening, about a dead man and a girl, but I didn't understanda word. . . . But last night, I myself. . . "

"The best thing, mother, will be for us to go to him ourselves andthere I assure you we shall see at once what's to be done. Besides, it's getting late--good heavens, it's past ten, " she cried looking ata splendid gold enamelled watch which hung round her neck on a thinVenetian chain, and looked entirely out of keeping with the rest of herdress. "A present from her _fiancé_, " thought Razumihin. 

"We must start, Dounia, we must start, " her mother cried in a flutter. "He will be thinking we are still angry after yesterday, from our comingso late. Merciful heavens!"

While she said this she was hurriedly putting on her hat and mantle;Dounia, too, put on her things. Her gloves, as Razumihin noticed, werenot merely shabby but had holes in them, and yet this evident povertygave the two ladies an air of special dignity, which is always found inpeople who know how to wear poor clothes. Razumihin looked reverentlyat Dounia and felt proud of escorting her. "The queen who mended herstockings in prison, " he thought, "must have looked then every inch aqueen and even more a queen than at sumptuous banquets and levées. "

"My God!" exclaimed Pulcheria Alexandrovna, "little did I think that Ishould ever fear seeing my son, my darling, darling Rodya! I am afraid, Dmitri Prokofitch, " she added, glancing at him timidly. 

"Don't be afraid, mother, " said Dounia, kissing her, "better have faithin him. "

"Oh, dear, I have faith in him, but I haven't slept all night, "exclaimed the poor woman. 

They came out into the street. 

"Do you know, Dounia, when I dozed a little this morning I dreamed ofMarfa Petrovna. . . She was all in white. . . She came up to me, tookmy hand, and shook her head at me, but so sternly as though she wereblaming me. . . . Is that a good omen? Oh, dear me! You don't know, DmitriProkofitch, that Marfa Petrovna's dead!"

"No, I didn't know; who is Marfa Petrovna?"

"She died suddenly; and only fancy. . . "

"Afterwards, mamma, " put in Dounia. "He doesn't know who Marfa Petrovnais. "

"Ah, you don't know? And I was thinking that you knew all about us. Forgive me, Dmitri Prokofitch, I don't know what I am thinking aboutthese last few days. I look upon you really as a providence for us, andso I took it for granted that you knew all about us. I look on you as arelation. . . . Don't be angry with me for saying so. Dear me, what's thematter with your right hand? Have you knocked it?"

"Yes, I bruised it, " muttered Razumihin overjoyed. 

"I sometimes speak too much from the heart, so that Dounia finds faultwith me. . . . But, dear me, what a cupboard he lives in! I wonder whetherhe is awake? Does this woman, his landlady, consider it a room? Listen, you say he does not like to show his feelings, so perhaps I shall annoyhim with my. . . Weaknesses? Do advise me, Dmitri Prokofitch, how am I totreat him? I feel quite distracted, you know. "

"Don't question him too much about anything if you see him frown; don'task him too much about his health; he doesn't like that. "

"Ah, Dmitri Prokofitch, how hard it is to be a mother! But here are thestairs. . . . What an awful staircase!"

"Mother, you are quite pale, don't distress yourself, darling, " saidDounia caressing her, then with flashing eyes she added: "He ought to behappy at seeing you, and you are tormenting yourself so. "

"Wait, I'll peep in and see whether he has waked up. "

The ladies slowly followed Razumihin, who went on before, and when theyreached the landlady's door on the fourth storey, they noticed that herdoor was a tiny crack open and that two keen black eyes were watchingthem from the darkness within. When their eyes met, the door wassuddenly shut with such a slam that Pulcheria Alexandrovna almost criedout. 

CHAPTER III

"He is well, quite well!" Zossimov cried cheerfully as they entered. 

He had come in ten minutes earlier and was sitting in the same placeas before, on the sofa. Raskolnikov was sitting in the opposite corner, fully dressed and carefully washed and combed, as he had not been forsome time past. The room was immediately crowded, yet Nastasya managedto follow the visitors in and stayed to listen. 

Raskolnikov really was almost well, as compared with his condition theday before, but he was still pale, listless, and sombre. He looked likea wounded man or one who has undergone some terrible physical suffering. His brows were knitted, his lips compressed, his eyes feverish. He spokelittle and reluctantly, as though performing a duty, and there was arestlessness in his movements. 

He only wanted a sling on his arm or a bandage on his finger to completethe impression of a man with a painful abscess or a broken arm. Thepale, sombre face lighted up for a moment when his mother and sisterentered, but this only gave it a look of more intense suffering, inplace of its listless dejection. The light soon died away, but the lookof suffering remained, and Zossimov, watching and studying his patientwith all the zest of a young doctor beginning to practise, noticedin him no joy at the arrival of his mother and sister, but a sort ofbitter, hidden determination to bear another hour or two of inevitabletorture. He saw later that almost every word of the followingconversation seemed to touch on some sore place and irritate it. Butat the same time he marvelled at the power of controlling himselfand hiding his feelings in a patient who the previous day had, like amonomaniac, fallen into a frenzy at the slightest word. 

"Yes, I see myself now that I am almost well, " said Raskolnikov, giving his mother and sister a kiss of welcome which made PulcheriaAlexandrovna radiant at once. "And I don't say this _as I didyesterday_, " he said, addressing Razumihin, with a friendly pressure ofhis hand. 

"Yes, indeed, I am quite surprised at him to-day, " began Zossimov, muchdelighted at the ladies' entrance, for he had not succeeded in keepingup a conversation with his patient for ten minutes. "In another three orfour days, if he goes on like this, he will be just as before, that is, as he was a month ago, or two. . . Or perhaps even three. This has beencoming on for a long while. . . . Eh? Confess, now, that it has beenperhaps your own fault?" he added, with a tentative smile, as thoughstill afraid of irritating him. 

"It is very possible, " answered Raskolnikov coldly. 

"I should say, too, " continued Zossimov with zest, "that your completerecovery depends solely on yourself. Now that one can talk to you, I should like to impress upon you that it is essential to avoid theelementary, so to speak, fundamental causes tending to produce yourmorbid condition: in that case you will be cured, if not, it will gofrom bad to worse. These fundamental causes I don't know, but they mustbe known to you. You are an intelligent man, and must have observedyourself, of course. I fancy the first stage of your derangementcoincides with your leaving the university. You must not be left withoutoccupation, and so, work and a definite aim set before you might, Ifancy, be very beneficial. "

"Yes, yes; you are perfectly right. . . . I will make haste and return tothe university: and then everything will go smoothly. . . . "

Zossimov, who had begun his sage advice partly to make an effect beforethe ladies, was certainly somewhat mystified, when, glancing at hispatient, he observed unmistakable mockery on his face. This lastedan instant, however. Pulcheria Alexandrovna began at once thankingZossimov, especially for his visit to their lodging the previous night. 

"What! he saw you last night?" Raskolnikov asked, as though startled. "Then you have not slept either after your journey. "

"Ach, Rodya, that was only till two o'clock. Dounia and I never go tobed before two at home. "

"I don't know how to thank him either, " Raskolnikov went on, suddenly frowning and looking down. "Setting aside the question ofpayment--forgive me for referring to it (he turned to Zossimov)--Ireally don't know what I have done to deserve such special attentionfrom you! I simply don't understand it. . . And. . . And. . . It weighs uponme, indeed, because I don't understand it. I tell you so candidly. "

"Don't be irritated. " Zossimov forced himself to laugh. "Assume that youare my first patient--well--we fellows just beginning to practise loveour first patients as if they were our children, and some almost fall inlove with them. And, of course, I am not rich in patients. "

"I say nothing about him, " added Raskolnikov, pointing to Razumihin, "though he has had nothing from me either but insult and trouble. "

"What nonsense he is talking! Why, you are in a sentimental mood to-day, are you?" shouted Razumihin. 

If he had had more penetration he would have seen that there was notrace of sentimentality in him, but something indeed quite the opposite. But Avdotya Romanovna noticed it. She was intently and uneasily watchingher brother. 

"As for you, mother, I don't dare to speak, " he went on, as thoughrepeating a lesson learned by heart. "It is only to-day that I havebeen able to realise a little how distressed you must have been hereyesterday, waiting for me to come back. "

When he had said this, he suddenly held out his hand to his sister, smiling without a word. But in this smile there was a flash of realunfeigned feeling. Dounia caught it at once, and warmly pressed hishand, overjoyed and thankful. It was the first time he had addressed hersince their dispute the previous day. The mother's face lighted upwith ecstatic happiness at the sight of this conclusive unspokenreconciliation. "Yes, that is what I love him for, " Razumihin, exaggerating it all, muttered to himself, with a vigorous turn in hischair. "He has these movements. "

"And how well he does it all, " the mother was thinking to herself. "Whatgenerous impulses he has, and how simply, how delicately he put an endto all the misunderstanding with his sister--simply by holding out hishand at the right minute and looking at her like that. . . . And whatfine eyes he has, and how fine his whole face is!. . . He is even betterlooking than Dounia. . . . But, good heavens, what a suit--how terriblyhe's dressed!. . . Vasya, the messenger boy in Afanasy Ivanitch's shop, isbetter dressed! I could rush at him and hug him. . . Weep over him--butI am afraid. . . . Oh, dear, he's so strange! He's talking kindly, but I'mafraid! Why, what am I afraid of?. . . "

"Oh, Rodya, you wouldn't believe, " she began suddenly, in haste toanswer his words to her, "how unhappy Dounia and I were yesterday! Nowthat it's all over and done with and we are quite happy again--I cantell you. Fancy, we ran here almost straight from the train to embraceyou and that woman--ah, here she is! Good morning, Nastasya!. . . She toldus at once that you were lying in a high fever and had just run awayfrom the doctor in delirium, and they were looking for you in thestreets. You can't imagine how we felt! I couldn't help thinking of thetragic end of Lieutenant Potanchikov, a friend of your father's--youcan't remember him, Rodya--who ran out in the same way in a high feverand fell into the well in the court-yard and they couldn't pull him outtill next day. Of course, we exaggerated things. We were on the point ofrushing to find Pyotr Petrovitch to ask him to help. . . . Because we werealone, utterly alone, " she said plaintively and stopped short, suddenly, recollecting it was still somewhat dangerous to speak of PyotrPetrovitch, although "we are quite happy again. "

"Yes, yes. . . . Of course it's very annoying. . . . " Raskolnikov muttered inreply, but with such a preoccupied and inattentive air that Dounia gazedat him in perplexity. 

"What else was it I wanted to say?" He went on trying to recollect. "Oh, yes; mother, and you too, Dounia, please don't think that I didn't meanto come and see you to-day and was waiting for you to come first. "

"What are you saying, Rodya?" cried Pulcheria Alexandrovna. She, too, was surprised. 

"Is he answering us as a duty?" Dounia wondered. "Is he being reconciledand asking forgiveness as though he were performing a rite or repeatinga lesson?"

"I've only just waked up, and wanted to go to you, but was delayed owingto my clothes; I forgot yesterday to ask her. . . Nastasya. . . To wash outthe blood. . . I've only just dressed. "

"Blood! What blood?" Pulcheria Alexandrovna asked in alarm. 

"Oh, nothing--don't be uneasy. It was when I was wandering aboutyesterday, rather delirious, I chanced upon a man who had been runover. . . A clerk. . . "

"Delirious? But you remember everything!" Razumihin interrupted. 

"That's true, " Raskolnikov answered with special carefulness. "Iremember everything even to the slightest detail, and yet--why I didthat and went there and said that, I can't clearly explain now. "

"A familiar phenomenon, " interposed Zossimov, "actions are sometimesperformed in a masterly and most cunning way, while the direction of theactions is deranged and dependent on various morbid impressions--it'slike a dream. "

"Perhaps it's a good thing really that he should think me almost amadman, " thought Raskolnikov. 

"Why, people in perfect health act in the same way too, " observedDounia, looking uneasily at Zossimov. 

"There is some truth in your observation, " the latter replied. "In thatsense we are certainly all not infrequently like madmen, but with theslight difference that the deranged are somewhat madder, for wemust draw a line. A normal man, it is true, hardly exists. Amongdozens--perhaps hundreds of thousands--hardly one is to be met with. "

At the word "madman, " carelessly dropped by Zossimov in his chatter onhis favourite subject, everyone frowned. 

Raskolnikov sat seeming not to pay attention, plunged in thought with astrange smile on his pale lips. He was still meditating on something. 

"Well, what about the man who was run over? I interrupted you!"Razumihin cried hastily. 

"What?" Raskolnikov seemed to wake up. "Oh. . . I got spattered withblood helping to carry him to his lodging. By the way, mamma, I did anunpardonable thing yesterday. I was literally out of my mind. I gaveaway all the money you sent me. . . To his wife for the funeral. She'sa widow now, in consumption, a poor creature. . . Three little children, starving. . . Nothing in the house. . . There's a daughter, too. . . Perhapsyou'd have given it yourself if you'd seen them. But I had no right todo it I admit, especially as I knew how you needed the money yourself. To help others one must have the right to do it, or else _Crevez, chiens, si vous n'êtes pas contents_. " He laughed, "That's right, isn'tit, Dounia?"

"No, it's not, " answered Dounia firmly. 

"Bah! you, too, have ideals, " he muttered, looking at her almost withhatred, and smiling sarcastically. "I ought to have considered that. . . . Well, that's praiseworthy, and it's better for you. . . And if you reach aline you won't overstep, you will be unhappy. . . And if you overstep it, maybe you will be still unhappier. . . . But all that's nonsense, " he addedirritably, vexed at being carried away. "I only meant to say that I begyour forgiveness, mother, " he concluded, shortly and abruptly. 

"That's enough, Rodya, I am sure that everything you do is very good, "said his mother, delighted. 

"Don't be too sure, " he answered, twisting his mouth into a smile. 

A silence followed. There was a certain constraint in all thisconversation, and in the silence, and in the reconciliation, and in theforgiveness, and all were feeling it. 

"It is as though they were afraid of me, " Raskolnikov was thinkingto himself, looking askance at his mother and sister. PulcheriaAlexandrovna was indeed growing more timid the longer she kept silent. 

"Yet in their absence I seemed to love them so much, " flashed throughhis mind. 

"Do you know, Rodya, Marfa Petrovna is dead, " Pulcheria Alexandrovnasuddenly blurted out. 

"What Marfa Petrovna?"

"Oh, mercy on us--Marfa Petrovna Svidrigaïlov. I wrote you so much abouther. "

"A-a-h! Yes, I remember. . . . So she's dead! Oh, really?" he rousedhimself suddenly, as if waking up. "What did she die of?"

"Only imagine, quite suddenly, " Pulcheria Alexandrovna answeredhurriedly, encouraged by his curiosity. "On the very day I was sendingyou that letter! Would you believe it, that awful man seems to have beenthe cause of her death. They say he beat her dreadfully. "

"Why, were they on such bad terms?" he asked, addressing his sister. 

"Not at all. Quite the contrary indeed. With her, he was always verypatient, considerate even. In fact, all those seven years of theirmarried life he gave way to her, too much so indeed, in many cases. Allof a sudden he seems to have lost patience. "

"Then he could not have been so awful if he controlled himself for sevenyears? You seem to be defending him, Dounia?"

"No, no, he's an awful man! I can imagine nothing more awful!" Douniaanswered, almost with a shudder, knitting her brows, and sinking intothought. 

"That had happened in the morning, " Pulcheria Alexandrovna went onhurriedly. "And directly afterwards she ordered the horses to beharnessed to drive to the town immediately after dinner. She always usedto drive to the town in such cases. She ate a very good dinner, I amtold. . . . "

"After the beating?"

"That was always her. . . Habit; and immediately after dinner, so as notto be late in starting, she went to the bath-house. . . . You see, she wasundergoing some treatment with baths. They have a cold spring there, andshe used to bathe in it regularly every day, and no sooner had she gotinto the water when she suddenly had a stroke!"

"I should think so, " said Zossimov. 

"And did he beat her badly?"

"What does that matter!" put in Dounia. 

"H'm! But I don't know why you want to tell us such gossip, mother, "said Raskolnikov irritably, as it were in spite of himself. 

"Ah, my dear, I don't know what to talk about, " broke from PulcheriaAlexandrovna. 

"Why, are you all afraid of me?" he asked, with a constrained smile. 

"That's certainly true, " said Dounia, looking directly and sternly ather brother. "Mother was crossing herself with terror as she came up thestairs. "

His face worked, as though in convulsion. 

"Ach, what are you saying, Dounia! Don't be angry, please, Rodya. . . . Why did you say that, Dounia?" Pulcheria Alexandrovna began, overwhelmed--"You see, coming here, I was dreaming all the way, in thetrain, how we should meet, how we should talk over everythingtogether. . . . And I was so happy, I did not notice the journey! But whatam I saying? I am happy now. . . . You should not, Dounia. . . . I am happynow--simply in seeing you, Rodya. . . . "

"Hush, mother, " he muttered in confusion, not looking at her, butpressing her hand. "We shall have time to speak freely of everything!"

As he said this, he was suddenly overwhelmed with confusion and turnedpale. Again that awful sensation he had known of late passed with deadlychill over his soul. Again it became suddenly plain and perceptible tohim that he had just told a fearful lie--that he would never now beable to speak freely of everything--that he would never again be able to_speak_ of anything to anyone. The anguish of this thought was such thatfor a moment he almost forgot himself. He got up from his seat, and notlooking at anyone walked towards the door. 

"What are you about?" cried Razumihin, clutching him by the arm. 

He sat down again, and began looking about him, in silence. They wereall looking at him in perplexity. 

"But what are you all so dull for?" he shouted, suddenly and quiteunexpectedly. "Do say something! What's the use of sitting like this?Come, do speak. Let us talk. . . . We meet together and sit in silence. . . . Come, anything!"

"Thank God; I was afraid the same thing as yesterday was beginningagain, " said Pulcheria Alexandrovna, crossing herself. 

"What is the matter, Rodya?" asked Avdotya Romanovna, distrustfully. 

"Oh, nothing! I remembered something, " he answered, and suddenlylaughed. 

"Well, if you remembered something; that's all right!. . . I was beginningto think. . . " muttered Zossimov, getting up from the sofa. "It is timefor me to be off. I will look in again perhaps. . . If I can. . . " He madehis bows, and went out. 

"What an excellent man!" observed Pulcheria Alexandrovna. 

"Yes, excellent, splendid, well-educated, intelligent, " Raskolnikovbegan, suddenly speaking with surprising rapidity, and a liveliness hehad not shown till then. "I can't remember where I met him before myillness. . . . I believe I have met him somewhere----. . . And this is a goodman, too, " he nodded at Razumihin. "Do you like him, Dounia?" he askedher; and suddenly, for some unknown reason, laughed. 

"Very much, " answered Dounia. 

"Foo!--what a pig you are!" Razumihin protested, blushing in terribleconfusion, and he got up from his chair. Pulcheria Alexandrovna smiledfaintly, but Raskolnikov laughed aloud. 

"Where are you off to?"

"I must go. "

"You need not at all. Stay. Zossimov has gone, so you must. Don't go. What's the time? Is it twelve o'clock? What a pretty watch you have got, Dounia. But why are you all silent again? I do all the talking. "

"It was a present from Marfa Petrovna, " answered Dounia. 

"And a very expensive one!" added Pulcheria Alexandrovna. 

"A-ah! What a big one! Hardly like a lady's. "

"I like that sort, " said Dounia. 

"So it is not a present from her _fiancé_, " thought Razumihin, and wasunreasonably delighted. 

"I thought it was Luzhin's present, " observed Raskolnikov. 

"No, he has not made Dounia any presents yet. "

"A-ah! And do you remember, mother, I was in love and wanted to getmarried?" he said suddenly, looking at his mother, who was disconcertedby the sudden change of subject and the way he spoke of it. 

"Oh, yes, my dear. "

Pulcheria Alexandrovna exchanged glances with Dounia and Razumihin. 

"H'm, yes. What shall I tell you? I don't remember much indeed. She wassuch a sickly girl, " he went on, growing dreamy and looking down again. "Quite an invalid. She was fond of giving alms to the poor, and wasalways dreaming of a nunnery, and once she burst into tears when shebegan talking to me about it. Yes, yes, I remember. I remember verywell. She was an ugly little thing. I really don't know what drew meto her then--I think it was because she was always ill. If she had beenlame or hunchback, I believe I should have liked her better still, " hesmiled dreamily. "Yes, it was a sort of spring delirium. "

"No, it was not only spring delirium, " said Dounia, with warm feeling. 

He fixed a strained intent look on his sister, but did not hear or didnot understand her words. Then, completely lost in thought, he got up, went up to his mother, kissed her, went back to his place and sat down. 

"You love her even now?" said Pulcheria Alexandrovna, touched. 

"Her? Now? Oh, yes. . . . You ask about her? No. . . That's all now, asit were, in another world. . . And so long ago. And indeed everythinghappening here seems somehow far away. " He looked attentively at them. "You, now. . . I seem to be looking at you from a thousand miles away. . . But, goodness knows why we are talking of that! And what's the use ofasking about it?" he added with annoyance, and biting his nails, fellinto dreamy silence again. 

"What a wretched lodging you have, Rodya! It's like a tomb, " saidPulcheria Alexandrovna, suddenly breaking the oppressive silence. "Iam sure it's quite half through your lodging you have become somelancholy. "

"My lodging, " he answered, listlessly. "Yes, the lodging had a greatdeal to do with it. . . . I thought that, too. . . . If only you knew, though, what a strange thing you said just now, mother, " he said, laughingstrangely. 

A little more, and their companionship, this mother and this sister, with him after three years' absence, this intimate tone of conversation, in face of the utter impossibility of really speaking about anything, would have been beyond his power of endurance. But there was one urgentmatter which must be settled one way or the other that day--so he haddecided when he woke. Now he was glad to remember it, as a means ofescape. 

"Listen, Dounia, " he began, gravely and drily, "of course I beg yourpardon for yesterday, but I consider it my duty to tell you again thatI do not withdraw from my chief point. It is me or Luzhin. If I am ascoundrel, you must not be. One is enough. If you marry Luzhin, I ceaseat once to look on you as a sister. "

"Rodya, Rodya! It is the same as yesterday again, " PulcheriaAlexandrovna cried, mournfully. "And why do you call yourself ascoundrel? I can't bear it. You said the same yesterday. "

"Brother, " Dounia answered firmly and with the same dryness. "In allthis there is a mistake on your part. I thought it over at night, and found out the mistake. It is all because you seem to fancy I amsacrificing myself to someone and for someone. That is not the case atall. I am simply marrying for my own sake, because things are hard forme. Though, of course, I shall be glad if I succeed in being useful tomy family. But that is not the chief motive for my decision. . . . "

"She is lying, " he thought to himself, biting his nails vindictively. "Proud creature! She won't admit she wants to do it out of charity! Toohaughty! Oh, base characters! They even love as though they hate. . . . Oh, how I. . . Hate them all!"

"In fact, " continued Dounia, "I am marrying Pyotr Petrovitch because oftwo evils I choose the less. I intend to do honestly all he expects ofme, so I am not deceiving him. . . . Why did you smile just now?" She, too, flushed, and there was a gleam of anger in her eyes. 

"All?" he asked, with a malignant grin. 

"Within certain limits. Both the manner and form of Pyotr Petrovitch'scourtship showed me at once what he wanted. He may, of course, think toowell of himself, but I hope he esteems me, too. . . . Why are you laughingagain?"

"And why are you blushing again? You are lying, sister. You areintentionally lying, simply from feminine obstinacy, simply to hold yourown against me. . . . You cannot respect Luzhin. I have seen him and talkedwith him. So you are selling yourself for money, and so in any case youare acting basely, and I am glad at least that you can blush for it. "

"It is not true. I am not lying, " cried Dounia, losing her composure. "I would not marry him if I were not convinced that he esteems meand thinks highly of me. I would not marry him if I were not firmlyconvinced that I can respect him. Fortunately, I can have convincingproof of it this very day. . . And such a marriage is not a vileness, asyou say! And even if you were right, if I really had determined on avile action, is it not merciless on your part to speak to me like that?Why do you demand of me a heroism that perhaps you have not either? Itis despotism; it is tyranny. If I ruin anyone, it is only myself. . . . Iam not committing a murder. Why do you look at me like that? Why are youso pale? Rodya, darling, what's the matter?"

"Good heavens! You have made him faint, " cried Pulcheria Alexandrovna. 

"No, no, nonsense! It's nothing. A little giddiness--not fainting. Youhave fainting on the brain. H'm, yes, what was I saying? Oh, yes. Inwhat way will you get convincing proof to-day that you can respect him, and that he. . . Esteems you, as you said. I think you said to-day?"

"Mother, show Rodya Pyotr Petrovitch's letter, " said Dounia. 

With trembling hands, Pulcheria Alexandrovna gave him the letter. Hetook it with great interest, but, before opening it, he suddenly lookedwith a sort of wonder at Dounia. 

"It is strange, " he said, slowly, as though struck by a new idea. "Whatam I making such a fuss for? What is it all about? Marry whom you like!"

He said this as though to himself, but said it aloud, and looked forsome time at his sister, as though puzzled. He opened the letter atlast, still with the same look of strange wonder on his face. Then, slowly and attentively, he began reading, and read it through twice. Pulcheria Alexandrovna showed marked anxiety, and all indeed expectedsomething particular. 

"What surprises me, " he began, after a short pause, handing the letterto his mother, but not addressing anyone in particular, "is that he is abusiness man, a lawyer, and his conversation is pretentious indeed, andyet he writes such an uneducated letter. "

They all started. They had expected something quite different. 

"But they all write like that, you know, " Razumihin observed, abruptly. 

"Have you read it?"

"Yes. "

"We showed him, Rodya. We. . . Consulted him just now, " PulcheriaAlexandrovna began, embarrassed. 

"That's just the jargon of the courts, " Razumihin put in. "Legaldocuments are written like that to this day. "

"Legal? Yes, it's just legal--business language--not so very uneducated, and not quite educated--business language!"

"Pyotr Petrovitch makes no secret of the fact that he had a cheapeducation, he is proud indeed of having made his own way, " AvdotyaRomanovna observed, somewhat offended by her brother's tone. 

"Well, if he's proud of it, he has reason, I don't deny it. You seem tobe offended, sister, at my making only such a frivolous criticism on theletter, and to think that I speak of such trifling matters on purpose toannoy you. It is quite the contrary, an observation apropos of the styleoccurred to me that is by no means irrelevant as things stand. Thereis one expression, 'blame yourselves' put in very significantly andplainly, and there is besides a threat that he will go away at once if Iam present. That threat to go away is equivalent to a threat to abandonyou both if you are disobedient, and to abandon you now after summoningyou to Petersburg. Well, what do you think? Can one resent such anexpression from Luzhin, as we should if he (he pointed to Razumihin) hadwritten it, or Zossimov, or one of us?"

"N-no, " answered Dounia, with more animation. "I saw clearly that itwas too naïvely expressed, and that perhaps he simply has no skillin writing. . . That is a true criticism, brother. I did not expect, indeed. . . "

"It is expressed in legal style, and sounds coarser than perhaps heintended. But I must disillusion you a little. There is one expressionin the letter, one slander about me, and rather a contemptible one. Igave the money last night to the widow, a woman in consumption, crushedwith trouble, and not 'on the pretext of the funeral, ' but simply to payfor the funeral, and not to the daughter--a young woman, as he writes, of notorious behaviour (whom I saw last night for the first time in mylife)--but to the widow. In all this I see a too hasty desire to slanderme and to raise dissension between us. It is expressed again in legaljargon, that is to say, with a too obvious display of the aim, andwith a very naïve eagerness. He is a man of intelligence, but to actsensibly, intelligence is not enough. It all shows the man and. . . Idon't think he has a great esteem for you. I tell you this simply towarn you, because I sincerely wish for your good. . . "

Dounia did not reply. Her resolution had been taken. She was onlyawaiting the evening. 

"Then what is your decision, Rodya?" asked Pulcheria Alexandrovna, whowas more uneasy than ever at the sudden, new businesslike tone of histalk. 

"What decision?"

"You see Pyotr Petrovitch writes that you are not to be with us thisevening, and that he will go away if you come. So will you. . . Come?"

"That, of course, is not for me to decide, but for you first, if you arenot offended by such a request; and secondly, by Dounia, if she, too, isnot offended. I will do what you think best, " he added, drily. 

"Dounia has already decided, and I fully agree with her, " PulcheriaAlexandrovna hastened to declare. 

"I decided to ask you, Rodya, to urge you not to fail to be with us atthis interview, " said Dounia. "Will you come?"

"Yes. "

"I will ask you, too, to be with us at eight o'clock, " she said, addressing Razumihin. "Mother, I am inviting him, too. "

"Quite right, Dounia. Well, since you have decided, " added PulcheriaAlexandrovna, "so be it. I shall feel easier myself. I do not likeconcealment and deception. Better let us have the whole truth. . . . PyotrPetrovitch may be angry or not, now!"

CHAPTER IV

At that moment the door was softly opened, and a young girl walked intothe room, looking timidly about her. Everyone turned towards her withsurprise and curiosity. At first sight, Raskolnikov did not recogniseher. It was Sofya Semyonovna Marmeladov. He had seen her yesterday forthe first time, but at such a moment, in such surroundings and in sucha dress, that his memory retained a very different image of her. Now shewas a modestly and poorly-dressed young girl, very young, indeed, almost like a child, with a modest and refined manner, with a candid butsomewhat frightened-looking face. She was wearing a very plain indoordress, and had on a shabby old-fashioned hat, but she still carried aparasol. Unexpectedly finding the room full of people, she was not somuch embarrassed as completely overwhelmed with shyness, like alittle child. She was even about to retreat. "Oh. . . It's you!" saidRaskolnikov, extremely astonished, and he, too, was confused. He at oncerecollected that his mother and sister knew through Luzhin's letterof "some young woman of notorious behaviour. " He had only just beenprotesting against Luzhin's calumny and declaring that he had seen thegirl last night for the first time, and suddenly she had walked in. Heremembered, too, that he had not protested against the expression "ofnotorious behaviour. " All this passed vaguely and fleetingly throughhis brain, but looking at her more intently, he saw that the humiliatedcreature was so humiliated that he felt suddenly sorry for her. When shemade a movement to retreat in terror, it sent a pang to his heart. 

"I did not expect you, " he said, hurriedly, with a look that made herstop. "Please sit down. You come, no doubt, from Katerina Ivanovna. Allow me--not there. Sit here. . . . "

At Sonia's entrance, Razumihin, who had been sitting on one ofRaskolnikov's three chairs, close to the door, got up to allow her toenter. Raskolnikov had at first shown her the place on the sofa whereZossimov had been sitting, but feeling that the sofa which served himas a bed, was too _familiar_ a place, he hurriedly motioned her toRazumihin's chair. 

"You sit here, " he said to Razumihin, putting him on the sofa. 

Sonia sat down, almost shaking with terror, and looked timidly at thetwo ladies. It was evidently almost inconceivable to herself that shecould sit down beside them. At the thought of it, she was so frightenedthat she hurriedly got up again, and in utter confusion addressedRaskolnikov. 

"I. . . I. . . Have come for one minute. Forgive me for disturbing you, " shebegan falteringly. "I come from Katerina Ivanovna, and she had no one tosend. Katerina Ivanovna told me to beg you. . . To be at the service. . . Inthe morning. . . At Mitrofanievsky. . . And then. . . To us. . . To her. . . To do her the honour. . . She told me to beg you. . . " Sonia stammered andceased speaking. 

"I will try, certainly, most certainly, " answered Raskolnikov. He, too, stood up, and he, too, faltered and could not finish his sentence. "Please sit down, " he said, suddenly. "I want to talk to you. You areperhaps in a hurry, but please, be so kind, spare me two minutes, " andhe drew up a chair for her. 

Sonia sat down again, and again timidly she took a hurried, frightenedlook at the two ladies, and dropped her eyes. Raskolnikov's pale faceflushed, a shudder passed over him, his eyes glowed. 

"Mother, " he said, firmly and insistently, "this is Sofya SemyonovnaMarmeladov, the daughter of that unfortunate Mr. Marmeladov, who was runover yesterday before my eyes, and of whom I was just telling you. "

Pulcheria Alexandrovna glanced at Sonia, and slightly screwed upher eyes. In spite of her embarrassment before Rodya's urgent andchallenging look, she could not deny herself that satisfaction. Douniagazed gravely and intently into the poor girl's face, and scrutinisedher with perplexity. Sonia, hearing herself introduced, tried to raiseher eyes again, but was more embarrassed than ever. 

"I wanted to ask you, " said Raskolnikov, hastily, "how things werearranged yesterday. You were not worried by the police, for instance?"

"No, that was all right. . . It was too evident, the cause of death. . . They did not worry us. . . Only the lodgers are angry. "

"Why?"

"At the body's remaining so long. You see it is hot now. So that, to-day, they will carry it to the cemetery, into the chapel, untilto-morrow. At first Katerina Ivanovna was unwilling, but now she seesherself that it's necessary. . . "

"To-day, then?"

"She begs you to do us the honour to be in the church to-morrow for theservice, and then to be present at the funeral lunch. "

"She is giving a funeral lunch?"

"Yes. . . Just a little. . . . She told me to thank you very much for helpingus yesterday. But for you, we should have had nothing for the funeral. "

All at once her lips and chin began trembling, but, with an effort, shecontrolled herself, looking down again. 

During the conversation, Raskolnikov watched her carefully. She had athin, very thin, pale little face, rather irregular and angular, with asharp little nose and chin. She could not have been called pretty, buther blue eyes were so clear, and when they lighted up, there was sucha kindliness and simplicity in her expression that one could not helpbeing attracted. Her face, and her whole figure indeed, had anotherpeculiar characteristic. In spite of her eighteen years, she lookedalmost a little girl--almost a child. And in some of her gestures, thischildishness seemed almost absurd. 

"But has Katerina Ivanovna been able to manage with such small means?Does she even mean to have a funeral lunch?" Raskolnikov asked, persistently keeping up the conversation. 

"The coffin will be plain, of course. . . And everything will be plain, soit won't cost much. Katerina Ivanovna and I have reckoned it all out, sothat there will be enough left. . . And Katerina Ivanovna was very anxiousit should be so. You know one can't. . . It's a comfort to her. . . She islike that, you know. . . . "

"I understand, I understand. . . Of course. . . Why do you look at my roomlike that? My mother has just said it is like a tomb. "

"You gave us everything yesterday, " Sonia said suddenly, in reply, in aloud rapid whisper; and again she looked down in confusion. Her lipsand chin were trembling once more. She had been struck at onceby Raskolnikov's poor surroundings, and now these words broke outspontaneously. A silence followed. There was a light in Dounia's eyes, and even Pulcheria Alexandrovna looked kindly at Sonia. 

"Rodya, " she said, getting up, "we shall have dinner together, ofcourse. Come, Dounia. . . . And you, Rodya, had better go for a littlewalk, and then rest and lie down before you come to see us. . . . I amafraid we have exhausted you. . . . "

"Yes, yes, I'll come, " he answered, getting up fussily. "But I havesomething to see to. "

"But surely you will have dinner together?" cried Razumihin, looking insurprise at Raskolnikov. "What do you mean?"

"Yes, yes, I am coming. . . Of course, of course! And you stay a minute. You do not want him just now, do you, mother? Or perhaps I am taking himfrom you?"

"Oh, no, no. And will you, Dmitri Prokofitch, do us the favour of diningwith us?"

"Please do, " added Dounia. 

Razumihin bowed, positively radiant. For one moment, they were allstrangely embarrassed. 

"Good-bye, Rodya, that is till we meet. I do not like saying good-bye. Good-bye, Nastasya. Ah, I have said good-bye again. "

Pulcheria Alexandrovna meant to greet Sonia, too; but it somehow failedto come off, and she went in a flutter out of the room. 

But Avdotya Romanovna seemed to await her turn, and following her motherout, gave Sonia an attentive, courteous bow. Sonia, in confusion, gavea hurried, frightened curtsy. There was a look of poignant discomfortin her face, as though Avdotya Romanovna's courtesy and attention wereoppressive and painful to her. 

"Dounia, good-bye, " called Raskolnikov, in the passage. "Give me yourhand. "

"Why, I did give it to you. Have you forgotten?" said Dounia, turningwarmly and awkwardly to him. 

"Never mind, give it to me again. " And he squeezed her fingers warmly. 

Dounia smiled, flushed, pulled her hand away, and went off quite happy. 

"Come, that's capital, " he said to Sonia, going back and lookingbrightly at her. "God give peace to the dead, the living have still tolive. That is right, isn't it?"

Sonia looked surprised at the sudden brightness of his face. He lookedat her for some moments in silence. The whole history of the dead fatherfloated before his memory in those moments. . . . 

*****

"Heavens, Dounia, " Pulcheria Alexandrovna began, as soon as they were inthe street, "I really feel relieved myself at coming away--more at ease. How little did I think yesterday in the train that I could ever be gladof that. "

"I tell you again, mother, he is still very ill. Don't you see it?Perhaps worrying about us upset him. We must be patient, and much, muchcan be forgiven. "

"Well, you were not very patient!" Pulcheria Alexandrovna caught her up, hotly and jealously. "Do you know, Dounia, I was looking at you two. Youare the very portrait of him, and not so much in face as in soul. Youare both melancholy, both morose and hot-tempered, both haughty and bothgenerous. . . . Surely he can't be an egoist, Dounia. Eh? When I think ofwhat is in store for us this evening, my heart sinks!"

"Don't be uneasy, mother. What must be, will be. "

"Dounia, only think what a position we are in! What if Pyotr Petrovitchbreaks it off?" poor Pulcheria Alexandrovna blurted out, incautiously. 

"He won't be worth much if he does, " answered Dounia, sharply andcontemptuously. 

"We did well to come away, " Pulcheria Alexandrovna hurriedly broke in. "He was in a hurry about some business or other. If he gets out and hasa breath of air. . . It is fearfully close in his room. . . . But where isone to get a breath of air here? The very streets here feel like shut-uprooms. Good heavens! what a town!. . . Stay. . . This side. . . They willcrush you--carrying something. Why, it is a piano they have got, Ideclare. . . How they push!. . . I am very much afraid of that young woman, too. "

"What young woman, mother?

"Why, that Sofya Semyonovna, who was there just now. "

"Why?"

"I have a presentiment, Dounia. Well, you may believe it or not, butas soon as she came in, that very minute, I felt that she was the chiefcause of the trouble. . . . "

"Nothing of the sort!" cried Dounia, in vexation. "What nonsense, withyour presentiments, mother! He only made her acquaintance the eveningbefore, and he did not know her when she came in. "

"Well, you will see. . . . She worries me; but you will see, you willsee! I was so frightened. She was gazing at me with those eyes. I couldscarcely sit still in my chair when he began introducing her, do youremember? It seems so strange, but Pyotr Petrovitch writes like thatabout her, and he introduces her to us--to you! So he must think a greatdeal of her. "

"People will write anything. We were talked about and written about, too. Have you forgotten? I am sure that she is a good girl, and that itis all nonsense. "

"God grant it may be!"

"And Pyotr Petrovitch is a contemptible slanderer, " Dounia snapped out, suddenly. 

Pulcheria Alexandrovna was crushed; the conversation was not resumed. 

*****

"I will tell you what I want with you, " said Raskolnikov, drawingRazumihin to the window. 

"Then I will tell Katerina Ivanovna that you are coming, " Sonia saidhurriedly, preparing to depart. 

"One minute, Sofya Semyonovna. We have no secrets. You are not in ourway. I want to have another word or two with you. Listen!" he turnedsuddenly to Razumihin again. "You know that. . . What's his name. . . Porfiry Petrovitch?"

"I should think so! He is a relation. Why?" added the latter, withinterest. 

"Is not he managing that case. . . You know, about that murder?. . . Youwere speaking about it yesterday. "

"Yes. . . Well?" Razumihin's eyes opened wide. 

"He was inquiring for people who had pawned things, and I have somepledges there, too--trifles--a ring my sister gave me as a keepsake whenI left home, and my father's silver watch--they are only worth five orsix roubles altogether. . . But I value them. So what am I to do now? Ido not want to lose the things, especially the watch. I was quaking justnow, for fear mother would ask to look at it, when we spoke of Dounia'swatch. It is the only thing of father's left us. She would be ill ifit were lost. You know what women are. So tell me what to do. I know Iought to have given notice at the police station, but would it not bebetter to go straight to Porfiry? Eh? What do you think? The mattermight be settled more quickly. You see, mother may ask for it beforedinner. "

"Certainly not to the police station. Certainly to Porfiry, " Razumihinshouted in extraordinary excitement. "Well, how glad I am. Let us go atonce. It is a couple of steps. We shall be sure to find him. "

"Very well, let us go. "

"And he will be very, very glad to make your acquaintance. I haveoften talked to him of you at different times. I was speaking of youyesterday. Let us go. So you knew the old woman? So that's it! It is allturning out splendidly. . . . Oh, yes, Sofya Ivanovna. . . "

"Sofya Semyonovna, " corrected Raskolnikov. "Sofya Semyonovna, this is myfriend Razumihin, and he is a good man. "

"If you have to go now, " Sonia was beginning, not looking at Razumihinat all, and still more embarrassed. 

"Let us go, " decided Raskolnikov. "I will come to you to-day, SofyaSemyonovna. Only tell me where you live. "

He was not exactly ill at ease, but seemed hurried, and avoided hereyes. Sonia gave her address, and flushed as she did so. They all wentout together. 

"Don't you lock up?" asked Razumihin, following him on to the stairs. 

"Never, " answered Raskolnikov. "I have been meaning to buy a lock forthese two years. People are happy who have no need of locks, " he said, laughing, to Sonia. They stood still in the gateway. 

"Do you go to the right, Sofya Semyonovna? How did you find me, by theway?" he added, as though he wanted to say something quite different. Hewanted to look at her soft clear eyes, but this was not easy. 

"Why, you gave your address to Polenka yesterday. "

"Polenka? Oh, yes; Polenka, that is the little girl. She is your sister?Did I give her the address?"

"Why, had you forgotten?"

"No, I remember. "

"I had heard my father speak of you. . . Only I did not know your name, and he did not know it. And now I came. . . And as I had learnt your name, I asked to-day, 'Where does Mr. Raskolnikov live?' I did not know youhad only a room too. . . . Good-bye, I will tell Katerina Ivanovna. "

She was extremely glad to escape at last; she went away looking down, hurrying to get out of sight as soon as possible, to walk the twentysteps to the turning on the right and to be at last alone, and thenmoving rapidly along, looking at no one, noticing nothing, to think, toremember, to meditate on every word, every detail. Never, never had shefelt anything like this. Dimly and unconsciously a whole new world wasopening before her. She remembered suddenly that Raskolnikov meant tocome to her that day, perhaps at once!

"Only not to-day, please, not to-day!" she kept muttering with a sinkingheart, as though entreating someone, like a frightened child. "Mercy! tome. . . To that room. . . He will see. . . Oh, dear!"

She was not capable at that instant of noticing an unknown gentleman whowas watching her and following at her heels. He had accompanied her fromthe gateway. At the moment when Razumihin, Raskolnikov, and she stoodstill at parting on the pavement, this gentleman, who was just passing, started on hearing Sonia's words: "and I asked where Mr. Raskolnikovlived?" He turned a rapid but attentive look upon all three, especiallyupon Raskolnikov, to whom Sonia was speaking; then looked back and notedthe house. All this was done in an instant as he passed, and trying notto betray his interest, he walked on more slowly as though waiting forsomething. He was waiting for Sonia; he saw that they were parting, andthat Sonia was going home. 

"Home? Where? I've seen that face somewhere, " he thought. "I must findout. "

At the turning he crossed over, looked round, and saw Sonia coming thesame way, noticing nothing. She turned the corner. He followed her onthe other side. After about fifty paces he crossed over again, overtookher and kept two or three yards behind her. 

He was a man about fifty, rather tall and thickly set, with broad highshoulders which made him look as though he stooped a little. He woregood and fashionable clothes, and looked like a gentleman of position. He carried a handsome cane, which he tapped on the pavement at eachstep; his gloves were spotless. He had a broad, rather pleasant facewith high cheek-bones and a fresh colour, not often seen in Petersburg. His flaxen hair was still abundant, and only touched here and there withgrey, and his thick square beard was even lighter than his hair. His eyes were blue and had a cold and thoughtful look; his lips werecrimson. He was a remarkedly well-preserved man and looked much youngerthan his years. 

When Sonia came out on the canal bank, they were the only two persons onthe pavement. He observed her dreaminess and preoccupation. On reachingthe house where she lodged, Sonia turned in at the gate; he followedher, seeming rather surprised. In the courtyard she turned to the rightcorner. "Bah!" muttered the unknown gentleman, and mounted the stairsbehind her. Only then Sonia noticed him. She reached the third storey, turned down the passage, and rang at No. 9. On the door was inscribedin chalk, "Kapernaumov, Tailor. " "Bah!" the stranger repeated again, wondering at the strange coincidence, and he rang next door, at No. 8. The doors were two or three yards apart. 

"You lodge at Kapernaumov's, " he said, looking at Sonia and laughing. "He altered a waistcoat for me yesterday. I am staying close here atMadame Resslich's. How odd!" Sonia looked at him attentively. 

"We are neighbours, " he went on gaily. "I only came to town the daybefore yesterday. Good-bye for the present. "

Sonia made no reply; the door opened and she slipped in. She felt forsome reason ashamed and uneasy. 

*****

On the way to Porfiry's, Razumihin was obviously excited. 

"That's capital, brother, " he repeated several times, "and I am glad! Iam glad!"

"What are you glad about?" Raskolnikov thought to himself. 

"I didn't know that you pledged things at the old woman's, too. And. . . Was it long ago? I mean, was it long since you were there?"

"What a simple-hearted fool he is!"

"When was it?" Raskolnikov stopped still to recollect. "Two or threedays before her death it must have been. But I am not going to redeemthe things now, " he put in with a sort of hurried and conspicuoussolicitude about the things. "I've not more than a silver roubleleft. . . After last night's accursed delirium!"

He laid special emphasis on the delirium. 

"Yes, yes, " Razumihin hastened to agree--with what was not clear. "Thenthat's why you. . . Were stuck. . . Partly. . . You know in your delirium youwere continually mentioning some rings or chains! Yes, yes. . . That'sclear, it's all clear now. "

"Hullo! How that idea must have got about among them. Here this man willgo to the stake for me, and I find him delighted at having it _clearedup_ why I spoke of rings in my delirium! What a hold the idea must haveon all of them!"

"Shall we find him?" he asked suddenly. 

"Oh, yes, " Razumihin answered quickly. "He is a nice fellow, you willsee, brother. Rather clumsy, that is to say, he is a man of polishedmanners, but I mean clumsy in a different sense. He is an intelligentfellow, very much so indeed, but he has his own range of ideas. . . . Heis incredulous, sceptical, cynical. . . He likes to impose on people, orrather to make fun of them. His is the old, circumstantial method. . . . But he understands his work. . . Thoroughly. . . . Last year he cleared up acase of murder in which the police had hardly a clue. He is very, veryanxious to make your acquaintance!"

"On what grounds is he so anxious?"

"Oh, it's not exactly. . . You see, since you've been ill I happen to havementioned you several times. . . . So, when he heard about you. . . Aboutyour being a law student and not able to finish your studies, he said, 'What a pity!' And so I concluded. . . From everything together, not onlythat; yesterday Zametov. . . You know, Rodya, I talked some nonsense onthe way home to you yesterday, when I was drunk. . . I am afraid, brother, of your exaggerating it, you see. "

"What? That they think I am a madman? Maybe they are right, " he saidwith a constrained smile. 

"Yes, yes. . . . That is, pooh, no!. . . But all that I said (and there wassomething else too) it was all nonsense, drunken nonsense. "

"But why are you apologising? I am so sick of it all!" Raskolnikov criedwith exaggerated irritability. It was partly assumed, however. 

"I know, I know, I understand. Believe me, I understand. One's ashamedto speak of it. "

"If you are ashamed, then don't speak of it. "

Both were silent. Razumihin was more than ecstatic and Raskolnikovperceived it with repulsion. He was alarmed, too, by what Razumihin hadjust said about Porfiry. 

"I shall have to pull a long face with him too, " he thought, with abeating heart, and he turned white, "and do it naturally, too. But themost natural thing would be to do nothing at all. Carefully do nothingat all! No, _carefully_ would not be natural again. . . . Oh, well, weshall see how it turns out. . . . We shall see. . . Directly. Is it a goodthing to go or not? The butterfly flies to the light. My heart isbeating, that's what's bad!"

"In this grey house, " said Razumihin. 

"The most important thing, does Porfiry know that I was at the oldhag's flat yesterday. . . And asked about the blood? I must find that outinstantly, as soon as I go in, find out from his face; otherwise. . . I'llfind out, if it's my ruin. "

"I say, brother, " he said suddenly, addressing Razumihin, with a slysmile, "I have been noticing all day that you seem to be curiouslyexcited. Isn't it so?"

"Excited? Not a bit of it, " said Razumihin, stung to the quick. 

"Yes, brother, I assure you it's noticeable. Why, you sat on your chairin a way you never do sit, on the edge somehow, and you seemed to bewrithing all the time. You kept jumping up for nothing. One moment youwere angry, and the next your face looked like a sweetmeat. You evenblushed; especially when you were invited to dinner, you blushedawfully. "

"Nothing of the sort, nonsense! What do you mean?"

"But why are you wriggling out of it, like a schoolboy? By Jove, therehe's blushing again. "

"What a pig you are!"

"But why are you so shamefaced about it? Romeo! Stay, I'll tell of youto-day. Ha-ha-ha! I'll make mother laugh, and someone else, too. . . "

"Listen, listen, listen, this is serious. . . . What next, you fiend!"Razumihin was utterly overwhelmed, turning cold with horror. "What willyou tell them? Come, brother. . . Foo! what a pig you are!"

"You are like a summer rose. And if only you knew how it suits you; aRomeo over six foot high! And how you've washed to-day--you cleaned yournails, I declare. Eh? That's something unheard of! Why, I do believeyou've got pomatum on your hair! Bend down. "

"Pig!"

Raskolnikov laughed as though he could not restrain himself. Solaughing, they entered Porfiry Petrovitch's flat. This is whatRaskolnikov wanted: from within they could be heard laughing as theycame in, still guffawing in the passage. 

"Not a word here or I'll. . . Brain you!" Razumihin whispered furiously, seizing Raskolnikov by the shoulder. 

CHAPTER V

Raskolnikov was already entering the room. He came in looking as thoughhe had the utmost difficulty not to burst out laughing again. Behind himRazumihin strode in gawky and awkward, shamefaced and red as a peony, with an utterly crestfallen and ferocious expression. His face andwhole figure really were ridiculous at that moment and amply justifiedRaskolnikov's laughter. Raskolnikov, not waiting for an introduction, bowed to Porfiry Petrovitch, who stood in the middle of the roomlooking inquiringly at them. He held out his hand and shook hands, stillapparently making desperate efforts to subdue his mirth and utter a fewwords to introduce himself. But he had no sooner succeeded in assuminga serious air and muttering something when he suddenly glanced again asthough accidentally at Razumihin, and could no longer control himself:his stifled laughter broke out the more irresistibly the more he triedto restrain it. The extraordinary ferocity with which Razumihin receivedthis "spontaneous" mirth gave the whole scene the appearance of mostgenuine fun and naturalness. Razumihin strengthened this impression asthough on purpose. 

"Fool! You fiend, " he roared, waving his arm which at once struck alittle round table with an empty tea-glass on it. Everything was sentflying and crashing. 

"But why break chairs, gentlemen? You know it's a loss to the Crown, "Porfiry Petrovitch quoted gaily. 

Raskolnikov was still laughing, with his hand in Porfiry Petrovitch's, but anxious not to overdo it, awaited the right moment to put a naturalend to it. Razumihin, completely put to confusion by upsetting the tableand smashing the glass, gazed gloomily at the fragments, cursed andturned sharply to the window where he stood looking out with his backto the company with a fiercely scowling countenance, seeing nothing. Porfiry Petrovitch laughed and was ready to go on laughing, butobviously looked for explanations. Zametov had been sitting in thecorner, but he rose at the visitors' entrance and was standing inexpectation with a smile on his lips, though he looked with surprise andeven it seemed incredulity at the whole scene and at Raskolnikov with acertain embarrassment. Zametov's unexpected presence struck Raskolnikovunpleasantly. 

"I've got to think of that, " he thought. "Excuse me, please, " he began, affecting extreme embarrassment. "Raskolnikov. "

"Not at all, very pleasant to see you. . . And how pleasantly you've comein. . . . Why, won't he even say good-morning?" Porfiry Petrovitch noddedat Razumihin. 

"Upon my honour I don't know why he is in such a rage with me. I onlytold him as we came along that he was like Romeo. . . And proved it. Andthat was all, I think!"

"Pig!" ejaculated Razumihin, without turning round. 

"There must have been very grave grounds for it, if he is so furious atthe word, " Porfiry laughed. 

"Oh, you sharp lawyer!. . . Damn you all!" snapped Razumihin, and suddenlybursting out laughing himself, he went up to Porfiry with a morecheerful face as though nothing had happened. "That'll do! We areall fools. To come to business. This is my friend Rodion RomanovitchRaskolnikov; in the first place he has heard of you and wants to makeyour acquaintance, and secondly, he has a little matter of business withyou. Bah! Zametov, what brought you here? Have you met before? Have youknown each other long?"

"What does this mean?" thought Raskolnikov uneasily. 

Zametov seemed taken aback, but not very much so. 

"Why, it was at your rooms we met yesterday, " he said easily. 

"Then I have been spared the trouble. All last week he was begging meto introduce him to you. Porfiry and you have sniffed each other outwithout me. Where is your tobacco?"

Porfiry Petrovitch was wearing a dressing-gown, very clean linen, andtrodden-down slippers. He was a man of about five and thirty, short, stout even to corpulence, and clean shaven. He wore his hair cut shortand had a large round head, particularly prominent at the back. Hissoft, round, rather snub-nosed face was of a sickly yellowish colour, but had a vigorous and rather ironical expression. It would have beengood-natured except for a look in the eyes, which shone with a watery, mawkish light under almost white, blinking eyelashes. The expressionof those eyes was strangely out of keeping with his somewhat womanishfigure, and gave it something far more serious than could be guessed atfirst sight. 

As soon as Porfiry Petrovitch heard that his visitor had a little matterof business with him, he begged him to sit down on the sofa and sat downhimself on the other end, waiting for him to explain his business, withthat careful and over-serious attention which is at once oppressive andembarrassing, especially to a stranger, and especially if what you arediscussing is in your opinion of far too little importance for suchexceptional solemnity. But in brief and coherent phrases Raskolnikovexplained his business clearly and exactly, and was so well satisfiedwith himself that he even succeeded in taking a good look at Porfiry. Porfiry Petrovitch did not once take his eyes off him. Razumihin, sitting opposite at the same table, listened warmly and impatiently, looking from one to the other every moment with rather excessiveinterest. 

"Fool, " Raskolnikov swore to himself. 

"You have to give information to the police, " Porfiry replied, with amost businesslike air, "that having learnt of this incident, that is ofthe murder, you beg to inform the lawyer in charge of the case that suchand such things belong to you, and that you desire to redeem them. . . Or. . . But they will write to you. "

"That's just the point, that at the present moment, " Raskolnikov triedhis utmost to feign embarrassment, "I am not quite in funds. . . Andeven this trifling sum is beyond me. . . I only wanted, you see, forthe present to declare that the things are mine, and that when I havemoney. . . . "

"That's no matter, " answered Porfiry Petrovitch, receiving hisexplanation of his pecuniary position coldly, "but you can, if youprefer, write straight to me, to say, that having been informed of thematter, and claiming such and such as your property, you beg. . . "

"On an ordinary sheet of paper?" Raskolnikov interrupted eagerly, againinterested in the financial side of the question. 

"Oh, the most ordinary, " and suddenly Porfiry Petrovitch looked withobvious irony at him, screwing up his eyes and, as it were, winking athim. But perhaps it was Raskolnikov's fancy, for it all lasted but amoment. There was certainly something of the sort, Raskolnikov couldhave sworn he winked at him, goodness knows why. 

"He knows, " flashed through his mind like lightning. 

"Forgive my troubling you about such trifles, " he went on, a littledisconcerted, "the things are only worth five roubles, but I prize themparticularly for the sake of those from whom they came to me, and I mustconfess that I was alarmed when I heard. . . "

"That's why you were so much struck when I mentioned to Zossimov thatPorfiry was inquiring for everyone who had pledges!" Razumihin put inwith obvious intention. 

This was really unbearable. Raskolnikov could not help glancing at himwith a flash of vindictive anger in his black eyes, but immediatelyrecollected himself. 

"You seem to be jeering at me, brother?" he said to him, with awell-feigned irritability. "I dare say I do seem to you absurdly anxiousabout such trash; but you mustn't think me selfish or grasping for that, and these two things may be anything but trash in my eyes. I told youjust now that the silver watch, though it's not worth a cent, is theonly thing left us of my father's. You may laugh at me, but my mother ishere, " he turned suddenly to Porfiry, "and if she knew, " he turned againhurriedly to Razumihin, carefully making his voice tremble, "that thewatch was lost, she would be in despair! You know what women are!"

"Not a bit of it! I didn't mean that at all! Quite the contrary!"shouted Razumihin distressed. 

"Was it right? Was it natural? Did I overdo it?" Raskolnikov askedhimself in a tremor. "Why did I say that about women?"

"Oh, your mother is with you?" Porfiry Petrovitch inquired. 

"Yes. "

"When did she come?"

"Last night. "

Porfiry paused as though reflecting. 

"Your things would not in any case be lost, " he went on calmly andcoldly. "I have been expecting you here for some time. "

And as though that was a matter of no importance, he carefully offeredthe ash-tray to Razumihin, who was ruthlessly scattering cigarette ashover the carpet. Raskolnikov shuddered, but Porfiry did not seem to belooking at him, and was still concerned with Razumihin's cigarette. 

"What? Expecting him? Why, did you know that he had pledges _there_?"cried Razumihin. 

Porfiry Petrovitch addressed himself to Raskolnikov. 

"Your things, the ring and the watch, were wrapped up together, and onthe paper your name was legibly written in pencil, together with thedate on which you left them with her. . . "

"How observant you are!" Raskolnikov smiled awkwardly, doing his veryutmost to look him straight in the face, but he failed, and suddenlyadded:

"I say that because I suppose there were a great many pledges. . . That itmust be difficult to remember them all. . . . But you remember them all soclearly, and. . . And. . . "

"Stupid! Feeble!" he thought. "Why did I add that?"

"But we know all who had pledges, and you are the only one who hasn'tcome forward, " Porfiry answered with hardly perceptible irony. 

"I haven't been quite well. "

"I heard that too. I heard, indeed, that you were in great distressabout something. You look pale still. "

"I am not pale at all. . . . No, I am quite well, " Raskolnikov snappedout rudely and angrily, completely changing his tone. His anger wasmounting, he could not repress it. "And in my anger I shall betraymyself, " flashed through his mind again. "Why are they torturing me?"

"Not quite well!" Razumihin caught him up. "What next! He wasunconscious and delirious all yesterday. Would you believe, Porfiry, assoon as our backs were turned, he dressed, though he could hardly stand, and gave us the slip and went off on a spree somewhere till midnight, delirious all the time! Would you believe it! Extraordinary!"

"Really delirious? You don't say so!" Porfiry shook his head in awomanish way. 

"Nonsense! Don't you believe it! But you don't believe it anyway, "Raskolnikov let slip in his anger. But Porfiry Petrovitch did not seemto catch those strange words. 

"But how could you have gone out if you hadn't been delirious?"Razumihin got hot suddenly. "What did you go out for? What was theobject of it? And why on the sly? Were you in your senses when you didit? Now that all danger is over I can speak plainly. "

"I was awfully sick of them yesterday. " Raskolnikov addressed Porfirysuddenly with a smile of insolent defiance, "I ran away from them totake lodgings where they wouldn't find me, and took a lot of money withme. Mr. Zametov there saw it. I say, Mr. Zametov, was I sensible ordelirious yesterday; settle our dispute. "

He could have strangled Zametov at that moment, so hateful were hisexpression and his silence to him. 

"In my opinion you talked sensibly and even artfully, but you wereextremely irritable, " Zametov pronounced dryly. 

"And Nikodim Fomitch was telling me to-day, " put in Porfiry Petrovitch, "that he met you very late last night in the lodging of a man who hadbeen run over. "

"And there, " said Razumihin, "weren't you mad then? You gave your lastpenny to the widow for the funeral. If you wanted to help, give fifteenor twenty even, but keep three roubles for yourself at least, but heflung away all the twenty-five at once!"

"Maybe I found a treasure somewhere and you know nothing of it? Sothat's why I was liberal yesterday. . . . Mr. Zametov knows I've found atreasure! Excuse us, please, for disturbing you for half an hourwith such trivialities, " he said, turning to Porfiry Petrovitch, withtrembling lips. "We are boring you, aren't we?"

"Oh no, quite the contrary, quite the contrary! If only you knew how youinterest me! It's interesting to look on and listen. . . And I am reallyglad you have come forward at last. "

"But you might give us some tea! My throat's dry, " cried Razumihin. 

"Capital idea! Perhaps we will all keep you company. Wouldn't youlike. . . Something more essential before tea?"

"Get along with you!"

Porfiry Petrovitch went out to order tea. 

Raskolnikov's thoughts were in a whirl. He was in terrible exasperation. 

"The worst of it is they don't disguise it; they don't care to stand onceremony! And how if you didn't know me at all, did you come to talkto Nikodim Fomitch about me? So they don't care to hide that they aretracking me like a pack of dogs. They simply spit in my face. " He wasshaking with rage. "Come, strike me openly, don't play with me like acat with a mouse. It's hardly civil, Porfiry Petrovitch, but perhaps Iwon't allow it! I shall get up and throw the whole truth in your uglyfaces, and you'll see how I despise you. " He could hardly breathe. "And what if it's only my fancy? What if I am mistaken, and throughinexperience I get angry and don't keep up my nasty part? Perhaps it'sall unintentional. All their phrases are the usual ones, but there issomething about them. . . . It all might be said, but there is something. Why did he say bluntly, 'With her'? Why did Zametov add that I spokeartfully? Why do they speak in that tone? Yes, the tone. . . . Razumihinis sitting here, why does he see nothing? That innocent blockhead neverdoes see anything! Feverish again! Did Porfiry wink at me just now? Ofcourse it's nonsense! What could he wink for? Are they trying to upsetmy nerves or are they teasing me? Either it's ill fancy or they know!Even Zametov is rude. . . . Is Zametov rude? Zametov has changed his mind. I foresaw he would change his mind! He is at home here, while it's myfirst visit. Porfiry does not consider him a visitor; sits with his backto him. They're as thick as thieves, no doubt, over me! Not a doubt theywere talking about me before we came. Do they know about the flat? Ifonly they'd make haste! When I said that I ran away to take a flat helet it pass. . . . I put that in cleverly about a flat, it may be of useafterwards. . . . Delirious, indeed. . . Ha-ha-ha! He knows all about lastnight! He didn't know of my mother's arrival! The hag had written thedate on in pencil! You are wrong, you won't catch me! There are nofacts. . . It's all supposition! You produce facts! The flat even isn't afact but delirium. I know what to say to them. . . . Do they know about theflat? I won't go without finding out. What did I come for? But my beingangry now, maybe is a fact! Fool, how irritable I am! Perhaps that'sright; to play the invalid. . . . He is feeling me. He will try to catchme. Why did I come?"

All this flashed like lightning through his mind. 

Porfiry Petrovitch returned quickly. He became suddenly more jovial. 

"Your party yesterday, brother, has left my head rather. . . . And I am outof sorts altogether, " he began in quite a different tone, laughing toRazumihin. 

"Was it interesting? I left you yesterday at the most interesting point. Who got the best of it?"

"Oh, no one, of course. They got on to everlasting questions, floatedoff into space. "

"Only fancy, Rodya, what we got on to yesterday. Whether there is such athing as crime. I told you that we talked our heads off. "

"What is there strange? It's an everyday social question, " Raskolnikovanswered casually. 

"The question wasn't put quite like that, " observed Porfiry. 

"Not quite, that's true, " Razumihin agreed at once, getting warm andhurried as usual. "Listen, Rodion, and tell us your opinion, I want tohear it. I was fighting tooth and nail with them and wanted you tohelp me. I told them you were coming. . . . It began with the socialistdoctrine. You know their doctrine; crime is a protest against theabnormality of the social organisation and nothing more, and nothingmore; no other causes admitted!. . . "

"You are wrong there, " cried Porfiry Petrovitch; he was noticeablyanimated and kept laughing as he looked at Razumihin, which made himmore excited than ever. 

"Nothing is admitted, " Razumihin interrupted with heat. 

"I am not wrong. I'll show you their pamphlets. Everything with themis 'the influence of environment, ' and nothing else. Their favouritephrase! From which it follows that, if society is normally organised, all crime will cease at once, since there will be nothing to protestagainst and all men will become righteous in one instant. Human natureis not taken into account, it is excluded, it's not supposed to exist!They don't recognise that humanity, developing by a historical livingprocess, will become at last a normal society, but they believe that asocial system that has come out of some mathematical brain is goingto organise all humanity at once and make it just and sinless in aninstant, quicker than any living process! That's why they instinctivelydislike history, 'nothing but ugliness and stupidity in it, ' and theyexplain it all as stupidity! That's why they so dislike the _living_process of life; they don't want a _living soul_! The living souldemands life, the soul won't obey the rules of mechanics, the soul is anobject of suspicion, the soul is retrograde! But what they want thoughit smells of death and can be made of India-rubber, at least is notalive, has no will, is servile and won't revolt! And it comes in the endto their reducing everything to the building of walls and the planningof rooms and passages in a phalanstery! The phalanstery is ready, indeed, but your human nature is not ready for the phalanstery--itwants life, it hasn't completed its vital process, it's too soon for thegraveyard! You can't skip over nature by logic. Logic presupposes threepossibilities, but there are millions! Cut away a million, and reduceit all to the question of comfort! That's the easiest solution of theproblem! It's seductively clear and you musn't think about it. That'sthe great thing, you mustn't think! The whole secret of life in twopages of print!"

"Now he is off, beating the drum! Catch hold of him, do!" laughedPorfiry. "Can you imagine, " he turned to Raskolnikov, "six peopleholding forth like that last night, in one room, with punch as apreliminary! No, brother, you are wrong, environment accounts for agreat deal in crime; I can assure you of that. "

"Oh, I know it does, but just tell me: a man of forty violates a childof ten; was it environment drove him to it?"

"Well, strictly speaking, it did, " Porfiry observed with noteworthygravity; "a crime of that nature may be very well ascribed to theinfluence of environment. "

Razumihin was almost in a frenzy. "Oh, if you like, " he roared. "I'llprove to you that your white eyelashes may very well be ascribed to theChurch of Ivan the Great's being two hundred and fifty feet high, and Iwill prove it clearly, exactly, progressively, and even with a Liberaltendency! I undertake to! Will you bet on it?"

"Done! Let's hear, please, how he will prove it!"

"He is always humbugging, confound him, " cried Razumihin, jumping up andgesticulating. "What's the use of talking to you? He does all thaton purpose; you don't know him, Rodion! He took their side yesterday, simply to make fools of them. And the things he said yesterday! And theywere delighted! He can keep it up for a fortnight together. Last year hepersuaded us that he was going into a monastery: he stuck to it for twomonths. Not long ago he took it into his head to declare he was goingto get married, that he had everything ready for the wedding. He orderednew clothes indeed. We all began to congratulate him. There was nobride, nothing, all pure fantasy!"

"Ah, you are wrong! I got the clothes before. It was the new clothes infact that made me think of taking you in. "

"Are you such a good dissembler?" Raskolnikov asked carelessly. 

"You wouldn't have supposed it, eh? Wait a bit, I shall take you in, too. Ha-ha-ha! No, I'll tell you the truth. All these questions aboutcrime, environment, children, recall to my mind an article of yourswhich interested me at the time. 'On Crime'. . . Or something of thesort, I forget the title, I read it with pleasure two months ago in the_Periodical Review_. "

"My article? In the _Periodical Review_?" Raskolnikov asked inastonishment. "I certainly did write an article upon a book six monthsago when I left the university, but I sent it to the _Weekly Review_. "

"But it came out in the _Periodical_. "

"And the _Weekly Review_ ceased to exist, so that's why it wasn'tprinted at the time. "

"That's true; but when it ceased to exist, the _Weekly Review_ wasamalgamated with the _Periodical_, and so your article appeared twomonths ago in the latter. Didn't you know?"

Raskolnikov had not known. 

"Why, you might get some money out of them for the article! What astrange person you are! You lead such a solitary life that you knownothing of matters that concern you directly. It's a fact, I assureyou. "

"Bravo, Rodya! I knew nothing about it either!" cried Razumihin. "I'llrun to-day to the reading-room and ask for the number. Two months ago?What was the date? It doesn't matter though, I will find it. Think ofnot telling us!"

"How did you find out that the article was mine? It's only signed withan initial. "

"I only learnt it by chance, the other day. Through the editor; I knowhim. . . . I was very much interested. "

"I analysed, if I remember, the psychology of a criminal before andafter the crime. "

"Yes, and you maintained that the perpetration of a crime is alwaysaccompanied by illness. Very, very original, but. . . It was not that partof your article that interested me so much, but an idea at the end ofthe article which I regret to say you merely suggested without workingit out clearly. There is, if you recollect, a suggestion that there arecertain persons who can. . . That is, not precisely are able to, but havea perfect right to commit breaches of morality and crimes, and that thelaw is not for them. "

Raskolnikov smiled at the exaggerated and intentional distortion of hisidea. 

"What? What do you mean? A right to crime? But not because of theinfluence of environment?" Razumihin inquired with some alarm even. 

"No, not exactly because of it, " answered Porfiry. "In his article allmen are divided into 'ordinary' and 'extraordinary. ' Ordinary men haveto live in submission, have no right to transgress the law, because, don't you see, they are ordinary. But extraordinary men have a right tocommit any crime and to transgress the law in any way, just because theyare extraordinary. That was your idea, if I am not mistaken?"

"What do you mean? That can't be right?" Razumihin muttered inbewilderment. 

Raskolnikov smiled again. He saw the point at once, and knew where theywanted to drive him. He decided to take up the challenge. 

"That wasn't quite my contention, " he began simply and modestly. "YetI admit that you have stated it almost correctly; perhaps, if you like, perfectly so. " (It almost gave him pleasure to admit this. ) "The onlydifference is that I don't contend that extraordinary people are alwaysbound to commit breaches of morals, as you call it. In fact, I doubtwhether such an argument could be published. I simply hinted that an'extraordinary' man has the right. . . That is not an official right, butan inner right to decide in his own conscience to overstep. . . Certainobstacles, and only in case it is essential for the practical fulfilmentof his idea (sometimes, perhaps, of benefit to the whole of humanity). You say that my article isn't definite; I am ready to make it as clearas I can. Perhaps I am right in thinking you want me to; very well. Imaintain that if the discoveries of Kepler and Newton could not havebeen made known except by sacrificing the lives of one, a dozen, ahundred, or more men, Newton would have had the right, would indeed havebeen in duty bound. . . To _eliminate_ the dozen or the hundred men forthe sake of making his discoveries known to the whole of humanity. Butit does not follow from that that Newton had a right to murder peopleright and left and to steal every day in the market. Then, I remember, Imaintain in my article that all. . . Well, legislators and leaders of men, such as Lycurgus, Solon, Mahomet, Napoleon, and so on, were all withoutexception criminals, from the very fact that, making a new law, theytransgressed the ancient one, handed down from their ancestors and heldsacred by the people, and they did not stop short at bloodshed either, if that bloodshed--often of innocent persons fighting bravely in defenceof ancient law--were of use to their cause. It's remarkable, in fact, that the majority, indeed, of these benefactors and leaders of humanitywere guilty of terrible carnage. In short, I maintain that all great menor even men a little out of the common, that is to say capable of givingsome new word, must from their very nature be criminals--more or less, of course. Otherwise it's hard for them to get out of the common rut;and to remain in the common rut is what they can't submit to, from theirvery nature again, and to my mind they ought not, indeed, to submit toit. You see that there is nothing particularly new in all that. Thesame thing has been printed and read a thousand times before. As for mydivision of people into ordinary and extraordinary, I acknowledge thatit's somewhat arbitrary, but I don't insist upon exact numbers. I onlybelieve in my leading idea that men are _in general_ divided by a lawof nature into two categories, inferior (ordinary), that is, so to say, material that serves only to reproduce its kind, and men who havethe gift or the talent to utter _a new word_. There are, of course, innumerable sub-divisions, but the distinguishing features of bothcategories are fairly well marked. The first category, generallyspeaking, are men conservative in temperament and law-abiding; they liveunder control and love to be controlled. To my thinking it is their dutyto be controlled, because that's their vocation, and there is nothinghumiliating in it for them. The second category all transgress thelaw; they are destroyers or disposed to destruction according to theircapacities. The crimes of these men are of course relative and varied;for the most part they seek in very varied ways the destruction of thepresent for the sake of the better. But if such a one is forced for thesake of his idea to step over a corpse or wade through blood, he can, Imaintain, find within himself, in his conscience, a sanction for wadingthrough blood--that depends on the idea and its dimensions, note that. It's only in that sense I speak of their right to crime in my article(you remember it began with the legal question). There's no need forsuch anxiety, however; the masses will scarcely ever admit this right, they punish them or hang them (more or less), and in doing so fulfilquite justly their conservative vocation. But the same masses set thesecriminals on a pedestal in the next generation and worship them (more orless). The first category is always the man of the present, the secondthe man of the future. The first preserve the world and people it, thesecond move the world and lead it to its goal. Each class has an equalright to exist. In fact, all have equal rights with me--and _vive laguerre éternelle_--till the New Jerusalem, of course!"

"Then you believe in the New Jerusalem, do you?"

"I do, " Raskolnikov answered firmly; as he said these words and duringthe whole preceding tirade he kept his eyes on one spot on the carpet. 

"And. . . And do you believe in God? Excuse my curiosity. "

"I do, " repeated Raskolnikov, raising his eyes to Porfiry. 

"And. . . Do you believe in Lazarus' rising from the dead?"

"I. . . I do. Why do you ask all this?"

"You believe it literally?"

"Literally. "

"You don't say so. . . . I asked from curiosity. Excuse me. But let usgo back to the question; they are not always executed. Some, on thecontrary. . . "

"Triumph in their lifetime? Oh, yes, some attain their ends in thislife, and then. . . "

"They begin executing other people?"

"If it's necessary; indeed, for the most part they do. Your remark isvery witty. "

"Thank you. But tell me this: how do you distinguish those extraordinarypeople from the ordinary ones? Are there signs at their birth? I feelthere ought to be more exactitude, more external definition. Excuse thenatural anxiety of a practical law-abiding citizen, but couldn't theyadopt a special uniform, for instance, couldn't they wear something, bebranded in some way? For you know if confusion arises and a member ofone category imagines that he belongs to the other, begins to 'eliminateobstacles' as you so happily expressed it, then. . . "

"Oh, that very often happens! That remark is wittier than the other. "

"Thank you. "

"No reason to; but take note that the mistake can only arise inthe first category, that is among the ordinary people (as I perhapsunfortunately called them). In spite of their predisposition toobedience very many of them, through a playfulness of nature, sometimesvouchsafed even to the cow, like to imagine themselves advanced people, 'destroyers, ' and to push themselves into the 'new movement, ' andthis quite sincerely. Meanwhile the really _new_ people are very oftenunobserved by them, or even despised as reactionaries of grovellingtendencies. But I don't think there is any considerable danger here, and you really need not be uneasy for they never go very far. Of course, they might have a thrashing sometimes for letting their fancy run awaywith them and to teach them their place, but no more; in fact, eventhis isn't necessary as they castigate themselves, for they are veryconscientious: some perform this service for one another and otherschastise themselves with their own hands. . . . They will impose variouspublic acts of penitence upon themselves with a beautiful and edifyingeffect; in fact you've nothing to be uneasy about. . . . It's a law ofnature. "

"Well, you have certainly set my mind more at rest on that score; butthere's another thing worries me. Tell me, please, are there many peoplewho have the right to kill others, these extraordinary people? I amready to bow down to them, of course, but you must admit it's alarmingif there are a great many of them, eh?"

"Oh, you needn't worry about that either, " Raskolnikov went on in thesame tone. "People with new ideas, people with the faintest capacity forsaying something _new_, are extremely few in number, extraordinarilyso in fact. One thing only is clear, that the appearance of all thesegrades and sub-divisions of men must follow with unfailing regularitysome law of nature. That law, of course, is unknown at present, but I amconvinced that it exists, and one day may become known. The vast mass ofmankind is mere material, and only exists in order by some great effort, by some mysterious process, by means of some crossing of races andstocks, to bring into the world at last perhaps one man out of athousand with a spark of independence. One in ten thousand perhaps--Ispeak roughly, approximately--is born with some independence, and withstill greater independence one in a hundred thousand. The man of geniusis one of millions, and the great geniuses, the crown of humanity, appear on earth perhaps one in many thousand millions. In fact I havenot peeped into the retort in which all this takes place. But therecertainly is and must be a definite law, it cannot be a matter ofchance. "

"Why, are you both joking?" Razumihin cried at last. "There you sit, making fun of one another. Are you serious, Rodya?"

Raskolnikov raised his pale and almost mournful face and made no reply. And the unconcealed, persistent, nervous, and _discourteous_ sarcasm ofPorfiry seemed strange to Razumihin beside that quiet and mournful face. 

"Well, brother, if you are really serious. . . You are right, of course, in saying that it's not new, that it's like what we've read and heard athousand times already; but what is really original in all this, and isexclusively your own, to my horror, is that you sanction bloodshed_in the name of conscience_, and, excuse my saying so, with suchfanaticism. . . . That, I take it, is the point of your article. But thatsanction of bloodshed _by conscience_ is to my mind. . . More terriblethan the official, legal sanction of bloodshed. . . . "

"You are quite right, it is more terrible, " Porfiry agreed. 

"Yes, you must have exaggerated! There is some mistake, I shall read it. You can't think that! I shall read it. "

"All that is not in the article, there's only a hint of it, " saidRaskolnikov. 

"Yes, yes. " Porfiry couldn't sit still. "Your attitude to crime ispretty clear to me now, but. . . Excuse me for my impertinence (I amreally ashamed to be worrying you like this), you see, you've removedmy anxiety as to the two grades getting mixed, but. . . There are variouspractical possibilities that make me uneasy! What if some man or youthimagines that he is a Lycurgus or Mahomet--a future one of course--andsuppose he begins to remove all obstacles. . . . He has some greatenterprise before him and needs money for it. . . And tries to get it. . . Do you see?"

Zametov gave a sudden guffaw in his corner. Raskolnikov did not evenraise his eyes to him. 

"I must admit, " he went on calmly, "that such cases certainly mustarise. The vain and foolish are particularly apt to fall into thatsnare; young people especially. "

"Yes, you see. Well then?"

"What then?" Raskolnikov smiled in reply; "that's not my fault. So it isand so it always will be. He said just now (he nodded at Razumihin)that I sanction bloodshed. Society is too well protected by prisons, banishment, criminal investigators, penal servitude. There's no need tobe uneasy. You have but to catch the thief. "

"And what if we do catch him?"

"Then he gets what he deserves. "

"You are certainly logical. But what of his conscience?"

"Why do you care about that?"

"Simply from humanity. "

"If he has a conscience he will suffer for his mistake. That will be hispunishment--as well as the prison. "

"But the real geniuses, " asked Razumihin frowning, "those who havethe right to murder? Oughtn't they to suffer at all even for the bloodthey've shed?"

"Why the word _ought_? It's not a matter of permission or prohibition. He will suffer if he is sorry for his victim. Pain and suffering arealways inevitable for a large intelligence and a deep heart. Thereally great men must, I think, have great sadness on earth, " he addeddreamily, not in the tone of the conversation. 

He raised his eyes, looked earnestly at them all, smiled, and took hiscap. He was too quiet by comparison with his manner at his entrance, andhe felt this. Everyone got up. 

"Well, you may abuse me, be angry with me if you like, " PorfiryPetrovitch began again, "but I can't resist. Allow me one littlequestion (I know I am troubling you). There is just one little notion Iwant to express, simply that I may not forget it. "

"Very good, tell me your little notion, " Raskolnikov stood waiting, paleand grave before him. 

"Well, you see. . . I really don't know how to express it properly. . . . It's a playful, psychological idea. . . . When you were writing yourarticle, surely you couldn't have helped, he-he! fancying yourself. . . Just a little, an 'extraordinary' man, uttering a _new word_ in yoursense. . . . That's so, isn't it?"

"Quite possibly, " Raskolnikov answered contemptuously. 

Razumihin made a movement. 

"And, if so, could you bring yourself in case of worldly difficultiesand hardship or for some service to humanity--to overstep obstacles?. . . For instance, to rob and murder?"

And again he winked with his left eye, and laughed noiselessly just asbefore. 

"If I did I certainly should not tell you, " Raskolnikov answered withdefiant and haughty contempt. 

"No, I was only interested on account of your article, from a literarypoint of view. . . "

"Foo! how obvious and insolent that is!" Raskolnikov thought withrepulsion. 

"Allow me to observe, " he answered dryly, "that I don't consider myselfa Mahomet or a Napoleon, nor any personage of that kind, and not beingone of them I cannot tell you how I should act. "

"Oh, come, don't we all think ourselves Napoleons now in Russia?"Porfiry Petrovitch said with alarming familiarity. 

Something peculiar betrayed itself in the very intonation of his voice. 

"Perhaps it was one of these future Napoleons who did for AlyonaIvanovna last week?" Zametov blurted out from the corner. 

Raskolnikov did not speak, but looked firmly and intently at Porfiry. Razumihin was scowling gloomily. He seemed before this to be noticingsomething. He looked angrily around. There was a minute of gloomysilence. Raskolnikov turned to go. 

"Are you going already?" Porfiry said amiably, holding out his hand withexcessive politeness. "Very, very glad of your acquaintance. As for yourrequest, have no uneasiness, write just as I told you, or, better still, come to me there yourself in a day or two. . . To-morrow, indeed. I shallbe there at eleven o'clock for certain. We'll arrange it all; we'll havea talk. As one of the last to be _there_, you might perhaps be able totell us something, " he added with a most good-natured expression. 

"You want to cross-examine me officially in due form?" Raskolnikov askedsharply. 

"Oh, why? That's not necessary for the present. You misunderstand me. I lose no opportunity, you see, and. . . I've talked with all who hadpledges. . . . I obtained evidence from some of them, and you are thelast. . . . Yes, by the way, " he cried, seemingly suddenly delighted, "Ijust remember, what was I thinking of?" he turned to Razumihin, "youwere talking my ears off about that Nikolay. . . Of course, I know, I knowvery well, " he turned to Raskolnikov, "that the fellow is innocent, butwhat is one to do? We had to trouble Dmitri too. . . . This is the point, this is all: when you went up the stairs it was past seven, wasn't it?"

"Yes, " answered Raskolnikov, with an unpleasant sensation at the verymoment he spoke that he need not have said it. 

"Then when you went upstairs between seven and eight, didn't you see ina flat that stood open on a second storey, do you remember? two workmenor at least one of them? They were painting there, didn't you noticethem? It's very, very important for them. "

"Painters? No, I didn't see them, " Raskolnikov answered slowly, asthough ransacking his memory, while at the same instant he was rackingevery nerve, almost swooning with anxiety to conjecture as quickly aspossible where the trap lay and not to overlook anything. "No, I didn'tsee them, and I don't think I noticed a flat like that open. . . . But onthe fourth storey" (he had mastered the trap now and was triumphant)"I remember now that someone was moving out of the flat opposite AlyonaIvanovna's. . . . I remember. . . I remember it clearly. Some porterswere carrying out a sofa and they squeezed me against the wall. Butpainters. . . No, I don't remember that there were any painters, and Idon't think that there was a flat open anywhere, no, there wasn't. "

"What do you mean?" Razumihin shouted suddenly, as though he hadreflected and realised. "Why, it was on the day of the murder thepainters were at work, and he was there three days before? What are youasking?"

"Foo! I have muddled it!" Porfiry slapped himself on the forehead. "Deuce take it! This business is turning my brain!" he addressedRaskolnikov somewhat apologetically. "It would be such a great thing forus to find out whether anyone had seen them between seven and eight atthe flat, so I fancied you could perhaps have told us something. . . . Iquite muddled it. "

"Then you should be more careful, " Razumihin observed grimly. 

The last words were uttered in the passage. Porfiry Petrovitch saw themto the door with excessive politeness. 

They went out into the street gloomy and sullen, and for some steps theydid not say a word. Raskolnikov drew a deep breath. 

CHAPTER VI

"I don't believe it, I can't believe it!" repeated Razumihin, trying inperplexity to refute Raskolnikov's arguments. 

They were by now approaching Bakaleyev's lodgings, where PulcheriaAlexandrovna and Dounia had been expecting them a long while. Razumihinkept stopping on the way in the heat of discussion, confused and excitedby the very fact that they were for the first time speaking openly about_it_. 

"Don't believe it, then!" answered Raskolnikov, with a cold, carelesssmile. "You were noticing nothing as usual, but I was weighing everyword. "

"You are suspicious. That is why you weighed their words. . . H'm. . . Certainly, I agree, Porfiry's tone was rather strange, and stillmore that wretch Zametov!. . . You are right, there was something abouthim--but why? Why?"

"He has changed his mind since last night. "

"Quite the contrary! If they had that brainless idea, they would dotheir utmost to hide it, and conceal their cards, so as to catch youafterwards. . . . But it was all impudent and careless. "

"If they had had facts--I mean, real facts--or at least grounds forsuspicion, then they would certainly have tried to hide their game, in the hope of getting more (they would have made a search long agobesides). But they have no facts, not one. It is all mirage--allambiguous. Simply a floating idea. So they try to throw me out byimpudence. And perhaps, he was irritated at having no facts, and blurtedit out in his vexation--or perhaps he has some plan. . . He seems anintelligent man. Perhaps he wanted to frighten me by pretending toknow. They have a psychology of their own, brother. But it is loathsomeexplaining it all. Stop!"

"And it's insulting, insulting! I understand you. But. . . Since we havespoken openly now (and it is an excellent thing that we have at last--Iam glad) I will own now frankly that I noticed it in them long ago, this idea. Of course the merest hint only--an insinuation--but why aninsinuation even? How dare they? What foundation have they? If only youknew how furious I have been. Think only! Simply because a poor student, unhinged by poverty and hypochondria, on the eve of a severe deliriousillness (note that), suspicious, vain, proud, who has not seen a soul tospeak to for six months, in rags and in boots without soles, has toface some wretched policemen and put up with their insolence; andthe unexpected debt thrust under his nose, the I. O. U. Presentedby Tchebarov, the new paint, thirty degrees Reaumur and a stiflingatmosphere, a crowd of people, the talk about the murder of a personwhere he had been just before, and all that on an empty stomach--hemight well have a fainting fit! And that, that is what they found itall on! Damn them! I understand how annoying it is, but in your place, Rodya, I would laugh at them, or better still, spit in their ugly faces, and spit a dozen times in all directions. I'd hit out in alldirections, neatly too, and so I'd put an end to it. Damn them! Don't bedownhearted. It's a shame!"

"He really has put it well, though, " Raskolnikov thought. 

"Damn them? But the cross-examination again, to-morrow?" he said withbitterness. "Must I really enter into explanations with them? I feelvexed as it is, that I condescended to speak to Zametov yesterday in therestaurant. . . . "

"Damn it! I will go myself to Porfiry. I will squeeze it out of him, asone of the family: he must let me know the ins and outs of it all! Andas for Zametov. . . "

"At last he sees through him!" thought Raskolnikov. 

"Stay!" cried Razumihin, seizing him by the shoulder again. "Stay! youwere wrong. I have thought it out. You are wrong! How was that a trap?You say that the question about the workmen was a trap. But if you haddone _that_, could you have said you had seen them painting the flat. . . And the workmen? On the contrary, you would have seen nothing, even ifyou had seen it. Who would own it against himself?"

"If I had done _that thing_, I should certainly have said that I hadseen the workmen and the flat, " Raskolnikov answered, with reluctanceand obvious disgust. 

"But why speak against yourself?"

"Because only peasants, or the most inexperienced novices denyeverything flatly at examinations. If a man is ever so little developedand experienced, he will certainly try to admit all the external factsthat can't be avoided, but will seek other explanations of them, willintroduce some special, unexpected turn, that will give them anothersignificance and put them in another light. Porfiry might well reckonthat I should be sure to answer so, and say I had seen them to give anair of truth, and then make some explanation. "

"But he would have told you at once that the workmen could not have beenthere two days before, and that therefore you must have been there onthe day of the murder at eight o'clock. And so he would have caught youover a detail. "

"Yes, that is what he was reckoning on, that I should not have time toreflect, and should be in a hurry to make the most likely answer, andso would forget that the workmen could not have been there two daysbefore. "

"But how could you forget it?"

"Nothing easier. It is in just such stupid things clever people are mosteasily caught. The more cunning a man is, the less he suspects that hewill be caught in a simple thing. The more cunning a man is, the simplerthe trap he must be caught in. Porfiry is not such a fool as youthink. . . . "

"He is a knave then, if that is so!"

Raskolnikov could not help laughing. But at the very moment, he wasstruck by the strangeness of his own frankness, and the eagernesswith which he had made this explanation, though he had kept up all thepreceding conversation with gloomy repulsion, obviously with a motive, from necessity. 

"I am getting a relish for certain aspects!" he thought to himself. But almost at the same instant he became suddenly uneasy, as though anunexpected and alarming idea had occurred to him. His uneasiness kept onincreasing. They had just reached the entrance to Bakaleyev's. 

"Go in alone!" said Raskolnikov suddenly. "I will be back directly. "

"Where are you going? Why, we are just here. "

"I can't help it. . . . I will come in half an hour. Tell them. "

"Say what you like, I will come with you. "

"You, too, want to torture me!" he screamed, with such bitterirritation, such despair in his eyes that Razumihin's hands dropped. He stood for some time on the steps, looking gloomily at Raskolnikovstriding rapidly away in the direction of his lodging. At last, grittinghis teeth and clenching his fist, he swore he would squeeze Porfirylike a lemon that very day, and went up the stairs to reassure PulcheriaAlexandrovna, who was by now alarmed at their long absence. 

When Raskolnikov got home, his hair was soaked with sweat and he wasbreathing heavily. He went rapidly up the stairs, walked into hisunlocked room and at once fastened the latch. Then in senseless terrorhe rushed to the corner, to that hole under the paper where he had putthe things; put his hand in, and for some minutes felt carefully in thehole, in every crack and fold of the paper. Finding nothing, he got upand drew a deep breath. As he was reaching the steps of Bakaleyev's, hesuddenly fancied that something, a chain, a stud or even a bit of paperin which they had been wrapped with the old woman's handwriting on it, might somehow have slipped out and been lost in some crack, and thenmight suddenly turn up as unexpected, conclusive evidence against him. 

He stood as though lost in thought, and a strange, humiliated, halfsenseless smile strayed on his lips. He took his cap at last and wentquietly out of the room. His ideas were all tangled. He went dreamilythrough the gateway. 

"Here he is himself, " shouted a loud voice. 

He raised his head. 

The porter was standing at the door of his little room and was pointinghim out to a short man who looked like an artisan, wearing a long coatand a waistcoat, and looking at a distance remarkably like a woman. Hestooped, and his head in a greasy cap hung forward. From his wrinkledflabby face he looked over fifty; his little eyes were lost in fat andthey looked out grimly, sternly and discontentedly. 

"What is it?" Raskolnikov asked, going up to the porter. 

The man stole a look at him from under his brows and he looked at himattentively, deliberately; then he turned slowly and went out of thegate into the street without saying a word. 

"What is it?" cried Raskolnikov. 

"Why, he there was asking whether a student lived here, mentioned yourname and whom you lodged with. I saw you coming and pointed you out andhe went away. It's funny. "

The porter too seemed rather puzzled, but not much so, and afterwondering for a moment he turned and went back to his room. 

Raskolnikov ran after the stranger, and at once caught sight ofhim walking along the other side of the street with the same even, deliberate step with his eyes fixed on the ground, as though inmeditation. He soon overtook him, but for some time walked behind him. At last, moving on to a level with him, he looked at his face. The mannoticed him at once, looked at him quickly, but dropped his eyes again;and so they walked for a minute side by side without uttering a word. 

"You were inquiring for me. . . Of the porter?" Raskolnikov said at last, but in a curiously quiet voice. 

The man made no answer; he didn't even look at him. Again they were bothsilent. 

"Why do you. . . Come and ask for me. . . And say nothing. . . . What's themeaning of it?"

Raskolnikov's voice broke and he seemed unable to articulate the wordsclearly. 

The man raised his eyes this time and turned a gloomy sinister look atRaskolnikov. 

"Murderer!" he said suddenly in a quiet but clear and distinct voice. 

Raskolnikov went on walking beside him. His legs felt suddenly weak, acold shiver ran down his spine, and his heart seemed to stand still fora moment, then suddenly began throbbing as though it were set free. Sothey walked for about a hundred paces, side by side in silence. 

The man did not look at him. 

"What do you mean. . . What is. . . . Who is a murderer?" mutteredRaskolnikov hardly audibly. 

"_You_ are a murderer, " the man answered still more articulately andemphatically, with a smile of triumphant hatred, and again he lookedstraight into Raskolnikov's pale face and stricken eyes. 

They had just reached the cross-roads. The man turned to the leftwithout looking behind him. Raskolnikov remained standing, gazing afterhim. He saw him turn round fifty paces away and look back at him stillstanding there. Raskolnikov could not see clearly, but he fancied thathe was again smiling the same smile of cold hatred and triumph. 

With slow faltering steps, with shaking knees, Raskolnikov made his wayback to his little garret, feeling chilled all over. He took off his capand put it on the table, and for ten minutes he stood without moving. Then he sank exhausted on the sofa and with a weak moan of pain hestretched himself on it. So he lay for half an hour. 

He thought of nothing. Some thoughts or fragments of thoughts, someimages without order or coherence floated before his mind--faces ofpeople he had seen in his childhood or met somewhere once, whom he wouldnever have recalled, the belfry of the church at V. , the billiard tablein a restaurant and some officers playing billiards, the smell of cigarsin some underground tobacco shop, a tavern room, a back staircase quitedark, all sloppy with dirty water and strewn with egg-shells, and theSunday bells floating in from somewhere. . . . The images followed oneanother, whirling like a hurricane. Some of them he liked and triedto clutch at, but they faded and all the while there was an oppressionwithin him, but it was not overwhelming, sometimes it was evenpleasant. . . . The slight shivering still persisted, but that toowas an almost pleasant sensation. 

He heard the hurried footsteps of Razumihin; he closed his eyes andpretended to be asleep. Razumihin opened the door and stood for sometime in the doorway as though hesitating, then he stepped softly intothe room and went cautiously to the sofa. Raskolnikov heard Nastasya'swhisper:

"Don't disturb him! Let him sleep. He can have his dinner later. "

"Quite so, " answered Razumihin. Both withdrew carefully and closed thedoor. Another half-hour passed. Raskolnikov opened his eyes, turned onhis back again, clasping his hands behind his head. 

"Who is he? Who is that man who sprang out of the earth? Where was he, what did he see? He has seen it all, that's clear. Where was he then?And from where did he see? Why has he only now sprung out of the earth?And how could he see? Is it possible? Hm. . . " continued Raskolnikov, turning cold and shivering, "and the jewel case Nikolay found behind thedoor--was that possible? A clue? You miss an infinitesimal line and youcan build it into a pyramid of evidence! A fly flew by and saw it! Is itpossible?" He felt with sudden loathing how weak, how physically weak hehad become. "I ought to have known it, " he thought with a bitter smile. "And how dared I, knowing myself, knowing how I should be, take up anaxe and shed blood! I ought to have known beforehand. . . . Ah, but I didknow!" he whispered in despair. At times he came to a standstill at somethought. 

"No, those men are not made so. The real _Master_ to whom all ispermitted storms Toulon, makes a massacre in Paris, _forgets_ an army inEgypt, _wastes_ half a million men in the Moscow expedition and gets offwith a jest at Vilna. And altars are set up to him after his death, andso _all_ is permitted. No, such people, it seems, are not of flesh butof bronze!"

One sudden irrelevant idea almost made him laugh. Napoleon, thepyramids, Waterloo, and a wretched skinny old woman, a pawnbroker witha red trunk under her bed--it's a nice hash for Porfiry Petrovitch todigest! How can they digest it! It's too inartistic. "A Napoleon creepunder an old woman's bed! Ugh, how loathsome!"

At moments he felt he was raving. He sank into a state of feverishexcitement. "The old woman is of no consequence, " he thought, hotly andincoherently. "The old woman was a mistake perhaps, but she is notwhat matters! The old woman was only an illness. . . . I was in a hurry tooverstep. . . . I didn't kill a human being, but a principle! I killed theprinciple, but I didn't overstep, I stopped on this side. . . . I wasonly capable of killing. And it seems I wasn't even capable of that. . . Principle? Why was that fool Razumihin abusing the socialists? They areindustrious, commercial people; 'the happiness of all' is their case. No, life is only given to me once and I shall never have it again; Idon't want to wait for 'the happiness of all. ' I want to live myself, or else better not live at all. I simply couldn't pass by my motherstarving, keeping my rouble in my pocket while I waited for the'happiness of all. ' I am putting my little brick into the happiness ofall and so my heart is at peace. Ha-ha! Why have you let me slip? I onlylive once, I too want. . . . Ech, I am an æsthetic louse and nothingmore, " he added suddenly, laughing like a madman. "Yes, I am certainly alouse, " he went on, clutching at the idea, gloating over it and playingwith it with vindictive pleasure. "In the first place, because I canreason that I am one, and secondly, because for a month past I have beentroubling benevolent Providence, calling it to witness that not formy own fleshly lusts did I undertake it, but with a grand and nobleobject--ha-ha! Thirdly, because I aimed at carrying it out as justly aspossible, weighing, measuring and calculating. Of all the lice I pickedout the most useless one and proposed to take from her only as much as Ineeded for the first step, no more nor less (so the rest would have goneto a monastery, according to her will, ha-ha!). And what shows that Iam utterly a louse, " he added, grinding his teeth, "is that I amperhaps viler and more loathsome than the louse I killed, and _I feltbeforehand_ that I should tell myself so _after_ killing her. Cananything be compared with the horror of that? The vulgarity! Theabjectness! I understand the 'prophet' with his sabre, on his steed:Allah commands and 'trembling' creation must obey! The 'prophet' isright, he is right when he sets a battery across the street and blows upthe innocent and the guilty without deigning to explain! It's for you toobey, trembling creation, and not _to have desires_, for that's not foryou!. . . I shall never, never forgive the old woman!"

His hair was soaked with sweat, his quivering lips were parched, hiseyes were fixed on the ceiling. 

"Mother, sister--how I loved them! Why do I hate them now? Yes, I hatethem, I feel a physical hatred for them, I can't bear them near me. . . . I went up to my mother and kissed her, I remember. . . . To embrace herand think if she only knew. . . Shall I tell her then? That's just whatI might do. . . . _She_ must be the same as I am, " he added, straininghimself to think, as it were struggling with delirium. "Ah, how I hatethe old woman now! I feel I should kill her again if she came to life!Poor Lizaveta! Why did she come in?. . . It's strange though, why is itI scarcely ever think of her, as though I hadn't killed her? Lizaveta!Sonia! Poor gentle things, with gentle eyes. . . . Dear women! Why don'tthey weep? Why don't they moan? They give up everything. . . Their eyesare soft and gentle. . . . Sonia, Sonia! Gentle Sonia!"

He lost consciousness; it seemed strange to him that he didn't rememberhow he got into the street. It was late evening. The twilight had fallenand the full moon was shining more and more brightly; but there was apeculiar breathlessness in the air. There were crowds of people in thestreet; workmen and business people were making their way home; otherpeople had come out for a walk; there was a smell of mortar, dust andstagnant water. Raskolnikov walked along, mournful and anxious; he wasdistinctly aware of having come out with a purpose, of having to dosomething in a hurry, but what it was he had forgotten. Suddenly hestood still and saw a man standing on the other side of the street, beckoning to him. He crossed over to him, but at once the man turned andwalked away with his head hanging, as though he had made no sign tohim. "Stay, did he really beckon?" Raskolnikov wondered, but he triedto overtake him. When he was within ten paces he recognised him andwas frightened; it was the same man with stooping shoulders in the longcoat. Raskolnikov followed him at a distance; his heart was beating;they went down a turning; the man still did not look round. "Does heknow I am following him?" thought Raskolnikov. The man went into thegateway of a big house. Raskolnikov hastened to the gate and looked into see whether he would look round and sign to him. In the court-yardthe man did turn round and again seemed to beckon him. Raskolnikov atonce followed him into the yard, but the man was gone. He must havegone up the first staircase. Raskolnikov rushed after him. He heardslow measured steps two flights above. The staircase seemed strangelyfamiliar. He reached the window on the first floor; the moon shonethrough the panes with a melancholy and mysterious light; then hereached the second floor. Bah! this is the flat where the painters wereat work. . . But how was it he did not recognise it at once? The stepsof the man above had died away. "So he must have stopped or hiddensomewhere. " He reached the third storey, should he go on? There was astillness that was dreadful. . . . But he went on. The sound of his ownfootsteps scared and frightened him. How dark it was! The man must behiding in some corner here. Ah! the flat was standing wide open, hehesitated and went in. It was very dark and empty in the passage, asthough everything had been removed; he crept on tiptoe into the parlourwhich was flooded with moonlight. Everything there was as before, thechairs, the looking-glass, the yellow sofa and the pictures in theframes. A huge, round, copper-red moon looked in at the windows. "It's the moon that makes it so still, weaving some mystery, " thoughtRaskolnikov. He stood and waited, waited a long while, and the moresilent the moonlight, the more violently his heart beat, till it waspainful. And still the same hush. Suddenly he heard a momentary sharpcrack like the snapping of a splinter and all was still again. A flyflew up suddenly and struck the window pane with a plaintive buzz. Atthat moment he noticed in the corner between the window and the littlecupboard something like a cloak hanging on the wall. "Why is that cloakhere?" he thought, "it wasn't there before. . . . " He went up to it quietlyand felt that there was someone hiding behind it. He cautiously movedthe cloak and saw, sitting on a chair in the corner, the old woman bentdouble so that he couldn't see her face; but it was she. He stood overher. "She is afraid, " he thought. He stealthily took the axe from thenoose and struck her one blow, then another on the skull. But strangeto say she did not stir, as though she were made of wood. He wasfrightened, bent down nearer and tried to look at her; but she, too, bent her head lower. He bent right down to the ground and peeped upinto her face from below, he peeped and turned cold with horror: the oldwoman was sitting and laughing, shaking with noiseless laughter, doingher utmost that he should not hear it. Suddenly he fancied that the doorfrom the bedroom was opened a little and that there was laughter andwhispering within. He was overcome with frenzy and he began hitting theold woman on the head with all his force, but at every blow of the axethe laughter and whispering from the bedroom grew louder and the oldwoman was simply shaking with mirth. He was rushing away, but thepassage was full of people, the doors of the flats stood open and on thelanding, on the stairs and everywhere below there were people, rows ofheads, all looking, but huddled together in silence and expectation. Something gripped his heart, his legs were rooted to the spot, theywould not move. . . . He tried to scream and woke up. 

He drew a deep breath--but his dream seemed strangely to persist:his door was flung open and a man whom he had never seen stood in thedoorway watching him intently. 

Raskolnikov had hardly opened his eyes and he instantly closed themagain. He lay on his back without stirring. 

"Is it still a dream?" he wondered and again raised his eyelids hardlyperceptibly; the stranger was standing in the same place, still watchinghim. 

He stepped cautiously into the room, carefully closing the door afterhim, went up to the table, paused a moment, still keeping his eyes onRaskolnikov, and noiselessly seated himself on the chair by the sofa; heput his hat on the floor beside him and leaned his hands on his caneand his chin on his hands. It was evident that he was prepared to waitindefinitely. As far as Raskolnikov could make out from his stolenglances, he was a man no longer young, stout, with a full, fair, almostwhitish beard. 

Ten minutes passed. It was still light, but beginning to get dusk. Therewas complete stillness in the room. Not a sound came from the stairs. Only a big fly buzzed and fluttered against the window pane. It wasunbearable at last. Raskolnikov suddenly got up and sat on the sofa. 

"Come, tell me what you want. "

"I knew you were not asleep, but only pretending, " the stranger answeredoddly, laughing calmly. "Arkady Ivanovitch Svidrigaïlov, allow me tointroduce myself. . . . "

PART IV

CHAPTER I

"Can this be still a dream?" Raskolnikov thought once more. 

He looked carefully and suspiciously at the unexpected visitor. 

"Svidrigaïlov! What nonsense! It can't be!" he said at last aloud inbewilderment. 

His visitor did not seem at all surprised at this exclamation. 

"I've come to you for two reasons. In the first place, I wanted to makeyour personal acquaintance, as I have already heard a great deal aboutyou that is interesting and flattering; secondly, I cherish the hopethat you may not refuse to assist me in a matter directly concerning thewelfare of your sister, Avdotya Romanovna. For without your support shemight not let me come near her now, for she is prejudiced against me, but with your assistance I reckon on. . . "

"You reckon wrongly, " interrupted Raskolnikov. 

"They only arrived yesterday, may I ask you?"

Raskolnikov made no reply. 

"It was yesterday, I know. I only arrived myself the day before. Well, let me tell you this, Rodion Romanovitch, I don't consider it necessaryto justify myself, but kindly tell me what was there particularlycriminal on my part in all this business, speaking without prejudice, with common sense?"

Raskolnikov continued to look at him in silence. 

"That in my own house I persecuted a defenceless girl and 'insulted herwith my infamous proposals'--is that it? (I am anticipating you. ) Butyou've only to assume that I, too, am a man _et nihil humanum_. . . In aword, that I am capable of being attracted and falling in love (whichdoes not depend on our will), then everything can be explained in themost natural manner. The question is, am I a monster, or am I myselfa victim? And what if I am a victim? In proposing to the object of mypassion to elope with me to America or Switzerland, I may have cherishedthe deepest respect for her and may have thought that I was promotingour mutual happiness! Reason is the slave of passion, you know; why, probably, I was doing more harm to myself than anyone!"

"But that's not the point, " Raskolnikov interrupted with disgust. "It'ssimply that whether you are right or wrong, we dislike you. We don'twant to have anything to do with you. We show you the door. Go out!"

Svidrigaïlov broke into a sudden laugh. 

"But you're. . . But there's no getting round you, " he said, laughing inthe frankest way. "I hoped to get round you, but you took up the rightline at once!"

"But you are trying to get round me still!"

"What of it? What of it?" cried Svidrigaïlov, laughing openly. "But thisis what the French call _bonne guerre_, and the most innocent form ofdeception!. . . But still you have interrupted me; one way or another, Irepeat again: there would never have been any unpleasantness except forwhat happened in the garden. Marfa Petrovna. . . "

"You have got rid of Marfa Petrovna, too, so they say?" Raskolnikovinterrupted rudely. 

"Oh, you've heard that, too, then? You'd be sure to, though. . . . Butas for your question, I really don't know what to say, though my ownconscience is quite at rest on that score. Don't suppose that I am inany apprehension about it. All was regular and in order; the medicalinquiry diagnosed apoplexy due to bathing immediately after a heavydinner and a bottle of wine, and indeed it could have proved nothingelse. But I'll tell you what I have been thinking to myself of late, onmy way here in the train, especially: didn't I contribute to all that. . . Calamity, morally, in a way, by irritation or something of thesort. But I came to the conclusion that that, too, was quite out of thequestion. "

Raskolnikov laughed. 

"I wonder you trouble yourself about it!"

"But what are you laughing at? Only consider, I struck her just twicewith a switch--there were no marks even. . . Don't regard me as a cynic, please; I am perfectly aware how atrocious it was of me and all that;but I know for certain, too, that Marfa Petrovna was very likely pleasedat my, so to say, warmth. The story of your sister had been wrung out tothe last drop; for the last three days Marfa Petrovna had been forced tosit at home; she had nothing to show herself with in the town. Besides, she had bored them so with that letter (you heard about her reading theletter). And all of a sudden those two switches fell from heaven! Herfirst act was to order the carriage to be got out. . . . Not to speakof the fact that there are cases when women are very, very glad to beinsulted in spite of all their show of indignation. There are instancesof it with everyone; human beings in general, indeed, greatly love tobe insulted, have you noticed that? But it's particularly so with women. One might even say it's their only amusement. "

At one time Raskolnikov thought of getting up and walking out and sofinishing the interview. But some curiosity and even a sort of prudencemade him linger for a moment. 

"You are fond of fighting?" he asked carelessly. 

"No, not very, " Svidrigaïlov answered, calmly. "And Marfa Petrovna andI scarcely ever fought. We lived very harmoniously, and she was alwayspleased with me. I only used the whip twice in all our seven years (notcounting a third occasion of a very ambiguous character). The firsttime, two months after our marriage, immediately after we arrived in thecountry, and the last time was that of which we are speaking. Did yousuppose I was such a monster, such a reactionary, such a slave driver?Ha, ha! By the way, do you remember, Rodion Romanovitch, how a few yearsago, in those days of beneficent publicity, a nobleman, I've forgottenhis name, was put to shame everywhere, in all the papers, for havingthrashed a German woman in the railway train. You remember? It was inthose days, that very year I believe, the 'disgraceful action of the_Age_' took place (you know, 'The Egyptian Nights, ' that public reading, you remember? The dark eyes, you know! Ah, the golden days of our youth, where are they?). Well, as for the gentleman who thrashed the German, I feel no sympathy with him, because after all what need is therefor sympathy? But I must say that there are sometimes such provoking'Germans' that I don't believe there is a progressive who could quiteanswer for himself. No one looked at the subject from that point of viewthen, but that's the truly humane point of view, I assure you. "

After saying this, Svidrigaïlov broke into a sudden laugh again. Raskolnikov saw clearly that this was a man with a firm purpose in hismind and able to keep it to himself. 

"I expect you've not talked to anyone for some days?" he asked. 

"Scarcely anyone. I suppose you are wondering at my being such anadaptable man?"

"No, I am only wondering at your being too adaptable a man. "

"Because I am not offended at the rudeness of your questions? Is thatit? But why take offence? As you asked, so I answered, " he replied, with a surprising expression of simplicity. "You know, there'shardly anything I take interest in, " he went on, as it were dreamily, "especially now, I've nothing to do. . . . You are quite at liberty toimagine though that I am making up to you with a motive, particularly asI told you I want to see your sister about something. But I'll confessfrankly, I am very much bored. The last three days especially, so I amdelighted to see you. . . . Don't be angry, Rodion Romanovitch, but youseem to be somehow awfully strange yourself. Say what you like, there'ssomething wrong with you, and now, too. . . Not this very minute, I mean, but now, generally. . . . Well, well, I won't, I won't, don't scowl! I amnot such a bear, you know, as you think. "

Raskolnikov looked gloomily at him. 

"You are not a bear, perhaps, at all, " he said. "I fancy indeed thatyou are a man of very good breeding, or at least know how on occasion tobehave like one. "

"I am not particularly interested in anyone's opinion, " Svidrigaïlovanswered, dryly and even with a shade of haughtiness, "and therefore whynot be vulgar at times when vulgarity is such a convenient cloak for ourclimate. . . And especially if one has a natural propensity that way, " headded, laughing again. 

"But I've heard you have many friends here. You are, as they say, 'notwithout connections. ' What can you want with me, then, unless you'vesome special object?"

"That's true that I have friends here, " Svidrigaïlov admitted, notreplying to the chief point. "I've met some already. I've been loungingabout for the last three days, and I've seen them, or they've seen me. That's a matter of course. I am well dressed and reckoned not a poorman; the emancipation of the serfs hasn't affected me; my propertyconsists chiefly of forests and water meadows. The revenue has notfallen off; but. . . I am not going to see them, I was sick of them longago. I've been here three days and have called on no one. . . . What a townit is! How has it come into existence among us, tell me that? A town ofofficials and students of all sorts. Yes, there's a great deal I didn'tnotice when I was here eight years ago, kicking up my heels. . . . My onlyhope now is in anatomy, by Jove, it is!"

"Anatomy?"

"But as for these clubs, Dussauts, parades, or progress, indeed, maybe--well, all that can go on without me, " he went on, again withoutnoticing the question. "Besides, who wants to be a card-sharper?"

"Why, have you been a card-sharper then?"

"How could I help being? There was a regular set of us, men of the bestsociety, eight years ago; we had a fine time. And all men of breeding, you know, poets, men of property. And indeed as a rule in our Russiansociety the best manners are found among those who've been thrashed, have you noticed that? I've deteriorated in the country. But I did getinto prison for debt, through a low Greek who came from Nezhin. ThenMarfa Petrovna turned up; she bargained with him and bought me off forthirty thousand silver pieces (I owed seventy thousand). We were unitedin lawful wedlock and she bore me off into the country like a treasure. You know she was five years older than I. She was very fond of me. Forseven years I never left the country. And, take note, that all my lifeshe held a document over me, the IOU for thirty thousand roubles, soif I were to elect to be restive about anything I should be trapped atonce! And she would have done it! Women find nothing incompatible inthat. "

"If it hadn't been for that, would you have given her the slip?"

"I don't know what to say. It was scarcely the document restrained me. Ididn't want to go anywhere else. Marfa Petrovna herself invited me to goabroad, seeing I was bored, but I've been abroad before, and alwaysfelt sick there. For no reason, but the sunrise, the bay of Naples, thesea--you look at them and it makes you sad. What's most revolting isthat one is really sad! No, it's better at home. Here at least oneblames others for everything and excuses oneself. I should have goneperhaps on an expedition to the North Pole, because _j'ai le vinmauvais_ and hate drinking, and there's nothing left but wine. I havetried it. But, I say, I've been told Berg is going up in a great balloonnext Sunday from the Yusupov Garden and will take up passengers at afee. Is it true?"

"Why, would you go up?"

"I. . . No, oh, no, " muttered Svidrigaïlov really seeming to be deep inthought. 

"What does he mean? Is he in earnest?" Raskolnikov wondered. 

"No, the document didn't restrain me, " Svidrigaïlov went on, meditatively. "It was my own doing, not leaving the country, and nearlya year ago Marfa Petrovna gave me back the document on my name-dayand made me a present of a considerable sum of money, too. She had afortune, you know. 'You see how I trust you, Arkady Ivanovitch'--thatwas actually her expression. You don't believe she used it? But doyou know I managed the estate quite decently, they know me in theneighbourhood. I ordered books, too. Marfa Petrovna at first approved, but afterwards she was afraid of my over-studying. "

"You seem to be missing Marfa Petrovna very much?"

"Missing her? Perhaps. Really, perhaps I am. And, by the way, do youbelieve in ghosts?"

"What ghosts?"

"Why, ordinary ghosts. "

"Do you believe in them?"

"Perhaps not, _pour vous plaire_. . . . I wouldn't say no exactly. "

"Do you see them, then?"

Svidrigaïlov looked at him rather oddly. 

"Marfa Petrovna is pleased to visit me, " he said, twisting his mouthinto a strange smile. 

"How do you mean 'she is pleased to visit you'?"

"She has been three times. I saw her first on the very day of thefuneral, an hour after she was buried. It was the day before I left tocome here. The second time was the day before yesterday, at daybreak, onthe journey at the station of Malaya Vishera, and the third time was twohours ago in the room where I am staying. I was alone. "

"Were you awake?"

"Quite awake. I was wide awake every time. She comes, speaks to me fora minute and goes out at the door--always at the door. I can almost hearher. "

"What made me think that something of the sort must be happening toyou?" Raskolnikov said suddenly. 

At the same moment he was surprised at having said it. He was muchexcited. 

"What! Did you think so?" Svidrigaïlov asked in astonishment. "Did youreally? Didn't I say that there was something in common between us, eh?"

"You never said so!" Raskolnikov cried sharply and with heat. 

"Didn't I?"

"No!"

"I thought I did. When I came in and saw you lying with your eyes shut, pretending, I said to myself at once, 'Here's the man. '"

"What do you mean by 'the man?' What are you talking about?" criedRaskolnikov. 

"What do I mean? I really don't know. . . . " Svidrigaïlov mutteredingenuously, as though he, too, were puzzled. 

For a minute they were silent. They stared in each other's faces. 

"That's all nonsense!" Raskolnikov shouted with vexation. "What does shesay when she comes to you?"

"She! Would you believe it, she talks of the silliest trifles and--manis a strange creature--it makes me angry. The first time she came in (Iwas tired you know: the funeral service, the funeral ceremony, the lunchafterwards. At last I was left alone in my study. I lighted a cigar andbegan to think), she came in at the door. 'You've been so busy to-day, Arkady Ivanovitch, you have forgotten to wind the dining-room clock, 'she said. All those seven years I've wound that clock every week, and ifI forgot it she would always remind me. The next day I set off on my wayhere. I got out at the station at daybreak; I'd been asleep, tired out, with my eyes half open, I was drinking some coffee. I looked up andthere was suddenly Marfa Petrovna sitting beside me with a pack ofcards in her hands. 'Shall I tell your fortune for the journey, ArkadyIvanovitch?' She was a great hand at telling fortunes. I shall neverforgive myself for not asking her to. I ran away in a fright, and, besides, the bell rang. I was sitting to-day, feeling very heavy after amiserable dinner from a cookshop; I was sitting smoking, all of a suddenMarfa Petrovna again. She came in very smart in a new green silk dresswith a long train. 'Good day, Arkady Ivanovitch! How do you like mydress? Aniska can't make like this. ' (Aniska was a dressmaker in thecountry, one of our former serf girls who had been trained in Moscow, apretty wench. ) She stood turning round before me. I looked at the dress, and then I looked carefully, very carefully, at her face. 'I wonderyou trouble to come to me about such trifles, Marfa Petrovna. ' 'Goodgracious, you won't let one disturb you about anything!' To tease herI said, 'I want to get married, Marfa Petrovna. ' 'That's just like you, Arkady Ivanovitch; it does you very little credit to come looking for abride when you've hardly buried your wife. And if you could make a goodchoice, at least, but I know it won't be for your happiness or hers, youwill only be a laughing-stock to all good people. ' Then she went out andher train seemed to rustle. Isn't it nonsense, eh?"

"But perhaps you are telling lies?" Raskolnikov put in. 

"I rarely lie, " answered Svidrigaïlov thoughtfully, apparently notnoticing the rudeness of the question. 

"And in the past, have you ever seen ghosts before?"

"Y-yes, I have seen them, but only once in my life, six years ago. I hada serf, Filka; just after his burial I called out forgetting 'Filka, mypipe!' He came in and went to the cupboard where my pipes were. I satstill and thought 'he is doing it out of revenge, ' because we had aviolent quarrel just before his death. 'How dare you come in with a holein your elbow?' I said. 'Go away, you scamp!' He turned and went out, and never came again. I didn't tell Marfa Petrovna at the time. I wantedto have a service sung for him, but I was ashamed. "

"You should go to a doctor. "

"I know I am not well, without your telling me, though I don't knowwhat's wrong; I believe I am five times as strong as you are. I didn'task you whether you believe that ghosts are seen, but whether youbelieve that they exist. "

"No, I won't believe it!" Raskolnikov cried, with positive anger. 

"What do people generally say?" muttered Svidrigaïlov, as thoughspeaking to himself, looking aside and bowing his head. "They say, 'Youare ill, so what appears to you is only unreal fantasy. ' But that's notstrictly logical. I agree that ghosts only appear to the sick, but thatonly proves that they are unable to appear except to the sick, not thatthey don't exist. "

"Nothing of the sort, " Raskolnikov insisted irritably. 

"No? You don't think so?" Svidrigaïlov went on, looking at himdeliberately. "But what do you say to this argument (help me withit): ghosts are, as it were, shreds and fragments of other worlds, thebeginning of them. A man in health has, of course, no reason to seethem, because he is above all a man of this earth and is bound for thesake of completeness and order to live only in this life. But as soonas one is ill, as soon as the normal earthly order of the organism isbroken, one begins to realise the possibility of another world; and themore seriously ill one is, the closer becomes one's contact with thatother world, so that as soon as the man dies he steps straight into thatworld. I thought of that long ago. If you believe in a future life, youcould believe in that, too. "

"I don't believe in a future life, " said Raskolnikov. 

Svidrigaïlov sat lost in thought. 

"And what if there are only spiders there, or something of that sort, "he said suddenly. 

"He is a madman, " thought Raskolnikov. 

"We always imagine eternity as something beyond our conception, something vast, vast! But why must it be vast? Instead of all that, whatif it's one little room, like a bath house in the country, blackand grimy and spiders in every corner, and that's all eternity is? Isometimes fancy it like that. "

"Can it be you can imagine nothing juster and more comforting thanthat?" Raskolnikov cried, with a feeling of anguish. 

"Juster? And how can we tell, perhaps that is just, and do you knowit's what I would certainly have made it, " answered Svidrigaïlov, with avague smile. 

This horrible answer sent a cold chill through Raskolnikov. Svidrigaïlovraised his head, looked at him, and suddenly began laughing. 

"Only think, " he cried, "half an hour ago we had never seen each other, we regarded each other as enemies; there is a matter unsettled betweenus; we've thrown it aside, and away we've gone into the abstract! Wasn'tI right in saying that we were birds of a feather?"

"Kindly allow me, " Raskolnikov went on irritably, "to ask you to explainwhy you have honoured me with your visit. . . And. . . And I am in a hurry, I have no time to waste. I want to go out. "

"By all means, by all means. Your sister, Avdotya Romanovna, is going tobe married to Mr. Luzhin, Pyotr Petrovitch?"

"Can you refrain from any question about my sister and from mentioningher name? I can't understand how you dare utter her name in my presence, if you really are Svidrigaïlov. "

"Why, but I've come here to speak about her; how can I avoid mentioningher?"

"Very good, speak, but make haste. "

"I am sure that you must have formed your own opinion of this Mr. Luzhin, who is a connection of mine through my wife, if you have onlyseen him for half an hour, or heard any facts about him. He is nomatch for Avdotya Romanovna. I believe Avdotya Romanovna is sacrificingherself generously and imprudently for the sake of. . . For the sake ofher family. I fancied from all I had heard of you that you would be veryglad if the match could be broken off without the sacrifice of worldlyadvantages. Now I know you personally, I am convinced of it. "

"All this is very naïve. . . Excuse me, I should have said impudent onyour part, " said Raskolnikov. 

"You mean to say that I am seeking my own ends. Don't be uneasy, RodionRomanovitch, if I were working for my own advantage, I would not havespoken out so directly. I am not quite a fool. I will confess somethingpsychologically curious about that: just now, defending my love forAvdotya Romanovna, I said I was myself the victim. Well, let me tell youthat I've no feeling of love now, not the slightest, so that I wondermyself indeed, for I really did feel something. . . "

"Through idleness and depravity, " Raskolnikov put in. 

"I certainly am idle and depraved, but your sister has such qualitiesthat even I could not help being impressed by them. But that's allnonsense, as I see myself now. "

"Have you seen that long?"

"I began to be aware of it before, but was only perfectly sure of it theday before yesterday, almost at the moment I arrived in Petersburg. Istill fancied in Moscow, though, that I was coming to try to get AvdotyaRomanovna's hand and to cut out Mr. Luzhin. "

"Excuse me for interrupting you; kindly be brief, and come to the objectof your visit. I am in a hurry, I want to go out. . . "

"With the greatest pleasure. On arriving here and determining on acertain. . . Journey, I should like to make some necessary preliminaryarrangements. I left my children with an aunt; they are well providedfor; and they have no need of me personally. And a nice father I shouldmake, too! I have taken nothing but what Marfa Petrovna gave me a yearago. That's enough for me. Excuse me, I am just coming to the point. Before the journey which may come off, I want to settle Mr. Luzhin, too. It's not that I detest him so much, but it was through him I quarrelledwith Marfa Petrovna when I learned that she had dished up this marriage. I want now to see Avdotya Romanovna through your mediation, and if youlike in your presence, to explain to her that in the first place shewill never gain anything but harm from Mr. Luzhin. Then, beggingher pardon for all past unpleasantness, to make her a present of tenthousand roubles and so assist the rupture with Mr. Luzhin, a rupture towhich I believe she is herself not disinclined, if she could see the wayto it. "

"You are certainly mad, " cried Raskolnikov not so much angered asastonished. "How dare you talk like that!"

"I knew you would scream at me; but in the first place, though I am notrich, this ten thousand roubles is perfectly free; I have absolutely noneed for it. If Avdotya Romanovna does not accept it, I shall wasteit in some more foolish way. That's the first thing. Secondly, myconscience is perfectly easy; I make the offer with no ulterior motive. You may not believe it, but in the end Avdotya Romanovna and you willknow. The point is, that I did actually cause your sister, whom Igreatly respect, some trouble and unpleasantness, and so, sincerelyregretting it, I want--not to compensate, not to repay her for theunpleasantness, but simply to do something to her advantage, to showthat I am not, after all, privileged to do nothing but harm. If therewere a millionth fraction of self-interest in my offer, I should nothave made it so openly; and I should not have offered her ten thousandonly, when five weeks ago I offered her more, Besides, I may, perhaps, very soon marry a young lady, and that alone ought to prevent suspicionof any design on Avdotya Romanovna. In conclusion, let me say thatin marrying Mr. Luzhin, she is taking money just the same, only fromanother man. Don't be angry, Rodion Romanovitch, think it over coollyand quietly. "

Svidrigaïlov himself was exceedingly cool and quiet as he was sayingthis. 

"I beg you to say no more, " said Raskolnikov. "In any case this isunpardonable impertinence. "

"Not in the least. Then a man may do nothing but harm to his neighbourin this world, and is prevented from doing the tiniest bit of goodby trivial conventional formalities. That's absurd. If I died, forinstance, and left that sum to your sister in my will, surely shewouldn't refuse it?"

"Very likely she would. "

"Oh, no, indeed. However, if you refuse it, so be it, though tenthousand roubles is a capital thing to have on occasion. In any case Ibeg you to repeat what I have said to Avdotya Romanovna. "

"No, I won't. "

"In that case, Rodion Romanovitch, I shall be obliged to try and see hermyself and worry her by doing so. "

"And if I do tell her, will you not try to see her?"

"I don't know really what to say. I should like very much to see heronce more. "

"Don't hope for it. "

"I'm sorry. But you don't know me. Perhaps we may become betterfriends. "

"You think we may become friends?"

"And why not?" Svidrigaïlov said, smiling. He stood up and took his hat. "I didn't quite intend to disturb you and I came here without reckoningon it. . . Though I was very much struck by your face this morning. "

"Where did you see me this morning?" Raskolnikov asked uneasily. 

"I saw you by chance. . . . I kept fancying there is something about youlike me. . . . But don't be uneasy. I am not intrusive; I used to get onall right with card-sharpers, and I never bored Prince Svirbey, a greatpersonage who is a distant relation of mine, and I could write aboutRaphael's _Madonna_ in Madam Prilukov's album, and I never left MarfaPetrovna's side for seven years, and I used to stay the night atViazemsky's house in the Hay Market in the old days, and I may go up ina balloon with Berg, perhaps. "

"Oh, all right. Are you starting soon on your travels, may I ask?"

"What travels?"

"Why, on that 'journey'; you spoke of it yourself. "

"A journey? Oh, yes. I did speak of a journey. Well, that's a widesubject. . . . If only you knew what you are asking, " he added, and gavea sudden, loud, short laugh. "Perhaps I'll get married instead of thejourney. They're making a match for me. "

"Here?"

"Yes. "

"How have you had time for that?"

"But I am very anxious to see Avdotya Romanovna once. I earnestly begit. Well, good-bye for the present. Oh, yes. I have forgotten something. Tell your sister, Rodion Romanovitch, that Marfa Petrovna rememberedher in her will and left her three thousand roubles. That's absolutelycertain. Marfa Petrovna arranged it a week before her death, and it wasdone in my presence. Avdotya Romanovna will be able to receive the moneyin two or three weeks. "

"Are you telling the truth?"

"Yes, tell her. Well, your servant. I am staying very near you. "

As he went out, Svidrigaïlov ran up against Razumihin in the doorway. 

CHAPTER II

It was nearly eight o'clock. The two young men hurried to Bakaleyev's, to arrive before Luzhin. 

"Why, who was that?" asked Razumihin, as soon as they were in thestreet. 

"It was Svidrigaïlov, that landowner in whose house my sister wasinsulted when she was their governess. Through his persecuting her withhis attentions, she was turned out by his wife, Marfa Petrovna. ThisMarfa Petrovna begged Dounia's forgiveness afterwards, and she's justdied suddenly. It was of her we were talking this morning. I don'tknow why I'm afraid of that man. He came here at once after his wife'sfuneral. He is very strange, and is determined on doing something. . . . Wemust guard Dounia from him. . . That's what I wanted to tell you, do youhear?"

"Guard her! What can he do to harm Avdotya Romanovna? Thank you, Rodya, for speaking to me like that. . . . We will, we will guard her. Where doeshe live?"

"I don't know. "

"Why didn't you ask? What a pity! I'll find out, though. "

"Did you see him?" asked Raskolnikov after a pause. 

"Yes, I noticed him, I noticed him well. "

"You did really see him? You saw him clearly?" Raskolnikov insisted. 

"Yes, I remember him perfectly, I should know him in a thousand; I havea good memory for faces. "

They were silent again. 

"Hm!. . . That's all right, " muttered Raskolnikov. "Do you know, Ifancied. . . I keep thinking that it may have been an hallucination. "

"What do you mean? I don't understand you. "

"Well, you all say, " Raskolnikov went on, twisting his mouth into asmile, "that I am mad. I thought just now that perhaps I really am mad, and have only seen a phantom. "

"What do you mean?"

"Why, who can tell? Perhaps I am really mad, and perhaps everything thathappened all these days may be only imagination. "

"Ach, Rodya, you have been upset again!. . . But what did he say, what didhe come for?"

Raskolnikov did not answer. Razumihin thought a minute. 

"Now let me tell you my story, " he began, "I came to you, you wereasleep. Then we had dinner and then I went to Porfiry's, Zametov wasstill with him. I tried to begin, but it was no use. I couldn't speak inthe right way. They don't seem to understand and can't understand, butare not a bit ashamed. I drew Porfiry to the window, and began talkingto him, but it was still no use. He looked away and I looked away. Atlast I shook my fist in his ugly face, and told him as a cousin I'dbrain him. He merely looked at me, I cursed and came away. That wasall. It was very stupid. To Zametov I didn't say a word. But, you see, Ithought I'd made a mess of it, but as I went downstairs a brilliant ideastruck me: why should we trouble? Of course if you were in any dangeror anything, but why need you care? You needn't care a hang for them. Weshall have a laugh at them afterwards, and if I were in your place I'dmystify them more than ever. How ashamed they'll be afterwards! Hangthem! We can thrash them afterwards, but let's laugh at them now!"

"To be sure, " answered Raskolnikov. "But what will you say to-morrow?"he thought to himself. Strange to say, till that moment it had neveroccurred to him to wonder what Razumihin would think when he knew. As hethought it, Raskolnikov looked at him. Razumihin's account of his visitto Porfiry had very little interest for him, so much had come and gonesince then. 

In the corridor they came upon Luzhin; he had arrived punctuallyat eight, and was looking for the number, so that all three went intogether without greeting or looking at one another. The young menwalked in first, while Pyotr Petrovitch, for good manners, lingered alittle in the passage, taking off his coat. Pulcheria Alexandrovna cameforward at once to greet him in the doorway, Dounia was welcoming herbrother. Pyotr Petrovitch walked in and quite amiably, though withredoubled dignity, bowed to the ladies. He looked, however, as thoughhe were a little put out and could not yet recover himself. PulcheriaAlexandrovna, who seemed also a little embarrassed, hastened to makethem all sit down at the round table where a samovar was boiling. Douniaand Luzhin were facing one another on opposite sides of the table. Razumihin and Raskolnikov were facing Pulcheria Alexandrovna, Razumihinwas next to Luzhin and Raskolnikov was beside his sister. 

A moment's silence followed. Pyotr Petrovitch deliberately drew out acambric handkerchief reeking of scent and blew his nose with an air ofa benevolent man who felt himself slighted, and was firmly resolved toinsist on an explanation. In the passage the idea had occurred to him tokeep on his overcoat and walk away, and so give the two ladies a sharpand emphatic lesson and make them feel the gravity of the position. But he could not bring himself to do this. Besides, he could not endureuncertainty, and he wanted an explanation: if his request had been soopenly disobeyed, there was something behind it, and in that case it wasbetter to find it out beforehand; it rested with him to punish them andthere would always be time for that. 

"I trust you had a favourable journey, " he inquired officially ofPulcheria Alexandrovna. 

"Oh, very, Pyotr Petrovitch. "

"I am gratified to hear it. And Avdotya Romanovna is not over-fatiguedeither?"

"I am young and strong, I don't get tired, but it was a great strain formother, " answered Dounia. 

"That's unavoidable! our national railways are of terrible length. 'Mother Russia, ' as they say, is a vast country. . . . In spite of all mydesire to do so, I was unable to meet you yesterday. But I trust allpassed off without inconvenience?"

"Oh, no, Pyotr Petrovitch, it was all terribly disheartening, " PulcheriaAlexandrovna hastened to declare with peculiar intonation, "and ifDmitri Prokofitch had not been sent us, I really believe by God Himself, we should have been utterly lost. Here, he is! Dmitri ProkofitchRazumihin, " she added, introducing him to Luzhin. 

"I had the pleasure. . . Yesterday, " muttered Pyotr Petrovitch with ahostile glance sidelong at Razumihin; then he scowled and was silent. 

Pyotr Petrovitch belonged to that class of persons, on the surface verypolite in society, who make a great point of punctiliousness, but who, directly they are crossed in anything, are completely disconcerted, andbecome more like sacks of flour than elegant and lively men of society. Again all was silent; Raskolnikov was obstinately mute, AvdotyaRomanovna was unwilling to open the conversation too soon. Razumihin hadnothing to say, so Pulcheria Alexandrovna was anxious again. 

"Marfa Petrovna is dead, have you heard?" she began having recourse toher leading item of conversation. 

"To be sure, I heard so. I was immediately informed, and I have come tomake you acquainted with the fact that Arkady Ivanovitch Svidrigaïlovset off in haste for Petersburg immediately after his wife's funeral. Soat least I have excellent authority for believing. "

"To Petersburg? here?" Dounia asked in alarm and looked at her mother. 

"Yes, indeed, and doubtless not without some design, having in view therapidity of his departure, and all the circumstances preceding it. "

"Good heavens! won't he leave Dounia in peace even here?" criedPulcheria Alexandrovna. 

"I imagine that neither you nor Avdotya Romanovna have any grounds foruneasiness, unless, of course, you are yourselves desirous of gettinginto communication with him. For my part I am on my guard, and am nowdiscovering where he is lodging. "

"Oh, Pyotr Petrovitch, you would not believe what a fright you havegiven me, " Pulcheria Alexandrovna went on: "I've only seen him twice, but I thought him terrible, terrible! I am convinced that he was thecause of Marfa Petrovna's death. "

"It's impossible to be certain about that. I have precise information. Ido not dispute that he may have contributed to accelerate the course ofevents by the moral influence, so to say, of the affront; but as to thegeneral conduct and moral characteristics of that personage, I amin agreement with you. I do not know whether he is well off now, andprecisely what Marfa Petrovna left him; this will be known to me withina very short period; but no doubt here in Petersburg, if he has anypecuniary resources, he will relapse at once into his old ways. He isthe most depraved, and abjectly vicious specimen of that class of men. I have considerable reason to believe that Marfa Petrovna, who was sounfortunate as to fall in love with him and to pay his debts eight yearsago, was of service to him also in another way. Solely by her exertionsand sacrifices, a criminal charge, involving an element of fantasticand homicidal brutality for which he might well have been sentenced toSiberia, was hushed up. That's the sort of man he is, if you care toknow. "

"Good heavens!" cried Pulcheria Alexandrovna. Raskolnikov listenedattentively. 

"Are you speaking the truth when you say that you have good evidence ofthis?" Dounia asked sternly and emphatically. 

"I only repeat what I was told in secret by Marfa Petrovna. I mustobserve that from the legal point of view the case was far from clear. There was, and I believe still is, living here a woman called Resslich, a foreigner, who lent small sums of money at interest, and did othercommissions, and with this woman Svidrigaïlov had for a long while closeand mysterious relations. She had a relation, a niece I believe, livingwith her, a deaf and dumb girl of fifteen, or perhaps not more thanfourteen. Resslich hated this girl, and grudged her every crust; sheused to beat her mercilessly. One day the girl was found hanging inthe garret. At the inquest the verdict was suicide. After the usualproceedings the matter ended, but, later on, information was given thatthe child had been. . . Cruelly outraged by Svidrigaïlov. It is true, thiswas not clearly established, the information was given by another Germanwoman of loose character whose word could not be trusted; no statementwas actually made to the police, thanks to Marfa Petrovna's money andexertions; it did not get beyond gossip. And yet the story is a verysignificant one. You heard, no doubt, Avdotya Romanovna, when you werewith them the story of the servant Philip who died of ill treatment hereceived six years ago, before the abolition of serfdom. "

"I heard, on the contrary, that this Philip hanged himself. "

"Quite so, but what drove him, or rather perhaps disposed him, to suicide was the systematic persecution and severity of Mr. Svidrigaïlov. "

"I don't know that, " answered Dounia, dryly. "I only heard a queer storythat Philip was a sort of hypochondriac, a sort of domestic philosopher, the servants used to say, 'he read himself silly, ' and that he hangedhimself partly on account of Mr. Svidrigaïlov's mockery of him and nothis blows. When I was there he behaved well to the servants, and theywere actually fond of him, though they certainly did blame him forPhilip's death. "

"I perceive, Avdotya Romanovna, that you seem disposed to undertake hisdefence all of a sudden, " Luzhin observed, twisting his lips intoan ambiguous smile, "there's no doubt that he is an astute man, andinsinuating where ladies are concerned, of which Marfa Petrovna, who hasdied so strangely, is a terrible instance. My only desire has been to beof service to you and your mother with my advice, in view of the renewedefforts which may certainly be anticipated from him. For my part it'smy firm conviction, that he will end in a debtor's prison again. Marfa Petrovna had not the slightest intention of settling anythingsubstantial on him, having regard for his children's interests, and, if she left him anything, it would only be the merest sufficiency, something insignificant and ephemeral, which would not last a year for aman of his habits. "

"Pyotr Petrovitch, I beg you, " said Dounia, "say no more of Mr. Svidrigaïlov. It makes me miserable. "

"He has just been to see me, " said Raskolnikov, breaking his silence forthe first time. 

There were exclamations from all, and they all turned to him. Even PyotrPetrovitch was roused. 

"An hour and a half ago, he came in when I was asleep, waked me, andintroduced himself, " Raskolnikov continued. "He was fairly cheerfuland at ease, and quite hopes that we shall become friends. He isparticularly anxious, by the way, Dounia, for an interview with you, atwhich he asked me to assist. He has a proposition to make to you, andhe told me about it. He told me, too, that a week before her death MarfaPetrovna left you three thousand roubles in her will, Dounia, and thatyou can receive the money very shortly. "

"Thank God!" cried Pulcheria Alexandrovna, crossing herself. "Pray forher soul, Dounia!"

"It's a fact!" broke from Luzhin. 

"Tell us, what more?" Dounia urged Raskolnikov. 

"Then he said that he wasn't rich and all the estate was left to hischildren who are now with an aunt, then that he was staying somewherenot far from me, but where, I don't know, I didn't ask. . . . "

"But what, what does he want to propose to Dounia?" cried PulcheriaAlexandrovna in a fright. "Did he tell you?"

"Yes. "

"What was it?"

"I'll tell you afterwards. "

Raskolnikov ceased speaking and turned his attention to his tea. 

Pyotr Petrovitch looked at his watch. 

"I am compelled to keep a business engagement, and so I shall not be inyour way, " he added with an air of some pique and he began getting up. 

"Don't go, Pyotr Petrovitch, " said Dounia, "you intended to spendthe evening. Besides, you wrote yourself that you wanted to have anexplanation with mother. "

"Precisely so, Avdotya Romanovna, " Pyotr Petrovitch answeredimpressively, sitting down again, but still holding his hat. "Icertainly desired an explanation with you and your honoured mother upona very important point indeed. But as your brother cannot speak openlyin my presence of some proposals of Mr. Svidrigaïlov, I, too, do notdesire and am not able to speak openly. . . In the presence of others. . . Of certain matters of the greatest gravity. Moreover, my most weightyand urgent request has been disregarded. . . . "

Assuming an aggrieved air, Luzhin relapsed into dignified silence. 

"Your request that my brother should not be present at our meeting wasdisregarded solely at my instance, " said Dounia. "You wrote that youhad been insulted by my brother; I think that this must be explained atonce, and you must be reconciled. And if Rodya really has insulted you, then he _should_ and _will_ apologise. "

Pyotr Petrovitch took a stronger line. 

"There are insults, Avdotya Romanovna, which no goodwill can make usforget. There is a line in everything which it is dangerous to overstep;and when it has been overstepped, there is no return. "

"That wasn't what I was speaking of exactly, Pyotr Petrovitch, " Douniainterrupted with some impatience. "Please understand that our wholefuture depends now on whether all this is explained and set right assoon as possible. I tell you frankly at the start that I cannot look atit in any other light, and if you have the least regard for me, all thisbusiness must be ended to-day, however hard that may be. I repeat thatif my brother is to blame he will ask your forgiveness. "

"I am surprised at your putting the question like that, " said Luzhin, getting more and more irritated. "Esteeming, and so to say, adoring you, I may at the same time, very well indeed, be able to dislike some memberof your family. Though I lay claim to the happiness of your hand, Icannot accept duties incompatible with. . . "

"Ah, don't be so ready to take offence, Pyotr Petrovitch, " Douniainterrupted with feeling, "and be the sensible and generous man I havealways considered, and wish to consider, you to be. I've given you agreat promise, I am your betrothed. Trust me in this matter and, believeme, I shall be capable of judging impartially. My assuming the part ofjudge is as much a surprise for my brother as for you. When I insistedon his coming to our interview to-day after your letter, I toldhim nothing of what I meant to do. Understand that, if you are notreconciled, I must choose between you--it must be either you or he. Thatis how the question rests on your side and on his. I don't want to bemistaken in my choice, and I must not be. For your sake I must break offwith my brother, for my brother's sake I must break off with you. I canfind out for certain now whether he is a brother to me, and I want toknow it; and of you, whether I am dear to you, whether you esteem me, whether you are the husband for me. "

"Avdotya Romanovna, " Luzhin declared huffily, "your words are of toomuch consequence to me; I will say more, they are offensive in viewof the position I have the honour to occupy in relation to you. To saynothing of your strange and offensive setting me on a level with animpertinent boy, you admit the possibility of breaking your promise tome. You say 'you or he, ' showing thereby of how little consequence Iam in your eyes. . . I cannot let this pass considering the relationshipand. . . The obligations existing between us. "

"What!" cried Dounia, flushing. "I set your interest beside all that hashitherto been most precious in my life, what has made up the _whole_ ofmy life, and here you are offended at my making too _little_ account ofyou. "

Raskolnikov smiled sarcastically, Razumihin fidgeted, but PyotrPetrovitch did not accept the reproof; on the contrary, at every word hebecame more persistent and irritable, as though he relished it. 

"Love for the future partner of your life, for your husband, ought tooutweigh your love for your brother, " he pronounced sententiously, "andin any case I cannot be put on the same level. . . . Although I said soemphatically that I would not speak openly in your brother's presence, nevertheless, I intend now to ask your honoured mother for a necessaryexplanation on a point of great importance closely affecting my dignity. Your son, " he turned to Pulcheria Alexandrovna, "yesterday in thepresence of Mr. Razsudkin (or. . . I think that's it? excuse me I haveforgotten your surname, " he bowed politely to Razumihin) "insulted me bymisrepresenting the idea I expressed to you in a private conversation, drinking coffee, that is, that marriage with a poor girl who has hadexperience of trouble is more advantageous from the conjugal point ofview than with one who has lived in luxury, since it is more profitablefor the moral character. Your son intentionally exaggerated thesignificance of my words and made them ridiculous, accusing me ofmalicious intentions, and, as far as I could see, relied upon yourcorrespondence with him. I shall consider myself happy, PulcheriaAlexandrovna, if it is possible for you to convince me of an oppositeconclusion, and thereby considerately reassure me. Kindly let me knowin what terms precisely you repeated my words in your letter to RodionRomanovitch. "

"I don't remember, " faltered Pulcheria Alexandrovna. "I repeated them asI understood them. I don't know how Rodya repeated them to you, perhapshe exaggerated. "

"He could not have exaggerated them, except at your instigation. "

"Pyotr Petrovitch, " Pulcheria Alexandrovna declared with dignity, "theproof that Dounia and I did not take your words in a very bad sense isthe fact that we are here. "

"Good, mother, " said Dounia approvingly. 

"Then this is my fault again, " said Luzhin, aggrieved. 

"Well, Pyotr Petrovitch, you keep blaming Rodion, but you yourself havejust written what was false about him, " Pulcheria Alexandrovna added, gaining courage. 

"I don't remember writing anything false. "

"You wrote, " Raskolnikov said sharply, not turning to Luzhin, "that Igave money yesterday not to the widow of the man who was killed, as wasthe fact, but to his daughter (whom I had never seen till yesterday). You wrote this to make dissension between me and my family, and for thatobject added coarse expressions about the conduct of a girl whom youdon't know. All that is mean slander. "

"Excuse me, sir, " said Luzhin, quivering with fury. "I enlarged uponyour qualities and conduct in my letter solely in response to yoursister's and mother's inquiries, how I found you, and what impressionyou made on me. As for what you've alluded to in my letter, be so goodas to point out one word of falsehood, show, that is, that you didn'tthrow away your money, and that there are not worthless persons in thatfamily, however unfortunate. "

"To my thinking, you, with all your virtues, are not worth the littlefinger of that unfortunate girl at whom you throw stones. "

"Would you go so far then as to let her associate with your mother andsister?"

"I have done so already, if you care to know. I made her sit down to-daywith mother and Dounia. "

"Rodya!" cried Pulcheria Alexandrovna. Dounia crimsoned, Razumihinknitted his brows. Luzhin smiled with lofty sarcasm. 

"You may see for yourself, Avdotya Romanovna, " he said, "whether it ispossible for us to agree. I hope now that this question is at an end, once and for all. I will withdraw, that I may not hinder the pleasuresof family intimacy, and the discussion of secrets. " He got up from hischair and took his hat. "But in withdrawing, I venture to requestthat for the future I may be spared similar meetings, and, so tosay, compromises. I appeal particularly to you, honoured PulcheriaAlexandrovna, on this subject, the more as my letter was addressed toyou and to no one else. "

Pulcheria Alexandrovna was a little offended. 

"You seem to think we are completely under your authority, PyotrPetrovitch. Dounia has told you the reason your desire was disregarded, she had the best intentions. And indeed you write as though you werelaying commands upon me. Are we to consider every desire of yours asa command? Let me tell you on the contrary that you ought to showparticular delicacy and consideration for us now, because we have thrownup everything, and have come here relying on you, and so we are in anycase in a sense in your hands. "

"That is not quite true, Pulcheria Alexandrovna, especially at thepresent moment, when the news has come of Marfa Petrovna's legacy, whichseems indeed very apropos, judging from the new tone you take to me, " headded sarcastically. 

"Judging from that remark, we may certainly presume that you werereckoning on our helplessness, " Dounia observed irritably. 

"But now in any case I cannot reckon on it, and I particularly desirenot to hinder your discussion of the secret proposals of ArkadyIvanovitch Svidrigaïlov, which he has entrusted to your brother andwhich have, I perceive, a great and possibly a very agreeable interestfor you. "

"Good heavens!" cried Pulcheria Alexandrovna. 

Razumihin could not sit still on his chair. 

"Aren't you ashamed now, sister?" asked Raskolnikov. 

"I am ashamed, Rodya, " said Dounia. "Pyotr Petrovitch, go away, " sheturned to him, white with anger. 

Pyotr Petrovitch had apparently not at all expected such a conclusion. He had too much confidence in himself, in his power and in thehelplessness of his victims. He could not believe it even now. He turnedpale, and his lips quivered. 

"Avdotya Romanovna, if I go out of this door now, after such adismissal, then, you may reckon on it, I will never come back. Considerwhat you are doing. My word is not to be shaken. "

"What insolence!" cried Dounia, springing up from her seat. "I don'twant you to come back again. "

"What! So that's how it stands!" cried Luzhin, utterly unable to thelast moment to believe in the rupture and so completely thrown out ofhis reckoning now. "So that's how it stands! But do you know, AvdotyaRomanovna, that I might protest?"

"What right have you to speak to her like that?" Pulcheria Alexandrovnaintervened hotly. "And what can you protest about? What rights have you?Am I to give my Dounia to a man like you? Go away, leave us altogether!We are to blame for having agreed to a wrong action, and I aboveall. . . . "

"But you have bound me, Pulcheria Alexandrovna, " Luzhin stormed in afrenzy, "by your promise, and now you deny it and. . . Besides. . . I havebeen led on account of that into expenses. . . . "

This last complaint was so characteristic of Pyotr Petrovitch, thatRaskolnikov, pale with anger and with the effort of restraining it, could not help breaking into laughter. But Pulcheria Alexandrovna wasfurious. 

"Expenses? What expenses? Are you speaking of our trunk? But theconductor brought it for nothing for you. Mercy on us, we have boundyou! What are you thinking about, Pyotr Petrovitch, it was you bound us, hand and foot, not we!"

"Enough, mother, no more please, " Avdotya Romanovna implored. "PyotrPetrovitch, do be kind and go!"

"I am going, but one last word, " he said, quite unable to controlhimself. "Your mamma seems to have entirely forgotten that I made up mymind to take you, so to speak, after the gossip of the town had spreadall over the district in regard to your reputation. Disregarding publicopinion for your sake and reinstating your reputation, I certainlymight very well reckon on a fitting return, and might indeed look forgratitude on your part. And my eyes have only now been opened! I seemyself that I may have acted very, very recklessly in disregarding theuniversal verdict. . . . "

"Does the fellow want his head smashed?" cried Razumihin, jumping up. 

"You are a mean and spiteful man!" cried Dounia. 

"Not a word! Not a movement!" cried Raskolnikov, holding Razumihin back;then going close up to Luzhin, "Kindly leave the room!" he said quietlyand distinctly, "and not a word more or. . . "

Pyotr Petrovitch gazed at him for some seconds with a pale face thatworked with anger, then he turned, went out, and rarely has any mancarried away in his heart such vindictive hatred as he felt againstRaskolnikov. Him, and him alone, he blamed for everything. It isnoteworthy that as he went downstairs he still imagined that his casewas perhaps not utterly lost, and that, so far as the ladies wereconcerned, all might "very well indeed" be set right again. 

CHAPTER III

The fact was that up to the last moment he had never expected such anending; he had been overbearing to the last degree, never dreaming thattwo destitute and defenceless women could escape from his control. Thisconviction was strengthened by his vanity and conceit, a conceit tothe point of fatuity. Pyotr Petrovitch, who had made his way up frominsignificance, was morbidly given to self-admiration, had the highestopinion of his intelligence and capacities, and sometimes even gloatedin solitude over his image in the glass. But what he loved and valuedabove all was the money he had amassed by his labour, and by all sortsof devices: that money made him the equal of all who had been hissuperiors. 

When he had bitterly reminded Dounia that he had decided to take her inspite of evil report, Pyotr Petrovitch had spoken with perfect sincerityand had, indeed, felt genuinely indignant at such "black ingratitude. "And yet, when he made Dounia his offer, he was fully aware of thegroundlessness of all the gossip. The story had been everywherecontradicted by Marfa Petrovna, and was by then disbelieved by all thetownspeople, who were warm in Dounia'a defence. And he would not havedenied that he knew all that at the time. Yet he still thought highlyof his own resolution in lifting Dounia to his level and regarded it assomething heroic. In speaking of it to Dounia, he had let out the secretfeeling he cherished and admired, and he could not understand thatothers should fail to admire it too. He had called on Raskolnikov withthe feelings of a benefactor who is about to reap the fruits of his gooddeeds and to hear agreeable flattery. And as he went downstairs now, heconsidered himself most undeservedly injured and unrecognised. 

Dounia was simply essential to him; to do without her was unthinkable. For many years he had had voluptuous dreams of marriage, but he hadgone on waiting and amassing money. He brooded with relish, in profoundsecret, over the image of a girl--virtuous, poor (she must be poor), very young, very pretty, of good birth and education, very timid, onewho had suffered much, and was completely humbled before him, one whowould all her life look on him as her saviour, worship him, admire himand only him. How many scenes, how many amorous episodes he had imaginedon this seductive and playful theme, when his work was over! And, behold, the dream of so many years was all but realised; the beauty andeducation of Avdotya Romanovna had impressed him; her helpless positionhad been a great allurement; in her he had found even more than hedreamed of. Here was a girl of pride, character, virtue, of educationand breeding superior to his own (he felt that), and this creature wouldbe slavishly grateful all her life for his heroic condescension, andwould humble herself in the dust before him, and he would have absolute, unbounded power over her!. . . Not long before, he had, too, after longreflection and hesitation, made an important change in his career andwas now entering on a wider circle of business. With this change hischerished dreams of rising into a higher class of society seemed likelyto be realised. . . . He was, in fact, determined to try his fortunein Petersburg. He knew that women could do a very great deal. Thefascination of a charming, virtuous, highly educated woman might makehis way easier, might do wonders in attracting people to him, throwingan aureole round him, and now everything was in ruins! This suddenhorrible rupture affected him like a clap of thunder; it was like ahideous joke, an absurdity. He had only been a tiny bit masterful, had not even time to speak out, had simply made a joke, been carriedaway--and it had ended so seriously. And, of course, too, he did loveDounia in his own way; he already possessed her in his dreams--and allat once! No! The next day, the very next day, it must all be set right, smoothed over, settled. Above all he must crush that conceited milksopwho was the cause of it all. With a sick feeling he could not helprecalling Razumihin too, but, he soon reassured himself on that score;as though a fellow like that could be put on a level with him! The manhe really dreaded in earnest was Svidrigaïlov. . . . He had, in short, agreat deal to attend to. . . . 

*****

"No, I, I am more to blame than anyone!" said Dounia, kissing andembracing her mother. "I was tempted by his money, but on my honour, brother, I had no idea he was such a base man. If I had seen through himbefore, nothing would have tempted me! Don't blame me, brother!"

"God has delivered us! God has delivered us!" Pulcheria Alexandrovnamuttered, but half consciously, as though scarcely able to realise whathad happened. 

They were all relieved, and in five minutes they were laughing. Only nowand then Dounia turned white and frowned, remembering what had passed. Pulcheria Alexandrovna was surprised to find that she, too, was glad:she had only that morning thought rupture with Luzhin a terriblemisfortune. Razumihin was delighted. He did not yet dare to express hisjoy fully, but he was in a fever of excitement as though a ton-weighthad fallen off his heart. Now he had the right to devote his life tothem, to serve them. . . . Anything might happen now! But he felt afraid tothink of further possibilities and dared not let his imaginationrange. But Raskolnikov sat still in the same place, almost sullen andindifferent. Though he had been the most insistent on getting rid ofLuzhin, he seemed now the least concerned at what had happened. Douniacould not help thinking that he was still angry with her, and PulcheriaAlexandrovna watched him timidly. 

"What did Svidrigaïlov say to you?" said Dounia, approaching him. 

"Yes, yes!" cried Pulcheria Alexandrovna. 

Raskolnikov raised his head. 

"He wants to make you a present of ten thousand roubles and he desiresto see you once in my presence. "

"See her! On no account!" cried Pulcheria Alexandrovna. "And how dare heoffer her money!"

Then Raskolnikov repeated (rather dryly) his conversation withSvidrigaïlov, omitting his account of the ghostly visitations of MarfaPetrovna, wishing to avoid all unnecessary talk. 

"What answer did you give him?" asked Dounia. 

"At first I said I would not take any message to you. Then he said thathe would do his utmost to obtain an interview with you without my help. He assured me that his passion for you was a passing infatuation, now hehas no feeling for you. He doesn't want you to marry Luzhin. . . . His talkwas altogether rather muddled. "

"How do you explain him to yourself, Rodya? How did he strike you?"

"I must confess I don't quite understand him. He offers you tenthousand, and yet says he is not well off. He says he is going away, andin ten minutes he forgets he has said it. Then he says is he going to bemarried and has already fixed on the girl. . . . No doubt he has a motive, and probably a bad one. But it's odd that he should be so clumsy aboutit if he had any designs against you. . . . Of course, I refused thismoney on your account, once for all. Altogether, I thought him verystrange. . . . One might almost think he was mad. But I may be mistaken;that may only be the part he assumes. The death of Marfa Petrovna seemsto have made a great impression on him. "

"God rest her soul, " exclaimed Pulcheria Alexandrovna. "I shall always, always pray for her! Where should we be now, Dounia, without this threethousand! It's as though it had fallen from heaven! Why, Rodya, thismorning we had only three roubles in our pocket and Dounia and I werejust planning to pawn her watch, so as to avoid borrowing from that manuntil he offered help. "

Dounia seemed strangely impressed by Svidrigaïlov's offer. She stillstood meditating. 

"He has got some terrible plan, " she said in a half whisper to herself, almost shuddering. 

Raskolnikov noticed this disproportionate terror. 

"I fancy I shall have to see him more than once again, " he said toDounia. 

"We will watch him! I will track him out!" cried Razumihin, vigorously. "I won't lose sight of him. Rodya has given me leave. He said to mehimself just now. 'Take care of my sister. ' Will you give me leave, too, Avdotya Romanovna?"

Dounia smiled and held out her hand, but the look of anxiety did notleave her face. Pulcheria Alexandrovna gazed at her timidly, but thethree thousand roubles had obviously a soothing effect on her. 

A quarter of an hour later, they were all engaged in a livelyconversation. Even Raskolnikov listened attentively for some time, though he did not talk. Razumihin was the speaker. 

"And why, why should you go away?" he flowed on ecstatically. "And whatare you to do in a little town? The great thing is, you are all heretogether and you need one another--you do need one another, believe me. For a time, anyway. . . . Take me into partnership, and I assure you we'llplan a capital enterprise. Listen! I'll explain it all in detail toyou, the whole project! It all flashed into my head this morning, before anything had happened. . . I tell you what; I have an uncle, I mustintroduce him to you (a most accommodating and respectable old man). This uncle has got a capital of a thousand roubles, and he lives on hispension and has no need of that money. For the last two years he hasbeen bothering me to borrow it from him and pay him six per cent. Interest. I know what that means; he simply wants to help me. Last yearI had no need of it, but this year I resolved to borrow it as soon ashe arrived. Then you lend me another thousand of your three and we haveenough for a start, so we'll go into partnership, and what are we goingto do?"

Then Razumihin began to unfold his project, and he explained at lengththat almost all our publishers and booksellers know nothing at allof what they are selling, and for that reason they are usually badpublishers, and that any decent publications pay as a rule and givea profit, sometimes a considerable one. Razumihin had, indeed, beendreaming of setting up as a publisher. For the last two years he hadbeen working in publishers' offices, and knew three European languageswell, though he had told Raskolnikov six days before that he was"schwach" in German with an object of persuading him to take half histranslation and half the payment for it. He had told a lie then, andRaskolnikov knew he was lying. 

"Why, why should we let our chance slip when we have one of the chiefmeans of success--money of our own!" cried Razumihin warmly. "Of coursethere will be a lot of work, but we will work, you, Avdotya Romanovna, I, Rodion. . . . You get a splendid profit on some books nowadays! Andthe great point of the business is that we shall know just what wantstranslating, and we shall be translating, publishing, learning all atonce. I can be of use because I have experience. For nearly two yearsI've been scuttling about among the publishers, and now I know everydetail of their business. You need not be a saint to make pots, believeme! And why, why should we let our chance slip! Why, I know--and I keptthe secret--two or three books which one might get a hundred roublessimply for thinking of translating and publishing. Indeed, and I wouldnot take five hundred for the very idea of one of them. And what do youthink? If I were to tell a publisher, I dare say he'd hesitate--they aresuch blockheads! And as for the business side, printing, paper, selling, you trust to me, I know my way about. We'll begin in a small way and goon to a large. In any case it will get us our living and we shall getback our capital. "

Dounia's eyes shone. 

"I like what you are saying, Dmitri Prokofitch!" she said. 

"I know nothing about it, of course, " put in Pulcheria Alexandrovna, "it may be a good idea, but again God knows. It's new and untried. Ofcourse, we must remain here at least for a time. " She looked at Rodya. 

"What do you think, brother?" said Dounia. 

"I think he's got a very good idea, " he answered. "Of course, it's toosoon to dream of a publishing firm, but we certainly might bring outfive or six books and be sure of success. I know of one book myselfwhich would be sure to go well. And as for his being able to manage it, there's no doubt about that either. He knows the business. . . . But we cantalk it over later. . . . "

"Hurrah!" cried Razumihin. "Now, stay, there's a flat here in thishouse, belonging to the same owner. It's a special flat apart, notcommunicating with these lodgings. It's furnished, rent moderate, three rooms. Suppose you take them to begin with. I'll pawn your watchto-morrow and bring you the money, and everything can be arranged then. You can all three live together, and Rodya will be with you. But whereare you off to, Rodya?"

"What, Rodya, you are going already?" Pulcheria Alexandrovna asked indismay. 

"At such a minute?" cried Razumihin. 

Dounia looked at her brother with incredulous wonder. He held his cap inhis hand, he was preparing to leave them. 

"One would think you were burying me or saying good-bye for ever, " hesaid somewhat oddly. He attempted to smile, but it did not turn out asmile. "But who knows, perhaps it is the last time we shall see eachother. . . " he let slip accidentally. It was what he was thinking, and itsomehow was uttered aloud. 

"What is the matter with you?" cried his mother. 

"Where are you going, Rodya?" asked Dounia rather strangely. 

"Oh, I'm quite obliged to. . . " he answered vaguely, as though hesitatingwhat he would say. But there was a look of sharp determination in hiswhite face. 

"I meant to say. . . As I was coming here. . . I meant to tell you, mother, and you, Dounia, that it would be better for us to part for a time. Ifeel ill, I am not at peace. . . . I will come afterwards, I will come ofmyself. . . When it's possible. I remember you and love you. . . . Leave me, leave me alone. I decided this even before. . . I'm absolutely resolved onit. Whatever may come to me, whether I come to ruin or not, I want to bealone. Forget me altogether, it's better. Don't inquire about me. WhenI can, I'll come of myself or. . . I'll send for you. Perhaps it will allcome back, but now if you love me, give me up. . . Else I shall begin tohate you, I feel it. . . . Good-bye!"

"Good God!" cried Pulcheria Alexandrovna. Both his mother and his sisterwere terribly alarmed. Razumihin was also. 

"Rodya, Rodya, be reconciled with us! Let us be as before!" cried hispoor mother. 

He turned slowly to the door and slowly went out of the room. Douniaovertook him. 

"Brother, what are you doing to mother?" she whispered, her eyesflashing with indignation. 

He looked dully at her. 

"No matter, I shall come. . . . I'm coming, " he muttered in an undertone, as though not fully conscious of what he was saying, and he went out ofthe room. 

"Wicked, heartless egoist!" cried Dounia. 

"He is insane, but not heartless. He is mad! Don't you see it? You'reheartless after that!" Razumihin whispered in her ear, squeezingher hand tightly. "I shall be back directly, " he shouted to thehorror-stricken mother, and he ran out of the room. 

Raskolnikov was waiting for him at the end of the passage. 

"I knew you would run after me, " he said. "Go back to them--be withthem. . . Be with them to-morrow and always. . . . I. . . Perhaps I shallcome. . . If I can. Good-bye. "

And without holding out his hand he walked away. 

"But where are you going? What are you doing? What's the matter withyou? How can you go on like this?" Razumihin muttered, at his wits' end. 

Raskolnikov stopped once more. 

"Once for all, never ask me about anything. I have nothing to tell you. Don't come to see me. Maybe I'll come here. . . . Leave me, but _don'tleave_ them. Do you understand me?"

It was dark in the corridor, they were standing near the lamp. For aminute they were looking at one another in silence. Razumihin rememberedthat minute all his life. Raskolnikov's burning and intent eyesgrew more penetrating every moment, piercing into his soul, into hisconsciousness. Suddenly Razumihin started. Something strange, as itwere, passed between them. . . . Some idea, some hint, as it were, slipped, something awful, hideous, and suddenly understood on both sides. . . . Razumihin turned pale. 

"Do you understand now?" said Raskolnikov, his face twitching nervously. "Go back, go to them, " he said suddenly, and turning quickly, he wentout of the house. 

I will not attempt to describe how Razumihin went back to the ladies, how he soothed them, how he protested that Rodya needed rest in hisillness, protested that Rodya was sure to come, that he would come everyday, that he was very, very much upset, that he must not be irritated, that he, Razumihin, would watch over him, would get him a doctor, thebest doctor, a consultation. . . . In fact from that evening Razumihin tookhis place with them as a son and a brother. 

CHAPTER IV

Raskolnikov went straight to the house on the canal bank where Sonialived. It was an old green house of three storeys. He found theporter and obtained from him vague directions as to the whereabouts ofKapernaumov, the tailor. Having found in the corner of the courtyardthe entrance to the dark and narrow staircase, he mounted to the secondfloor and came out into a gallery that ran round the whole second storeyover the yard. While he was wandering in the darkness, uncertain whereto turn for Kapernaumov's door, a door opened three paces from him; hemechanically took hold of it. 

"Who is there?" a woman's voice asked uneasily. 

"It's I. . . Come to see you, " answered Raskolnikov and he walked into thetiny entry. 

On a broken chair stood a candle in a battered copper candlestick. 

"It's you! Good heavens!" cried Sonia weakly, and she stood rooted tothe spot. 

"Which is your room? This way?" and Raskolnikov, trying not to look ather, hastened in. 

A minute later Sonia, too, came in with the candle, set down thecandlestick and, completely disconcerted, stood before him inexpressiblyagitated and apparently frightened by his unexpected visit. The colourrushed suddenly to her pale face and tears came into her eyes. . . Shefelt sick and ashamed and happy, too. . . . Raskolnikov turned away quicklyand sat on a chair by the table. He scanned the room in a rapid glance. 

It was a large but exceedingly low-pitched room, the only one let by theKapernaumovs, to whose rooms a closed door led in the wall on the left. In the opposite side on the right hand wall was another door, alwayskept locked. That led to the next flat, which formed a separate lodging. Sonia's room looked like a barn; it was a very irregular quadrangle andthis gave it a grotesque appearance. A wall with three windows lookingout on to the canal ran aslant so that one corner formed a very acuteangle, and it was difficult to see in it without very strong light. The other corner was disproportionately obtuse. There was scarcely anyfurniture in the big room: in the corner on the right was a bedstead, beside it, nearest the door, a chair. A plain, deal table covered by ablue cloth stood against the same wall, close to the door into the otherflat. Two rush-bottom chairs stood by the table. On the oppositewall near the acute angle stood a small plain wooden chest of drawerslooking, as it were, lost in a desert. That was all there was in theroom. The yellow, scratched and shabby wall-paper was black in thecorners. It must have been damp and full of fumes in the winter. Therewas every sign of poverty; even the bedstead had no curtain. 

Sonia looked in silence at her visitor, who was so attentively andunceremoniously scrutinising her room, and even began at last to tremblewith terror, as though she was standing before her judge and the arbiterof her destinies. 

"I am late. . . . It's eleven, isn't it?" he asked, still not lifting hiseyes. 

"Yes, " muttered Sonia, "oh yes, it is, " she added, hastily, as though inthat lay her means of escape. "My landlady's clock has just struck. . . Iheard it myself. . . . "

"I've come to you for the last time, " Raskolnikov went on gloomily, although this was the first time. "I may perhaps not see you again. . . "

"Are you. . . Going away?"

"I don't know. . . To-morrow. . . . "

"Then you are not coming to Katerina Ivanovna to-morrow?" Sonia's voiceshook. 

"I don't know. I shall know to-morrow morning. . . . Never mind that: I'vecome to say one word. . . . "

He raised his brooding eyes to her and suddenly noticed that he wassitting down while she was all the while standing before him. 

"Why are you standing? Sit down, " he said in a changed voice, gentle andfriendly. 

She sat down. He looked kindly and almost compassionately at her. 

"How thin you are! What a hand! Quite transparent, like a dead hand. "

He took her hand. Sonia smiled faintly. 

"I have always been like that, " she said. 

"Even when you lived at home?"

"Yes. "

"Of course, you were, " he added abruptly and the expression of his faceand the sound of his voice changed again suddenly. 

He looked round him once more. 

"You rent this room from the Kapernaumovs?"

"Yes. . . . "

"They live there, through that door?"

"Yes. . . . They have another room like this. "

"All in one room?"

"Yes. "

"I should be afraid in your room at night, " he observed gloomily. 

"They are very good people, very kind, " answered Sonia, who still seemedbewildered, "and all the furniture, everything. . . Everything is theirs. And they are very kind and the children, too, often come to see me. "

"They all stammer, don't they?"

"Yes. . . . He stammers and he's lame. And his wife, too. . . . It's notexactly that she stammers, but she can't speak plainly. She is a verykind woman. And he used to be a house serf. And there are sevenchildren. . . And it's only the eldest one that stammers and the othersare simply ill. . . But they don't stammer. . . . But where did you hearabout them?" she added with some surprise. 

"Your father told me, then. He told me all about you. . . . And how youwent out at six o'clock and came back at nine and how Katerina Ivanovnaknelt down by your bed. "

Sonia was confused. 

"I fancied I saw him to-day, " she whispered hesitatingly. 

"Whom?"

"Father. I was walking in the street, out there at the corner, about teno'clock and he seemed to be walking in front. It looked just like him. Iwanted to go to Katerina Ivanovna. . . . "

"You were walking in the streets?"

"Yes, " Sonia whispered abruptly, again overcome with confusion andlooking down. 

"Katerina Ivanovna used to beat you, I dare say?"

"Oh no, what are you saying? No!" Sonia looked at him almost withdismay. 

"You love her, then?"

"Love her? Of course!" said Sonia with plaintive emphasis, and sheclasped her hands in distress. "Ah, you don't. . . . If you only knew!You see, she is quite like a child. . . . Her mind is quite unhinged, yousee. . . From sorrow. And how clever she used to be. . . How generous. . . Howkind! Ah, you don't understand, you don't understand!"

Sonia said this as though in despair, wringing her hands in excitementand distress. Her pale cheeks flushed, there was a look of anguish inher eyes. It was clear that she was stirred to the very depths, thatshe was longing to speak, to champion, to express something. A sortof _insatiable_ compassion, if one may so express it, was reflected inevery feature of her face. 

"Beat me! how can you? Good heavens, beat me! And if she did beat me, what then? What of it? You know nothing, nothing about it. . . . She is sounhappy. . . Ah, how unhappy! And ill. . . . She is seeking righteousness, she is pure. She has such faith that there must be righteousnesseverywhere and she expects it. . . . And if you were to torture her, shewouldn't do wrong. She doesn't see that it's impossible for people tobe righteous and she is angry at it. Like a child, like a child. She isgood!"

"And what will happen to you?"

Sonia looked at him inquiringly. 

"They are left on your hands, you see. They were all on your handsbefore, though. . . . And your father came to you to beg for drink. Well, how will it be now?"

"I don't know, " Sonia articulated mournfully. 

"Will they stay there?"

"I don't know. . . . They are in debt for the lodging, but the landlady, I hear, said to-day that she wanted to get rid of them, and KaterinaIvanovna says that she won't stay another minute. "

"How is it she is so bold? She relies upon you?"

"Oh, no, don't talk like that. . . . We are one, we live like one. " Soniawas agitated again and even angry, as though a canary or some otherlittle bird were to be angry. "And what could she do? What, what couldshe do?" she persisted, getting hot and excited. "And how she criedto-day! Her mind is unhinged, haven't you noticed it? At one minute sheis worrying like a child that everything should be right to-morrow, thelunch and all that. . . . Then she is wringing her hands, spitting blood, weeping, and all at once she will begin knocking her head against thewall, in despair. Then she will be comforted again. She builds all herhopes on you; she says that you will help her now and that she willborrow a little money somewhere and go to her native town with me andset up a boarding school for the daughters of gentlemen and take me tosuperintend it, and we will begin a new splendid life. And she kissesand hugs me, comforts me, and you know she has such faith, such faith inher fancies! One can't contradict her. And all the day long she has beenwashing, cleaning, mending. She dragged the wash tub into the room withher feeble hands and sank on the bed, gasping for breath. We went thismorning to the shops to buy shoes for Polenka and Lida for theirs arequite worn out. Only the money we'd reckoned wasn't enough, not nearlyenough. And she picked out such dear little boots, for she has taste, you don't know. And there in the shop she burst out crying before theshopmen because she hadn't enough. . . . Ah, it was sad to see her. . . . "

"Well, after that I can understand your living like this, " Raskolnikovsaid with a bitter smile. 

"And aren't you sorry for them? Aren't you sorry?" Sonia flew at himagain. "Why, I know, you gave your last penny yourself, though you'dseen nothing of it, and if you'd seen everything, oh dear! And howoften, how often I've brought her to tears! Only last week! Yes, I! Onlya week before his death. I was cruel! And how often I've done it! Ah, I've been wretched at the thought of it all day!"

Sonia wrung her hands as she spoke at the pain of remembering it. 

"You were cruel?"

"Yes, I--I. I went to see them, " she went on, weeping, "and father said, 'read me something, Sonia, my head aches, read to me, here's a book. ' Hehad a book he had got from Andrey Semyonovitch Lebeziatnikov, he livesthere, he always used to get hold of such funny books. And I said, 'Ican't stay, ' as I didn't want to read, and I'd gone in chiefly to showKaterina Ivanovna some collars. Lizaveta, the pedlar, sold me somecollars and cuffs cheap, pretty, new, embroidered ones. KaterinaIvanovna liked them very much; she put them on and looked at herselfin the glass and was delighted with them. 'Make me a present of them, Sonia, ' she said, 'please do. ' '_Please do_, ' she said, she wanted themso much. And when could she wear them? They just reminded her of her oldhappy days. She looked at herself in the glass, admired herself, and shehas no clothes at all, no things of her own, hasn't had all these years!And she never asks anyone for anything; she is proud, she'd sooner giveaway everything. And these she asked for, she liked them so much. And Iwas sorry to give them. 'What use are they to you, Katerina Ivanovna?' Isaid. I spoke like that to her, I ought not to have said that! She gaveme such a look. And she was so grieved, so grieved at my refusing her. And it was so sad to see. . . . And she was not grieved for the collars, but for my refusing, I saw that. Ah, if only I could bring it all back, change it, take back those words! Ah, if I. . . But it's nothing to you!"

"Did you know Lizaveta, the pedlar?"

"Yes. . . . Did you know her?" Sonia asked with some surprise. 

"Katerina Ivanovna is in consumption, rapid consumption; she will soondie, " said Raskolnikov after a pause, without answering her question. 

"Oh, no, no, no!"

And Sonia unconsciously clutched both his hands, as though imploringthat she should not. 

"But it will be better if she does die. "

"No, not better, not at all better!" Sonia unconsciously repeated indismay. 

"And the children? What can you do except take them to live with you?"

"Oh, I don't know, " cried Sonia, almost in despair, and she put herhands to her head. 

It was evident that that idea had very often occurred to her before andhe had only roused it again. 

"And, what, if even now, while Katerina Ivanovna is alive, you get illand are taken to the hospital, what will happen then?" he persistedpitilessly. 

"How can you? That cannot be!"

And Sonia's face worked with awful terror. 

"Cannot be?" Raskolnikov went on with a harsh smile. "You are notinsured against it, are you? What will happen to them then? They willbe in the street, all of them, she will cough and beg and knock her headagainst some wall, as she did to-day, and the children will cry. . . . Then she will fall down, be taken to the police station and to thehospital, she will die, and the children. . . "

"Oh, no. . . . God will not let it be!" broke at last from Sonia'soverburdened bosom. 

She listened, looking imploringly at him, clasping her hands in dumbentreaty, as though it all depended upon him. 

Raskolnikov got up and began to walk about the room. A minute passed. Sonia was standing with her hands and her head hanging in terribledejection. 

"And can't you save? Put by for a rainy day?" he asked, stoppingsuddenly before her. 

"No, " whispered Sonia. 

"Of course not. Have you tried?" he added almost ironically. 

"Yes. "

"And it didn't come off! Of course not! No need to ask. "

And again he paced the room. Another minute passed. 

"You don't get money every day?"

Sonia was more confused than ever and colour rushed into her face again. 

"No, " she whispered with a painful effort. 

"It will be the same with Polenka, no doubt, " he said suddenly. 

"No, no! It can't be, no!" Sonia cried aloud in desperation, as thoughshe had been stabbed. "God would not allow anything so awful!"

"He lets others come to it. "

"No, no! God will protect her, God!" she repeated beside herself. 

"But, perhaps, there is no God at all, " Raskolnikov answered with a sortof malignance, laughed and looked at her. 

Sonia's face suddenly changed; a tremor passed over it. She looked athim with unutterable reproach, tried to say something, but could notspeak and broke into bitter, bitter sobs, hiding her face in her hands. 

"You say Katerina Ivanovna's mind is unhinged; your own mind isunhinged, " he said after a brief silence. 

Five minutes passed. He still paced up and down the room in silence, notlooking at her. At last he went up to her; his eyes glittered. He puthis two hands on her shoulders and looked straight into her tearfulface. His eyes were hard, feverish and piercing, his lips weretwitching. All at once he bent down quickly and dropping to theground, kissed her foot. Sonia drew back from him as from a madman. Andcertainly he looked like a madman. 

"What are you doing to me?" she muttered, turning pale, and a suddenanguish clutched at her heart. 

He stood up at once. 

"I did not bow down to you, I bowed down to all the suffering ofhumanity, " he said wildly and walked away to the window. "Listen, " headded, turning to her a minute later. "I said just now to an insolentman that he was not worth your little finger. . . And that I did my sisterhonour making her sit beside you. "

"Ach, you said that to them! And in her presence?" cried Sonia, frightened. "Sit down with me! An honour! Why, I'm. . . Dishonourable. . . . Ah, why did you say that?"

"It was not because of your dishonour and your sin I said that of you, but because of your great suffering. But you are a great sinner, that'strue, " he added almost solemnly, "and your worst sin is that you havedestroyed and betrayed yourself _for nothing_. Isn't that fearful? Isn'tit fearful that you are living in this filth which you loathe so, and atthe same time you know yourself (you've only to open your eyes) that youare not helping anyone by it, not saving anyone from anything? Tell me, "he went on almost in a frenzy, "how this shame and degradation can existin you side by side with other, opposite, holy feelings? It would bebetter, a thousand times better and wiser to leap into the water and endit all!"

"But what would become of them?" Sonia asked faintly, gazing at him witheyes of anguish, but not seeming surprised at his suggestion. 

Raskolnikov looked strangely at her. He read it all in her face; so shemust have had that thought already, perhaps many times, and earnestlyshe had thought out in her despair how to end it and so earnestly, thatnow she scarcely wondered at his suggestion. She had not even noticedthe cruelty of his words. (The significance of his reproaches and hispeculiar attitude to her shame she had, of course, not noticed either, and that, too, was clear to him. ) But he saw how monstrously the thoughtof her disgraceful, shameful position was torturing her and had longtortured her. "What, what, " he thought, "could hitherto have hinderedher from putting an end to it?" Only then he realised what those poorlittle orphan children and that pitiful half-crazy Katerina Ivanovna, knocking her head against the wall in her consumption, meant for Sonia. 

But, nevertheless, it was clear to him again that with her character andthe amount of education she had after all received, she could not in anycase remain so. He was still confronted by the question, how could shehave remained so long in that position without going out of her mind, since she could not bring herself to jump into the water? Of course heknew that Sonia's position was an exceptional case, though unhappily notunique and not infrequent, indeed; but that very exceptionalness, hertinge of education, her previous life might, one would have thought, have killed her at the first step on that revolting path. What held herup--surely not depravity? All that infamy had obviously only touchedher mechanically, not one drop of real depravity had penetrated to herheart; he saw that. He saw through her as she stood before him. . . . 

"There are three ways before her, " he thought, "the canal, the madhouse, or. . . At last to sink into depravity which obscures the mind and turnsthe heart to stone. "

The last idea was the most revolting, but he was a sceptic, he wasyoung, abstract, and therefore cruel, and so he could not help believingthat the last end was the most likely. 

"But can that be true?" he cried to himself. "Can that creature who hasstill preserved the purity of her spirit be consciously drawn at lastinto that sink of filth and iniquity? Can the process already havebegun? Can it be that she has only been able to bear it till now, because vice has begun to be less loathsome to her? No, no, that cannotbe!" he cried, as Sonia had just before. "No, what has kept her from thecanal till now is the idea of sin and they, the children. . . . And if shehas not gone out of her mind. . . But who says she has not gone out of hermind? Is she in her senses? Can one talk, can one reason as she does?How can she sit on the edge of the abyss of loathsomeness into which sheis slipping and refuse to listen when she is told of danger? Does sheexpect a miracle? No doubt she does. Doesn't that all mean madness?"

He stayed obstinately at that thought. He liked that explanation indeedbetter than any other. He began looking more intently at her. 

"So you pray to God a great deal, Sonia?" he asked her. 

Sonia did not speak; he stood beside her waiting for an answer. 

"What should I be without God?" she whispered rapidly, forcibly, glancing at him with suddenly flashing eyes, and squeezing his hand. 

"Ah, so that is it!" he thought. 

"And what does God do for you?" he asked, probing her further. 

Sonia was silent a long while, as though she could not answer. Her weakchest kept heaving with emotion. 

"Be silent! Don't ask! You don't deserve!" she cried suddenly, lookingsternly and wrathfully at him. 

"That's it, that's it, " he repeated to himself. 

"He does everything, " she whispered quickly, looking down again. 

"That's the way out! That's the explanation, " he decided, scrutinisingher with eager curiosity, with a new, strange, almost morbid feeling. He gazed at that pale, thin, irregular, angular little face, those softblue eyes, which could flash with such fire, such stern energy, thatlittle body still shaking with indignation and anger--and it all seemedto him more and more strange, almost impossible. "She is a religiousmaniac!" he repeated to himself. 

There was a book lying on the chest of drawers. He had noticed it everytime he paced up and down the room. Now he took it up and looked at it. It was the New Testament in the Russian translation. It was bound inleather, old and worn. 

"Where did you get that?" he called to her across the room. 

She was still standing in the same place, three steps from the table. 

"It was brought me, " she answered, as it were unwillingly, not lookingat him. 

"Who brought it?"

"Lizaveta, I asked her for it. "

"Lizaveta! strange!" he thought. 

Everything about Sonia seemed to him stranger and more wonderful everymoment. He carried the book to the candle and began to turn over thepages. 

"Where is the story of Lazarus?" he asked suddenly. 

Sonia looked obstinately at the ground and would not answer. She wasstanding sideways to the table. 

"Where is the raising of Lazarus? Find it for me, Sonia. "

She stole a glance at him. 

"You are not looking in the right place. . . . It's in the fourth gospel, "she whispered sternly, without looking at him. 

"Find it and read it to me, " he said. He sat down with his elbow on thetable, leaned his head on his hand and looked away sullenly, prepared tolisten. 

"In three weeks' time they'll welcome me in the madhouse! I shall bethere if I am not in a worse place, " he muttered to himself. 

Sonia heard Raskolnikov's request distrustfully and moved hesitatinglyto the table. She took the book however. 

"Haven't you read it?" she asked, looking up at him across the table. 

Her voice became sterner and sterner. 

"Long ago. . . . When I was at school. Read!"

"And haven't you heard it in church?"

"I. . . Haven't been. Do you often go?"

"N-no, " whispered Sonia. 

Raskolnikov smiled. 

"I understand. . . . And you won't go to your father's funeral to-morrow?"

"Yes, I shall. I was at church last week, too. . . I had a requiemservice. "

"For whom?"

"For Lizaveta. She was killed with an axe. "

His nerves were more and more strained. His head began to go round. 

"Were you friends with Lizaveta?"

"Yes. . . . She was good. . . She used to come. . . Not often. . . Shecouldn't. . . . We used to read together and. . . Talk. She will see God. "

The last phrase sounded strange in his ears. And here was something newagain: the mysterious meetings with Lizaveta and both of them--religiousmaniacs. 

"I shall be a religious maniac myself soon! It's infectious!"

"Read!" he cried irritably and insistently. 

Sonia still hesitated. Her heart was throbbing. She hardly dared to readto him. He looked almost with exasperation at the "unhappy lunatic. "

"What for? You don't believe?. . . " she whispered softly and as it werebreathlessly. 

"Read! I want you to, " he persisted. "You used to read to Lizaveta. "

Sonia opened the book and found the place. Her hands were shaking, hervoice failed her. Twice she tried to begin and could not bring out thefirst syllable. 

"Now a certain man was sick named Lazarus of Bethany. . . " she forcedherself at last to read, but at the third word her voice broke like anoverstrained string. There was a catch in her breath. 

Raskolnikov saw in part why Sonia could not bring herself to read to himand the more he saw this, the more roughly and irritably he insisted onher doing so. He understood only too well how painful it was for herto betray and unveil all that was her _own_. He understood that thesefeelings really were her _secret treasure_, which she had kept perhapsfor years, perhaps from childhood, while she lived with an unhappyfather and a distracted stepmother crazed by grief, in the midst ofstarving children and unseemly abuse and reproaches. But at the sametime he knew now and knew for certain that, although it filled her withdread and suffering, yet she had a tormenting desire to read and to readto _him_ that he might hear it, and to read _now_ whatever might come ofit!. . . He read this in her eyes, he could see it in her intense emotion. She mastered herself, controlled the spasm in her throat and went onreading the eleventh chapter of St. John. She went on to the nineteenthverse:

"And many of the Jews came to Martha and Mary to comfort them concerningtheir brother. 

"Then Martha as soon as she heard that Jesus was coming went and metHim: but Mary sat still in the house. 

"Then said Martha unto Jesus, Lord, if Thou hadst been here, my brotherhad not died. 

"But I know that even now whatsoever Thou wilt ask of God, God will giveit Thee. . . . "

Then she stopped again with a shamefaced feeling that her voice wouldquiver and break again. 

"Jesus said unto her, thy brother shall rise again. 

"Martha saith unto Him, I know that he shall rise again in theresurrection, at the last day. 

"Jesus said unto her, I am the resurrection and the life: he thatbelieveth in Me though he were dead, yet shall he live. 

"And whosoever liveth and believeth in Me shall never die. Believestthou this?

"She saith unto Him, "

(And drawing a painful breath, Sonia read distinctly and forcibly asthough she were making a public confession of faith. )

"Yea, Lord: I believe that Thou art the Christ, the Son of God Whichshould come into the world. "

She stopped and looked up quickly at him, but controlling herself wenton reading. Raskolnikov sat without moving, his elbows on the table andhis eyes turned away. She read to the thirty-second verse. 

"Then when Mary was come where Jesus was and saw Him, she fell down atHis feet, saying unto Him, Lord if Thou hadst been here, my brother hadnot died. 

"When Jesus therefore saw her weeping, and the Jews also weeping whichcame with her, He groaned in the spirit and was troubled, "And said, Where have ye laid him? They said unto Him, Lord, come andsee. 

"Jesus wept. 

"Then said the Jews, behold how He loved him!

"And some of them said, could not this Man which opened the eyes of theblind, have caused that even this man should not have died?"

Raskolnikov turned and looked at her with emotion. Yes, he had known it!She was trembling in a real physical fever. He had expected it. She wasgetting near the story of the greatest miracle and a feeling of immensetriumph came over her. Her voice rang out like a bell; triumph and joygave it power. The lines danced before her eyes, but she knew what shewas reading by heart. At the last verse "Could not this Man which openedthe eyes of the blind. . . " dropping her voice she passionately reproducedthe doubt, the reproach and censure of the blind disbelieving Jews, whoin another moment would fall at His feet as though struck bythunder, sobbing and believing. . . . "And _he, he_--too, is blinded andunbelieving, he, too, will hear, he, too, will believe, yes, yes! Atonce, now, " was what she was dreaming, and she was quivering with happyanticipation. 

"Jesus therefore again groaning in Himself cometh to the grave. It was acave, and a stone lay upon it. 

"Jesus said, Take ye away the stone. Martha, the sister of him that wasdead, saith unto Him, Lord by this time he stinketh: for he hath beendead four days. "

She laid emphasis on the word _four_. 

"Jesus saith unto her, Said I not unto thee that if thou wouldestbelieve, thou shouldest see the glory of God?

"Then they took away the stone from the place where the dead was laid. And Jesus lifted up His eyes and said, Father, I thank Thee that Thouhast heard Me. 

"And I knew that Thou hearest Me always; but because of the people whichstand by I said it, that they may believe that Thou hast sent Me. 

"And when He thus had spoken, He cried with a loud voice, Lazarus, comeforth. 

"And he that was dead came forth. "

(She read loudly, cold and trembling with ecstasy, as though she wereseeing it before her eyes. )

"Bound hand and foot with graveclothes; and his face was bound aboutwith a napkin. Jesus saith unto them, Loose him and let him go. 

"Then many of the Jews which came to Mary and had seen the things whichJesus did believed on Him. "

She could read no more, closed the book and got up from her chairquickly. 

"That is all about the raising of Lazarus, " she whispered severely andabruptly, and turning away she stood motionless, not daring to raiseher eyes to him. She still trembled feverishly. The candle-end wasflickering out in the battered candlestick, dimly lighting up in thepoverty-stricken room the murderer and the harlot who had so strangelybeen reading together the eternal book. Five minutes or more passed. 

"I came to speak of something, " Raskolnikov said aloud, frowning. He gotup and went to Sonia. She lifted her eyes to him in silence. His facewas particularly stern and there was a sort of savage determination init. 

"I have abandoned my family to-day, " he said, "my mother and sister. Iam not going to see them. I've broken with them completely. "

"What for?" asked Sonia amazed. Her recent meeting with his mother andsister had left a great impression which she could not analyse. Sheheard his news almost with horror. 

"I have only you now, " he added. "Let us go together. . . . I've come toyou, we are both accursed, let us go our way together!"

His eyes glittered "as though he were mad, " Sonia thought, in her turn. 

"Go where?" she asked in alarm and she involuntarily stepped back. 

"How do I know? I only know it's the same road, I know that and nothingmore. It's the same goal!"

She looked at him and understood nothing. She knew only that he wasterribly, infinitely unhappy. 

"No one of them will understand, if you tell them, but I haveunderstood. I need you, that is why I have come to you. "

"I don't understand, " whispered Sonia. 

"You'll understand later. Haven't you done the same? You, too, havetransgressed. . . Have had the strength to transgress. You have laidhands on yourself, you have destroyed a life. . . _your own_ (it's all thesame!). You might have lived in spirit and understanding, but you'llend in the Hay Market. . . . But you won't be able to stand it, and ifyou remain alone you'll go out of your mind like me. You are like a madcreature already. So we must go together on the same road! Let us go!"

"What for? What's all this for?" said Sonia, strangely and violentlyagitated by his words. 

"What for? Because you can't remain like this, that's why! You must lookthings straight in the face at last, and not weep like a child and crythat God won't allow it. What will happen, if you should really be takento the hospital to-morrow? She is mad and in consumption, she'll soondie and the children? Do you mean to tell me Polenka won't come togrief? Haven't you seen children here at the street corners sent outby their mothers to beg? I've found out where those mothers live and inwhat surroundings. Children can't remain children there! At seven thechild is vicious and a thief. Yet children, you know, are the image ofChrist: 'theirs is the kingdom of Heaven. ' He bade us honour and lovethem, they are the humanity of the future. . . . "

"What's to be done, what's to be done?" repeated Sonia, weepinghysterically and wringing her hands. 

"What's to be done? Break what must be broken, once for all, that's all, and take the suffering on oneself. What, you don't understand? You'llunderstand later. . . . Freedom and power, and above all, power! Over alltrembling creation and all the ant-heap!. . . That's the goal, rememberthat! That's my farewell message. Perhaps it's the last time I shallspeak to you. If I don't come to-morrow, you'll hear of it all, and thenremember these words. And some day later on, in years to come, you'llunderstand perhaps what they meant. If I come to-morrow, I'll tell youwho killed Lizaveta. . . . Good-bye. "

Sonia started with terror. 

"Why, do you know who killed her?" she asked, chilled with horror, looking wildly at him. 

"I know and will tell. . . You, only you. I have chosen you out. I'm notcoming to you to ask forgiveness, but simply to tell you. I chose youout long ago to hear this, when your father talked of you and whenLizaveta was alive, I thought of it. Good-bye, don't shake hands. To-morrow!"

He went out. Sonia gazed at him as at a madman. But she herself was likeone insane and felt it. Her head was going round. 

"Good heavens, how does he know who killed Lizaveta? What did thosewords mean? It's awful!" But at the same time _the idea_ did not enterher head, not for a moment! "Oh, he must be terribly unhappy!. . . He hasabandoned his mother and sister. . . . What for? What has happened? Andwhat had he in his mind? What did he say to her? He had kissed her footand said. . . Said (yes, he had said it clearly) that he could not livewithout her. . . . Oh, merciful heavens!"

Sonia spent the whole night feverish and delirious. She jumped up fromtime to time, wept and wrung her hands, then sank again into feverishsleep and dreamt of Polenka, Katerina Ivanovna and Lizaveta, of readingthe gospel and him. . . Him with pale face, with burning eyes. . . Kissingher feet, weeping. 

On the other side of the door on the right, which divided Sonia's roomfrom Madame Resslich's flat, was a room which had long stood empty. Acard was fixed on the gate and a notice stuck in the windows over thecanal advertising it to let. Sonia had long been accustomed to theroom's being uninhabited. But all that time Mr. Svidrigaïlov had beenstanding, listening at the door of the empty room. When Raskolnikov wentout he stood still, thought a moment, went on tiptoe to his own roomwhich adjoined the empty one, brought a chair and noiselessly carried itto the door that led to Sonia's room. The conversation had struck himas interesting and remarkable, and he had greatly enjoyed it--so much sothat he brought a chair that he might not in the future, to-morrow, forinstance, have to endure the inconvenience of standing a whole hour, butmight listen in comfort. 

CHAPTER V

When next morning at eleven o'clock punctually Raskolnikov went into thedepartment of the investigation of criminal causes and sent his name into Porfiry Petrovitch, he was surprised at being kept waiting so long:it was at least ten minutes before he was summoned. He had expectedthat they would pounce upon him. But he stood in the waiting-room, andpeople, who apparently had nothing to do with him, were continuallypassing to and fro before him. In the next room which looked like anoffice, several clerks were sitting writing and obviously they hadno notion who or what Raskolnikov might be. He looked uneasily andsuspiciously about him to see whether there was not some guard, somemysterious watch being kept on him to prevent his escape. But there wasnothing of the sort: he saw only the faces of clerks absorbed in pettydetails, then other people, no one seemed to have any concern with him. He might go where he liked for them. The conviction grew stronger in himthat if that enigmatic man of yesterday, that phantom sprung out of theearth, had seen everything, they would not have let him stand and waitlike that. And would they have waited till he elected to appear ateleven? Either the man had not yet given information, or. . . Or simplyhe knew nothing, had seen nothing (and how could he have seen anything?)and so all that had happened to him the day before was again a phantomexaggerated by his sick and overstrained imagination. This conjecturehad begun to grow strong the day before, in the midst of all hisalarm and despair. Thinking it all over now and preparing for a freshconflict, he was suddenly aware that he was trembling--and he felt arush of indignation at the thought that he was trembling with fear atfacing that hateful Porfiry Petrovitch. What he dreaded above all wasmeeting that man again; he hated him with an intense, unmitigated hatredand was afraid his hatred might betray him. His indignation was suchthat he ceased trembling at once; he made ready to go in with a cold andarrogant bearing and vowed to himself to keep as silent as possible, to watch and listen and for once at least to control his overstrainednerves. At that moment he was summoned to Porfiry Petrovitch. 

He found Porfiry Petrovitch alone in his study. His study was a roomneither large nor small, furnished with a large writing-table, thatstood before a sofa, upholstered in checked material, a bureau, abookcase in the corner and several chairs--all government furniture, of polished yellow wood. In the further wall there was a closed door, beyond it there were no doubt other rooms. On Raskolnikov's entrancePorfiry Petrovitch had at once closed the door by which he had come inand they remained alone. He met his visitor with an apparently genialand good-tempered air, and it was only after a few minutes thatRaskolnikov saw signs of a certain awkwardness in him, as though he hadbeen thrown out of his reckoning or caught in something very secret. 

"Ah, my dear fellow! Here you are. . . In our domain". . . Began Porfiry, holding out both hands to him. "Come, sit down, old man. . . Or perhapsyou don't like to be called 'my dear fellow' and 'old man!'--_toutcourt_? Please don't think it too familiar. . . . Here, on the sofa. "

Raskolnikov sat down, keeping his eyes fixed on him. "In our domain, "the apologies for familiarity, the French phrase _tout court_, were allcharacteristic signs. 

"He held out both hands to me, but he did not give me one--he drew itback in time, " struck him suspiciously. Both were watching each other, but when their eyes met, quick as lightning they looked away. 

"I brought you this paper. . . About the watch. Here it is. Is it allright or shall I copy it again?"

"What? A paper? Yes, yes, don't be uneasy, it's all right, " PorfiryPetrovitch said as though in haste, and after he had said it he took thepaper and looked at it. "Yes, it's all right. Nothing more is needed, "he declared with the same rapidity and he laid the paper on the table. 

A minute later when he was talking of something else he took it from thetable and put it on his bureau. 

"I believe you said yesterday you would like to question me. . . Formally. . . About my acquaintance with the murdered woman?" Raskolnikovwas beginning again. "Why did I put in 'I believe'" passed throughhis mind in a flash. "Why am I so uneasy at having put in that '_Ibelieve_'?" came in a second flash. And he suddenly felt that hisuneasiness at the mere contact with Porfiry, at the first words, at thefirst looks, had grown in an instant to monstrous proportions, and thatthis was fearfully dangerous. His nerves were quivering, his emotion wasincreasing. "It's bad, it's bad! I shall say too much again. "

"Yes, yes, yes! There's no hurry, there's no hurry, " muttered PorfiryPetrovitch, moving to and fro about the table without any apparent aim, as it were making dashes towards the window, the bureau and the table, at one moment avoiding Raskolnikov's suspicious glance, then againstanding still and looking him straight in the face. 

His fat round little figure looked very strange, like a ball rollingfrom one side to the other and rebounding back. 

"We've plenty of time. Do you smoke? have you your own? Here, acigarette!" he went on, offering his visitor a cigarette. "You know I amreceiving you here, but my own quarters are through there, you know, mygovernment quarters. But I am living outside for the time, I had tohave some repairs done here. It's almost finished now. . . . Governmentquarters, you know, are a capital thing. Eh, what do you think?"

"Yes, a capital thing, " answered Raskolnikov, looking at him almostironically. 

"A capital thing, a capital thing, " repeated Porfiry Petrovitch, asthough he had just thought of something quite different. "Yes, a capitalthing, " he almost shouted at last, suddenly staring at Raskolnikov andstopping short two steps from him. 

This stupid repetition was too incongruous in its ineptitude with theserious, brooding and enigmatic glance he turned upon his visitor. 

But this stirred Raskolnikov's spleen more than ever and he could notresist an ironical and rather incautious challenge. 

"Tell me, please, " he asked suddenly, looking almost insolently at himand taking a kind of pleasure in his own insolence. "I believe it's asort of legal rule, a sort of legal tradition--for all investigatinglawyers--to begin their attack from afar, with a trivial, or at leastan irrelevant subject, so as to encourage, or rather, to divert the manthey are cross-examining, to disarm his caution and then all at once togive him an unexpected knock-down blow with some fatal question. Isn'tthat so? It's a sacred tradition, mentioned, I fancy, in all the manualsof the art?"

"Yes, yes. . . . Why, do you imagine that was why I spoke about governmentquarters. . . Eh?"

And as he said this Porfiry Petrovitch screwed up his eyes and winked;a good-humoured, crafty look passed over his face. The wrinkles on hisforehead were smoothed out, his eyes contracted, his features broadenedand he suddenly went off into a nervous prolonged laugh, shaking allover and looking Raskolnikov straight in the face. The latter forcedhimself to laugh, too, but when Porfiry, seeing that he was laughing, broke into such a guffaw that he turned almost crimson, Raskolnikov'srepulsion overcame all precaution; he left off laughing, scowled andstared with hatred at Porfiry, keeping his eyes fixed on him while hisintentionally prolonged laughter lasted. There was lack of precaution onboth sides, however, for Porfiry Petrovitch seemed to be laughing inhis visitor's face and to be very little disturbed at the annoyance withwhich the visitor received it. The latter fact was very significantin Raskolnikov's eyes: he saw that Porfiry Petrovitch had not beenembarrassed just before either, but that he, Raskolnikov, had perhapsfallen into a trap; that there must be something, some motive hereunknown to him; that, perhaps, everything was in readiness and inanother moment would break upon him. . . 

He went straight to the point at once, rose from his seat and took hiscap. 

"Porfiry Petrovitch, " he began resolutely, though with considerableirritation, "yesterday you expressed a desire that I should come to youfor some inquiries" (he laid special stress on the word "inquiries"). "Ihave come and if you have anything to ask me, ask it, and if not, allowme to withdraw. I have no time to spare. . . . I have to be at the funeralof that man who was run over, of whom you. . . Know also, " he added, feeling angry at once at having made this addition and more irritated athis anger. "I am sick of it all, do you hear? and have long been. It'spartly what made me ill. In short, " he shouted, feeling that the phraseabout his illness was still more out of place, "in short, kindly examineme or let me go, at once. And if you must examine me, do so in theproper form! I will not allow you to do so otherwise, and so meanwhile, good-bye, as we have evidently nothing to keep us now. "

"Good heavens! What do you mean? What shall I question you about?"cackled Porfiry Petrovitch with a change of tone, instantly leaving offlaughing. "Please don't disturb yourself, " he began fidgeting from placeto place and fussily making Raskolnikov sit down. "There's no hurry, there's no hurry, it's all nonsense. Oh, no, I'm very glad you've cometo see me at last. . . I look upon you simply as a visitor. And as formy confounded laughter, please excuse it, Rodion Romanovitch. RodionRomanovitch? That is your name?. . . It's my nerves, you tickled meso with your witty observation; I assure you, sometimes I shake withlaughter like an india-rubber ball for half an hour at a time. . . . I'moften afraid of an attack of paralysis. Do sit down. Please do, or Ishall think you are angry. . . "

Raskolnikov did not speak; he listened, watching him, still frowningangrily. He did sit down, but still held his cap. 

"I must tell you one thing about myself, my dear Rodion Romanovitch, "Porfiry Petrovitch continued, moving about the room and again avoidinghis visitor's eyes. "You see, I'm a bachelor, a man of no consequenceand not used to society; besides, I have nothing before me, I'm set, I'mrunning to seed and. . . And have you noticed, Rodion Romanovitch, that inour Petersburg circles, if two clever men meet who are not intimate, butrespect each other, like you and me, it takes them half an hour beforethey can find a subject for conversation--they are dumb, they sitopposite each other and feel awkward. Everyone has subjects ofconversation, ladies for instance. . . People in high society always havetheir subjects of conversation, _c'est de rigueur_, but people of themiddle sort like us, thinking people that is, are always tongue-tiedand awkward. What is the reason of it? Whether it is the lack of publicinterest, or whether it is we are so honest we don't want to deceive oneanother, I don't know. What do you think? Do put down your cap, itlooks as if you were just going, it makes me uncomfortable. . . I am sodelighted. . . "

Raskolnikov put down his cap and continued listening in silence witha serious frowning face to the vague and empty chatter of PorfiryPetrovitch. "Does he really want to distract my attention with his sillybabble?"

"I can't offer you coffee here; but why not spend five minutes with afriend?" Porfiry pattered on, "and you know all these officialduties. . . Please don't mind my running up and down, excuse it, my dearfellow, I am very much afraid of offending you, but exercise isabsolutely indispensable for me. I'm always sitting and so glad to bemoving about for five minutes. . . I suffer from my sedentary life. . . Ialways intend to join a gymnasium; they say that officials of all ranks, even Privy Councillors, may be seen skipping gaily there; there you haveit, modern science. . . Yes, yes. . . . But as for my duties here, inquiriesand all such formalities. . . You mentioned inquiries yourself just now. . . I assure you these interrogations are sometimes more embarrassing forthe interrogator than for the interrogated. . . . You made the observationyourself just now very aptly and wittily. " (Raskolnikov had made noobservation of the kind. ) "One gets into a muddle! A regular muddle! Onekeeps harping on the same note, like a drum! There is to be a reform andwe shall be called by a different name, at least, he-he-he! And as forour legal tradition, as you so wittily called it, I thoroughly agreewith you. Every prisoner on trial, even the rudest peasant, knows thatthey begin by disarming him with irrelevant questions (as you so happilyput it) and then deal him a knock-down blow, he-he-he!--your felicitouscomparison, he-he! So you really imagined that I meant by 'governmentquarters'. . . He-he! You are an ironical person. Come. I won't go on! Ah, by the way, yes! One word leads to another. You spoke of formality justnow, apropos of the inquiry, you know. But what's the use of formality?In many cases it's nonsense. Sometimes one has a friendly chat and getsa good deal more out of it. One can always fall back on formality, allowme to assure you. And after all, what does it amount to? An examininglawyer cannot be bounded by formality at every step. The work ofinvestigation is, so to speak, a free art in its own way, he-he-he!"

Porfiry Petrovitch took breath a moment. He had simply babbled onuttering empty phrases, letting slip a few enigmatic words and againreverting to incoherence. He was almost running about the room, movinghis fat little legs quicker and quicker, looking at the ground, with hisright hand behind his back, while with his left making gesticulationsthat were extraordinarily incongruous with his words. Raskolnikovsuddenly noticed that as he ran about the room he seemed twice to stopfor a moment near the door, as though he were listening. 

"Is he expecting anything?"

"You are certainly quite right about it, " Porfiry began gaily, lookingwith extraordinary simplicity at Raskolnikov (which startled him andinstantly put him on his guard); "certainly quite right in laughing sowittily at our legal forms, he-he! Some of these elaborate psychologicalmethods are exceedingly ridiculous and perhaps useless, if one adherestoo closely to the forms. Yes. . . I am talking of forms again. Well, ifI recognise, or more strictly speaking, if I suspect someone or other tobe a criminal in any case entrusted to me. . . You're reading for the law, of course, Rodion Romanovitch?"

"Yes, I was. . . "

"Well, then it is a precedent for you for the future--though don'tsuppose I should venture to instruct you after the articles you publishabout crime! No, I simply make bold to state it by way of fact, if Itook this man or that for a criminal, why, I ask, should I worry himprematurely, even though I had evidence against him? In one case I maybe bound, for instance, to arrest a man at once, but another may be inquite a different position, you know, so why shouldn't I let him walkabout the town a bit? he-he-he! But I see you don't quite understand, soI'll give you a clearer example. If I put him in prison too soon, Imay very likely give him, so to speak, moral support, he-he! You'relaughing?"

Raskolnikov had no idea of laughing. He was sitting with compressedlips, his feverish eyes fixed on Porfiry Petrovitch's. 

"Yet that is the case, with some types especially, for men are sodifferent. You say 'evidence'. Well, there may be evidence. Butevidence, you know, can generally be taken two ways. I am an examininglawyer and a weak man, I confess it. I should like to make a proof, soto say, mathematically clear. I should like to make a chain of evidencesuch as twice two are four, it ought to be a direct, irrefutable proof!And if I shut him up too soon--even though I might be convinced _he_was the man, I should very likely be depriving myself of the means ofgetting further evidence against him. And how? By giving him, so tospeak, a definite position, I shall put him out of suspense and set hismind at rest, so that he will retreat into his shell. They say that atSevastopol, soon after Alma, the clever people were in a terrible frightthat the enemy would attack openly and take Sevastopol at once. But whenthey saw that the enemy preferred a regular siege, they were delighted, I am told and reassured, for the thing would drag on for two months atleast. You're laughing, you don't believe me again? Of course, you'reright, too. You're right, you're right. These are special cases, Iadmit. But you must observe this, my dear Rodion Romanovitch, thegeneral case, the case for which all legal forms and rules are intended, for which they are calculated and laid down in books, does not exist atall, for the reason that every case, every crime, for instance, so soonas it actually occurs, at once becomes a thoroughly special case andsometimes a case unlike any that's gone before. Very comic cases of thatsort sometimes occur. If I leave one man quite alone, if I don't touchhim and don't worry him, but let him know or at least suspect everymoment that I know all about it and am watching him day and night, andif he is in continual suspicion and terror, he'll be bound to lose hishead. He'll come of himself, or maybe do something which will make it asplain as twice two are four--it's delightful. It may be so with a simplepeasant, but with one of our sort, an intelligent man cultivated on acertain side, it's a dead certainty. For, my dear fellow, it's a veryimportant matter to know on what side a man is cultivated. And thenthere are nerves, there are nerves, you have overlooked them! Why, theyare all sick, nervous and irritable!. . . And then how they all sufferfrom spleen! That I assure you is a regular gold-mine for us. And it'sno anxiety to me, his running about the town free! Let him, let him walkabout for a bit! I know well enough that I've caught him and that hewon't escape me. Where could he escape to, he-he? Abroad, perhaps? APole will escape abroad, but not here, especially as I am watchingand have taken measures. Will he escape into the depths of the countryperhaps? But you know, peasants live there, real rude Russian peasants. A modern cultivated man would prefer prison to living with suchstrangers as our peasants. He-he! But that's all nonsense, and onthe surface. It's not merely that he has nowhere to run to, he is_psychologically_ unable to escape me, he-he! What an expression!Through a law of nature he can't escape me if he had anywhere to go. Have you seen a butterfly round a candle? That's how he will keepcircling and circling round me. Freedom will lose its attractions. He'llbegin to brood, he'll weave a tangle round himself, he'll worry himselfto death! What's more he will provide me with a mathematical proof--if Ionly give him long enough interval. . . . And he'll keep circling roundme, getting nearer and nearer and then--flop! He'll fly straight into mymouth and I'll swallow him, and that will be very amusing, he-he-he! Youdon't believe me?"

Raskolnikov made no reply; he sat pale and motionless, still gazing withthe same intensity into Porfiry's face. 

"It's a lesson, " he thought, turning cold. "This is beyond the catplaying with a mouse, like yesterday. He can't be showing off his powerwith no motive. . . Prompting me; he is far too clever for that. . . He musthave another object. What is it? It's all nonsense, my friend, you arepretending, to scare me! You've no proofs and the man I saw had noreal existence. You simply want to make me lose my head, to work me upbeforehand and so to crush me. But you are wrong, you won't do it! Butwhy give me such a hint? Is he reckoning on my shattered nerves? No, myfriend, you are wrong, you won't do it even though you have some trapfor me. . . Let us see what you have in store for me. "

And he braced himself to face a terrible and unknown ordeal. At timeshe longed to fall on Porfiry and strangle him. This anger was what hedreaded from the beginning. He felt that his parched lips were fleckedwith foam, his heart was throbbing. But he was still determined not tospeak till the right moment. He realised that this was the bestpolicy in his position, because instead of saying too much he would beirritating his enemy by his silence and provoking him into speaking toofreely. Anyhow, this was what he hoped for. 

"No, I see you don't believe me, you think I am playing a harmless jokeon you, " Porfiry began again, getting more and more lively, chucklingat every instant and again pacing round the room. "And to be sure you'reright: God has given me a figure that can awaken none but comic ideas inother people; a buffoon; but let me tell you, and I repeat it, excusean old man, my dear Rodion Romanovitch, you are a man still young, so tosay, in your first youth and so you put intellect above everything, likeall young people. Playful wit and abstract arguments fascinate you andthat's for all the world like the old Austrian _Hof-kriegsrath_, asfar as I can judge of military matters, that is: on paper they'd beatenNapoleon and taken him prisoner, and there in their study they worked itall out in the cleverest fashion, but look you, General Mack surrenderedwith all his army, he-he-he! I see, I see, Rodion Romanovitch, you arelaughing at a civilian like me, taking examples out of military history!But I can't help it, it's my weakness. I am fond of military science. And I'm ever so fond of reading all military histories. I've certainlymissed my proper career. I ought to have been in the army, upon myword I ought. I shouldn't have been a Napoleon, but I might have been amajor, he-he! Well, I'll tell you the whole truth, my dear fellow, aboutthis _special case_, I mean: actual fact and a man's temperament, mydear sir, are weighty matters and it's astonishing how they sometimesdeceive the sharpest calculation! I--listen to an old man--am speakingseriously, Rodion Romanovitch" (as he said this Porfiry Petrovitch, whowas scarcely five-and-thirty, actually seemed to have grown old; evenhis voice changed and he seemed to shrink together) "Moreover, I'ma candid man. . . Am I a candid man or not? What do you say? I fancy Ireally am: I tell you these things for nothing and don't even expect areward for it, he-he! Well, to proceed, wit in my opinion is a splendidthing, it is, so to say, an adornment of nature and a consolation oflife, and what tricks it can play! So that it sometimes is hard for apoor examining lawyer to know where he is, especially when he's liableto be carried away by his own fancy, too, for you know he is a man afterall! But the poor fellow is saved by the criminal's temperament, worseluck for him! But young people carried away by their own wit don't thinkof that 'when they overstep all obstacles, ' as you wittily and cleverlyexpressed it yesterday. He will lie--that is, the man who is a _specialcase_, the incognito, and he will lie well, in the cleverest fashion;you might think he would triumph and enjoy the fruits of his wit, but atthe most interesting, the most flagrant moment he will faint. Of coursethere may be illness and a stuffy room as well, but anyway! Anyway he'sgiven us the idea! He lied incomparably, but he didn't reckon on histemperament. That's what betrays him! Another time he will be carriedaway by his playful wit into making fun of the man who suspects him, hewill turn pale as it were on purpose to mislead, but his paleness willbe _too natural_, too much like the real thing, again he has given usan idea! Though his questioner may be deceived at first, he will thinkdifferently next day if he is not a fool, and, of course, it is likethat at every step! He puts himself forward where he is not wanted, speaks continually when he ought to keep silent, brings in all sorts ofallegorical allusions, he-he! Comes and asks why didn't you take me longago? he-he-he! And that can happen, you know, with the cleverest man, the psychologist, the literary man. The temperament reflects everythinglike a mirror! Gaze into it and admire what you see! But why are you sopale, Rodion Romanovitch? Is the room stuffy? Shall I open the window?"

"Oh, don't trouble, please, " cried Raskolnikov and he suddenly brokeinto a laugh. "Please don't trouble. "

Porfiry stood facing him, paused a moment and suddenly he too laughed. Raskolnikov got up from the sofa, abruptly checking his hystericallaughter. 

"Porfiry Petrovitch, " he began, speaking loudly and distinctly, thoughhis legs trembled and he could scarcely stand. "I see clearly at lastthat you actually suspect me of murdering that old woman and her sisterLizaveta. Let me tell you for my part that I am sick of this. If youfind that you have a right to prosecute me legally, to arrest me, thenprosecute me, arrest me. But I will not let myself be jeered at to myface and worried. . . "

His lips trembled, his eyes glowed with fury and he could not restrainhis voice. 

"I won't allow it!" he shouted, bringing his fist down on the table. "Doyou hear that, Porfiry Petrovitch? I won't allow it. "

"Good heavens! What does it mean?" cried Porfiry Petrovitch, apparentlyquite frightened. "Rodion Romanovitch, my dear fellow, what is thematter with you?"

"I won't allow it, " Raskolnikov shouted again. 

"Hush, my dear man! They'll hear and come in. Just think, what could wesay to them?" Porfiry Petrovitch whispered in horror, bringing his faceclose to Raskolnikov's. 

"I won't allow it, I won't allow it, " Raskolnikov repeated mechanically, but he too spoke in a sudden whisper. 

Porfiry turned quickly and ran to open the window. 

"Some fresh air! And you must have some water, my dear fellow. You'reill!" and he was running to the door to call for some when he found adecanter of water in the corner. "Come, drink a little, " he whispered, rushing up to him with the decanter. "It will be sure to do you good. "

Porfiry Petrovitch's alarm and sympathy were so natural that Raskolnikovwas silent and began looking at him with wild curiosity. He did not takethe water, however. 

"Rodion Romanovitch, my dear fellow, you'll drive yourself out of yourmind, I assure you, ach, ach! Have some water, do drink a little. "

He forced him to take the glass. Raskolnikov raised it mechanically tohis lips, but set it on the table again with disgust. 

"Yes, you've had a little attack! You'll bring back your illness again, my dear fellow, " Porfiry Petrovitch cackled with friendly sympathy, though he still looked rather disconcerted. "Good heavens, you musttake more care of yourself! Dmitri Prokofitch was here, came to see meyesterday--I know, I know, I've a nasty, ironical temper, but what theymade of it!. . . Good heavens, he came yesterday after you'd been. Wedined and he talked and talked away, and I could only throw up my handsin despair! Did he come from you? But do sit down, for mercy's sake, sitdown!"

"No, not from me, but I knew he went to you and why he went, "Raskolnikov answered sharply. 

"You knew?"

"I knew. What of it?"

"Why this, Rodion Romanovitch, that I know more than that about you;I know about everything. I know how you went _to take a flat_ at nightwhen it was dark and how you rang the bell and asked about the blood, sothat the workmen and the porter did not know what to make of it. Yes, Iunderstand your state of mind at that time. . . But you'll drive yourselfmad like that, upon my word! You'll lose your head! You're full ofgenerous indignation at the wrongs you've received, first from destiny, and then from the police officers, and so you rush from one thing toanother to force them to speak out and make an end of it all, becauseyou are sick of all this suspicion and foolishness. That's so, isn'tit? I have guessed how you feel, haven't I? Only in that way you'lllose your head and Razumihin's, too; he's too _good_ a man for sucha position, you must know that. You are ill and he is good and yourillness is infectious for him. . . I'll tell you about it when you aremore yourself. . . . But do sit down, for goodness' sake. Please rest, youlook shocking, do sit down. "

Raskolnikov sat down; he no longer shivered, he was hot all over. Inamazement he listened with strained attention to Porfiry Petrovitch whostill seemed frightened as he looked after him with friendly solicitude. But he did not believe a word he said, though he felt a strangeinclination to believe. Porfiry's unexpected words about the flat hadutterly overwhelmed him. "How can it be, he knows about the flat then, "he thought suddenly, "and he tells it me himself!"

"Yes, in our legal practice there was a case almost exactly similar, acase of morbid psychology, " Porfiry went on quickly. "A man confessed tomurder and how he kept it up! It was a regular hallucination; he broughtforward facts, he imposed upon everyone and why? He had been partly, butonly partly, unintentionally the cause of a murder and when he knew thathe had given the murderers the opportunity, he sank into dejection, itgot on his mind and turned his brain, he began imagining things and hepersuaded himself that he was the murderer. But at last the High Courtof Appeal went into it and the poor fellow was acquitted and put underproper care. Thanks to the Court of Appeal! Tut-tut-tut! Why, my dearfellow, you may drive yourself into delirium if you have the impulseto work upon your nerves, to go ringing bells at night and asking aboutblood! I've studied all this morbid psychology in my practice. A manis sometimes tempted to jump out of a window or from a belfry. Just thesame with bell-ringing. . . . It's all illness, Rodion Romanovitch! Youhave begun to neglect your illness. You should consult an experienceddoctor, what's the good of that fat fellow? You are lightheaded! Youwere delirious when you did all this!"

For a moment Raskolnikov felt everything going round. 

"Is it possible, is it possible, " flashed through his mind, "that he isstill lying? He can't be, he can't be. " He rejected that idea, feelingto what a degree of fury it might drive him, feeling that that furymight drive him mad. 

"I was not delirious. I knew what I was doing, " he cried, strainingevery faculty to penetrate Porfiry's game, "I was quite myself, do youhear?"

"Yes, I hear and understand. You said yesterday you were not delirious, you were particularly emphatic about it! I understand all you can tellme! A-ach!. . . Listen, Rodion Romanovitch, my dear fellow. If you wereactually a criminal, or were somehow mixed up in this damnable business, would you insist that you were not delirious but in full possessionof your faculties? And so emphatically and persistently? Would it bepossible? Quite impossible, to my thinking. If you had anything onyour conscience, you certainly ought to insist that you were delirious. That's so, isn't it?"

There was a note of slyness in this inquiry. Raskolnikov drew back onthe sofa as Porfiry bent over him and stared in silent perplexity athim. 

"Another thing about Razumihin--you certainly ought to have said that hecame of his own accord, to have concealed your part in it! But you don'tconceal it! You lay stress on his coming at your instigation. "

Raskolnikov had not done so. A chill went down his back. 

"You keep telling lies, " he said slowly and weakly, twisting his lipsinto a sickly smile, "you are trying again to show that you know allmy game, that you know all I shall say beforehand, " he said, conscioushimself that he was not weighing his words as he ought. "You want tofrighten me. . . Or you are simply laughing at me. . . "

He still stared at him as he said this and again there was a light ofintense hatred in his eyes. 

"You keep lying, " he said. "You know perfectly well that the bestpolicy for the criminal is to tell the truth as nearly as possible. . . Toconceal as little as possible. I don't believe you!"

"What a wily person you are!" Porfiry tittered, "there's no catchingyou; you've a perfect monomania. So you don't believe me? But still youdo believe me, you believe a quarter; I'll soon make you believe thewhole, because I have a sincere liking for you and genuinely wish yougood. "

Raskolnikov's lips trembled. 

"Yes, I do, " went on Porfiry, touching Raskolnikov's arm genially, "youmust take care of your illness. Besides, your mother and sister are herenow; you must think of them. You must soothe and comfort them and you donothing but frighten them. . . "

"What has that to do with you? How do you know it? What concern is it ofyours? You are keeping watch on me and want to let me know it?"

"Good heavens! Why, I learnt it all from you yourself! You don'tnotice that in your excitement you tell me and others everything. FromRazumihin, too, I learnt a number of interesting details yesterday. No, you interrupted me, but I must tell you that, for all your wit, yoursuspiciousness makes you lose the common-sense view of things. To returnto bell-ringing, for instance. I, an examining lawyer, have betrayed aprecious thing like that, a real fact (for it is a fact worth having), and you see nothing in it! Why, if I had the slightest suspicion of you, should I have acted like that? No, I should first have disarmed yoursuspicions and not let you see I knew of that fact, should have divertedyour attention and suddenly have dealt you a knock-down blow (yourexpression) saying: 'And what were you doing, sir, pray, at ten ornearly eleven at the murdered woman's flat and why did you ring the belland why did you ask about blood? And why did you invite the portersto go with you to the police station, to the lieutenant?' That's howI ought to have acted if I had a grain of suspicion of you. I ought tohave taken your evidence in due form, searched your lodging and perhapshave arrested you, too. . . So I have no suspicion of you, since I havenot done that! But you can't look at it normally and you see nothing, Isay again. "

Raskolnikov started so that Porfiry Petrovitch could not fail toperceive it. 

"You are lying all the while, " he cried, "I don't know your object, but you are lying. You did not speak like that just now and I cannot bemistaken!"

"I am lying?" Porfiry repeated, apparently incensed, but preservinga good-humoured and ironical face, as though he were not in the leastconcerned at Raskolnikov's opinion of him. "I am lying. . . But how didI treat you just now, I, the examining lawyer? Prompting you and givingyou every means for your defence; illness, I said, delirium, injury, melancholy and the police officers and all the rest of it? Ah! He-he-he!Though, indeed, all those psychological means of defence are not veryreliable and cut both ways: illness, delirium, I don't remember--that'sall right, but why, my good sir, in your illness and in your deliriumwere you haunted by just those delusions and not by any others? Theremay have been others, eh? He-he-he!"

Raskolnikov looked haughtily and contemptuously at him. 

"Briefly, " he said loudly and imperiously, rising to his feet and in sodoing pushing Porfiry back a little, "briefly, I want to know, do youacknowledge me perfectly free from suspicion or not? Tell me, PorfiryPetrovitch, tell me once for all and make haste!"

"What a business I'm having with you!" cried Porfiry with a perfectlygood-humoured, sly and composed face. "And why do you want to know, whydo you want to know so much, since they haven't begun to worry you? Why, you are like a child asking for matches! And why are you so uneasy? Whydo you force yourself upon us, eh? He-he-he!"

"I repeat, " Raskolnikov cried furiously, "that I can't put up with it!"

"With what? Uncertainty?" interrupted Porfiry. 

"Don't jeer at me! I won't have it! I tell you I won't have it. I can'tand I won't, do you hear, do you hear?" he shouted, bringing his fistdown on the table again. 

"Hush! Hush! They'll overhear! I warn you seriously, take care ofyourself. I am not joking, " Porfiry whispered, but this time there wasnot the look of old womanish good nature and alarm in his face. Nowhe was peremptory, stern, frowning and for once laying aside allmystification. 

But this was only for an instant. Raskolnikov, bewildered, suddenly fellinto actual frenzy, but, strange to say, he again obeyed the command tospeak quietly, though he was in a perfect paroxysm of fury. 

"I will not allow myself to be tortured, " he whispered, instantlyrecognising with hatred that he could not help obeying the command anddriven to even greater fury by the thought. "Arrest me, search me, butkindly act in due form and don't play with me! Don't dare!"

"Don't worry about the form, " Porfiry interrupted with the same slysmile, as it were, gloating with enjoyment over Raskolnikov. "I invitedyou to see me quite in a friendly way. "

"I don't want your friendship and I spit on it! Do you hear? And, here, I take my cap and go. What will you say now if you mean to arrest me?"

He took up his cap and went to the door. 

"And won't you see my little surprise?" chuckled Porfiry, again takinghim by the arm and stopping him at the door. 

He seemed to become more playful and good-humoured which maddenedRaskolnikov. 

"What surprise?" he asked, standing still and looking at Porfiry inalarm. 

"My little surprise, it's sitting there behind the door, he-he-he!"(He pointed to the locked door. ) "I locked him in that he should notescape. "

"What is it? Where? What?. . . "

Raskolnikov walked to the door and would have opened it, but it waslocked. 

"It's locked, here is the key!"

And he brought a key out of his pocket. 

"You are lying, " roared Raskolnikov without restraint, "you lie, youdamned punchinello!" and he rushed at Porfiry who retreated to the otherdoor, not at all alarmed. 

"I understand it all! You are lying and mocking so that I may betraymyself to you. . . "

"Why, you could not betray yourself any further, my dear RodionRomanovitch. You are in a passion. Don't shout, I shall call theclerks. "

"You are lying! Call the clerks! You knew I was ill and tried to workme into a frenzy to make me betray myself, that was your object! Produceyour facts! I understand it all. You've no evidence, you have onlywretched rubbishly suspicions like Zametov's! You knew my character, youwanted to drive me to fury and then to knock me down with priests anddeputies. . . . Are you waiting for them? eh! What are you waiting for?Where are they? Produce them?"

"Why deputies, my good man? What things people will imagine! And to doso would not be acting in form as you say, you don't know the business, my dear fellow. . . . And there's no escaping form, as you see, " Porfirymuttered, listening at the door through which a noise could be heard. 

"Ah, they're coming, " cried Raskolnikov. "You've sent for them! Youexpected them! Well, produce them all: your deputies, your witnesses, what you like!. . . I am ready!"

But at this moment a strange incident occurred, something so unexpectedthat neither Raskolnikov nor Porfiry Petrovitch could have looked forsuch a conclusion to their interview. 

CHAPTER VI

When he remembered the scene afterwards, this is how Raskolnikov saw it. 

The noise behind the door increased, and suddenly the door was opened alittle. 

"What is it?" cried Porfiry Petrovitch, annoyed. "Why, I gave orders. . . "

For an instant there was no answer, but it was evident that there wereseveral persons at the door, and that they were apparently pushingsomebody back. 

"What is it?" Porfiry Petrovitch repeated, uneasily. 

"The prisoner Nikolay has been brought, " someone answered. 

"He is not wanted! Take him away! Let him wait! What's he doing here?How irregular!" cried Porfiry, rushing to the door. 

"But he. . . " began the same voice, and suddenly ceased. 

Two seconds, not more, were spent in actual struggle, then someone gavea violent shove, and then a man, very pale, strode into the room. 

This man's appearance was at first sight very strange. He staredstraight before him, as though seeing nothing. There was a determinedgleam in his eyes; at the same time there was a deathly pallor in hisface, as though he were being led to the scaffold. His white lips werefaintly twitching. 

He was dressed like a workman and was of medium height, very young, slim, his hair cut in round crop, with thin spare features. The man whomhe had thrust back followed him into the room and succeeded in seizinghim by the shoulder; he was a warder; but Nikolay pulled his arm away. 

Several persons crowded inquisitively into the doorway. Some of themtried to get in. All this took place almost instantaneously. 

"Go away, it's too soon! Wait till you are sent for!. . . Why have youbrought him so soon?" Porfiry Petrovitch muttered, extremely annoyed, and as it were thrown out of his reckoning. 

But Nikolay suddenly knelt down. 

"What's the matter?" cried Porfiry, surprised. 

"I am guilty! Mine is the sin! I am the murderer, " Nikolay articulatedsuddenly, rather breathless, but speaking fairly loudly. 

For ten seconds there was silence as though all had been struck dumb;even the warder stepped back, mechanically retreated to the door, andstood immovable. 

"What is it?" cried Porfiry Petrovitch, recovering from his momentarystupefaction. 

"I. . . Am the murderer, " repeated Nikolay, after a brief pause. 

"What. . . You. . . What. . . Whom did you kill?" Porfiry Petrovitch wasobviously bewildered. 

Nikolay again was silent for a moment. 

"Alyona Ivanovna and her sister Lizaveta Ivanovna, I. . . Killed. . . Withan axe. Darkness came over me, " he added suddenly, and was again silent. 

He still remained on his knees. Porfiry Petrovitch stood for somemoments as though meditating, but suddenly roused himself and waved backthe uninvited spectators. They instantly vanished and closed the door. Then he looked towards Raskolnikov, who was standing in the corner, staring wildly at Nikolay and moved towards him, but stopped short, looked from Nikolay to Raskolnikov and then again at Nikolay, andseeming unable to restrain himself darted at the latter. 

"You're in too great a hurry, " he shouted at him, almost angrily. "Ididn't ask you what came over you. . . . Speak, did you kill them?"

"I am the murderer. . . . I want to give evidence, " Nikolay pronounced. 

"Ach! What did you kill them with?"

"An axe. I had it ready. "

"Ach, he is in a hurry! Alone?"

Nikolay did not understand the question. 

"Did you do it alone?"

"Yes, alone. And Mitka is not guilty and had no share in it. "

"Don't be in a hurry about Mitka! A-ach! How was it you ran downstairslike that at the time? The porters met you both!"

"It was to put them off the scent. . . I ran after Mitka, " Nikolay repliedhurriedly, as though he had prepared the answer. 

"I knew it!" cried Porfiry, with vexation. "It's not his own tale he istelling, " he muttered as though to himself, and suddenly his eyes restedon Raskolnikov again. 

He was apparently so taken up with Nikolay that for a moment he hadforgotten Raskolnikov. He was a little taken aback. 

"My dear Rodion Romanovitch, excuse me!" he flew up to him, "this won'tdo; I'm afraid you must go. . . It's no good your staying. . . I will. . . You see, what a surprise!. . . Good-bye!"

And taking him by the arm, he showed him to the door. 

"I suppose you didn't expect it?" said Raskolnikov who, though he hadnot yet fully grasped the situation, had regained his courage. 

"You did not expect it either, my friend. See how your hand istrembling! He-he!"

"You're trembling, too, Porfiry Petrovitch!"

"Yes, I am; I didn't expect it. "

They were already at the door; Porfiry was impatient for Raskolnikov tobe gone. 

"And your little surprise, aren't you going to show it to me?"Raskolnikov said, sarcastically. 

"Why, his teeth are chattering as he asks, he-he! You are an ironicalperson! Come, till we meet!"

"I believe we can say _good-bye_!"

"That's in God's hands, " muttered Porfiry, with an unnatural smile. 

As he walked through the office, Raskolnikov noticed that many peoplewere looking at him. Among them he saw the two porters from _the_ house, whom he had invited that night to the police station. They stood therewaiting. But he was no sooner on the stairs than he heard the voice ofPorfiry Petrovitch behind him. Turning round, he saw the latter runningafter him, out of breath. 

"One word, Rodion Romanovitch; as to all the rest, it's in God's hands, but as a matter of form there are some questions I shall have to askyou. . . So we shall meet again, shan't we?"

And Porfiry stood still, facing him with a smile. 

"Shan't we?" he added again. 

He seemed to want to say something more, but could not speak out. 

"You must forgive me, Porfiry Petrovitch, for what has just passed. . . Ilost my temper, " began Raskolnikov, who had so far regained his couragethat he felt irresistibly inclined to display his coolness. 

"Don't mention it, don't mention it, " Porfiry replied, almost gleefully. "I myself, too. . . I have a wicked temper, I admit it! But we shall meetagain. If it's God's will, we may see a great deal of one another. "

"And will get to know each other through and through?" addedRaskolnikov. 

"Yes; know each other through and through, " assented Porfiry Petrovitch, and he screwed up his eyes, looking earnestly at Raskolnikov. "Nowyou're going to a birthday party?"

"To a funeral. "

"Of course, the funeral! Take care of yourself, and get well. "

"I don't know what to wish you, " said Raskolnikov, who had begun todescend the stairs, but looked back again. "I should like to wish yousuccess, but your office is such a comical one. "

"Why comical?" Porfiry Petrovitch had turned to go, but he seemed toprick up his ears at this. 

"Why, how you must have been torturing and harassing that poor Nikolaypsychologically, after your fashion, till he confessed! You must havebeen at him day and night, proving to him that he was the murderer, andnow that he has confessed, you'll begin vivisecting him again. 'You arelying, ' you'll say. 'You are not the murderer! You can't be! It's notyour own tale you are telling!' You must admit it's a comical business!"

"He-he-he! You noticed then that I said to Nikolay just now that it wasnot his own tale he was telling?"

"How could I help noticing it!"

"He-he! You are quick-witted. You notice everything! You've really aplayful mind! And you always fasten on the comic side. . . He-he! They saythat was the marked characteristic of Gogol, among the writers. "

"Yes, of Gogol. "

"Yes, of Gogol. . . . I shall look forward to meeting you. "

"So shall I. "

Raskolnikov walked straight home. He was so muddled and bewildered thaton getting home he sat for a quarter of an hour on the sofa, trying tocollect his thoughts. He did not attempt to think about Nikolay; hewas stupefied; he felt that his confession was something inexplicable, amazing--something beyond his understanding. But Nikolay's confessionwas an actual fact. The consequences of this fact were clear to him atonce, its falsehood could not fail to be discovered, and then theywould be after him again. Till then, at least, he was free and must dosomething for himself, for the danger was imminent. 

But how imminent? His position gradually became clear to him. Remembering, sketchily, the main outlines of his recent scene withPorfiry, he could not help shuddering again with horror. Of course, he did not yet know all Porfiry's aims, he could not see into all hiscalculations. But he had already partly shown his hand, and no one knewbetter than Raskolnikov how terrible Porfiry's "lead" had been forhim. A little more and he _might_ have given himself away completely, circumstantially. Knowing his nervous temperament and from the firstglance seeing through him, Porfiry, though playing a bold game, wasbound to win. There's no denying that Raskolnikov had compromisedhimself seriously, but no _facts_ had come to light as yet; there wasnothing positive. But was he taking a true view of the position? Wasn'the mistaken? What had Porfiry been trying to get at? Had he really somesurprise prepared for him? And what was it? Had he really been expectingsomething or not? How would they have parted if it had not been for theunexpected appearance of Nikolay?

Porfiry had shown almost all his cards--of course, he had riskedsomething in showing them--and if he had really had anything up hissleeve (Raskolnikov reflected), he would have shown that, too. What wasthat "surprise"? Was it a joke? Had it meant anything? Could it haveconcealed anything like a fact, a piece of positive evidence? Hisyesterday's visitor? What had become of him? Where was he to-day? IfPorfiry really had any evidence, it must be connected with him. . . . 

He sat on the sofa with his elbows on his knees and his face hidden inhis hands. He was still shivering nervously. At last he got up, took hiscap, thought a minute, and went to the door. 

He had a sort of presentiment that for to-day, at least, he mightconsider himself out of danger. He had a sudden sense almost of joy; hewanted to make haste to Katerina Ivanovna's. He would be too late forthe funeral, of course, but he would be in time for the memorial dinner, and there at once he would see Sonia. 

He stood still, thought a moment, and a suffering smile came for amoment on to his lips. 

"To-day! To-day, " he repeated to himself. "Yes, to-day! So it mustbe. . . . "

But as he was about to open the door, it began opening of itself. Hestarted and moved back. The door opened gently and slowly, and theresuddenly appeared a figure--yesterday's visitor _from underground_. 

The man stood in the doorway, looked at Raskolnikov without speaking, and took a step forward into the room. He was exactly the same asyesterday; the same figure, the same dress, but there was a great changein his face; he looked dejected and sighed deeply. If he had only puthis hand up to his cheek and leaned his head on one side he would havelooked exactly like a peasant woman. 

"What do you want?" asked Raskolnikov, numb with terror. The man wasstill silent, but suddenly he bowed down almost to the ground, touchingit with his finger. 

"What is it?" cried Raskolnikov. 

"I have sinned, " the man articulated softly. 

"How?"

"By evil thoughts. "

They looked at one another. 

"I was vexed. When you came, perhaps in drink, and bade the porters goto the police station and asked about the blood, I was vexed that theylet you go and took you for drunken. I was so vexed that I lost mysleep. And remembering the address we came here yesterday and asked foryou. . . . "

"Who came?" Raskolnikov interrupted, instantly beginning to recollect. 

"I did, I've wronged you. "

"Then you come from that house?"

"I was standing at the gate with them. . . Don't you remember? We havecarried on our trade in that house for years past. We cure and preparehides, we take work home. . . Most of all I was vexed. . . . "

And the whole scene of the day before yesterday in the gateway cameclearly before Raskolnikov's mind; he recollected that there hadbeen several people there besides the porters, women among them. He remembered one voice had suggested taking him straight to thepolice-station. He could not recall the face of the speaker, and evennow he did not recognise it, but he remembered that he had turned roundand made him some answer. . . . 

So this was the solution of yesterday's horror. The most awful thoughtwas that he had been actually almost lost, had almost done for himselfon account of such a _trivial_ circumstance. So this man could tellnothing except his asking about the flat and the blood stains. SoPorfiry, too, had nothing but that _delirium_, no facts but this_psychology_ which _cuts both ways_, nothing positive. So if no morefacts come to light (and they must not, they must not!) then. . . Thenwhat can they do to him? How can they convict him, even if they arresthim? And Porfiry then had only just heard about the flat and had notknown about it before. 

"Was it you who told Porfiry. . . That I'd been there?" he cried, struckby a sudden idea. 

"What Porfiry?"

"The head of the detective department?"

"Yes. The porters did not go there, but I went. "

"To-day?"

"I got there two minutes before you. And I heard, I heard it all, how heworried you. "

"Where? What? When?"

"Why, in the next room. I was sitting there all the time. "

"What? Why, then you were the surprise? But how could it happen? Upon myword!"

"I saw that the porters did not want to do what I said, " began the man;"for it's too late, said they, and maybe he'll be angry that we did notcome at the time. I was vexed and I lost my sleep, and I began makinginquiries. And finding out yesterday where to go, I went to-day. Thefirst time I went he wasn't there, when I came an hour later he couldn'tsee me. I went the third time, and they showed me in. I informed him ofeverything, just as it happened, and he began skipping about the roomand punching himself on the chest. 'What do you scoundrels mean by it?If I'd known about it I should have arrested him!' Then he ran out, called somebody and began talking to him in the corner, then he turnedto me, scolding and questioning me. He scolded me a great deal; and Itold him everything, and I told him that you didn't dare to say a wordin answer to me yesterday and that you didn't recognise me. And hefell to running about again and kept hitting himself on the chest, andgetting angry and running about, and when you were announced he toldme to go into the next room. 'Sit there a bit, ' he said. 'Don't move, whatever you may hear. ' And he set a chair there for me and lockedme in. 'Perhaps, ' he said, 'I may call you. ' And when Nikolay'd beenbrought he let me out as soon as you were gone. 'I shall send for youagain and question you, ' he said. "

"And did he question Nikolay while you were there?"

"He got rid of me as he did of you, before he spoke to Nikolay. "

The man stood still, and again suddenly bowed down, touching the groundwith his finger. 

"Forgive me for my evil thoughts, and my slander. "

"May God forgive you, " answered Raskolnikov. 

And as he said this, the man bowed down again, but not to the ground, turned slowly and went out of the room. 

"It all cuts both ways, now it all cuts both ways, " repeatedRaskolnikov, and he went out more confident than ever. 

"Now we'll make a fight for it, " he said, with a malicious smile, as hewent down the stairs. His malice was aimed at himself; with shame andcontempt he recollected his "cowardice. "

PART V

CHAPTER I

The morning that followed the fateful interview with Dounia andher mother brought sobering influences to bear on Pyotr Petrovitch. Intensely unpleasant as it was, he was forced little by little to acceptas a fact beyond recall what had seemed to him only the day beforefantastic and incredible. The black snake of wounded vanity had beengnawing at his heart all night. When he got out of bed, Pyotr Petrovitchimmediately looked in the looking-glass. He was afraid that he hadjaundice. However his health seemed unimpaired so far, and looking athis noble, clear-skinned countenance which had grown fattish oflate, Pyotr Petrovitch for an instant was positively comforted in theconviction that he would find another bride and, perhaps, even a betterone. But coming back to the sense of his present position, he turnedaside and spat vigorously, which excited a sarcastic smile in AndreySemyonovitch Lebeziatnikov, the young friend with whom he was staying. That smile Pyotr Petrovitch noticed, and at once set it down against hisyoung friend's account. He had set down a good many points against himof late. His anger was redoubled when he reflected that he ought not tohave told Andrey Semyonovitch about the result of yesterday's interview. That was the second mistake he had made in temper, through impulsivenessand irritability. . . . Moreover, all that morning one unpleasantnessfollowed another. He even found a hitch awaiting him in his legal casein the senate. He was particularly irritated by the owner of the flatwhich had been taken in view of his approaching marriage and was beingredecorated at his own expense; the owner, a rich German tradesman, would not entertain the idea of breaking the contract which had justbeen signed and insisted on the full forfeit money, though PyotrPetrovitch would be giving him back the flat practically redecorated. Inthe same way the upholsterers refused to return a single rouble of theinstalment paid for the furniture purchased but not yet removed to theflat. 

"Am I to get married simply for the sake of the furniture?" PyotrPetrovitch ground his teeth and at the same time once more he had agleam of desperate hope. "Can all that be really so irrevocably over?Is it no use to make another effort?" The thought of Dounia sent avoluptuous pang through his heart. He endured anguish at that moment, and if it had been possible to slay Raskolnikov instantly by wishing it, Pyotr Petrovitch would promptly have uttered the wish. 

"It was my mistake, too, not to have given them money, " he thought, ashe returned dejectedly to Lebeziatnikov's room, "and why on earth was Isuch a Jew? It was false economy! I meant to keep them without a pennyso that they should turn to me as their providence, and look at them!foo! If I'd spent some fifteen hundred roubles on them for the trousseauand presents, on knick-knacks, dressing-cases, jewellery, materials, andall that sort of trash from Knopp's and the English shop, my positionwould have been better and. . . Stronger! They could not have refused meso easily! They are the sort of people that would feel bound to returnmoney and presents if they broke it off; and they would find it hard todo it! And their conscience would prick them: how can we dismiss a manwho has hitherto been so generous and delicate?. . . . H'm! I've made ablunder. "

And grinding his teeth again, Pyotr Petrovitch called himself afool--but not aloud, of course. 

He returned home, twice as irritated and angry as before. Thepreparations for the funeral dinner at Katerina Ivanovna's excitedhis curiosity as he passed. He had heard about it the day before; hefancied, indeed, that he had been invited, but absorbed in his own careshe had paid no attention. Inquiring of Madame Lippevechsel who was busylaying the table while Katerina Ivanovna was away at the cemetery, heheard that the entertainment was to be a great affair, that all thelodgers had been invited, among them some who had not known the deadman, that even Andrey Semyonovitch Lebeziatnikov was invited in spite ofhis previous quarrel with Katerina Ivanovna, that he, Pyotr Petrovitch, was not only invited, but was eagerly expected as he was the mostimportant of the lodgers. Amalia Ivanovna herself had been invited withgreat ceremony in spite of the recent unpleasantness, and so she wasvery busy with preparations and was taking a positive pleasure in them;she was moreover dressed up to the nines, all in new black silk, and shewas proud of it. All this suggested an idea to Pyotr Petrovitch and hewent into his room, or rather Lebeziatnikov's, somewhat thoughtful. Hehad learnt that Raskolnikov was to be one of the guests. 

Andrey Semyonovitch had been at home all the morning. The attitude ofPyotr Petrovitch to this gentleman was strange, though perhaps natural. Pyotr Petrovitch had despised and hated him from the day he came to staywith him and at the same time he seemed somewhat afraid of him. Hehad not come to stay with him on his arrival in Petersburg simply fromparsimony, though that had been perhaps his chief object. He had heardof Andrey Semyonovitch, who had once been his ward, as a leading youngprogressive who was taking an important part in certain interestingcircles, the doings of which were a legend in the provinces. It hadimpressed Pyotr Petrovitch. These powerful omniscient circles whodespised everyone and showed everyone up had long inspired in him apeculiar but quite vague alarm. He had not, of course, been able to formeven an approximate notion of what they meant. He, like everyone, hadheard that there were, especially in Petersburg, progressives of somesort, nihilists and so on, and, like many people, he exaggerated anddistorted the significance of those words to an absurd degree. What formany years past he had feared more than anything was _being shownup_ and this was the chief ground for his continual uneasiness at thethought of transferring his business to Petersburg. He was afraid ofthis as little children are sometimes panic-stricken. Some years before, when he was just entering on his own career, he had come upon two casesin which rather important personages in the province, patrons of his, had been cruelly shown up. One instance had ended in great scandalfor the person attacked and the other had very nearly ended in serioustrouble. For this reason Pyotr Petrovitch intended to go into thesubject as soon as he reached Petersburg and, if necessary, toanticipate contingencies by seeking the favour of "our youngergeneration. " He relied on Andrey Semyonovitch for this and beforehis visit to Raskolnikov he had succeeded in picking up some currentphrases. He soon discovered that Andrey Semyonovitch was a commonplacesimpleton, but that by no means reassured Pyotr Petrovitch. Even if hehad been certain that all the progressives were fools like him, itwould not have allayed his uneasiness. All the doctrines, the ideas, thesystems, with which Andrey Semyonovitch pestered him had no interest forhim. He had his own object--he simply wanted to find out at once whatwas happening _here_. Had these people any power or not? Had he anythingto fear from them? Would they expose any enterprise of his? And whatprecisely was now the object of their attacks? Could he somehow make upto them and get round them if they really were powerful? Was this thething to do or not? Couldn't he gain something through them? In facthundreds of questions presented themselves. 

Andrey Semyonovitch was an anæmic, scrofulous little man, with strangelyflaxen mutton-chop whiskers of which he was very proud. He was a clerkand had almost always something wrong with his eyes. He was rathersoft-hearted, but self-confident and sometimes extremely conceited inspeech, which had an absurd effect, incongruous with his little figure. He was one of the lodgers most respected by Amalia Ivanovna, for he didnot get drunk and paid regularly for his lodgings. Andrey Semyonovitchreally was rather stupid; he attached himself to the cause of progressand "our younger generation" from enthusiasm. He was one of the numerousand varied legion of dullards, of half-animate abortions, conceited, half-educated coxcombs, who attach themselves to the idea most infashion only to vulgarise it and who caricature every cause they serve, however sincerely. 

Though Lebeziatnikov was so good-natured, he, too, was beginning todislike Pyotr Petrovitch. This happened on both sides unconsciously. However simple Andrey Semyonovitch might be, he began to see that PyotrPetrovitch was duping him and secretly despising him, and that "he wasnot the right sort of man. " He had tried expounding to him the system ofFourier and the Darwinian theory, but of late Pyotr Petrovitch began tolisten too sarcastically and even to be rude. The fact was he had beguninstinctively to guess that Lebeziatnikov was not merely a commonplacesimpleton, but, perhaps, a liar, too, and that he had no connections ofany consequence even in his own circle, but had simply picked things upthird-hand; and that very likely he did not even know much about his ownwork of propaganda, for he was in too great a muddle. A fine person hewould be to show anyone up! It must be noted, by the way, that PyotrPetrovitch had during those ten days eagerly accepted the strangestpraise from Andrey Semyonovitch; he had not protested, for instance, when Andrey Semyonovitch belauded him for being ready to contribute tothe establishment of the new "commune, " or to abstain from christeninghis future children, or to acquiesce if Dounia were to take a lover amonth after marriage, and so on. Pyotr Petrovitch so enjoyed hearinghis own praises that he did not disdain even such virtues when they wereattributed to him. 

Pyotr Petrovitch had had occasion that morning to realise somefive-per-cent bonds and now he sat down to the table and counted overbundles of notes. Andrey Semyonovitch who hardly ever had any moneywalked about the room pretending to himself to look at all those banknotes with indifference and even contempt. Nothing would have convincedPyotr Petrovitch that Andrey Semyonovitch could really look on the moneyunmoved, and the latter, on his side, kept thinking bitterly that PyotrPetrovitch was capable of entertaining such an idea about him andwas, perhaps, glad of the opportunity of teasing his young friend byreminding him of his inferiority and the great difference between them. 

He found him incredibly inattentive and irritable, though he, AndreySemyonovitch, began enlarging on his favourite subject, the foundationof a new special "commune. " The brief remarks that dropped from PyotrPetrovitch between the clicking of the beads on the reckoning framebetrayed unmistakable and discourteous irony. But the "humane" AndreySemyonovitch ascribed Pyotr Petrovitch's ill-humour to his recent breachwith Dounia and he was burning with impatience to discourse on thattheme. He had something progressive to say on the subject whichmight console his worthy friend and "could not fail" to promote hisdevelopment. 

"There is some sort of festivity being prepared at that. . . At thewidow's, isn't there?" Pyotr Petrovitch asked suddenly, interruptingAndrey Semyonovitch at the most interesting passage. 

"Why, don't you know? Why, I was telling you last night what I thinkabout all such ceremonies. And she invited you too, I heard. You weretalking to her yesterday. . . "

"I should never have expected that beggarly fool would have spent onthis feast all the money she got from that other fool, Raskolnikov. Iwas surprised just now as I came through at the preparations there, thewines! Several people are invited. It's beyond everything!" continuedPyotr Petrovitch, who seemed to have some object in pursuing theconversation. "What? You say I am asked too? When was that? I don'tremember. But I shan't go. Why should I? I only said a word to her inpassing yesterday of the possibility of her obtaining a year's salary asa destitute widow of a government clerk. I suppose she has invited me onthat account, hasn't she? He-he-he!"

"I don't intend to go either, " said Lebeziatnikov. 

"I should think not, after giving her a thrashing! You might wellhesitate, he-he!"

"Who thrashed? Whom?" cried Lebeziatnikov, flustered and blushing. 

"Why, you thrashed Katerina Ivanovna a month ago. I heard soyesterday. . . So that's what your convictions amount to. . . And the womanquestion, too, wasn't quite sound, he-he-he!" and Pyotr Petrovitch, asthough comforted, went back to clicking his beads. 

"It's all slander and nonsense!" cried Lebeziatnikov, who was alwaysafraid of allusions to the subject. "It was not like that at all, itwas quite different. You've heard it wrong; it's a libel. I was simplydefending myself. She rushed at me first with her nails, she pulledout all my whiskers. . . . It's permissable for anyone, I should hope, to defend himself and I never allow anyone to use violence to me onprinciple, for it's an act of despotism. What was I to do? I simplypushed her back. "

"He-he-he!" Luzhin went on laughing maliciously. 

"You keep on like that because you are out of humour yourself. . . . Butthat's nonsense and it has nothing, nothing whatever to do with thewoman question! You don't understand; I used to think, indeed, thatif women are equal to men in all respects, even in strength (as ismaintained now) there ought to be equality in that, too. Of course, Ireflected afterwards that such a question ought not really to arise, for there ought not to be fighting and in the future society fighting isunthinkable. . . And that it would be a queer thing to seek for equalityin fighting. I am not so stupid. . . Though, of course, there isfighting. . . There won't be later, but at present there is. . . Confoundit! How muddled one gets with you! It's not on that account that Iam not going. I am not going on principle, not to take part in therevolting convention of memorial dinners, that's why! Though, of course, one might go to laugh at it. . . . I am sorry there won't be any priests atit. I should certainly go if there were. "

"Then you would sit down at another man's table and insult it and thosewho invited you. Eh?"

"Certainly not insult, but protest. I should do it with a good object. Imight indirectly assist the cause of enlightenment and propaganda. It'sa duty of every man to work for enlightenment and propaganda and themore harshly, perhaps, the better. I might drop a seed, an idea. . . . Andsomething might grow up from that seed. How should I be insulting them?They might be offended at first, but afterwards they'd see I'd done thema service. You know, Terebyeva (who is in the community now) was blamedbecause when she left her family and. . . Devoted. . . Herself, she wrote toher father and mother that she wouldn't go on living conventionally andwas entering on a free marriage and it was said that that was too harsh, that she might have spared them and have written more kindly. I thinkthat's all nonsense and there's no need of softness; on the contrary, what's wanted is protest. Varents had been married seven years, sheabandoned her two children, she told her husband straight out in aletter: 'I have realised that I cannot be happy with you. I can neverforgive you that you have deceived me by concealing from me that thereis another organisation of society by means of the communities. I haveonly lately learned it from a great-hearted man to whom I have givenmyself and with whom I am establishing a community. I speak plainlybecause I consider it dishonest to deceive you. Do as you think best. Do not hope to get me back, you are too late. I hope you will be happy. 'That's how letters like that ought to be written!"

"Is that Terebyeva the one you said had made a third free marriage?"

"No, it's only the second, really! But what if it were the fourth, whatif it were the fifteenth, that's all nonsense! And if ever I regrettedthe death of my father and mother, it is now, and I sometimes thinkif my parents were living what a protest I would have aimed at them! Iwould have done something on purpose. . . I would have shown them! I wouldhave astonished them! I am really sorry there is no one!"

"To surprise! He-he! Well, be that as you will, " Pyotr Petrovitchinterrupted, "but tell me this; do you know the dead man's daughter, thedelicate-looking little thing? It's true what they say about her, isn'tit?"

"What of it? I think, that is, it is my own personal conviction thatthis is the normal condition of women. Why not? I mean, _distinguons_. In our present society it is not altogether normal, because it iscompulsory, but in the future society it will be perfectly normal, because it will be voluntary. Even as it is, she was quite right: shewas suffering and that was her asset, so to speak, her capital whichshe had a perfect right to dispose of. Of course, in the futuresociety there will be no need of assets, but her part will have anothersignificance, rational and in harmony with her environment. As to SofyaSemyonovna personally, I regard her action as a vigorous protest againstthe organisation of society, and I respect her deeply for it; I rejoiceindeed when I look at her!"

"I was told that you got her turned out of these lodgings. "

Lebeziatnikov was enraged. 

"That's another slander, " he yelled. "It was not so at all! That was allKaterina Ivanovna's invention, for she did not understand! And I nevermade love to Sofya Semyonovna! I was simply developing her, entirelydisinterestedly, trying to rouse her to protest. . . . All I wanted was herprotest and Sofya Semyonovna could not have remained here anyway!"

"Have you asked her to join your community?"

"You keep on laughing and very inappropriately, allow me to tellyou. You don't understand! There is no such rôle in a community. Thecommunity is established that there should be no such rôles. In acommunity, such a rôle is essentially transformed and what is stupidhere is sensible there, what, under present conditions, is unnaturalbecomes perfectly natural in the community. It all depends on theenvironment. It's all the environment and man himself is nothing. AndI am on good terms with Sofya Semyonovna to this day, which is a proofthat she never regarded me as having wronged her. I am trying now toattract her to the community, but on quite, quite a different footing. What are you laughing at? We are trying to establish a community ofour own, a special one, on a broader basis. We have gone further in ourconvictions. We reject more! And meanwhile I'm still developing SofyaSemyonovna. She has a beautiful, beautiful character!"

"And you take advantage of her fine character, eh? He-he!"

"No, no! Oh, no! On the contrary. "

"Oh, on the contrary! He-he-he! A queer thing to say!"

"Believe me! Why should I disguise it? In fact, I feel it strange myselfhow timid, chaste and modern she is with me!"

"And you, of course, are developing her. . . He-he! trying to prove to herthat all that modesty is nonsense?"

"Not at all, not at all! How coarsely, how stupidly--excuse me sayingso--you misunderstand the word development! Good heavens, how. . . Crudeyou still are! We are striving for the freedom of women and you haveonly one idea in your head. . . . Setting aside the general questionof chastity and feminine modesty as useless in themselves and indeedprejudices, I fully accept her chastity with me, because that's for herto decide. Of course if she were to tell me herself that she wanted me, I should think myself very lucky, because I like the girl very much; butas it is, no one has ever treated her more courteously than I, with morerespect for her dignity. . . I wait in hopes, that's all!"

"You had much better make her a present of something. I bet you neverthought of that. "

"You don't understand, as I've told you already! Of course, she is insuch a position, but it's another question. Quite another question!You simply despise her. Seeing a fact which you mistakenly considerdeserving of contempt, you refuse to take a humane view of a fellowcreature. You don't know what a character she is! I am only sorry thatof late she has quite given up reading and borrowing books. I usedto lend them to her. I am sorry, too, that with all the energy andresolution in protesting--which she has already shown once--she haslittle self-reliance, little, so to say, independence, so as tobreak free from certain prejudices and certain foolish ideas. Yet shethoroughly understands some questions, for instance about kissing ofhands, that is, that it's an insult to a woman for a man to kiss herhand, because it's a sign of inequality. We had a debate about it andI described it to her. She listened attentively to an account of theworkmen's associations in France, too. Now I am explaining the questionof coming into the room in the future society. "

"And what's that, pray?"

"We had a debate lately on the question: Has a member of the communitythe right to enter another member's room, whether man or woman, at anytime. . . And we decided that he has!"

"It might be at an inconvenient moment, he-he!"

Lebeziatnikov was really angry. 

"You are always thinking of something unpleasant, " he cried withaversion. "Tfoo! How vexed I am that when I was expounding our system, Ireferred prematurely to the question of personal privacy! It's alwaysa stumbling-block to people like you, they turn it into ridicule beforethey understand it. And how proud they are of it, too! Tfoo! I've oftenmaintained that that question should not be approached by a novice tillhe has a firm faith in the system. And tell me, please, what do youfind so shameful even in cesspools? I should be the first to be readyto clean out any cesspool you like. And it's not a question ofself-sacrifice, it's simply work, honourable, useful work which isas good as any other and much better than the work of a Raphael and aPushkin, because it is more useful. "

"And more honourable, more honourable, he-he-he!"

"What do you mean by 'more honourable'? I don't understand suchexpressions to describe human activity. 'More honourable, ' 'nobler'--allthose are old-fashioned prejudices which I reject. Everything which is_of use_ to mankind is honourable. I only understand one word: _useful_!You can snigger as much as you like, but that's so!"

Pyotr Petrovitch laughed heartily. He had finished counting the moneyand was putting it away. But some of the notes he left on the table. The"cesspool question" had already been a subject of dispute between them. What was absurd was that it made Lebeziatnikov really angry, while itamused Luzhin and at that moment he particularly wanted to anger hisyoung friend. 

"It's your ill-luck yesterday that makes you so ill-humoured andannoying, " blurted out Lebeziatnikov, who in spite of his "independence"and his "protests" did not venture to oppose Pyotr Petrovitch and stillbehaved to him with some of the respect habitual in earlier years. 

"You'd better tell me this, " Pyotr Petrovitch interrupted with haughtydispleasure, "can you. . . Or rather are you really friendly enough withthat young person to ask her to step in here for a minute? I thinkthey've all come back from the cemetery. . . I heard the sound ofsteps. . . I want to see her, that young person. "

"What for?" Lebeziatnikov asked with surprise. 

"Oh, I want to. I am leaving here to-day or to-morrow and therefore Iwanted to speak to her about. . . However, you may be present during theinterview. It's better you should be, indeed. For there's no knowingwhat you might imagine. "

"I shan't imagine anything. I only asked and, if you've anything to sayto her, nothing is easier than to call her in. I'll go directly and youmay be sure I won't be in your way. "

Five minutes later Lebeziatnikov came in with Sonia. She came in verymuch surprised and overcome with shyness as usual. She was always shy insuch circumstances and was always afraid of new people, she had been asa child and was even more so now. . . . Pyotr Petrovitch met her "politelyand affably, " but with a certain shade of bantering familiarity which inhis opinion was suitable for a man of his respectability and weightin dealing with a creature so young and so _interesting_ as she. Hehastened to "reassure" her and made her sit down facing him at thetable. Sonia sat down, looked about her--at Lebeziatnikov, at the noteslying on the table and then again at Pyotr Petrovitch and her eyesremained riveted on him. Lebeziatnikov was moving to the door. PyotrPetrovitch signed to Sonia to remain seated and stopped Lebeziatnikov. 

"Is Raskolnikov in there? Has he come?" he asked him in a whisper. 

"Raskolnikov? Yes. Why? Yes, he is there. I saw him just come in. . . . Why?"

"Well, I particularly beg you to remain here with us and not to leaveme alone with this. . . Young woman. I only want a few words with her, but God knows what they may make of it. I shouldn't like Raskolnikov torepeat anything. . . . You understand what I mean?"

"I understand!" Lebeziatnikov saw the point. "Yes, you are right. . . . Ofcourse, I am convinced personally that you have no reason to be uneasy, but. . . Still, you are right. Certainly I'll stay. I'll stand here at thewindow and not be in your way. . . I think you are right. . . "

Pyotr Petrovitch returned to the sofa, sat down opposite Sonia, lookedattentively at her and assumed an extremely dignified, even severeexpression, as much as to say, "don't you make any mistake, madam. "Sonia was overwhelmed with embarrassment. 

"In the first place, Sofya Semyonovna, will you make my excuses to yourrespected mamma. . . . That's right, isn't it? Katerina Ivanovna standsin the place of a mother to you?" Pyotr Petrovitch began with greatdignity, though affably. 

It was evident that his intentions were friendly. 

"Quite so, yes; the place of a mother, " Sonia answered, timidly andhurriedly. 

"Then will you make my apologies to her? Through inevitablecircumstances I am forced to be absent and shall not be at the dinner inspite of your mamma's kind invitation. "

"Yes. . . I'll tell her. . . At once. "

And Sonia hastily jumped up from her seat. 

"Wait, that's not all, " Pyotr Petrovitch detained her, smiling at hersimplicity and ignorance of good manners, "and you know me little, mydear Sofya Semyonovna, if you suppose I would have ventured to troublea person like you for a matter of so little consequence affecting myselfonly. I have another object. "

Sonia sat down hurriedly. Her eyes rested again for an instant on thegrey-and-rainbow-coloured notes that remained on the table, but shequickly looked away and fixed her eyes on Pyotr Petrovitch. She felt ithorribly indecorous, especially for _her_, to look at another person'smoney. She stared at the gold eye-glass which Pyotr Petrovitch heldin his left hand and at the massive and extremely handsome ring with ayellow stone on his middle finger. But suddenly she looked away and, notknowing where to turn, ended by staring Pyotr Petrovitch again straightin the face. After a pause of still greater dignity he continued. 

"I chanced yesterday in passing to exchange a couple of words withKaterina Ivanovna, poor woman. That was sufficient to enable me toascertain that she is in a position--preternatural, if one may soexpress it. "

"Yes. . . Preternatural. . . " Sonia hurriedly assented. 

"Or it would be simpler and more comprehensible to say, ill. "

"Yes, simpler and more comprehen. . . Yes, ill. "

"Quite so. So then from a feeling of humanity and so to speakcompassion, I should be glad to be of service to her in any way, foreseeing her unfortunate position. I believe the whole of thispoverty-stricken family depends now entirely on you?"

"Allow me to ask, " Sonia rose to her feet, "did you say something to heryesterday of the possibility of a pension? Because she told me you hadundertaken to get her one. Was that true?"

"Not in the slightest, and indeed it's an absurdity! I merely hinted ather obtaining temporary assistance as the widow of an official who haddied in the service--if only she has patronage. . . But apparently yourlate parent had not served his full term and had not indeed been in theservice at all of late. In fact, if there could be any hope, it would bevery ephemeral, because there would be no claim for assistance inthat case, far from it. . . . And she is dreaming of a pension already, he-he-he!. . . A go-ahead lady!"

"Yes, she is. For she is credulous and good-hearted, and she believeseverything from the goodness of her heart and. . . And. . . And she is likethat. . . Yes. . . You must excuse her, " said Sonia, and again she got up togo. 

"But you haven't heard what I have to say. "

"No, I haven't heard, " muttered Sonia. 

"Then sit down. " She was terribly confused; she sat down again a thirdtime. 

"Seeing her position with her unfortunate little ones, I should be glad, as I have said before, so far as lies in my power, to be of service, that is, so far as is in my power, not more. One might for instance getup a subscription for her, or a lottery, something of the sort, such asis always arranged in such cases by friends or even outsiders desirousof assisting people. It was of that I intended to speak to you; it mightbe done. "

"Yes, yes. . . God will repay you for it, " faltered Sonia, gazing intentlyat Pyotr Petrovitch. 

"It might be, but we will talk of it later. We might begin it to-day, wewill talk it over this evening and lay the foundation so to speak. Cometo me at seven o'clock. Mr. Lebeziatnikov, I hope, will assist us. Butthere is one circumstance of which I ought to warn you beforehand andfor which I venture to trouble you, Sofya Semyonovna, to come here. Inmy opinion money cannot be, indeed it's unsafe to put it into KaterinaIvanovna's own hands. The dinner to-day is a proof of that. Though shehas not, so to speak, a crust of bread for to-morrow and. . . Well, bootsor shoes, or anything; she has bought to-day Jamaica rum, and even, I believe, Madeira and. . . And coffee. I saw it as I passed through. To-morrow it will all fall upon you again, they won't have a crust ofbread. It's absurd, really, and so, to my thinking, a subscription oughtto be raised so that the unhappy widow should not know of the money, butonly you, for instance. Am I right?"

"I don't know. . . This is only to-day, once in her life. . . . She wasso anxious to do honour, to celebrate the memory. . . . And she is verysensible. . . But just as you think and I shall be very, very. . . They willall be. . . And God will reward. . . And the orphans. . . "

Sonia burst into tears. 

"Very well, then, keep it in mind; and now will you accept for thebenefit of your relation the small sum that I am able to spare, from mepersonally. I am very anxious that my name should not be mentioned inconnection with it. Here. . . Having so to speak anxieties of my own, Icannot do more. . . "

And Pyotr Petrovitch held out to Sonia a ten-rouble note carefullyunfolded. Sonia took it, flushed crimson, jumped up, muttered somethingand began taking leave. Pyotr Petrovitch accompanied her ceremoniouslyto the door. She got out of the room at last, agitated and distressed, and returned to Katerina Ivanovna, overwhelmed with confusion. 

All this time Lebeziatnikov had stood at the window or walked about theroom, anxious not to interrupt the conversation; when Sonia had gone hewalked up to Pyotr Petrovitch and solemnly held out his hand. 

"I heard and _saw_ everything, " he said, laying stress on the last verb. "That is honourable, I mean to say, it's humane! You wanted to avoidgratitude, I saw! And although I cannot, I confess, in principlesympathise with private charity, for it not only fails to eradicate theevil but even promotes it, yet I must admit that I saw your action withpleasure--yes, yes, I like it. "

"That's all nonsense, " muttered Pyotr Petrovitch, somewhat disconcerted, looking carefully at Lebeziatnikov. 

"No, it's not nonsense! A man who has suffered distress and annoyance asyou did yesterday and who yet can sympathise with the misery of others, such a man. . . Even though he is making a social mistake--is stilldeserving of respect! I did not expect it indeed of you, PyotrPetrovitch, especially as according to your ideas. . . Oh, what a drawbackyour ideas are to you! How distressed you are for instance by yourill-luck yesterday, " cried the simple-hearted Lebeziatnikov, who felta return of affection for Pyotr Petrovitch. "And, what do you want withmarriage, with _legal_ marriage, my dear, noble Pyotr Petrovitch? Why doyou cling to this _legality_ of marriage? Well, you may beat me if youlike, but I am glad, positively glad it hasn't come off, that you arefree, that you are not quite lost for humanity. . . . You see, I've spokenmy mind!"

"Because I don't want in your free marriage to be made a fool of andto bring up another man's children, that's why I want legal marriage, "Luzhin replied in order to make some answer. 

He seemed preoccupied by something. 

"Children? You referred to children, " Lebeziatnikov started off likea warhorse at the trumpet call. "Children are a social question and aquestion of first importance, I agree; but the question of children hasanother solution. Some refuse to have children altogether, because theysuggest the institution of the family. We'll speak of children later, but now as to the question of honour, I confess that's my weak point. That horrid, military, Pushkin expression is unthinkable in thedictionary of the future. What does it mean indeed? It's nonsense, there will be no deception in a free marriage! That is only the naturalconsequence of a legal marriage, so to say, its corrective, a protest. So that indeed it's not humiliating. . . And if I ever, to suppose anabsurdity, were to be legally married, I should be positively glad ofit. I should say to my wife: 'My dear, hitherto I have loved you, nowI respect you, for you've shown you can protest!' You laugh! That'sbecause you are of incapable of getting away from prejudices. Confoundit all! I understand now where the unpleasantness is of being deceivedin a legal marriage, but it's simply a despicable consequence of adespicable position in which both are humiliated. When the deception isopen, as in a free marriage, then it does not exist, it's unthinkable. Your wife will only prove how she respects you by considering youincapable of opposing her happiness and avenging yourself on her forher new husband. Damn it all! I sometimes dream if I were to be married, pfoo! I mean if I were to marry, legally or not, it's just the same, I should present my wife with a lover if she had not found one forherself. 'My dear, ' I should say, 'I love you, but even more than that Idesire you to respect me. See!' Am I not right?"

Pyotr Petrovitch sniggered as he listened, but without much merriment. He hardly heard it indeed. He was preoccupied with something else andeven Lebeziatnikov at last noticed it. Pyotr Petrovitch seemed excitedand rubbed his hands. Lebeziatnikov remembered all this and reflectedupon it afterwards. 

CHAPTER II

It would be difficult to explain exactly what could have originated theidea of that senseless dinner in Katerina Ivanovna's disordered brain. Nearly ten of the twenty roubles, given by Raskolnikov for Marmeladov'sfuneral, were wasted upon it. Possibly Katerina Ivanovna felt obliged tohonour the memory of the deceased "suitably, " that all the lodgers, and still more Amalia Ivanovna, might know "that he was in no way theirinferior, and perhaps very much their superior, " and that no one had theright "to turn up his nose at him. " Perhaps the chief element was thatpeculiar "poor man's pride, " which compels many poor people to spendtheir last savings on some traditional social ceremony, simply in orderto do "like other people, " and not to "be looked down upon. " It is veryprobable, too, that Katerina Ivanovna longed on this occasion, atthe moment when she seemed to be abandoned by everyone, to show those"wretched contemptible lodgers" that she knew "how to do things, howto entertain" and that she had been brought up "in a genteel, she mightalmost say aristocratic colonel's family" and had not been meant forsweeping floors and washing the children's rags at night. Even thepoorest and most broken-spirited people are sometimes liable to theseparoxysms of pride and vanity which take the form of an irresistiblenervous craving. And Katerina Ivanovna was not broken-spirited; shemight have been killed by circumstance, but her spirit could not havebeen broken, that is, she could not have been intimidated, her willcould not be crushed. Moreover Sonia had said with good reason that hermind was unhinged. She could not be said to be insane, but for a yearpast she had been so harassed that her mind might well be overstrained. The later stages of consumption are apt, doctors tell us, to affect theintellect. 

There was no great variety of wines, nor was there Madeira; but winethere was. There was vodka, rum and Lisbon wine, all of the poorestquality but in sufficient quantity. Besides the traditional rice andhoney, there were three or four dishes, one of which consisted ofpancakes, all prepared in Amalia Ivanovna's kitchen. Two samovars wereboiling, that tea and punch might be offered after dinner. KaterinaIvanovna had herself seen to purchasing the provisions, with the helpof one of the lodgers, an unfortunate little Pole who had somehow beenstranded at Madame Lippevechsel's. He promptly put himself at KaterinaIvanovna's disposal and had been all that morning and all the day beforerunning about as fast as his legs could carry him, and very anxiousthat everyone should be aware of it. For every trifle he ran to KaterinaIvanovna, even hunting her out at the bazaar, at every instant calledher "_Pani_. " She was heartily sick of him before the end, thoughshe had declared at first that she could not have got on without this"serviceable and magnanimous man. " It was one of Katerina Ivanovna'scharacteristics to paint everyone she met in the most glowing colours. Her praises were so exaggerated as sometimes to be embarrassing; shewould invent various circumstances to the credit of her new acquaintanceand quite genuinely believe in their reality. Then all of a sudden shewould be disillusioned and would rudely and contemptuously repulse theperson she had only a few hours before been literally adoring. Shewas naturally of a gay, lively and peace-loving disposition, but fromcontinual failures and misfortunes she had come to desire so _keenly_that all should live in peace and joy and should not _dare_ to break thepeace, that the slightest jar, the smallest disaster reduced her almostto frenzy, and she would pass in an instant from the brightest hopes andfancies to cursing her fate and raving, and knocking her head againstthe wall. 

Amalia Ivanovna, too, suddenly acquired extraordinary importance inKaterina Ivanovna's eyes and was treated by her with extraordinaryrespect, probably only because Amalia Ivanovna had thrown herself heartand soul into the preparations. She had undertaken to lay the table, to provide the linen, crockery, etc. , and to cook the dishes in herkitchen, and Katerina Ivanovna had left it all in her hands and goneherself to the cemetery. Everything had been well done. Even thetable-cloth was nearly clean; the crockery, knives, forks and glasseswere, of course, of all shapes and patterns, lent by different lodgers, but the table was properly laid at the time fixed, and Amalia Ivanovna, feeling she had done her work well, had put on a black silk dress anda cap with new mourning ribbons and met the returning party with somepride. This pride, though justifiable, displeased Katerina Ivanovna forsome reason: "as though the table could not have been laid except byAmalia Ivanovna!" She disliked the cap with new ribbons, too. "Could shebe stuck up, the stupid German, because she was mistress of the house, and had consented as a favour to help her poor lodgers! As a favour!Fancy that! Katerina Ivanovna's father who had been a colonel and almosta governor had sometimes had the table set for forty persons, and thenanyone like Amalia Ivanovna, or rather Ludwigovna, would not have beenallowed into the kitchen. "

Katerina Ivanovna, however, put off expressing her feelings for thetime and contented herself with treating her coldly, though she decidedinwardly that she would certainly have to put Amalia Ivanovna downand set her in her proper place, for goodness only knew what she wasfancying herself. Katerina Ivanovna was irritated too by the fact thathardly any of the lodgers invited had come to the funeral, exceptthe Pole who had just managed to run into the cemetery, while to thememorial dinner the poorest and most insignificant of them had turnedup, the wretched creatures, many of them not quite sober. The olderand more respectable of them all, as if by common consent, stayed away. Pyotr Petrovitch Luzhin, for instance, who might be said to be the mostrespectable of all the lodgers, did not appear, though Katerina Ivanovnahad the evening before told all the world, that is Amalia Ivanovna, Polenka, Sonia and the Pole, that he was the most generous, noble-hearted man with a large property and vast connections, who hadbeen a friend of her first husband's, and a guest in her father'shouse, and that he had promised to use all his influence to secure hera considerable pension. It must be noted that when Katerina Ivanovnaexalted anyone's connections and fortune, it was without any ulteriormotive, quite disinterestedly, for the mere pleasure of adding tothe consequence of the person praised. Probably "taking his cue" fromLuzhin, "that contemptible wretch Lebeziatnikov had not turned upeither. What did he fancy himself? He was only asked out of kindnessand because he was sharing the same room with Pyotr Petrovitch and was afriend of his, so that it would have been awkward not to invite him. "

Among those who failed to appear were "the genteel lady and herold-maidish daughter, " who had only been lodgers in the house for thelast fortnight, but had several times complained of the noise and uproarin Katerina Ivanovna's room, especially when Marmeladov had comeback drunk. Katerina Ivanovna heard this from Amalia Ivanovna who, quarrelling with Katerina Ivanovna, and threatening to turn the wholefamily out of doors, had shouted at her that they "were not worth thefoot" of the honourable lodgers whom they were disturbing. KaterinaIvanovna determined now to invite this lady and her daughter, "whosefoot she was not worth, " and who had turned away haughtily when shecasually met them, so that they might know that "she was more noble inher thoughts and feelings and did not harbour malice, " and might seethat she was not accustomed to her way of living. She had proposed tomake this clear to them at dinner with allusions to her late father'sgovernorship, and also at the same time to hint that it was exceedinglystupid of them to turn away on meeting her. The fat colonel-major (hewas really a discharged officer of low rank) was also absent, but itappeared that he had been "not himself" for the last two days. The partyconsisted of the Pole, a wretched looking clerk with a spotty face anda greasy coat, who had not a word to say for himself, and smeltabominably, a deaf and almost blind old man who had once been in thepost office and who had been from immemorial ages maintained by someoneat Amalia Ivanovna's. 

A retired clerk of the commissariat department came, too; he wasdrunk, had a loud and most unseemly laugh and only fancy--was withouta waistcoat! One of the visitors sat straight down to the table withouteven greeting Katerina Ivanovna. Finally one person having no suitappeared in his dressing-gown, but this was too much, and the efforts ofAmalia Ivanovna and the Pole succeeded in removing him. The Pole broughtwith him, however, two other Poles who did not live at Amalia Ivanovna'sand whom no one had seen here before. All this irritated KaterinaIvanovna intensely. "For whom had they made all these preparationsthen?" To make room for the visitors the children had not even been laidfor at the table; but the two little ones were sitting on a bench in thefurthest corner with their dinner laid on a box, while Polenka as a biggirl had to look after them, feed them, and keep their noses wiped likewell-bred children's. 

Katerina Ivanovna, in fact, could hardly help meeting her guests withincreased dignity, and even haughtiness. She stared at some of them withspecial severity, and loftily invited them to take their seats. Rushingto the conclusion that Amalia Ivanovna must be responsible for those whowere absent, she began treating her with extreme nonchalance, which thelatter promptly observed and resented. Such a beginning was no good omenfor the end. All were seated at last. 

Raskolnikov came in almost at the moment of their return from thecemetery. Katerina Ivanovna was greatly delighted to see him, in thefirst place, because he was the one "educated visitor, and, as everyoneknew, was in two years to take a professorship in the university, " andsecondly because he immediately and respectfully apologised for havingbeen unable to be at the funeral. She positively pounced upon him, andmade him sit on her left hand (Amalia Ivanovna was on her right). Inspite of her continual anxiety that the dishes should be passed roundcorrectly and that everyone should taste them, in spite of the agonisingcough which interrupted her every minute and seemed to have grown worseduring the last few days, she hastened to pour out in a half whisper toRaskolnikov all her suppressed feelings and her just indignation atthe failure of the dinner, interspersing her remarks with lively anduncontrollable laughter at the expense of her visitors and especially ofher landlady. 

"It's all that cuckoo's fault! You know whom I mean? Her, her!" KaterinaIvanovna nodded towards the landlady. "Look at her, she's making roundeyes, she feels that we are talking about her and can't understand. Pfoo, the owl! Ha-ha! (Cough-cough-cough. ) And what does she put on thatcap for? (Cough-cough-cough. ) Have you noticed that she wants everyoneto consider that she is patronising me and doing me an honour by beinghere? I asked her like a sensible woman to invite people, especiallythose who knew my late husband, and look at the set of fools she hasbrought! The sweeps! Look at that one with the spotty face. And thosewretched Poles, ha-ha-ha! (Cough-cough-cough. ) Not one of them has everpoked his nose in here, I've never set eyes on them. What have they comehere for, I ask you? There they sit in a row. Hey, _pan_!" she criedsuddenly to one of them, "have you tasted the pancakes? Take some more!Have some beer! Won't you have some vodka? Look, he's jumped up and ismaking his bows, they must be quite starved, poor things. Never mind, let them eat! They don't make a noise, anyway, though I'm really afraidfor our landlady's silver spoons. . . Amalia Ivanovna!" she addressed hersuddenly, almost aloud, "if your spoons should happen to be stolen, I won't be responsible, I warn you! Ha-ha-ha!" She laughed turning toRaskolnikov, and again nodding towards the landlady, in high glee at hersally. "She didn't understand, she didn't understand again! Look howshe sits with her mouth open! An owl, a real owl! An owl in new ribbons, ha-ha-ha!"

Here her laugh turned again to an insufferable fit of coughing thatlasted five minutes. Drops of perspiration stood out on her foreheadand her handkerchief was stained with blood. She showed Raskolnikovthe blood in silence, and as soon as she could get her breath beganwhispering to him again with extreme animation and a hectic flush on hercheeks. 

"Do you know, I gave her the most delicate instructions, so to speak, for inviting that lady and her daughter, you understand of whom I amspeaking? It needed the utmost delicacy, the greatest nicety, but shehas managed things so that that fool, that conceited baggage, thatprovincial nonentity, simply because she is the widow of a major, andhas come to try and get a pension and to fray out her skirts in thegovernment offices, because at fifty she paints her face (everybodyknows it). . . A creature like that did not think fit to come, and hasnot even answered the invitation, which the most ordinary good mannersrequired! I can't understand why Pyotr Petrovitch has not come? Butwhere's Sonia? Where has she gone? Ah, there she is at last! what is it, Sonia, where have you been? It's odd that even at your father's funeralyou should be so unpunctual. Rodion Romanovitch, make room for herbeside you. That's your place, Sonia. . . Take what you like. Have some ofthe cold entrée with jelly, that's the best. They'll bring the pancakesdirectly. Have they given the children some? Polenka, have you goteverything? (Cough-cough-cough. ) That's all right. Be a good girl, Lida, and, Kolya, don't fidget with your feet; sit like a little gentleman. What are you saying, Sonia?"

Sonia hastened to give her Pyotr Petrovitch's apologies, trying tospeak loud enough for everyone to hear and carefully choosing the mostrespectful phrases which she attributed to Pyotr Petrovitch. She addedthat Pyotr Petrovitch had particularly told her to say that, as soon ashe possibly could, he would come immediately to discuss _business_ alonewith her and to consider what could be done for her, etc. , etc. 

Sonia knew that this would comfort Katerina Ivanovna, would flatter herand gratify her pride. She sat down beside Raskolnikov; she made him ahurried bow, glancing curiously at him. But for the rest of the timeshe seemed to avoid looking at him or speaking to him. She seemedabsent-minded, though she kept looking at Katerina Ivanovna, tryingto please her. Neither she nor Katerina Ivanovna had been able to getmourning; Sonia was wearing dark brown, and Katerina Ivanovna had on heronly dress, a dark striped cotton one. 

The message from Pyotr Petrovitch was very successful. Listening toSonia with dignity, Katerina Ivanovna inquired with equal dignity howPyotr Petrovitch was, then at once whispered almost aloud toRaskolnikov that it certainly would have been strange for a man ofPyotr Petrovitch's position and standing to find himself in such"extraordinary company, " in spite of his devotion to her family and hisold friendship with her father. 

"That's why I am so grateful to you, Rodion Romanovitch, that you havenot disdained my hospitality, even in such surroundings, " she addedalmost aloud. "But I am sure that it was only your special affection formy poor husband that has made you keep your promise. "

Then once more with pride and dignity she scanned her visitors, andsuddenly inquired aloud across the table of the deaf man: "Wouldn't hehave some more meat, and had he been given some wine?" The old man madeno answer and for a long while could not understand what he was asked, though his neighbours amused themselves by poking and shaking him. Hesimply gazed about him with his mouth open, which only increased thegeneral mirth. 

"What an imbecile! Look, look! Why was he brought? But as to PyotrPetrovitch, I always had confidence in him, " Katerina Ivanovnacontinued, "and, of course, he is not like. . . " with an extremely sternface she addressed Amalia Ivanovna so sharply and loudly that the latterwas quite disconcerted, "not like your dressed up draggletails whommy father would not have taken as cooks into his kitchen, and my latehusband would have done them honour if he had invited them in thegoodness of his heart. "

"Yes, he was fond of drink, he was fond of it, he did drink!" cried thecommissariat clerk, gulping down his twelfth glass of vodka. 

"My late husband certainly had that weakness, and everyone knowsit, " Katerina Ivanovna attacked him at once, "but he was a kind andhonourable man, who loved and respected his family. The worst of it washis good nature made him trust all sorts of disreputable people, and hedrank with fellows who were not worth the sole of his shoe. Would youbelieve it, Rodion Romanovitch, they found a gingerbread cock in hispocket; he was dead drunk, but he did not forget the children!"

"A cock? Did you say a cock?" shouted the commissariat clerk. 

Katerina Ivanovna did not vouchsafe a reply. She sighed, lost inthought. 

"No doubt you think, like everyone, that I was too severe with him, " shewent on, addressing Raskolnikov. "But that's not so! He respected me, herespected me very much! He was a kind-hearted man! And how sorry I wasfor him sometimes! He would sit in a corner and look at me, I used tofeel so sorry for him, I used to want to be kind to him and then wouldthink to myself: 'Be kind to him and he will drink again, ' it was onlyby severity that you could keep him within bounds. "

"Yes, he used to get his hair pulled pretty often, " roared thecommissariat clerk again, swallowing another glass of vodka. 

"Some fools would be the better for a good drubbing, as well as havingtheir hair pulled. I am not talking of my late husband now!" KaterinaIvanovna snapped at him. 

The flush on her cheeks grew more and more marked, her chest heaved. Inanother minute she would have been ready to make a scene. Many of thevisitors were sniggering, evidently delighted. They began poking thecommissariat clerk and whispering something to him. They were evidentlytrying to egg him on. 

"Allow me to ask what are you alluding to, " began the clerk, "that isto say, whose. . . About whom. . . Did you say just now. . . But I don't care!That's nonsense! Widow! I forgive you. . . . Pass!"

And he took another drink of vodka. 

Raskolnikov sat in silence, listening with disgust. He only ate frompoliteness, just tasting the food that Katerina Ivanovna was continuallyputting on his plate, to avoid hurting her feelings. He watched Soniaintently. But Sonia became more and more anxious and distressed; she, too, foresaw that the dinner would not end peaceably, and saw withterror Katerina Ivanovna's growing irritation. She knew that she, Sonia, was the chief reason for the 'genteel' ladies' contemptuous treatment ofKaterina Ivanovna's invitation. She had heard from Amalia Ivanovna thatthe mother was positively offended at the invitation and had asked thequestion: "How could she let her daughter sit down beside _that youngperson_?" Sonia had a feeling that Katerina Ivanovna had already heardthis and an insult to Sonia meant more to Katerina Ivanovna than aninsult to herself, her children, or her father, Sonia knew thatKaterina Ivanovna would not be satisfied now, "till she had shown thosedraggletails that they were both. . . " To make matters worse someonepassed Sonia, from the other end of the table, a plate with two heartspierced with an arrow, cut out of black bread. Katerina Ivanovna flushedcrimson and at once said aloud across the table that the man who sent itwas "a drunken ass!"

Amalia Ivanovna was foreseeing something amiss, and at the same timedeeply wounded by Katerina Ivanovna's haughtiness, and to restore thegood-humour of the company and raise herself in their esteem she began, apropos of nothing, telling a story about an acquaintance of hers "Karlfrom the chemist's, " who was driving one night in a cab, and that "thecabman wanted him to kill, and Karl very much begged him not to kill, and wept and clasped hands, and frightened and from fear pierced hisheart. " Though Katerina Ivanovna smiled, she observed at once thatAmalia Ivanovna ought not to tell anecdotes in Russian; the latter wasstill more offended, and she retorted that her "_Vater aus Berlin_ was avery important man, and always went with his hands in pockets. " KaterinaIvanovna could not restrain herself and laughed so much that AmaliaIvanovna lost patience and could scarcely control herself. 

"Listen to the owl!" Katerina Ivanovna whispered at once, hergood-humour almost restored, "she meant to say he kept his hands inhis pockets, but she said he put his hands in people's pockets. (Cough-cough. ) And have you noticed, Rodion Romanovitch, that all thesePetersburg foreigners, the Germans especially, are all stupider thanwe! Can you fancy anyone of us telling how 'Karl from the chemist's''pierced his heart from fear' and that the idiot, instead of punishingthe cabman, 'clasped his hands and wept, and much begged. ' Ah, the fool!And you know she fancies it's very touching and does not suspect howstupid she is! To my thinking that drunken commissariat clerk is a greatdeal cleverer, anyway one can see that he has addled his brains withdrink, but you know, these foreigners are always so well behavedand serious. . . . Look how she sits glaring! She is angry, ha-ha!(Cough-cough-cough. )"

Regaining her good-humour, Katerina Ivanovna began at once tellingRaskolnikov that when she had obtained her pension, she intended to opena school for the daughters of gentlemen in her native town T----. This was the first time she had spoken to him of the project, and shelaunched out into the most alluring details. It suddenly appeared thatKaterina Ivanovna had in her hands the very certificate of honour ofwhich Marmeladov had spoken to Raskolnikov in the tavern, when he toldhim that Katerina Ivanovna, his wife, had danced the shawl dancebefore the governor and other great personages on leaving school. Thiscertificate of honour was obviously intended now to prove KaterinaIvanovna's right to open a boarding-school; but she had armed herselfwith it chiefly with the object of overwhelming "those two stuck-updraggletails" if they came to the dinner, and proving incontestablythat Katerina Ivanovna was of the most noble, "she might even sayaristocratic family, a colonel's daughter and was far superior tocertain adventuresses who have been so much to the fore of late. " Thecertificate of honour immediately passed into the hands of the drunkenguests, and Katerina Ivanovna did not try to retain it, for it actuallycontained the statement _en toutes lettres_, that her father was of therank of a major, and also a companion of an order, so that she reallywas almost the daughter of a colonel. 

Warming up, Katerina Ivanovna proceeded to enlarge on the peaceful andhappy life they would lead in T----, on the gymnasium teachers whomshe would engage to give lessons in her boarding-school, one a mostrespectable old Frenchman, one Mangot, who had taught Katerina Ivanovnaherself in old days and was still living in T----, and would no doubtteach in her school on moderate terms. Next she spoke of Sonia who wouldgo with her to T---- and help her in all her plans. At this someone atthe further end of the table gave a sudden guffaw. 

Though Katerina Ivanovna tried to appear to be disdainfully unaware ofit, she raised her voice and began at once speaking with conviction ofSonia's undoubted ability to assist her, of "her gentleness, patience, devotion, generosity and good education, " tapping Sonia on the cheek andkissing her warmly twice. Sonia flushed crimson, and Katerina Ivanovnasuddenly burst into tears, immediately observing that she was "nervousand silly, that she was too much upset, that it was time to finish, andas the dinner was over, it was time to hand round the tea. "

At that moment, Amalia Ivanovna, deeply aggrieved at taking no part inthe conversation, and not being listened to, made one last effort, and with secret misgivings ventured on an exceedingly deep and weightyobservation, that "in the future boarding-school she would have to payparticular attention to _die Wäsche_, and that there certainly must be agood _dame_ to look after the linen, and secondly that the young ladiesmust not novels at night read. "

Katerina Ivanovna, who certainly was upset and very tired, as well asheartily sick of the dinner, at once cut short Amalia Ivanovna, saying"she knew nothing about it and was talking nonsense, that it was thebusiness of the laundry maid, and not of the directress of a high-classboarding-school to look after _die Wäsche_, and as for novel-reading, that was simply rudeness, and she begged her to be silent. " AmaliaIvanovna fired up and getting angry observed that she only "meant hergood, " and that "she had meant her very good, " and that "it was longsince she had paid her _gold_ for the lodgings. "

Katerina Ivanovna at once "set her down, " saying that it was a lie tosay she wished her good, because only yesterday when her dead husbandwas lying on the table, she had worried her about the lodgings. To thisAmalia Ivanovna very appropriately observed that she had invited thoseladies, but "those ladies had not come, because those ladies _are_ladies and cannot come to a lady who is not a lady. " Katerina Ivanovnaat once pointed out to her, that as she was a slut she could not judgewhat made one really a lady. Amalia Ivanovna at once declared that her"_Vater aus Berlin_ was a very, very important man, and both hands inpockets went, and always used to say: 'Poof! poof!'" and she leaptup from the table to represent her father, sticking her hands in herpockets, puffing her cheeks, and uttering vague sounds resembling "poof!poof!" amid loud laughter from all the lodgers, who purposely encouragedAmalia Ivanovna, hoping for a fight. 

But this was too much for Katerina Ivanovna, and she at once declared, so that all could hear, that Amalia Ivanovna probably never had afather, but was simply a drunken Petersburg Finn, and had certainly oncebeen a cook and probably something worse. Amalia Ivanovna turned as redas a lobster and squealed that perhaps Katerina Ivanovna never had afather, "but she had a _Vater aus Berlin_ and that he wore a long coatand always said poof-poof-poof!"

Katerina Ivanovna observed contemptuously that all knew what her familywas and that on that very certificate of honour it was stated in printthat her father was a colonel, while Amalia Ivanovna's father--if shereally had one--was probably some Finnish milkman, but that probably shenever had a father at all, since it was still uncertain whether her namewas Amalia Ivanovna or Amalia Ludwigovna. 

At this Amalia Ivanovna, lashed to fury, struck the table with her fist, and shrieked that she was Amalia Ivanovna, and not Ludwigovna, "thather _Vater_ was named Johann and that he was a burgomeister, and thatKaterina Ivanovna's _Vater_ was quite never a burgomeister. " KaterinaIvanovna rose from her chair, and with a stern and apparently calm voice(though she was pale and her chest was heaving) observed that "if shedared for one moment to set her contemptible wretch of a father on alevel with her papa, she, Katerina Ivanovna, would tear her cap off herhead and trample it under foot. " Amalia Ivanovna ran about the room, shouting at the top of her voice, that she was mistress of the house andthat Katerina Ivanovna should leave the lodgings that minute; then sherushed for some reason to collect the silver spoons from the table. There was a great outcry and uproar, the children began crying. Soniaran to restrain Katerina Ivanovna, but when Amalia Ivanovna shoutedsomething about "the yellow ticket, " Katerina Ivanovna pushed Soniaaway, and rushed at the landlady to carry out her threat. 

At that minute the door opened, and Pyotr Petrovitch Luzhin appearedon the threshold. He stood scanning the party with severe and vigilanteyes. Katerina Ivanovna rushed to him. 

CHAPTER III

"Pyotr Petrovitch, " she cried, "protect me. . . You at least! Make thisfoolish woman understand that she can't behave like this to a lady inmisfortune. . . That there is a law for such things. . . . I'll go to thegovernor-general himself. . . . She shall answer for it. . . . Remembering myfather's hospitality protect these orphans. "

"Allow me, madam. . . . Allow me. " Pyotr Petrovitch waved her off. "Yourpapa as you are well aware I had not the honour of knowing" (someonelaughed aloud) "and I do not intend to take part in your everlastingsquabbles with Amalia Ivanovna. . . . I have come here to speak of my ownaffairs. . . And I want to have a word with your stepdaughter, Sofya. . . Ivanovna, I think it is? Allow me to pass. "

Pyotr Petrovitch, edging by her, went to the opposite corner where Soniawas. 

Katerina Ivanovna remained standing where she was, as thoughthunderstruck. She could not understand how Pyotr Petrovitch could denyhaving enjoyed her father's hospitality. Though she had invented itherself, she believed in it firmly by this time. She was struck tooby the businesslike, dry and even contemptuous menacing tone of PyotrPetrovitch. All the clamour gradually died away at his entrance. Notonly was this "serious business man" strikingly incongruous with therest of the party, but it was evident, too, that he had come upon somematter of consequence, that some exceptional cause must have brought himand that therefore something was going to happen. Raskolnikov, standingbeside Sonia, moved aside to let him pass; Pyotr Petrovitch did notseem to notice him. A minute later Lebeziatnikov, too, appeared in thedoorway; he did not come in, but stood still, listening with markedinterest, almost wonder, and seemed for a time perplexed. 

"Excuse me for possibly interrupting you, but it's a matter ofsome importance, " Pyotr Petrovitch observed, addressing the companygenerally. "I am glad indeed to find other persons present. AmaliaIvanovna, I humbly beg you as mistress of the house to pay carefulattention to what I have to say to Sofya Ivanovna. Sofya Ivanovna, "he went on, addressing Sonia, who was very much surprised and alreadyalarmed, "immediately after your visit I found that a hundred-roublenote was missing from my table, in the room of my friend Mr. Lebeziatnikov. If in any way whatever you know and will tell us whereit is now, I assure you on my word of honour and call all present towitness that the matter shall end there. In the opposite case I shall becompelled to have recourse to very serious measures and then. . . You mustblame yourself. "

Complete silence reigned in the room. Even the crying children werestill. Sonia stood deadly pale, staring at Luzhin and unable to say aword. She seemed not to understand. Some seconds passed. 

"Well, how is it to be then?" asked Luzhin, looking intently at her. 

"I don't know. . . . I know nothing about it, " Sonia articulated faintly atlast. 

"No, you know nothing?" Luzhin repeated and again he paused for someseconds. "Think a moment, mademoiselle, " he began severely, but still, as it were, admonishing her. "Reflect, I am prepared to give you timefor consideration. Kindly observe this: if I were not so entirelyconvinced I should not, you may be sure, with my experience venture toaccuse you so directly. Seeing that for such direct accusation beforewitnesses, if false or even mistaken, I should myself in a certain sensebe made responsible, I am aware of that. This morning I changed formy own purposes several five-per-cent securities for the sum ofapproximately three thousand roubles. The account is noted down in mypocket-book. On my return home I proceeded to count the money--as Mr. Lebeziatnikov will bear witness--and after counting two thousand threehundred roubles I put the rest in my pocket-book in my coat pocket. About five hundred roubles remained on the table and among them threenotes of a hundred roubles each. At that moment you entered (at myinvitation)--and all the time you were present you were exceedinglyembarrassed; so that three times you jumped up in the middle of theconversation and tried to make off. Mr. Lebeziatnikov can bear witnessto this. You yourself, mademoiselle, probably will not refuse to confirmmy statement that I invited you through Mr. Lebeziatnikov, solely inorder to discuss with you the hopeless and destitute position of yourrelative, Katerina Ivanovna (whose dinner I was unable to attend), and the advisability of getting up something of the nature of asubscription, lottery or the like, for her benefit. You thanked me andeven shed tears. I describe all this as it took place, primarily torecall it to your mind and secondly to show you that not the slightestdetail has escaped my recollection. Then I took a ten-rouble note fromthe table and handed it to you by way of first instalment on my partfor the benefit of your relative. Mr. Lebeziatnikov saw all this. ThenI accompanied you to the door--you being still in the same state ofembarrassment--after which, being left alone with Mr. Lebeziatnikov Italked to him for ten minutes--then Mr. Lebeziatnikov went out and Ireturned to the table with the money lying on it, intending to countit and to put it aside, as I proposed doing before. To my surprise onehundred-rouble note had disappeared. Kindly consider the position. Mr. Lebeziatnikov I cannot suspect. I am ashamed to allude to sucha supposition. I cannot have made a mistake in my reckoning, for theminute before your entrance I had finished my accounts and found thetotal correct. You will admit that recollecting your embarrassment, youreagerness to get away and the fact that you kept your hands for sometime on the table, and taking into consideration your social positionand the habits associated with it, I was, so to say, with horror andpositively against my will, _compelled_ to entertain a suspicion--acruel, but justifiable suspicion! I will add further and repeat that inspite of my positive conviction, I realise that I run a certain risk inmaking this accusation, but as you see, I could not let it pass. I havetaken action and I will tell you why: solely, madam, solely, owingto your black ingratitude! Why! I invite you for the benefit of yourdestitute relative, I present you with my donation of ten roubles andyou, on the spot, repay me for all that with such an action. It is toobad! You need a lesson. Reflect! Moreover, like a true friend I begyou--and you could have no better friend at this moment--think what youare doing, otherwise I shall be immovable! Well, what do you say?"

"I have taken nothing, " Sonia whispered in terror, "you gave me tenroubles, here it is, take it. "

Sonia pulled her handkerchief out of her pocket, untied a corner of it, took out the ten-rouble note and gave it to Luzhin. 

"And the hundred roubles you do not confess to taking?" he insistedreproachfully, not taking the note. 

Sonia looked about her. All were looking at her with such awful, stern, ironical, hostile eyes. She looked at Raskolnikov. . . He stood againstthe wall, with his arms crossed, looking at her with glowing eyes. 

"Good God!" broke from Sonia. 

"Amalia Ivanovna, we shall have to send word to the police and thereforeI humbly beg you meanwhile to send for the house porter, " Luzhin saidsoftly and even kindly. 

"_Gott der Barmherzige_! I knew she was the thief, " cried AmaliaIvanovna, throwing up her hands. 

"You knew it?" Luzhin caught her up, "then I suppose you had some reasonbefore this for thinking so. I beg you, worthy Amalia Ivanovna, toremember your words which have been uttered before witnesses. "

There was a buzz of loud conversation on all sides. All were inmovement. 

"What!" cried Katerina Ivanovna, suddenly realising the position, andshe rushed at Luzhin. "What! You accuse her of stealing? Sonia? Ah, thewretches, the wretches!"

And running to Sonia she flung her wasted arms round her and held her asin a vise. 

"Sonia! how dared you take ten roubles from him? Foolish girl! Give itto me! Give me the ten roubles at once--here!"

And snatching the note from Sonia, Katerina Ivanovna crumpled it up andflung it straight into Luzhin's face. It hit him in the eye and fellon the ground. Amalia Ivanovna hastened to pick it up. Pyotr Petrovitchlost his temper. 

"Hold that mad woman!" he shouted. 

At that moment several other persons, besides Lebeziatnikov, appeared inthe doorway, among them the two ladies. 

"What! Mad? Am I mad? Idiot!" shrieked Katerina Ivanovna. "You are anidiot yourself, pettifogging lawyer, base man! Sonia, Sonia take hismoney! Sonia a thief! Why, she'd give away her last penny!" and KaterinaIvanovna broke into hysterical laughter. "Did you ever see such anidiot?" she turned from side to side. "And you too?" she suddenly sawthe landlady, "and you too, sausage eater, you declare that she is athief, you trashy Prussian hen's leg in a crinoline! She hasn't beenout of this room: she came straight from you, you wretch, and sat downbeside me, everyone saw her. She sat here, by Rodion Romanovitch. Searchher! Since she's not left the room, the money would have to be on her!Search her, search her! But if you don't find it, then excuse me, mydear fellow, you'll answer for it! I'll go to our Sovereign, to ourSovereign, to our gracious Tsar himself, and throw myself at his feet, to-day, this minute! I am alone in the world! They would let me in! Doyou think they wouldn't? You're wrong, I will get in! I will get in!You reckoned on her meekness! You relied upon that! But I am not sosubmissive, let me tell you! You've gone too far yourself. Search her, search her!"

And Katerina Ivanovna in a frenzy shook Luzhin and dragged him towardsSonia. 

"I am ready, I'll be responsible. . . But calm yourself, madam, calmyourself. I see that you are not so submissive!. . . Well, well, but as tothat. . . " Luzhin muttered, "that ought to be before the police. . . Thoughindeed there are witnesses enough as it is. . . . I am ready. . . . But inany case it's difficult for a man. . . On account of her sex. . . . But withthe help of Amalia Ivanovna. . . Though, of course, it's not the way to dothings. . . . How is it to be done?"

"As you will! Let anyone who likes search her!" cried Katerina Ivanovna. "Sonia, turn out your pockets! See! Look, monster, the pocket is empty, here was her handkerchief! Here is the other pocket, look! D'you see, d'you see?"

And Katerina Ivanovna turned--or rather snatched--both pockets insideout. But from the right pocket a piece of paper flew out and describinga parabola in the air fell at Luzhin's feet. Everyone saw it, severalcried out. Pyotr Petrovitch stooped down, picked up the paper in twofingers, lifted it where all could see it and opened it. It was ahundred-rouble note folded in eight. Pyotr Petrovitch held up the noteshowing it to everyone. 

"Thief! Out of my lodging. Police, police!" yelled Amalia Ivanovna. "They must to Siberia be sent! Away!"

Exclamations arose on all sides. Raskolnikov was silent, keeping hiseyes fixed on Sonia, except for an occasional rapid glance at Luzhin. Sonia stood still, as though unconscious. She was hardly able to feelsurprise. Suddenly the colour rushed to her cheeks; she uttered a cryand hid her face in her hands. 

"No, it wasn't I! I didn't take it! I know nothing about it, " she criedwith a heartrending wail, and she ran to Katerina Ivanovna, who claspedher tightly in her arms, as though she would shelter her from all theworld. 

"Sonia! Sonia! I don't believe it! You see, I don't believe it!" shecried in the face of the obvious fact, swaying her to and fro in herarms like a baby, kissing her face continually, then snatching at herhands and kissing them, too, "you took it! How stupid these people are!Oh dear! You are fools, fools, " she cried, addressing the whole room, "you don't know, you don't know what a heart she has, what a girl sheis! She take it, she? She'd sell her last rag, she'd go barefoot to helpyou if you needed it, that's what she is! She has the yellow passportbecause my children were starving, she sold herself for us! Ah, husband, husband! Do you see? Do you see? What a memorial dinner for you!Merciful heavens! Defend her, why are you all standing still? RodionRomanovitch, why don't you stand up for her? Do you believe it, too? Youare not worth her little finger, all of you together! Good God! Defendher now, at least!"

The wail of the poor, consumptive, helpless woman seemed to produce agreat effect on her audience. The agonised, wasted, consumptive face, the parched blood-stained lips, the hoarse voice, the tears unrestrainedas a child's, the trustful, childish and yet despairing prayer for helpwere so piteous that everyone seemed to feel for her. Pyotr Petrovitchat any rate was at once moved to _compassion_. 

"Madam, madam, this incident does not reflect upon you!" he criedimpressively, "no one would take upon himself to accuse you of being aninstigator or even an accomplice in it, especially as you have provedher guilt by turning out her pockets, showing that you had no previousidea of it. I am most ready, most ready to show compassion, if poverty, so to speak, drove Sofya Semyonovna to it, but why did you refuse toconfess, mademoiselle? Were you afraid of the disgrace? The first step?You lost your head, perhaps? One can quite understand it. . . . But howcould you have lowered yourself to such an action? Gentlemen, " headdressed the whole company, "gentlemen! Compassionate and, so to say, commiserating these people, I am ready to overlook it even now in spiteof the personal insult lavished upon me! And may this disgrace be alesson to you for the future, " he said, addressing Sonia, "and I willcarry the matter no further. Enough!"

Pyotr Petrovitch stole a glance at Raskolnikov. Their eyes met, and thefire in Raskolnikov's seemed ready to reduce him to ashes. MeanwhileKaterina Ivanovna apparently heard nothing. She was kissing and huggingSonia like a madwoman. The children, too, were embracing Sonia onall sides, and Polenka--though she did not fully understand what waswrong--was drowned in tears and shaking with sobs, as she hid her prettylittle face, swollen with weeping, on Sonia's shoulder. 

"How vile!" a loud voice cried suddenly in the doorway. 

Pyotr Petrovitch looked round quickly. 

"What vileness!" Lebeziatnikov repeated, staring him straight in theface. 

Pyotr Petrovitch gave a positive start--all noticed it and recalled itafterwards. Lebeziatnikov strode into the room. 

"And you dared to call me as witness?" he said, going up to PyotrPetrovitch. 

"What do you mean? What are you talking about?" muttered Luzhin. 

"I mean that you. . . Are a slanderer, that's what my words mean!"Lebeziatnikov said hotly, looking sternly at him with his short-sightedeyes. 

He was extremely angry. Raskolnikov gazed intently at him, as thoughseizing and weighing each word. Again there was a silence. PyotrPetrovitch indeed seemed almost dumbfounded for the first moment. 

"If you mean that for me, . . . " he began, stammering. "But what's thematter with you? Are you out of your mind?"

"I'm in my mind, but you are a scoundrel! Ah, how vile! I have heardeverything. I kept waiting on purpose to understand it, for I must owneven now it is not quite logical. . . . What you have done it all for Ican't understand. "

"Why, what have I done then? Give over talking in your nonsensicalriddles! Or maybe you are drunk!"

"You may be a drunkard, perhaps, vile man, but I am not! I never touchvodka, for it's against my convictions. Would you believe it, he, hehimself, with his own hands gave Sofya Semyonovna that hundred-roublenote--I saw it, I was a witness, I'll take my oath! He did it, he!"repeated Lebeziatnikov, addressing all. 

"Are you crazy, milksop?" squealed Luzhin. "She is herself beforeyou--she herself here declared just now before everyone that I gave heronly ten roubles. How could I have given it to her?"

"I saw it, I saw it, " Lebeziatnikov repeated, "and though it is againstmy principles, I am ready this very minute to take any oath you likebefore the court, for I saw how you slipped it in her pocket. Onlylike a fool I thought you did it out of kindness! When you were sayinggood-bye to her at the door, while you held her hand in one hand, withthe other, the left, you slipped the note into her pocket. I saw it, Isaw it!"

Luzhin turned pale. 

"What lies!" he cried impudently, "why, how could you, standing by thewindow, see the note? You fancied it with your short-sighted eyes. Youare raving!"

"No, I didn't fancy it. And though I was standing some way off, I sawit all. And though it certainly would be hard to distinguish a note fromthe window--that's true--I knew for certain that it was a hundred-roublenote, because, when you were going to give Sofya Semyonovna ten roubles, you took up from the table a hundred-rouble note (I saw it because Iwas standing near then, and an idea struck me at once, so that I did notforget you had it in your hand). You folded it and kept it in your handall the time. I didn't think of it again until, when you were gettingup, you changed it from your right hand to your left and nearly droppedit! I noticed it because the same idea struck me again, that you meantto do her a kindness without my seeing. You can fancy how I watched youand I saw how you succeeded in slipping it into her pocket. I saw it, Isaw it, I'll take my oath. "

Lebeziatnikov was almost breathless. Exclamations arose on all handschiefly expressive of wonder, but some were menacing in tone. They allcrowded round Pyotr Petrovitch. Katerina Ivanovna flew to Lebeziatnikov. 

"I was mistaken in you! Protect her! You are the only one to take herpart! She is an orphan. God has sent you!"

Katerina Ivanovna, hardly knowing what she was doing, sank on her kneesbefore him. 

"A pack of nonsense!" yelled Luzhin, roused to fury, "it's all nonsenseyou've been talking! 'An idea struck you, you didn't think, younoticed'--what does it amount to? So I gave it to her on the sly onpurpose? What for? With what object? What have I to do with this. . . ?"

"What for? That's what I can't understand, but that what I am tellingyou is the fact, that's certain! So far from my being mistaken, youinfamous criminal man, I remember how, on account of it, a questionoccurred to me at once, just when I was thanking you and pressingyour hand. What made you put it secretly in her pocket? Why you did itsecretly, I mean? Could it be simply to conceal it from me, knowing thatmy convictions are opposed to yours and that I do not approve of privatebenevolence, which effects no radical cure? Well, I decided that youreally were ashamed of giving such a large sum before me. Perhaps, too, I thought, he wants to give her a surprise, when she finds a wholehundred-rouble note in her pocket. (For I know, some benevolent peopleare very fond of decking out their charitable actions in that way. ) Thenthe idea struck me, too, that you wanted to test her, to see whether, when she found it, she would come to thank you. Then, too, that youwanted to avoid thanks and that, as the saying is, your right handshould not know. . . Something of that sort, in fact. I thought of somany possibilities that I put off considering it, but still thought itindelicate to show you that I knew your secret. But another idea struckme again that Sofya Semyonovna might easily lose the money before shenoticed it, that was why I decided to come in here to call her out ofthe room and to tell her that you put a hundred roubles in her pocket. But on my way I went first to Madame Kobilatnikov's to take them the'General Treatise on the Positive Method' and especially to recommendPiderit's article (and also Wagner's); then I come on here and what astate of things I find! Now could I, could I, have all these ideas andreflections if I had not seen you put the hundred-rouble note in herpocket?"

When Lebeziatnikov finished his long-winded harangue with the logicaldeduction at the end, he was quite tired, and the perspiration streamedfrom his face. He could not, alas, even express himself correctlyin Russian, though he knew no other language, so that he was quiteexhausted, almost emaciated after this heroic exploit. But his speechproduced a powerful effect. He had spoken with such vehemence, with suchconviction that everyone obviously believed him. Pyotr Petrovitch feltthat things were going badly with him. 

"What is it to do with me if silly ideas did occur to you?" he shouted, "that's no evidence. You may have dreamt it, that's all! And I tell you, you are lying, sir. You are lying and slandering from some spite againstme, simply from pique, because I did not agree with your free-thinking, godless, social propositions!"

But this retort did not benefit Pyotr Petrovitch. Murmurs of disapprovalwere heard on all sides. 

"Ah, that's your line now, is it!" cried Lebeziatnikov, "that'snonsense! Call the police and I'll take my oath! There's only one thingI can't understand: what made him risk such a contemptible action. Oh, pitiful, despicable man!"

"I can explain why he risked such an action, and if necessary, I, too, will swear to it, " Raskolnikov said at last in a firm voice, and hestepped forward. 

He appeared to be firm and composed. Everyone felt clearly, from thevery look of him that he really knew about it and that the mystery wouldbe solved. 

"Now I can explain it all to myself, " said Raskolnikov, addressingLebeziatnikov. "From the very beginning of the business, I suspectedthat there was some scoundrelly intrigue at the bottom of it. I beganto suspect it from some special circumstances known to me only, whichI will explain at once to everyone: they account for everything. Yourvaluable evidence has finally made everything clear to me. I beg all, all to listen. This gentleman (he pointed to Luzhin) was recentlyengaged to be married to a young lady--my sister, Avdotya RomanovnaRaskolnikov. But coming to Petersburg he quarrelled with me, the daybefore yesterday, at our first meeting and I drove him out of my room--Ihave two witnesses to prove it. He is a very spiteful man. . . . The daybefore yesterday I did not know that he was staying here, in your room, and that consequently on the very day we quarrelled--the day beforeyesterday--he saw me give Katerina Ivanovna some money for the funeral, as a friend of the late Mr. Marmeladov. He at once wrote a note tomy mother and informed her that I had given away all my money, notto Katerina Ivanovna but to Sofya Semyonovna, and referred in a mostcontemptible way to the. . . Character of Sofya Semyonovna, that is, hinted at the character of my attitude to Sofya Semyonovna. All this youunderstand was with the object of dividing me from my mother and sister, by insinuating that I was squandering on unworthy objects the moneywhich they had sent me and which was all they had. Yesterday evening, before my mother and sister and in his presence, I declared that I hadgiven the money to Katerina Ivanovna for the funeral and not to SofyaSemyonovna and that I had no acquaintance with Sofya Semyonovna and hadnever seen her before, indeed. At the same time I added that he, Pyotr Petrovitch Luzhin, with all his virtues, was not worth SofyaSemyonovna's little finger, though he spoke so ill of her. To hisquestion--would I let Sofya Semyonovna sit down beside my sister, Ianswered that I had already done so that day. Irritated that my motherand sister were unwilling to quarrel with me at his insinuations, hegradually began being unpardonably rude to them. A final rupture tookplace and he was turned out of the house. All this happened yesterdayevening. Now I beg your special attention: consider: if he had nowsucceeded in proving that Sofya Semyonovna was a thief, he wouldhave shown to my mother and sister that he was almost right in hissuspicions, that he had reason to be angry at my putting my sister ona level with Sofya Semyonovna, that, in attacking me, he was protectingand preserving the honour of my sister, his betrothed. In fact he mighteven, through all this, have been able to estrange me from my family, and no doubt he hoped to be restored to favour with them; to say nothingof revenging himself on me personally, for he has grounds for supposingthat the honour and happiness of Sofya Semyonovna are very precious tome. That was what he was working for! That's how I understand it. That'sthe whole reason for it and there can be no other!"

It was like this, or somewhat like this, that Raskolnikov wound up hisspeech which was followed very attentively, though often interrupted byexclamations from his audience. But in spite of interruptions he spokeclearly, calmly, exactly, firmly. His decisive voice, his tone ofconviction and his stern face made a great impression on everyone. 

"Yes, yes, that's it, " Lebeziatnikov assented gleefully, "that must beit, for he asked me, as soon as Sofya Semyonovna came into our room, whether you were here, whether I had seen you among Katerina Ivanovna'sguests. He called me aside to the window and asked me in secret. It wasessential for him that you should be here! That's it, that's it!"

Luzhin smiled contemptuously and did not speak. But he was very pale. Heseemed to be deliberating on some means of escape. Perhaps he would havebeen glad to give up everything and get away, but at the moment thiswas scarcely possible. It would have implied admitting the truth ofthe accusations brought against him. Moreover, the company, which hadalready been excited by drink, was now too much stirred to allow it. Thecommissariat clerk, though indeed he had not grasped the whole position, was shouting louder than anyone and was making some suggestions veryunpleasant to Luzhin. But not all those present were drunk; lodgers camein from all the rooms. The three Poles were tremendously excitedand were continually shouting at him: "The _pan_ is a _lajdak_!" andmuttering threats in Polish. Sonia had been listening with strainedattention, though she too seemed unable to grasp it all; she seemed asthough she had just returned to consciousness. She did not take hereyes off Raskolnikov, feeling that all her safety lay in him. KaterinaIvanovna breathed hard and painfully and seemed fearfully exhausted. Amalia Ivanovna stood looking more stupid than anyone, with her mouthwide open, unable to make out what had happened. She only saw that PyotrPetrovitch had somehow come to grief. 

Raskolnikov was attempting to speak again, but they did not let him. Everyone was crowding round Luzhin with threats and shouts of abuse. But Pyotr Petrovitch was not intimidated. Seeing that his accusation ofSonia had completely failed, he had recourse to insolence:

"Allow me, gentlemen, allow me! Don't squeeze, let me pass!" he said, making his way through the crowd. "And no threats, if you please! Iassure you it will be useless, you will gain nothing by it. On thecontrary, you'll have to answer, gentlemen, for violently obstructingthe course of justice. The thief has been more than unmasked, and Ishall prosecute. Our judges are not so blind and. . . Not so drunk, andwill not believe the testimony of two notorious infidels, agitators, andatheists, who accuse me from motives of personal revenge which they arefoolish enough to admit. . . . Yes, allow me to pass!"

"Don't let me find a trace of you in my room! Kindly leave at once, andeverything is at an end between us! When I think of the trouble I'vebeen taking, the way I've been expounding. . . All this fortnight!"

"I told you myself to-day that I was going, when you tried to keep me;now I will simply add that you are a fool. I advise you to see a doctorfor your brains and your short sight. Let me pass, gentlemen!"

He forced his way through. But the commissariat clerk was unwilling tolet him off so easily: he picked up a glass from the table, brandishedit in the air and flung it at Pyotr Petrovitch; but the glass flewstraight at Amalia Ivanovna. She screamed, and the clerk, overbalancing, fell heavily under the table. Pyotr Petrovitch made his way to his roomand half an hour later had left the house. Sonia, timid by nature, hadfelt before that day that she could be ill-treated more easily thananyone, and that she could be wronged with impunity. Yet till thatmoment she had fancied that she might escape misfortune by care, gentleness and submissiveness before everyone. Her disappointment wastoo great. She could, of course, bear with patience and almost withoutmurmur anything, even this. But for the first minute she felt it toobitter. In spite of her triumph and her justification--when her firstterror and stupefaction had passed and she could understand it allclearly--the feeling of her helplessness and of the wrong done to hermade her heart throb with anguish and she was overcome with hystericalweeping. At last, unable to bear any more, she rushed out of the roomand ran home, almost immediately after Luzhin's departure. When amidstloud laughter the glass flew at Amalia Ivanovna, it was more than thelandlady could endure. With a shriek she rushed like a fury at KaterinaIvanovna, considering her to blame for everything. 

"Out of my lodgings! At once! Quick march!"

And with these words she began snatching up everything she could layher hands on that belonged to Katerina Ivanovna, and throwing it on thefloor. Katerina Ivanovna, pale, almost fainting, and gasping for breath, jumped up from the bed where she had sunk in exhaustion and darted atAmalia Ivanovna. But the battle was too unequal: the landlady waved heraway like a feather. 

"What! As though that godless calumny was not enough--this vile creatureattacks me! What! On the day of my husband's funeral I am turned out ofmy lodging! After eating my bread and salt she turns me into the street, with my orphans! Where am I to go?" wailed the poor woman, sobbing andgasping. "Good God!" she cried with flashing eyes, "is there no justiceupon earth? Whom should you protect if not us orphans? We shall see!There is law and justice on earth, there is, I will find it! Wait a bit, godless creature! Polenka, stay with the children, I'll come back. Waitfor me, if you have to wait in the street. We will see whether there isjustice on earth!"

And throwing over her head that green shawl which Marmeladov hadmentioned to Raskolnikov, Katerina Ivanovna squeezed her way through thedisorderly and drunken crowd of lodgers who still filled the room, and, wailing and tearful, she ran into the street--with a vague intentionof going at once somewhere to find justice. Polenka with the two littleones in her arms crouched, terrified, on the trunk in the corner of theroom, where she waited trembling for her mother to come back. AmaliaIvanovna raged about the room, shrieking, lamenting and throwingeverything she came across on the floor. The lodgers talkedincoherently, some commented to the best of their ability on what hadhappened, others quarrelled and swore at one another, while othersstruck up a song. . . . 

"Now it's time for me to go, " thought Raskolnikov. "Well, SofyaSemyonovna, we shall see what you'll say now!"

And he set off in the direction of Sonia's lodgings. 

CHAPTER IV

Raskolnikov had been a vigorous and active champion of Sonia againstLuzhin, although he had such a load of horror and anguish in his ownheart. But having gone through so much in the morning, he found a sortof relief in a change of sensations, apart from the strong personalfeeling which impelled him to defend Sonia. He was agitated too, especially at some moments, by the thought of his approaching interviewwith Sonia: he _had_ to tell her who had killed Lizaveta. He knew theterrible suffering it would be to him and, as it were, brushed away thethought of it. So when he cried as he left Katerina Ivanovna's, "Well, Sofya Semyonovna, we shall see what you'll say now!" he was stillsuperficially excited, still vigorous and defiant from his triumph overLuzhin. But, strange to say, by the time he reached Sonia's lodging, hefelt a sudden impotence and fear. He stood still in hesitation at thedoor, asking himself the strange question: "Must he tell her who killedLizaveta?" It was a strange question because he felt at the very timenot only that he could not help telling her, but also that he couldnot put off the telling. He did not yet know why it must be so, heonly _felt_ it, and the agonising sense of his impotence beforethe inevitable almost crushed him. To cut short his hesitation andsuffering, he quickly opened the door and looked at Sonia from thedoorway. She was sitting with her elbows on the table and her face inher hands, but seeing Raskolnikov she got up at once and came to meethim as though she were expecting him. 

"What would have become of me but for you?" she said quickly, meetinghim in the middle of the room. 

Evidently she was in haste to say this to him. It was what she had beenwaiting for. 

Raskolnikov went to the table and sat down on the chair from which shehad only just risen. She stood facing him, two steps away, just as shehad done the day before. 

"Well, Sonia?" he said, and felt that his voice was trembling, "it wasall due to 'your social position and the habits associated with it. ' Didyou understand that just now?"

Her face showed her distress. 

"Only don't talk to me as you did yesterday, " she interrupted him. "Please don't begin it. There is misery enough without that. "

She made haste to smile, afraid that he might not like the reproach. 

"I was silly to come away from there. What is happening there now? Iwanted to go back directly, but I kept thinking that. . . You would come. "

He told her that Amalia Ivanovna was turning them out of their lodgingand that Katerina Ivanovna had run off somewhere "to seek justice. "

"My God!" cried Sonia, "let's go at once. . . . "

And she snatched up her cape. 

"It's everlastingly the same thing!" said Raskolnikov, irritably. "You've no thought except for them! Stay a little with me. "

"But. . . Katerina Ivanovna?"

"You won't lose Katerina Ivanovna, you may be sure, she'll come to youherself since she has run out, " he added peevishly. "If she doesn't findyou here, you'll be blamed for it. . . . "

Sonia sat down in painful suspense. Raskolnikov was silent, gazing atthe floor and deliberating. 

"This time Luzhin did not want to prosecute you, " he began, not lookingat Sonia, "but if he had wanted to, if it had suited his plans, he wouldhave sent you to prison if it had not been for Lebeziatnikov and me. Ah?"

"Yes, " she assented in a faint voice. "Yes, " she repeated, preoccupiedand distressed. 

"But I might easily not have been there. And it was quite an accidentLebeziatnikov's turning up. "

Sonia was silent. 

"And if you'd gone to prison, what then? Do you remember what I saidyesterday?"

Again she did not answer. He waited. 

"I thought you would cry out again 'don't speak of it, leave off. '"Raskolnikov gave a laugh, but rather a forced one. "What, silenceagain?" he asked a minute later. "We must talk about something, youknow. It would be interesting for me to know how you would decide acertain 'problem' as Lebeziatnikov would say. " (He was beginning to losethe thread. ) "No, really, I am serious. Imagine, Sonia, that you hadknown all Luzhin's intentions beforehand. Known, that is, for a fact, that they would be the ruin of Katerina Ivanovna and the children andyourself thrown in--since you don't count yourself for anything--Polenkatoo. . . For she'll go the same way. Well, if suddenly it all depended onyour decision whether he or they should go on living, that is whetherLuzhin should go on living and doing wicked things, or Katerina Ivanovnashould die? How would you decide which of them was to die? I ask you?"

Sonia looked uneasily at him. There was something peculiar in thishesitating question, which seemed approaching something in a roundaboutway. 

"I felt that you were going to ask some question like that, " she said, looking inquisitively at him. 

"I dare say you did. But how is it to be answered?"

"Why do you ask about what could not happen?" said Sonia reluctantly. 

"Then it would be better for Luzhin to go on living and doing wickedthings? You haven't dared to decide even that!"

"But I can't know the Divine Providence. . . . And why do you ask whatcan't be answered? What's the use of such foolish questions? How couldit happen that it should depend on my decision--who has made me a judgeto decide who is to live and who is not to live?"

"Oh, if the Divine Providence is to be mixed up in it, there is no doinganything, " Raskolnikov grumbled morosely. 

"You'd better say straight out what you want!" Sonia cried in distress. "You are leading up to something again. . . . Can you have come simply totorture me?"

She could not control herself and began crying bitterly. He looked ather in gloomy misery. Five minutes passed. 

"Of course you're right, Sonia, " he said softly at last. He was suddenlychanged. His tone of assumed arrogance and helpless defiance was gone. Even his voice was suddenly weak. "I told you yesterday that I was notcoming to ask forgiveness and almost the first thing I've said is to askforgiveness. . . . I said that about Luzhin and Providence for my own sake. I was asking forgiveness, Sonia. . . . "

He tried to smile, but there was something helpless and incomplete inhis pale smile. He bowed his head and hid his face in his hands. 

And suddenly a strange, surprising sensation of a sort of bitter hatredfor Sonia passed through his heart. As it were wondering and frightenedof this sensation, he raised his head and looked intently at her; but hemet her uneasy and painfully anxious eyes fixed on him; there waslove in them; his hatred vanished like a phantom. It was not the realfeeling; he had taken the one feeling for the other. It only meant that_that_ minute had come. 

He hid his face in his hands again and bowed his head. Suddenly heturned pale, got up from his chair, looked at Sonia, and withoututtering a word sat down mechanically on her bed. 

His sensations that moment were terribly like the moment when he hadstood over the old woman with the axe in his hand and felt that "he mustnot lose another minute. "

"What's the matter?" asked Sonia, dreadfully frightened. 

He could not utter a word. This was not at all, not at all the way hehad intended to "tell" and he did not understand what was happening tohim now. She went up to him, softly, sat down on the bed beside him andwaited, not taking her eyes off him. Her heart throbbed and sank. Itwas unendurable; he turned his deadly pale face to her. His lips worked, helplessly struggling to utter something. A pang of terror passedthrough Sonia's heart. 

"What's the matter?" she repeated, drawing a little away from him. 

"Nothing, Sonia, don't be frightened. . . . It's nonsense. It really isnonsense, if you think of it, " he muttered, like a man in delirium. "Whyhave I come to torture you?" he added suddenly, looking at her. "Why, really? I keep asking myself that question, Sonia. . . . "

He had perhaps been asking himself that question a quarter of an hourbefore, but now he spoke helplessly, hardly knowing what he said andfeeling a continual tremor all over. 

"Oh, how you are suffering!" she muttered in distress, looking intentlyat him. 

"It's all nonsense. . . . Listen, Sonia. " He suddenly smiled, a palehelpless smile for two seconds. "You remember what I meant to tell youyesterday?"

Sonia waited uneasily. 

"I said as I went away that perhaps I was saying good-bye for ever, butthat if I came to-day I would tell you who. . . Who killed Lizaveta. "

She began trembling all over. 

"Well, here I've come to tell you. "

"Then you really meant it yesterday?" she whispered with difficulty. "How do you know?" she asked quickly, as though suddenly regaining herreason. 

Sonia's face grew paler and paler, and she breathed painfully. 

"I know. "

She paused a minute. 

"Have they found him?" she asked timidly. 

"No. "

"Then how do you know about _it_?" she asked again, hardly audibly andagain after a minute's pause. 

He turned to her and looked very intently at her. 

"Guess, " he said, with the same distorted helpless smile. 

A shudder passed over her. 

"But you. . . Why do you frighten me like this?" she said, smiling like achild. 

"I must be a great friend of _his_. . . Since I know, " Raskolnikov wenton, still gazing into her face, as though he could not turn his eyesaway. "He. . . Did not mean to kill that Lizaveta. . . He. . . Killed heraccidentally. . . . He meant to kill the old woman when she was alone andhe went there. . . And then Lizaveta came in. . . He killed her too. "

Another awful moment passed. Both still gazed at one another. 

"You can't guess, then?" he asked suddenly, feeling as though he wereflinging himself down from a steeple. 

"N-no. . . " whispered Sonia. 

"Take a good look. "

As soon as he had said this again, the same familiar sensation froze hisheart. He looked at her and all at once seemed to see in her face theface of Lizaveta. He remembered clearly the expression in Lizaveta'sface, when he approached her with the axe and she stepped back to thewall, putting out her hand, with childish terror in her face, lookingas little children do when they begin to be frightened of something, looking intently and uneasily at what frightens them, shrinking back andholding out their little hands on the point of crying. Almost the samething happened now to Sonia. With the same helplessness and the sameterror, she looked at him for a while and, suddenly putting out her lefthand, pressed her fingers faintly against his breast and slowly began toget up from the bed, moving further from him and keeping her eyes fixedeven more immovably on him. Her terror infected him. The same fearshowed itself on his face. In the same way he stared at her and almostwith the same _childish_ smile. 

"Have you guessed?" he whispered at last. 

"Good God!" broke in an awful wail from her bosom. 

She sank helplessly on the bed with her face in the pillows, but amoment later she got up, moved quickly to him, seized both his handsand, gripping them tight in her thin fingers, began looking into hisface again with the same intent stare. In this last desperate look shetried to look into him and catch some last hope. But there was no hope;there was no doubt remaining; it was all true! Later on, indeed, whenshe recalled that moment, she thought it strange and wondered why shehad seen at once that there was no doubt. She could not have said, forinstance, that she had foreseen something of the sort--and yet now, assoon as he told her, she suddenly fancied that she had really foreseenthis very thing. 

"Stop, Sonia, enough! don't torture me, " he begged her miserably. 

It was not at all, not at all like this he had thought of telling her, but this is how it happened. 

She jumped up, seeming not to know what she was doing, and, wringing herhands, walked into the middle of the room; but quickly went back and satdown again beside him, her shoulder almost touching his. All of a suddenshe started as though she had been stabbed, uttered a cry and fell onher knees before him, she did not know why. 

"What have you done--what have you done to yourself?" she said indespair, and, jumping up, she flung herself on his neck, threw her armsround him, and held him tightly. 

Raskolnikov drew back and looked at her with a mournful smile. 

"You are a strange girl, Sonia--you kiss me and hug me when I tell youabout that. . . . You don't think what you are doing. "

"There is no one--no one in the whole world now so unhappy as you!" shecried in a frenzy, not hearing what he said, and she suddenly broke intoviolent hysterical weeping. 

A feeling long unfamiliar to him flooded his heart and softened it atonce. He did not struggle against it. Two tears started into his eyesand hung on his eyelashes. 

"Then you won't leave me, Sonia?" he said, looking at her almost withhope. 

"No, no, never, nowhere!" cried Sonia. "I will follow you, I will followyou everywhere. Oh, my God! Oh, how miserable I am!. . . Why, why didn't Iknow you before! Why didn't you come before? Oh, dear!"

"Here I have come. "

"Yes, now! What's to be done now?. . . Together, together!" she repeatedas it were unconsciously, and she hugged him again. "I'll follow you toSiberia!"

He recoiled at this, and the same hostile, almost haughty smile came tohis lips. 

"Perhaps I don't want to go to Siberia yet, Sonia, " he said. 

Sonia looked at him quickly. 

Again after her first passionate, agonising sympathy for the unhappy manthe terrible idea of the murder overwhelmed her. In his changed tone sheseemed to hear the murderer speaking. She looked at him bewildered. Sheknew nothing as yet, why, how, with what object it had been. Now allthese questions rushed at once into her mind. And again she could notbelieve it: "He, he is a murderer! Could it be true?"

"What's the meaning of it? Where am I?" she said in completebewilderment, as though still unable to recover herself. "How could you, you, a man like you. . . . How could you bring yourself to it?. . . What doesit mean?"

"Oh, well--to plunder. Leave off, Sonia, " he answered wearily, almostwith vexation. 

Sonia stood as though struck dumb, but suddenly she cried:

"You were hungry! It was. . . To help your mother? Yes?"

"No, Sonia, no, " he muttered, turning away and hanging his head. "I wasnot so hungry. . . . I certainly did want to help my mother, but. . . That'snot the real thing either. . . . Don't torture me, Sonia. "

Sonia clasped her hands. 

"Could it, could it all be true? Good God, what a truth! Who couldbelieve it? And how could you give away your last farthing and yetrob and murder! Ah, " she cried suddenly, "that money you gave KaterinaIvanovna. . . That money. . . . Can that money. . . "

"No, Sonia, " he broke in hurriedly, "that money was not it. Don't worryyourself! That money my mother sent me and it came when I was ill, theday I gave it to you. . . . Razumihin saw it. . . He received it for me. . . . That money was mine--my own. "

Sonia listened to him in bewilderment and did her utmost to comprehend. 

"And _that_ money. . . . I don't even know really whether there was anymoney, " he added softly, as though reflecting. "I took a purse off herneck, made of chamois leather. . . A purse stuffed full of something. . . But I didn't look in it; I suppose I hadn't time. . . . And thethings--chains and trinkets--I buried under a stone with the purse nextmorning in a yard off the V---- Prospect. They are all there now. . . . "

Sonia strained every nerve to listen. 

"Then why. . . Why, you said you did it to rob, but you took nothing?" sheasked quickly, catching at a straw. 

"I don't know. . . . I haven't yet decided whether to take that money ornot, " he said, musing again; and, seeming to wake up with a start, hegave a brief ironical smile. "Ach, what silly stuff I am talking, eh?"

The thought flashed through Sonia's mind, wasn't he mad? But shedismissed it at once. "No, it was something else. " She could makenothing of it, nothing. 

"Do you know, Sonia, " he said suddenly with conviction, "let me tellyou: if I'd simply killed because I was hungry, " laying stress onevery word and looking enigmatically but sincerely at her, "I shouldbe _happy_ now. You must believe that! What would it matter to you, " hecried a moment later with a sort of despair, "what would it matter toyou if I were to confess that I did wrong? What do you gain by sucha stupid triumph over me? Ah, Sonia, was it for that I've come to youto-day?"

Again Sonia tried to say something, but did not speak. 

"I asked you to go with me yesterday because you are all I have left. "

"Go where?" asked Sonia timidly. 

"Not to steal and not to murder, don't be anxious, " he smiled bitterly. "We are so different. . . . And you know, Sonia, it's only now, only thismoment that I understand _where_ I asked you to go with me yesterday!Yesterday when I said it I did not know where. I asked you for onething, I came to you for one thing--not to leave me. You won't leave me, Sonia?"

She squeezed his hand. 

"And why, why did I tell her? Why did I let her know?" he cried a minutelater in despair, looking with infinite anguish at her. "Here you expectan explanation from me, Sonia; you are sitting and waiting for it, I seethat. But what can I tell you? You won't understand and will only suffermisery. . . On my account! Well, you are crying and embracing me again. Why do you do it? Because I couldn't bear my burden and have come tothrow it on another: you suffer too, and I shall feel better! And canyou love such a mean wretch?"

"But aren't you suffering, too?" cried Sonia. 

Again a wave of the same feeling surged into his heart, and again for aninstant softened it. 

"Sonia, I have a bad heart, take note of that. It may explain a greatdeal. I have come because I am bad. There are men who wouldn't havecome. But I am a coward and. . . A mean wretch. But. . . Never mind! That'snot the point. I must speak now, but I don't know how to begin. "

He paused and sank into thought. 

"Ach, we are so different, " he cried again, "we are not alike. And why, why did I come? I shall never forgive myself that. "

"No, no, it was a good thing you came, " cried Sonia. "It's better Ishould know, far better!"

He looked at her with anguish. 

"What if it were really that?" he said, as though reaching a conclusion. "Yes, that's what it was! I wanted to become a Napoleon, that is why Ikilled her. . . . Do you understand now?"

"N-no, " Sonia whispered naïvely and timidly. "Only speak, speak, I shallunderstand, I shall understand _in myself_!" she kept begging him. 

"You'll understand? Very well, we shall see!" He paused and was for sometime lost in meditation. 

"It was like this: I asked myself one day this question--what ifNapoleon, for instance, had happened to be in my place, and if he hadnot had Toulon nor Egypt nor the passage of Mont Blanc to begin hiscareer with, but instead of all those picturesque and monumental things, there had simply been some ridiculous old hag, a pawnbroker, who hadto be murdered too to get money from her trunk (for his career, youunderstand). Well, would he have brought himself to that if there hadbeen no other means? Wouldn't he have felt a pang at its being so farfrom monumental and. . . And sinful, too? Well, I must tell you that Iworried myself fearfully over that 'question' so that I was awfullyashamed when I guessed at last (all of a sudden, somehow) that it wouldnot have given him the least pang, that it would not even have struckhim that it was not monumental. . . That he would not have seen that therewas anything in it to pause over, and that, if he had had no other way, he would have strangled her in a minute without thinking about it!Well, I too. . . Left off thinking about it. . . Murdered her, followinghis example. And that's exactly how it was! Do you think it funny? Yes, Sonia, the funniest thing of all is that perhaps that's just how itwas. "

Sonia did not think it at all funny. 

"You had better tell me straight out. . . Without examples, " she begged, still more timidly and scarcely audibly. 

He turned to her, looked sadly at her and took her hands. 

"You are right again, Sonia. Of course that's all nonsense, it's almostall talk! You see, you know of course that my mother has scarcelyanything, my sister happened to have a good education and was condemnedto drudge as a governess. All their hopes were centered on me. I was astudent, but I couldn't keep myself at the university and was forcedfor a time to leave it. Even if I had lingered on like that, in tenor twelve years I might (with luck) hope to be some sort of teacher orclerk with a salary of a thousand roubles" (he repeated it as though itwere a lesson) "and by that time my mother would be worn out with griefand anxiety and I could not succeed in keeping her in comfort while mysister. . . Well, my sister might well have fared worse! And it's a hardthing to pass everything by all one's life, to turn one's back uponeverything, to forget one's mother and decorously accept the insultsinflicted on one's sister. Why should one? When one has buried them toburden oneself with others--wife and children--and to leave them againwithout a farthing? So I resolved to gain possession of the old woman'smoney and to use it for my first years without worrying my mother, to keep myself at the university and for a little while after leavingit--and to do this all on a broad, thorough scale, so as to build upa completely new career and enter upon a new life of independence. . . . Well. . . That's all. . . . Well, of course in killing the old woman I didwrong. . . . Well, that's enough. "

He struggled to the end of his speech in exhaustion and let his headsink. 

"Oh, that's not it, that's not it, " Sonia cried in distress. "How couldone. . . No, that's not right, not right. "

"You see yourself that it's not right. But I've spoken truly, it's thetruth. "

"As though that could be the truth! Good God!"

"I've only killed a louse, Sonia, a useless, loathsome, harmfulcreature. "

"A human being--a louse!"

"I too know it wasn't a louse, " he answered, looking strangely ather. "But I am talking nonsense, Sonia, " he added. "I've been talkingnonsense a long time. . . . That's not it, you are right there. There werequite, quite other causes for it! I haven't talked to anyone for solong, Sonia. . . . My head aches dreadfully now. "

His eyes shone with feverish brilliance. He was almost delirious; anuneasy smile strayed on his lips. His terrible exhaustion could be seenthrough his excitement. Sonia saw how he was suffering. She toowas growing dizzy. And he talked so strangely; it seemed somehowcomprehensible, but yet. . . "But how, how! Good God!" And she wrung herhands in despair. 

"No, Sonia, that's not it, " he began again suddenly, raising his head, as though a new and sudden train of thought had struck and as it wereroused him--"that's not it! Better. . . Imagine--yes, it's certainlybetter--imagine that I am vain, envious, malicious, base, vindictiveand. . . Well, perhaps with a tendency to insanity. (Let's have it all outat once! They've talked of madness already, I noticed. ) I told you justnow I could not keep myself at the university. But do you know thatperhaps I might have done? My mother would have sent me what I neededfor the fees and I could have earned enough for clothes, boots and food, no doubt. Lessons had turned up at half a rouble. Razumihin works! But Iturned sulky and wouldn't. (Yes, sulkiness, that's the right word forit!) I sat in my room like a spider. You've been in my den, you've seenit. . . . And do you know, Sonia, that low ceilings and tiny rooms crampthe soul and the mind? Ah, how I hated that garret! And yet I wouldn'tgo out of it! I wouldn't on purpose! I didn't go out for days together, and I wouldn't work, I wouldn't even eat, I just lay there doingnothing. If Nastasya brought me anything, I ate it, if she didn't, Iwent all day without; I wouldn't ask, on purpose, from sulkiness! Atnight I had no light, I lay in the dark and I wouldn't earn money forcandles. I ought to have studied, but I sold my books; and the dust liesan inch thick on the notebooks on my table. I preferred lying still andthinking. And I kept thinking. . . . And I had dreams all the time, strangedreams of all sorts, no need to describe! Only then I began to fancythat. . . No, that's not it! Again I am telling you wrong! You see I keptasking myself then: why am I so stupid that if others are stupid--and Iknow they are--yet I won't be wiser? Then I saw, Sonia, that if onewaits for everyone to get wiser it will take too long. . . . Afterwards Iunderstood that that would never come to pass, that men won't change andthat nobody can alter it and that it's not worth wasting effort over it. Yes, that's so. That's the law of their nature, Sonia, . . . That's so!. . . And I know now, Sonia, that whoever is strong in mind and spirit willhave power over them. Anyone who is greatly daring is right in theireyes. He who despises most things will be a lawgiver among them and hewho dares most of all will be most in the right! So it has been till nowand so it will always be. A man must be blind not to see it!"

Though Raskolnikov looked at Sonia as he said this, he no longer caredwhether she understood or not. The fever had complete hold of him; hewas in a sort of gloomy ecstasy (he certainly had been too long withouttalking to anyone). Sonia felt that his gloomy creed had become hisfaith and code. 

"I divined then, Sonia, " he went on eagerly, "that power is onlyvouchsafed to the man who dares to stoop and pick it up. There is onlyone thing, one thing needful: one has only to dare! Then for the firsttime in my life an idea took shape in my mind which no one had everthought of before me, no one! I saw clear as daylight how strange it isthat not a single person living in this mad world has had the daring togo straight for it all and send it flying to the devil! I. . . I wanted_to have the daring_. . . And I killed her. I only wanted to have thedaring, Sonia! That was the whole cause of it!"

"Oh hush, hush, " cried Sonia, clasping her hands. "You turned away fromGod and God has smitten you, has given you over to the devil!"

"Then Sonia, when I used to lie there in the dark and all this becameclear to me, was it a temptation of the devil, eh?"

"Hush, don't laugh, blasphemer! You don't understand, you don'tunderstand! Oh God! He won't understand!"

"Hush, Sonia! I am not laughing. I know myself that it was the devilleading me. Hush, Sonia, hush!" he repeated with gloomy insistence. "Iknow it all, I have thought it all over and over and whispered it allover to myself, lying there in the dark. . . . I've argued it all over withmyself, every point of it, and I know it all, all! And how sick, howsick I was then of going over it all! I have kept wanting to forget itand make a new beginning, Sonia, and leave off thinking. And you don'tsuppose that I went into it headlong like a fool? I went into it like awise man, and that was just my destruction. And you mustn't suppose thatI didn't know, for instance, that if I began to question myself whetherI had the right to gain power--I certainly hadn't the right--or that ifI asked myself whether a human being is a louse it proved that it wasn'tso for me, though it might be for a man who would go straight to hisgoal without asking questions. . . . If I worried myself all those days, wondering whether Napoleon would have done it or not, I felt clearlyof course that I wasn't Napoleon. I had to endure all the agony of thatbattle of ideas, Sonia, and I longed to throw it off: I wanted to murderwithout casuistry, to murder for my own sake, for myself alone! I didn'twant to lie about it even to myself. It wasn't to help my mother I didthe murder--that's nonsense--I didn't do the murder to gain wealth andpower and to become a benefactor of mankind. Nonsense! I simply did it;I did the murder for myself, for myself alone, and whether I became abenefactor to others, or spent my life like a spider catching men inmy web and sucking the life out of men, I couldn't have cared at thatmoment. . . . And it was not the money I wanted, Sonia, when I did it. Itwas not so much the money I wanted, but something else. . . . I know it allnow. . . . Understand me! Perhaps I should never have committed a murderagain. I wanted to find out something else; it was something else ledme on. I wanted to find out then and quickly whether I was a louselike everybody else or a man. Whether I can step over barriers ornot, whether I dare stoop to pick up or not, whether I am a tremblingcreature or whether I have the _right_. . . "

"To kill? Have the right to kill?" Sonia clasped her hands. 

"Ach, Sonia!" he cried irritably and seemed about to make some retort, but was contemptuously silent. "Don't interrupt me, Sonia. I want toprove one thing only, that the devil led me on then and he has shown mesince that I had not the right to take that path, because I am just sucha louse as all the rest. He was mocking me and here I've come to younow! Welcome your guest! If I were not a louse, should I have come toyou? Listen: when I went then to the old woman's I only went to_try_. . . . You may be sure of that!"

"And you murdered her!"

"But how did I murder her? Is that how men do murders? Do men go tocommit a murder as I went then? I will tell you some day how I went!Did I murder the old woman? I murdered myself, not her! I crushed myselfonce for all, for ever. . . . But it was the devil that killed that oldwoman, not I. Enough, enough, Sonia, enough! Let me be!" he cried in asudden spasm of agony, "let me be!"

He leaned his elbows on his knees and squeezed his head in his hands asin a vise. 

"What suffering!" A wail of anguish broke from Sonia. 

"Well, what am I to do now?" he asked, suddenly raising his head andlooking at her with a face hideously distorted by despair. 

"What are you to do?" she cried, jumping up, and her eyes that had beenfull of tears suddenly began to shine. "Stand up!" (She seized him bythe shoulder, he got up, looking at her almost bewildered. ) "Go at once, this very minute, stand at the cross-roads, bow down, first kiss theearth which you have defiled and then bow down to all the world and sayto all men aloud, 'I am a murderer!' Then God will send you life again. Will you go, will you go?" she asked him, trembling all over, snatchinghis two hands, squeezing them tight in hers and gazing at him with eyesfull of fire. 

He was amazed at her sudden ecstasy. 

"You mean Siberia, Sonia? I must give myself up?" he asked gloomily. 

"Suffer and expiate your sin by it, that's what you must do. "

"No! I am not going to them, Sonia!"

"But how will you go on living? What will you live for?" cried Sonia, "how is it possible now? Why, how can you talk to your mother? (Oh, whatwill become of them now?) But what am I saying? You have abandoned yourmother and your sister already. He has abandoned them already! Oh, God!" she cried, "why, he knows it all himself. How, how can he live byhimself! What will become of you now?"

"Don't be a child, Sonia, " he said softly. "What wrong have I donethem? Why should I go to them? What should I say to them? That's only aphantom. . . . They destroy men by millions themselves and look on it as avirtue. They are knaves and scoundrels, Sonia! I am not going to them. And what should I say to them--that I murdered her, but did not dare totake the money and hid it under a stone?" he added with a bitter smile. "Why, they would laugh at me, and would call me a fool for not gettingit. A coward and a fool! They wouldn't understand and they don't deserveto understand. Why should I go to them? I won't. Don't be a child, Sonia. . . . "

"It will be too much for you to bear, too much!" she repeated, holdingout her hands in despairing supplication. 

"Perhaps I've been unfair to myself, " he observed gloomily, pondering, "perhaps after all I am a man and not a louse and I've been in too greata hurry to condemn myself. I'll make another fight for it. "

A haughty smile appeared on his lips. 

"What a burden to bear! And your whole life, your whole life!"

"I shall get used to it, " he said grimly and thoughtfully. "Listen, " hebegan a minute later, "stop crying, it's time to talk of the facts: I'vecome to tell you that the police are after me, on my track. . . . "

"Ach!" Sonia cried in terror. 

"Well, why do you cry out? You want me to go to Siberia and now you arefrightened? But let me tell you: I shall not give myself up. I shallmake a struggle for it and they won't do anything to me. They've no realevidence. Yesterday I was in great danger and believed I was lost; butto-day things are going better. All the facts they know can be explainedtwo ways, that's to say I can turn their accusations to my credit, doyou understand? And I shall, for I've learnt my lesson. But they willcertainly arrest me. If it had not been for something that happened, they would have done so to-day for certain; perhaps even now they willarrest me to-day. . . . But that's no matter, Sonia; they'll let me outagain. . . For there isn't any real proof against me, and there won't be, I give you my word for it. And they can't convict a man on what theyhave against me. Enough. . . . I only tell you that you may know. . . . I willtry to manage somehow to put it to my mother and sister so that theywon't be frightened. . . . My sister's future is secure, however, now, Ibelieve. . . And my mother's must be too. . . . Well, that's all. Be careful, though. Will you come and see me in prison when I am there?"

"Oh, I will, I will. "

They sat side by side, both mournful and dejected, as though they hadbeen cast up by the tempest alone on some deserted shore. He looked atSonia and felt how great was her love for him, and strange to say hefelt it suddenly burdensome and painful to be so loved. Yes, it was astrange and awful sensation! On his way to see Sonia he had felt thatall his hopes rested on her; he expected to be rid of at least partof his suffering, and now, when all her heart turned towards him, hesuddenly felt that he was immeasurably unhappier than before. 

"Sonia, " he said, "you'd better not come and see me when I am inprison. "

Sonia did not answer, she was crying. Several minutes passed. 

"Have you a cross on you?" she asked, as though suddenly thinking of it. 

He did not at first understand the question. 

"No, of course not. Here, take this one, of cypress wood. I haveanother, a copper one that belonged to Lizaveta. I changed withLizaveta: she gave me her cross and I gave her my little ikon. I willwear Lizaveta's now and give you this. Take it. . . It's mine! It's mine, you know, " she begged him. "We will go to suffer together, and togetherwe will bear our cross!"

"Give it me, " said Raskolnikov. 

He did not want to hurt her feelings. But immediately he drew back thehand he held out for the cross. 

"Not now, Sonia. Better later, " he added to comfort her. 

"Yes, yes, better, " she repeated with conviction, "when you go to meetyour suffering, then put it on. You will come to me, I'll put it on you, we will pray and go together. "

At that moment someone knocked three times at the door. 

"Sofya Semyonovna, may I come in?" they heard in a very familiar andpolite voice. 

Sonia rushed to the door in a fright. The flaxen head of Mr. Lebeziatnikov appeared at the door. 

CHAPTER V

Lebeziatnikov looked perturbed. 

"I've come to you, Sofya Semyonovna, " he began. "Excuse me. . . I thoughtI should find you, " he said, addressing Raskolnikov suddenly, "that is, I didn't mean anything. . . Of that sort. . . But I just thought. . . KaterinaIvanovna has gone out of her mind, " he blurted out suddenly, turningfrom Raskolnikov to Sonia. 

Sonia screamed. 

"At least it seems so. But. . . We don't know what to do, you see! Shecame back--she seems to have been turned out somewhere, perhapsbeaten. . . . So it seems at least, . . . She had run to your father's formerchief, she didn't find him at home: he was dining at some othergeneral's. . . . Only fancy, she rushed off there, to the other general's, and, imagine, she was so persistent that she managed to get the chief tosee her, had him fetched out from dinner, it seems. You can imagine whathappened. She was turned out, of course; but, according to her ownstory, she abused him and threw something at him. One may well believeit. . . . How it is she wasn't taken up, I can't understand! Now she istelling everyone, including Amalia Ivanovna; but it's difficult tounderstand her, she is screaming and flinging herself about. . . . Oh yes, she shouts that since everyone has abandoned her, she will take thechildren and go into the street with a barrel-organ, and the childrenwill sing and dance, and she too, and collect money, and will go everyday under the general's window. . . 'to let everyone see well-bornchildren, whose father was an official, begging in the street. ' Shekeeps beating the children and they are all crying. She is teaching Lidato sing 'My Village, ' the boy to dance, Polenka the same. She is tearingup all the clothes, and making them little caps like actors; she meansto carry a tin basin and make it tinkle, instead of music. . . . She won'tlisten to anything. . . . Imagine the state of things! It's beyondanything!"

Lebeziatnikov would have gone on, but Sonia, who had heard him almostbreathless, snatched up her cloak and hat, and ran out of the room, putting on her things as she went. Raskolnikov followed her andLebeziatnikov came after him. 

"She has certainly gone mad!" he said to Raskolnikov, as they went outinto the street. "I didn't want to frighten Sofya Semyonovna, so I said'it seemed like it, ' but there isn't a doubt of it. They say that inconsumption the tubercles sometimes occur in the brain; it's a pity Iknow nothing of medicine. I did try to persuade her, but she wouldn'tlisten. "

"Did you talk to her about the tubercles?"

"Not precisely of the tubercles. Besides, she wouldn't have understood!But what I say is, that if you convince a person logically that hehas nothing to cry about, he'll stop crying. That's clear. Is it yourconviction that he won't?"

"Life would be too easy if it were so, " answered Raskolnikov. 

"Excuse me, excuse me; of course it would be rather difficult forKaterina Ivanovna to understand, but do you know that in Paris they havebeen conducting serious experiments as to the possibility of curing theinsane, simply by logical argument? One professor there, a scientificman of standing, lately dead, believed in the possibility of suchtreatment. His idea was that there's nothing really wrong with thephysical organism of the insane, and that insanity is, so to say, alogical mistake, an error of judgment, an incorrect view of things. Hegradually showed the madman his error and, would you believe it, theysay he was successful? But as he made use of douches too, how farsuccess was due to that treatment remains uncertain. . . . So it seems atleast. "

Raskolnikov had long ceased to listen. Reaching the house where helived, he nodded to Lebeziatnikov and went in at the gate. Lebeziatnikovwoke up with a start, looked about him and hurried on. 

Raskolnikov went into his little room and stood still in the middleof it. Why had he come back here? He looked at the yellow and tatteredpaper, at the dust, at his sofa. . . . From the yard came a loud continuousknocking; someone seemed to be hammering. . . He went to the window, roseon tiptoe and looked out into the yard for a long time with an air ofabsorbed attention. But the yard was empty and he could not see who washammering. In the house on the left he saw some open windows; on thewindow-sills were pots of sickly-looking geraniums. Linen was hung outof the windows. . . He knew it all by heart. He turned away and sat downon the sofa. 

Never, never had he felt himself so fearfully alone!

Yes, he felt once more that he would perhaps come to hate Sonia, nowthat he had made her more miserable. 

"Why had he gone to her to beg for her tears? What need had he to poisonher life? Oh, the meanness of it!"

"I will remain alone, " he said resolutely, "and she shall not come tothe prison!"

Five minutes later he raised his head with a strange smile. That was astrange thought. 

"Perhaps it really would be better in Siberia, " he thought suddenly. 

He could not have said how long he sat there with vague thoughts surgingthrough his mind. All at once the door opened and Dounia came in. Atfirst she stood still and looked at him from the doorway, just as hehad done at Sonia; then she came in and sat down in the same placeas yesterday, on the chair facing him. He looked silently and almostvacantly at her. 

"Don't be angry, brother; I've only come for one minute, " said Dounia. 

Her face looked thoughtful but not stern. Her eyes were bright and soft. He saw that she too had come to him with love. 

"Brother, now I know all, _all_. Dmitri Prokofitch has explained andtold me everything. They are worrying and persecuting you through astupid and contemptible suspicion. . . . Dmitri Prokofitch told me thatthere is no danger, and that you are wrong in looking upon it with suchhorror. I don't think so, and I fully understand how indignant you mustbe, and that that indignation may have a permanent effect on you. That'swhat I am afraid of. As for your cutting yourself off from us, I don'tjudge you, I don't venture to judge you, and forgive me for havingblamed you for it. I feel that I too, if I had so great a trouble, should keep away from everyone. I shall tell mother nothing _of this_, but I shall talk about you continually and shall tell her from you thatyou will come very soon. Don't worry about her; _I_ will set her mind atrest; but don't you try her too much--come once at least; remember thatshe is your mother. And now I have come simply to say" (Dounia beganto get up) "that if you should need me or should need. . . All my life oranything. . . Call me, and I'll come. Good-bye!"

She turned abruptly and went towards the door. 

"Dounia!" Raskolnikov stopped her and went towards her. "That Razumihin, Dmitri Prokofitch, is a very good fellow. "

Dounia flushed slightly. 

"Well?" she asked, waiting a moment. 

"He is competent, hardworking, honest and capable of real love. . . . Good-bye, Dounia. "

Dounia flushed crimson, then suddenly she took alarm. 

"But what does it mean, brother? Are we really parting for ever thatyou. . . Give me such a parting message?"

"Never mind. . . . Good-bye. "

He turned away, and walked to the window. She stood a moment, looked athim uneasily, and went out troubled. 

No, he was not cold to her. There was an instant (the very last one)when he had longed to take her in his arms and _say good-bye_ to her, and even _to tell_ her, but he had not dared even to touch her hand. 

"Afterwards she may shudder when she remembers that I embraced her, andwill feel that I stole her kiss. "

"And would _she_ stand that test?" he went on a few minutes later tohimself. "No, she wouldn't; girls like that can't stand things! Theynever do. "

And he thought of Sonia. 

There was a breath of fresh air from the window. The daylight wasfading. He took up his cap and went out. 

He could not, of course, and would not consider how ill he was. But allthis continual anxiety and agony of mind could not but affect him. Andif he were not lying in high fever it was perhaps just because thiscontinual inner strain helped to keep him on his legs and in possessionof his faculties. But this artificial excitement could not last long. 

He wandered aimlessly. The sun was setting. A special form of misery hadbegun to oppress him of late. There was nothing poignant, nothing acuteabout it; but there was a feeling of permanence, of eternity about it;it brought a foretaste of hopeless years of this cold leaden misery, aforetaste of an eternity "on a square yard of space. " Towards eveningthis sensation usually began to weigh on him more heavily. 

"With this idiotic, purely physical weakness, depending on the sunset orsomething, one can't help doing something stupid! You'll go to Dounia, as well as to Sonia, " he muttered bitterly. 

He heard his name called. He looked round. Lebeziatnikov rushed up tohim. 

"Only fancy, I've been to your room looking for you. Only fancy, she'scarried out her plan, and taken away the children. Sofya Semyonovna andI have had a job to find them. She is rapping on a frying-pan and makingthe children dance. The children are crying. They keep stopping at thecross-roads and in front of shops; there's a crowd of fools runningafter them. Come along!"

"And Sonia?" Raskolnikov asked anxiously, hurrying after Lebeziatnikov. 

"Simply frantic. That is, it's not Sofya Semyonovna's frantic, butKaterina Ivanovna, though Sofya Semyonova's frantic too. But KaterinaIvanovna is absolutely frantic. I tell you she is quite mad. They'll betaken to the police. You can fancy what an effect that will have. . . . They are on the canal bank, near the bridge now, not far from SofyaSemyonovna's, quite close. "

On the canal bank near the bridge and not two houses away from the onewhere Sonia lodged, there was a crowd of people, consisting principallyof gutter children. The hoarse broken voice of Katerina Ivanovna couldbe heard from the bridge, and it certainly was a strange spectaclelikely to attract a street crowd. Katerina Ivanovna in her old dresswith the green shawl, wearing a torn straw hat, crushed in a hideous wayon one side, was really frantic. She was exhausted and breathless. Herwasted consumptive face looked more suffering than ever, and indeed outof doors in the sunshine a consumptive always looks worse than at home. But her excitement did not flag, and every moment her irritation grewmore intense. She rushed at the children, shouted at them, coaxedthem, told them before the crowd how to dance and what to sing, beganexplaining to them why it was necessary, and driven to desperation bytheir not understanding, beat them. . . . Then she would make a rush at thecrowd; if she noticed any decently dressed person stopping to look, sheimmediately appealed to him to see what these children "from a genteel, one may say aristocratic, house" had been brought to. If she heardlaughter or jeering in the crowd, she would rush at once at the scoffersand begin squabbling with them. Some people laughed, others shook theirheads, but everyone felt curious at the sight of the madwoman with thefrightened children. The frying-pan of which Lebeziatnikov had spokenwas not there, at least Raskolnikov did not see it. But instead ofrapping on the pan, Katerina Ivanovna began clapping her wasted hands, when she made Lida and Kolya dance and Polenka sing. She too joined inthe singing, but broke down at the second note with a fearful cough, which made her curse in despair and even shed tears. What made her mostfurious was the weeping and terror of Kolya and Lida. Some effort hadbeen made to dress the children up as street singers are dressed. Theboy had on a turban made of something red and white to look like a Turk. There had been no costume for Lida; she simply had a red knitted cap, or rather a night cap that had belonged to Marmeladov, decorated witha broken piece of white ostrich feather, which had been KaterinaIvanovna's grandmother's and had been preserved as a family possession. Polenka was in her everyday dress; she looked in timid perplexity at hermother, and kept at her side, hiding her tears. She dimly realised hermother's condition, and looked uneasily about her. She was terriblyfrightened of the street and the crowd. Sonia followed KaterinaIvanovna, weeping and beseeching her to return home, but KaterinaIvanovna was not to be persuaded. 

"Leave off, Sonia, leave off, " she shouted, speaking fast, panting andcoughing. "You don't know what you ask; you are like a child! I'vetold you before that I am not coming back to that drunken German. Leteveryone, let all Petersburg see the children begging in the streets, though their father was an honourable man who served all his life intruth and fidelity, and one may say died in the service. " (KaterinaIvanovna had by now invented this fantastic story and thoroughlybelieved it. ) "Let that wretch of a general see it! And you are silly, Sonia: what have we to eat? Tell me that. We have worried you enough, Iwon't go on so! Ah, Rodion Romanovitch, is that you?" she cried, seeingRaskolnikov and rushing up to him. "Explain to this silly girl, please, that nothing better could be done! Even organ-grinders earn theirliving, and everyone will see at once that we are different, that we arean honourable and bereaved family reduced to beggary. And that generalwill lose his post, you'll see! We shall perform under his windows everyday, and if the Tsar drives by, I'll fall on my knees, put the childrenbefore me, show them to him, and say 'Defend us father. ' He is thefather of the fatherless, he is merciful, he'll protect us, you'llsee, and that wretch of a general. . . . Lida, _tenez vous droite_! Kolya, you'll dance again. Why are you whimpering? Whimpering again! Whatare you afraid of, stupid? Goodness, what am I to do with them, RodionRomanovitch? If you only knew how stupid they are! What's one to do withsuch children?"

And she, almost crying herself--which did not stop her uninterrupted, rapid flow of talk--pointed to the crying children. Raskolnikov triedto persuade her to go home, and even said, hoping to work on her vanity, that it was unseemly for her to be wandering about the streets likean organ-grinder, as she was intending to become the principal of aboarding-school. 

"A boarding-school, ha-ha-ha! A castle in the air, " cried KaterinaIvanovna, her laugh ending in a cough. "No, Rodion Romanovitch, thatdream is over! All have forsaken us!. . . And that general. . . . You know, Rodion Romanovitch, I threw an inkpot at him--it happened to be standingin the waiting-room by the paper where you sign your name. I wrote myname, threw it at him and ran away. Oh, the scoundrels, the scoundrels!But enough of them, now I'll provide for the children myself, I won'tbow down to anybody! She has had to bear enough for us!" she pointedto Sonia. "Polenka, how much have you got? Show me! What, only twofarthings! Oh, the mean wretches! They give us nothing, only run afterus, putting their tongues out. There, what is that blockhead laughingat?" (She pointed to a man in the crowd. ) "It's all because Kolya hereis so stupid; I have such a bother with him. What do you want, Polenka?Tell me in French, _parlez-moi français_. Why, I've taught you, you knowsome phrases. Else how are you to show that you are of good family, wellbrought-up children, and not at all like other organ-grinders? We aren'tgoing to have a Punch and Judy show in the street, but to sing a genteelsong. . . . Ah, yes, . . . What are we to sing? You keep putting me out, but we. . . You see, we are standing here, Rodion Romanovitch, to findsomething to sing and get money, something Kolya can dance to. . . . For, as you can fancy, our performance is all impromptu. . . . We must talk itover and rehearse it all thoroughly, and then we shall go to Nevsky, where there are far more people of good society, and we shall be noticedat once. Lida knows 'My Village' only, nothing but 'My Village, ' andeveryone sings that. We must sing something far more genteel. . . . Well, have you thought of anything, Polenka? If only you'd help your mother!My memory's quite gone, or I should have thought of something. We reallycan't sing 'An Hussar. ' Ah, let us sing in French, 'Cinq sous, ' I havetaught it you, I have taught it you. And as it is in French, people willsee at once that you are children of good family, and that will be muchmore touching. . . . You might sing 'Marlborough s'en va-t-en guerre, 'for that's quite a child's song and is sung as a lullaby in all thearistocratic houses. 

"_Marlborough s'en va-t-en guerre Ne sait quand reviendra_. . . "she began singing. "But no, better sing 'Cinq sous. ' Now, Kolya, yourhands on your hips, make haste, and you, Lida, keep turning the otherway, and Polenka and I will sing and clap our hands!

"_Cinq sous, cinq sous Pour monter notre menage_. "

(Cough-cough-cough!) "Set your dress straight, Polenka, it's slippeddown on your shoulders, " she observed, panting from coughing. "Now it'sparticularly necessary to behave nicely and genteelly, that all maysee that you are well-born children. I said at the time that the bodiceshould be cut longer, and made of two widths. It was your fault, Sonia, with your advice to make it shorter, and now you see the child is quitedeformed by it. . . . Why, you're all crying again! What's the matter, stupids? Come, Kolya, begin. Make haste, make haste! Oh, what anunbearable child!

"Cinq sous, cinq sous. 

"A policeman again! What do you want?"

A policeman was indeed forcing his way through the crowd. But at thatmoment a gentleman in civilian uniform and an overcoat--a solid-lookingofficial of about fifty with a decoration on his neck (which delightedKaterina Ivanovna and had its effect on the policeman)--approached andwithout a word handed her a green three-rouble note. His face worea look of genuine sympathy. Katerina Ivanovna took it and gave him apolite, even ceremonious, bow. 

"I thank you, honoured sir, " she began loftily. "The causes that haveinduced us (take the money, Polenka: you see there are generous andhonourable people who are ready to help a poor gentlewoman in distress). You see, honoured sir, these orphans of good family--I might even say ofaristocratic connections--and that wretch of a general sat eatinggrouse. . . And stamped at my disturbing him. 'Your excellency, ' I said, 'protect the orphans, for you knew my late husband, Semyon Zaharovitch, and on the very day of his death the basest of scoundrels slandered hisonly daughter. '. . . That policeman again! Protect me, " she cried to theofficial. "Why is that policeman edging up to me? We have only just runaway from one of them. What do you want, fool?"

"It's forbidden in the streets. You mustn't make a disturbance. "

"It's you're making a disturbance. It's just the same as if I weregrinding an organ. What business is it of yours?"

"You have to get a licence for an organ, and you haven't got one, and inthat way you collect a crowd. Where do you lodge?"

"What, a license?" wailed Katerina Ivanovna. "I buried my husbandto-day. What need of a license?"

"Calm yourself, madam, calm yourself, " began the official. "Come along;I will escort you. . . . This is no place for you in the crowd. You areill. "

"Honoured sir, honoured sir, you don't know, " screamed KaterinaIvanovna. "We are going to the Nevsky. . . . Sonia, Sonia! Where is she?She is crying too! What's the matter with you all? Kolya, Lida, whereare you going?" she cried suddenly in alarm. "Oh, silly children! Kolya, Lida, where are they off to?. . . "

Kolya and Lida, scared out of their wits by the crowd, and theirmother's mad pranks, suddenly seized each other by the hand, and ran offat the sight of the policeman who wanted to take them away somewhere. Weeping and wailing, poor Katerina Ivanovna ran after them. She wasa piteous and unseemly spectacle, as she ran, weeping and panting forbreath. Sonia and Polenka rushed after them. 

"Bring them back, bring them back, Sonia! Oh stupid, ungratefulchildren!. . . Polenka! catch them. . . . It's for your sakes I. . . "

She stumbled as she ran and fell down. 

"She's cut herself, she's bleeding! Oh, dear!" cried Sonia, bending overher. 

All ran up and crowded around. Raskolnikov and Lebeziatnikov were thefirst at her side, the official too hastened up, and behind him thepoliceman who muttered, "Bother!" with a gesture of impatience, feelingthat the job was going to be a troublesome one. 

"Pass on! Pass on!" he said to the crowd that pressed forward. 

"She's dying, " someone shouted. 

"She's gone out of her mind, " said another. 

"Lord have mercy upon us, " said a woman, crossing herself. "Have theycaught the little girl and the boy? They're being brought back, theelder one's got them. . . . Ah, the naughty imps!"

When they examined Katerina Ivanovna carefully, they saw that she hadnot cut herself against a stone, as Sonia thought, but that the bloodthat stained the pavement red was from her chest. 

"I've seen that before, " muttered the official to Raskolnikov andLebeziatnikov; "that's consumption; the blood flows and chokes thepatient. I saw the same thing with a relative of my own not long ago. . . Nearly a pint of blood, all in a minute. . . . What's to be done though?She is dying. "

"This way, this way, to my room!" Sonia implored. "I live here!. . . See, that house, the second from here. . . . Come to me, make haste, " she turnedfrom one to the other. "Send for the doctor! Oh, dear!"

Thanks to the official's efforts, this plan was adopted, the policemaneven helping to carry Katerina Ivanovna. She was carried to Sonia'sroom, almost unconscious, and laid on the bed. The blood was stillflowing, but she seemed to be coming to herself. Raskolnikov, Lebeziatnikov, and the official accompanied Sonia into the room and werefollowed by the policeman, who first drove back the crowd which followedto the very door. Polenka came in holding Kolya and Lida, whowere trembling and weeping. Several persons came in too from theKapernaumovs' room; the landlord, a lame one-eyed man of strangeappearance with whiskers and hair that stood up like a brush, hiswife, a woman with an everlastingly scared expression, and severalopen-mouthed children with wonder-struck faces. Among these, Svidrigaïlov suddenly made his appearance. Raskolnikov looked at himwith surprise, not understanding where he had come from and not havingnoticed him in the crowd. A doctor and priest wore spoken of. Theofficial whispered to Raskolnikov that he thought it was too late nowfor the doctor, but he ordered him to be sent for. Kapernaumov ranhimself. 

Meanwhile Katerina Ivanovna had regained her breath. The bleeding ceasedfor a time. She looked with sick but intent and penetrating eyes atSonia, who stood pale and trembling, wiping the sweat from her brow witha handkerchief. At last she asked to be raised. They sat her up on thebed, supporting her on both sides. 

"Where are the children?" she said in a faint voice. "You've broughtthem, Polenka? Oh the sillies! Why did you run away. . . . Och!"

Once more her parched lips were covered with blood. She moved her eyes, looking about her. 

"So that's how you live, Sonia! Never once have I been in your room. "

She looked at her with a face of suffering. 

"We have been your ruin, Sonia. Polenka, Lida, Kolya, come here! Well, here they are, Sonia, take them all! I hand them over to you, I've hadenough! The ball is over. " (Cough!) "Lay me down, let me die in peace. "

They laid her back on the pillow. 

"What, the priest? I don't want him. You haven't got a rouble to spare. I have no sins. God must forgive me without that. He knows how I havesuffered. . . . And if He won't forgive me, I don't care!"

She sank more and more into uneasy delirium. At times she shuddered, turned her eyes from side to side, recognised everyone for a minute, but at once sank into delirium again. Her breathing was hoarse anddifficult, there was a sort of rattle in her throat. 

"I said to him, your excellency, " she ejaculated, gasping after eachword. "That Amalia Ludwigovna, ah! Lida, Kolya, hands on your hips, make haste! _Glissez, glissez! pas de basque!_ Tap with your heels, be agraceful child!

"_Du hast Diamanten und Perlen_

"What next? That's the thing to sing. 

"_Du hast die schonsten Augen Madchen, was willst du mehr?_

"What an idea! _Was willst du mehr?_ What things the fool invents! Ah, yes!

"In the heat of midday in the vale of Dagestan. 

"Ah, how I loved it! I loved that song to distraction, Polenka! Yourfather, you know, used to sing it when we were engaged. . . . Oh thosedays! Oh that's the thing for us to sing! How does it go? I'veforgotten. Remind me! How was it?"

She was violently excited and tried to sit up. At last, in a horriblyhoarse, broken voice, she began, shrieking and gasping at every word, with a look of growing terror. 

"In the heat of midday!. . . In the vale!. . . Of Dagestan!. . . With lead inmy breast!. . . "

"Your excellency!" she wailed suddenly with a heart-rending scream anda flood of tears, "protect the orphans! You have been their father'sguest. . . One may say aristocratic. . . . " She started, regainingconsciousness, and gazed at all with a sort of terror, but at oncerecognised Sonia. 

"Sonia, Sonia!" she articulated softly and caressingly, as thoughsurprised to find her there. "Sonia darling, are you here, too?"

They lifted her up again. 

"Enough! It's over! Farewell, poor thing! I am done for! I am broken!"she cried with vindictive despair, and her head fell heavily back on thepillow. 

She sank into unconsciousness again, but this time it did not last long. Her pale, yellow, wasted face dropped back, her mouth fell open, her legmoved convulsively, she gave a deep, deep sigh and died. 

Sonia fell upon her, flung her arms about her, and remained motionlesswith her head pressed to the dead woman's wasted bosom. Polenka threwherself at her mother's feet, kissing them and weeping violently. ThoughKolya and Lida did not understand what had happened, they had a feelingthat it was something terrible; they put their hands on each other'slittle shoulders, stared straight at one another and both at once openedtheir mouths and began screaming. They were both still in their fancydress; one in a turban, the other in the cap with the ostrich feather. 

And how did "the certificate of merit" come to be on the bed besideKaterina Ivanovna? It lay there by the pillow; Raskolnikov saw it. 

He walked away to the window. Lebeziatnikov skipped up to him. 

"She is dead, " he said. 

"Rodion Romanovitch, I must have two words with you, " said Svidrigaïlov, coming up to them. 

Lebeziatnikov at once made room for him and delicately withdrew. Svidrigaïlov drew Raskolnikov further away. 

"I will undertake all the arrangements, the funeral and that. You knowit's a question of money and, as I told you, I have plenty to spare. Iwill put those two little ones and Polenka into some good orphan asylum, and I will settle fifteen hundred roubles to be paid to each on comingof age, so that Sofya Semyonovna need have no anxiety about them. And Iwill pull her out of the mud too, for she is a good girl, isn't she? Sotell Avdotya Romanovna that that is how I am spending her ten thousand. "

"What is your motive for such benevolence?" asked Raskolnikov. 

"Ah! you sceptical person!" laughed Svidrigaïlov. "I told you I had noneed of that money. Won't you admit that it's simply done from humanity?She wasn't 'a louse, ' you know" (he pointed to the corner where thedead woman lay), "was she, like some old pawnbroker woman? Come, you'llagree, is Luzhin to go on living, and doing wicked things or is she todie? And if I didn't help them, Polenka would go the same way. "

He said this with an air of a sort of gay winking slyness, keeping hiseyes fixed on Raskolnikov, who turned white and cold, hearing his ownphrases, spoken to Sonia. He quickly stepped back and looked wildly atSvidrigaïlov. 

"How do you know?" he whispered, hardly able to breathe. 

"Why, I lodge here at Madame Resslich's, the other side of the wall. Here is Kapernaumov, and there lives Madame Resslich, an old and devotedfriend of mine. I am a neighbour. "

"You?"

"Yes, " continued Svidrigaïlov, shaking with laughter. "I assure youon my honour, dear Rodion Romanovitch, that you have interested meenormously. I told you we should become friends, I foretold it. Well, here we have. And you will see what an accommodating person I am. You'llsee that you can get on with me!"

PART VI

CHAPTER I

A strange period began for Raskolnikov: it was as though a fog hadfallen upon him and wrapped him in a dreary solitude from which therewas no escape. Recalling that period long after, he believed that hismind had been clouded at times, and that it had continued so, withintervals, till the final catastrophe. He was convinced that he had beenmistaken about many things at that time, for instance as to the dateof certain events. Anyway, when he tried later on to piece hisrecollections together, he learnt a great deal about himself from whatother people told him. He had mixed up incidents and had explainedevents as due to circumstances which existed only in his imagination. Attimes he was a prey to agonies of morbid uneasiness, amounting sometimesto panic. But he remembered, too, moments, hours, perhaps whole days, of complete apathy, which came upon him as a reaction from his previousterror and might be compared with the abnormal insensibility, sometimesseen in the dying. He seemed to be trying in that latter stage to escapefrom a full and clear understanding of his position. Certain essentialfacts which required immediate consideration were particularly irksometo him. How glad he would have been to be free from some cares, theneglect of which would have threatened him with complete, inevitableruin. 

He was particularly worried about Svidrigaïlov, he might be said to bepermanently thinking of Svidrigaïlov. From the time of Svidrigaïlov'stoo menacing and unmistakable words in Sonia's room at the moment ofKaterina Ivanovna's death, the normal working of his mind seemed tobreak down. But although this new fact caused him extreme uneasiness, Raskolnikov was in no hurry for an explanation of it. At times, findinghimself in a solitary and remote part of the town, in some wretchedeating-house, sitting alone lost in thought, hardly knowing how he hadcome there, he suddenly thought of Svidrigaïlov. He recognisedsuddenly, clearly, and with dismay that he ought at once to come to anunderstanding with that man and to make what terms he could. Walkingoutside the city gates one day, he positively fancied that they hadfixed a meeting there, that he was waiting for Svidrigaïlov. Anothertime he woke up before daybreak lying on the ground under some bushesand could not at first understand how he had come there. 

But during the two or three days after Katerina Ivanovna's death, hehad two or three times met Svidrigaïlov at Sonia's lodging, where hehad gone aimlessly for a moment. They exchanged a few words and made noreference to the vital subject, as though they were tacitly agreed notto speak of it for a time. 

Katerina Ivanovna's body was still lying in the coffin, Svidrigaïlov wasbusy making arrangements for the funeral. Sonia too was very busy. Attheir last meeting Svidrigaïlov informed Raskolnikov that he had madean arrangement, and a very satisfactory one, for Katerina Ivanovna'schildren; that he had, through certain connections, succeeded in gettinghold of certain personages by whose help the three orphans could be atonce placed in very suitable institutions; that the money he had settledon them had been of great assistance, as it is much easier to placeorphans with some property than destitute ones. He said somethingtoo about Sonia and promised to come himself in a day or two to seeRaskolnikov, mentioning that "he would like to consult with him, thatthere were things they must talk over. . . . "

This conversation took place in the passage on the stairs. Svidrigaïlovlooked intently at Raskolnikov and suddenly, after a brief pause, dropping his voice, asked: "But how is it, Rodion Romanovitch; youdon't seem yourself? You look and you listen, but you don't seem tounderstand. Cheer up! We'll talk things over; I am only sorry, I'veso much to do of my own business and other people's. Ah, RodionRomanovitch, " he added suddenly, "what all men need is fresh air, freshair. . . More than anything!"

He moved to one side to make way for the priest and server, whowere coming up the stairs. They had come for the requiem service. BySvidrigaïlov's orders it was sung twice a day punctually. Svidrigaïlovwent his way. Raskolnikov stood still a moment, thought, and followedthe priest into Sonia's room. He stood at the door. They began quietly, slowly and mournfully singing the service. From his childhood thethought of death and the presence of death had something oppressiveand mysteriously awful; and it was long since he had heard the requiemservice. And there was something else here as well, too awful anddisturbing. He looked at the children: they were all kneeling by thecoffin; Polenka was weeping. Behind them Sonia prayed, softly and, as itwere, timidly weeping. 

"These last two days she hasn't said a word to me, she hasn't glanced atme, " Raskolnikov thought suddenly. The sunlight was bright in the room;the incense rose in clouds; the priest read, "Give rest, oh Lord. . . . "Raskolnikov stayed all through the service. As he blessed them andtook his leave, the priest looked round strangely. After the service, Raskolnikov went up to Sonia. She took both his hands and let herhead sink on his shoulder. This slight friendly gesture bewilderedRaskolnikov. It seemed strange to him that there was no trace ofrepugnance, no trace of disgust, no tremor in her hand. It was thefurthest limit of self-abnegation, at least so he interpreted it. 

Sonia said nothing. Raskolnikov pressed her hand and went out. He feltvery miserable. If it had been possible to escape to some solitude, hewould have thought himself lucky, even if he had to spend his whole lifethere. But although he had almost always been by himself of late, he hadnever been able to feel alone. Sometimes he walked out of the town on tothe high road, once he had even reached a little wood, but the lonelierthe place was, the more he seemed to be aware of an uneasy presence nearhim. It did not frighten him, but greatly annoyed him, so that hemade haste to return to the town, to mingle with the crowd, to enterrestaurants and taverns, to walk in busy thoroughfares. There he felteasier and even more solitary. One day at dusk he sat for an hourlistening to songs in a tavern and he remembered that he positivelyenjoyed it. But at last he had suddenly felt the same uneasiness again, as though his conscience smote him. "Here I sit listening to singing, is that what I ought to be doing?" he thought. Yet he felt at oncethat that was not the only cause of his uneasiness; there was somethingrequiring immediate decision, but it was something he could not clearlyunderstand or put into words. It was a hopeless tangle. "No, better thestruggle again! Better Porfiry again. . . Or Svidrigaïlov. . . . Better somechallenge again. . . Some attack. Yes, yes!" he thought. He went out ofthe tavern and rushed away almost at a run. The thought of Dounia andhis mother suddenly reduced him almost to a panic. That night he wokeup before morning among some bushes in Krestovsky Island, tremblingall over with fever; he walked home, and it was early morning when hearrived. After some hours' sleep the fever left him, but he woke uplate, two o'clock in the afternoon. 

He remembered that Katerina Ivanovna's funeral had been fixed for thatday, and was glad that he was not present at it. Nastasya brought himsome food; he ate and drank with appetite, almost with greediness. Hishead was fresher and he was calmer than he had been for the last threedays. He even felt a passing wonder at his previous attacks of panic. 

The door opened and Razumihin came in. 

"Ah, he's eating, then he's not ill, " said Razumihin. He took a chairand sat down at the table opposite Raskolnikov. 

He was troubled and did not attempt to conceal it. He spoke with evidentannoyance, but without hurry or raising his voice. He looked as thoughhe had some special fixed determination. 

"Listen, " he began resolutely. "As far as I am concerned, you may all goto hell, but from what I see, it's clear to me that I can't make head ortail of it; please don't think I've come to ask you questions. I don'twant to know, hang it! If you begin telling me your secrets, I dare sayI shouldn't stay to listen, I should go away cursing. I have only cometo find out once for all whether it's a fact that you are mad? There isa conviction in the air that you are mad or very nearly so. I admitI've been disposed to that opinion myself, judging from your stupid, repulsive and quite inexplicable actions, and from your recent behaviorto your mother and sister. Only a monster or a madman could treat themas you have; so you must be mad. "

"When did you see them last?"

"Just now. Haven't you seen them since then? What have you been doingwith yourself? Tell me, please. I've been to you three times already. Your mother has been seriously ill since yesterday. She had made upher mind to come to you; Avdotya Romanovna tried to prevent her; shewouldn't hear a word. 'If he is ill, if his mind is giving way, who canlook after him like his mother?' she said. We all came here together, wecouldn't let her come alone all the way. We kept begging her to be calm. We came in, you weren't here; she sat down, and stayed ten minutes, while we stood waiting in silence. She got up and said: 'If he'sgone out, that is, if he is well, and has forgotten his mother, it'shumiliating and unseemly for his mother to stand at his door begging forkindness. ' She returned home and took to her bed; now she is in a fever. 'I see, ' she said, 'that he has time for _his girl_. ' She means by _yourgirl_ Sofya Semyonovna, your betrothed or your mistress, I don't know. Iwent at once to Sofya Semyonovna's, for I wanted to know what was goingon. I looked round, I saw the coffin, the children crying, andSofya Semyonovna trying them on mourning dresses. No sign of you. Iapologised, came away, and reported to Avdotya Romanovna. So that's allnonsense and you haven't got a girl; the most likely thing is that youare mad. But here you sit, guzzling boiled beef as though you'd not hada bite for three days. Though as far as that goes, madmen eat too, butthough you have not said a word to me yet. . . You are not mad! That I'dswear! Above all, you are not mad! So you may go to hell, all of you, for there's some mystery, some secret about it, and I don't intend toworry my brains over your secrets. So I've simply come to swear at you, "he finished, getting up, "to relieve my mind. And I know what to donow. "

"What do you mean to do now?"

"What business is it of yours what I mean to do?"

"You are going in for a drinking bout. "

"How. . . How did you know?"

"Why, it's pretty plain. "

Razumihin paused for a minute. 

"You always have been a very rational person and you've never been mad, never, " he observed suddenly with warmth. "You're right: I shall drink. Good-bye!"

And he moved to go out. 

"I was talking with my sister--the day before yesterday, I think itwas--about you, Razumihin. "

"About me! But. . . Where can you have seen her the day before yesterday?"Razumihin stopped short and even turned a little pale. 

One could see that his heart was throbbing slowly and violently. 

"She came here by herself, sat there and talked to me. "

"She did!"

"Yes. "

"What did you say to her. . . I mean, about me?"

"I told her you were a very good, honest, and industrious man. I didn'ttell her you love her, because she knows that herself. "

"She knows that herself?"

"Well, it's pretty plain. Wherever I might go, whatever happened to me, you would remain to look after them. I, so to speak, give them into yourkeeping, Razumihin. I say this because I know quite well how you loveher, and am convinced of the purity of your heart. I know that she toomay love you and perhaps does love you already. Now decide for yourself, as you know best, whether you need go in for a drinking bout or not. "

"Rodya! You see. . . Well. . . . Ach, damn it! But where do you mean to go?Of course, if it's all a secret, never mind. . . . But I. . . I shall findout the secret. . . And I am sure that it must be some ridiculous nonsenseand that you've made it all up. Anyway you are a capital fellow, acapital fellow!. . . "

"That was just what I wanted to add, only you interrupted, that that wasa very good decision of yours not to find out these secrets. Leave it totime, don't worry about it. You'll know it all in time when it must be. Yesterday a man said to me that what a man needs is fresh air, freshair, fresh air. I mean to go to him directly to find out what he meantby that. "

Razumihin stood lost in thought and excitement, making a silentconclusion. 

"He's a political conspirator! He must be. And he's on the eve of somedesperate step, that's certain. It can only be that! And. . . And Douniaknows, " he thought suddenly. 

"So Avdotya Romanovna comes to see you, " he said, weighing eachsyllable, "and you're going to see a man who says we need more air, andso of course that letter. . . That too must have something to do with it, "he concluded to himself. 

"What letter?"

"She got a letter to-day. It upset her very much--very much indeed. Toomuch so. I began speaking of you, she begged me not to. Then. . . Thenshe said that perhaps we should very soon have to part. . . Then she beganwarmly thanking me for something; then she went to her room and lockedherself in. "

"She got a letter?" Raskolnikov asked thoughtfully. 

"Yes, and you didn't know? hm. . . "

They were both silent. 

"Good-bye, Rodion. There was a time, brother, when I. . . . Never mind, good-bye. You see, there was a time. . . . Well, good-bye! I must be offtoo. I am not going to drink. There's no need now. . . . That's all stuff!"

He hurried out; but when he had almost closed the door behind him, hesuddenly opened it again, and said, looking away:

"Oh, by the way, do you remember that murder, you know Porfiry's, thatold woman? Do you know the murderer has been found, he has confessedand given the proofs. It's one of those very workmen, the painter, onlyfancy! Do you remember I defended them here? Would you believe it, allthat scene of fighting and laughing with his companions on the stairswhile the porter and the two witnesses were going up, he got up onpurpose to disarm suspicion. The cunning, the presence of mind of theyoung dog! One can hardly credit it; but it's his own explanation, hehas confessed it all. And what a fool I was about it! Well, he's simplya genius of hypocrisy and resourcefulness in disarming the suspicions ofthe lawyers--so there's nothing much to wonder at, I suppose! Of coursepeople like that are always possible. And the fact that he couldn't keepup the character, but confessed, makes him easier to believe in. Butwhat a fool I was! I was frantic on their side!"

"Tell me, please, from whom did you hear that, and why does it interestyou so?" Raskolnikov asked with unmistakable agitation. 

"What next? You ask me why it interests me!. . . Well, I heard it fromPorfiry, among others. . . It was from him I heard almost all about it. "

"From Porfiry?"

"From Porfiry. "

"What. . . What did he say?" Raskolnikov asked in dismay. 

"He gave me a capital explanation of it. Psychologically, after hisfashion. "

"He explained it? Explained it himself?"

"Yes, yes; good-bye. I'll tell you all about it another time, but nowI'm busy. There was a time when I fancied. . . But no matter, anothertime!. . . What need is there for me to drink now? You have made me drunkwithout wine. I am drunk, Rodya! Good-bye, I'm going. I'll come againvery soon. "

He went out. 

"He's a political conspirator, there's not a doubt about it, " Razumihindecided, as he slowly descended the stairs. "And he's drawn his sisterin; that's quite, quite in keeping with Avdotya Romanovna's character. There are interviews between them!. . . She hinted at it too. . . So many ofher words. . . . And hints. . . Bear that meaning! And how else can all thistangle be explained? Hm! And I was almost thinking. . . Good heavens, what I thought! Yes, I took leave of my senses and I wronged him! It washis doing, under the lamp in the corridor that day. Pfoo! What a crude, nasty, vile idea on my part! Nikolay is a brick, for confessing. . . . Andhow clear it all is now! His illness then, all his strange actions. . . Before this, in the university, how morose he used to be, how gloomy. . . . But what's the meaning now of that letter? There's something in that, too, perhaps. Whom was it from? I suspect. . . ! No, I must find out!"

He thought of Dounia, realising all he had heard and his heart throbbed, and he suddenly broke into a run. 

As soon as Razumihin went out, Raskolnikov got up, turned to the window, walked into one corner and then into another, as though forgetting thesmallness of his room, and sat down again on the sofa. He felt, so tospeak, renewed; again the struggle, so a means of escape had come. 

"Yes, a means of escape had come! It had been too stifling, toocramping, the burden had been too agonising. A lethargy had come uponhim at times. From the moment of the scene with Nikolay at Porfiry's hehad been suffocating, penned in without hope of escape. After Nikolay'sconfession, on that very day had come the scene with Sonia; hisbehaviour and his last words had been utterly unlike anything hecould have imagined beforehand; he had grown feebler, instantly andfundamentally! And he had agreed at the time with Sonia, he had agreedin his heart he could not go on living alone with such a thing on hismind!

"And Svidrigaïlov was a riddle. . . He worried him, that was true, butsomehow not on the same point. He might still have a struggle to comewith Svidrigaïlov. Svidrigaïlov, too, might be a means of escape; butPorfiry was a different matter. 

"And so Porfiry himself had explained it to Razumihin, had explained it_psychologically_. He had begun bringing in his damned psychology again!Porfiry? But to think that Porfiry should for one moment believe thatNikolay was guilty, after what had passed between them before Nikolay'sappearance, after that tête-à-tête interview, which could have only_one_ explanation? (During those days Raskolnikov had often recalledpassages in that scene with Porfiry; he could not bear to let his mindrest on it. ) Such words, such gestures had passed between them, theyhad exchanged such glances, things had been said in such a tone and hadreached such a pass, that Nikolay, whom Porfiry had seen through at thefirst word, at the first gesture, could not have shaken his conviction. 

"And to think that even Razumihin had begun to suspect! The scene in thecorridor under the lamp had produced its effect then. He had rushed toPorfiry. . . . But what had induced the latter to receive him like that?What had been his object in putting Razumihin off with Nikolay? He musthave some plan; there was some design, but what was it? It was true thata long time had passed since that morning--too long a time--and no sightnor sound of Porfiry. Well, that was a bad sign. . . . "

Raskolnikov took his cap and went out of the room, still pondering. Itwas the first time for a long while that he had felt clear in his mind, at least. "I must settle Svidrigaïlov, " he thought, "and as soon aspossible; he, too, seems to be waiting for me to come to him of my ownaccord. " And at that moment there was such a rush of hate in hisweary heart that he might have killed either of those two--Porfiry orSvidrigaïlov. At least he felt that he would be capable of doing itlater, if not now. 

"We shall see, we shall see, " he repeated to himself. 

But no sooner had he opened the door than he stumbled upon Porfiryhimself in the passage. He was coming in to see him. Raskolnikov wasdumbfounded for a minute, but only for one minute. Strange to say, hewas not very much astonished at seeing Porfiry and scarcely afraid ofhim. He was simply startled, but was quickly, instantly, on his guard. "Perhaps this will mean the end? But how could Porfiry have approachedso quietly, like a cat, so that he had heard nothing? Could he have beenlistening at the door?"

"You didn't expect a visitor, Rodion Romanovitch, " Porfiry explained, laughing. "I've been meaning to look in a long time; I was passing byand thought why not go in for five minutes. Are you going out? I won'tkeep you long. Just let me have one cigarette. "

"Sit down, Porfiry Petrovitch, sit down. " Raskolnikov gave his visitora seat with so pleased and friendly an expression that he would havemarvelled at himself, if he could have seen it. 

The last moment had come, the last drops had to be drained! So a manwill sometimes go through half an hour of mortal terror with a brigand, yet when the knife is at his throat at last, he feels no fear. 

Raskolnikov seated himself directly facing Porfiry, and looked at himwithout flinching. Porfiry screwed up his eyes and began lighting acigarette. 

"Speak, speak, " seemed as though it would burst from Raskolnikov'sheart. "Come, why don't you speak?"

CHAPTER II

"Ah these cigarettes!" Porfiry Petrovitch ejaculated at last, havinglighted one. "They are pernicious, positively pernicious, and yet Ican't give them up! I cough, I begin to have tickling in my throat anda difficulty in breathing. You know I am a coward, I went lately toDr. B----n; he always gives at least half an hour to each patient. Hepositively laughed looking at me; he sounded me: 'Tobacco's bad foryou, ' he said, 'your lungs are affected. ' But how am I to give it up?What is there to take its place? I don't drink, that's the mischief, he-he-he, that I don't. Everything is relative, Rodion Romanovitch, everything is relative!"

"Why, he's playing his professional tricks again, " Raskolnikov thoughtwith disgust. All the circumstances of their last interview suddenlycame back to him, and he felt a rush of the feeling that had come uponhim then. 

"I came to see you the day before yesterday, in the evening; you didn'tknow?" Porfiry Petrovitch went on, looking round the room. "I came intothis very room. I was passing by, just as I did to-day, and I thoughtI'd return your call. I walked in as your door was wide open, I lookedround, waited and went out without leaving my name with your servant. Don't you lock your door?"

Raskolnikov's face grew more and more gloomy. Porfiry seemed to guesshis state of mind. 

"I've come to have it out with you, Rodion Romanovitch, my dear fellow!I owe you an explanation and must give it to you, " he continued with aslight smile, just patting Raskolnikov's knee. 

But almost at the same instant a serious and careworn look came into hisface; to his surprise Raskolnikov saw a touch of sadness in it. He hadnever seen and never suspected such an expression in his face. 

"A strange scene passed between us last time we met, Rodion Romanovitch. Our first interview, too, was a strange one; but then. . . And one thingafter another! This is the point: I have perhaps acted unfairly to you;I feel it. Do you remember how we parted? Your nerves were unhinged andyour knees were shaking and so were mine. And, you know, our behaviourwas unseemly, even ungentlemanly. And yet we are gentlemen, above all, in any case, gentlemen; that must be understood. Do you remember what wecame to?. . . And it was quite indecorous. "

"What is he up to, what does he take me for?" Raskolnikov asked himselfin amazement, raising his head and looking with open eyes on Porfiry. 

"I've decided openness is better between us, " Porfiry Petrovitch wenton, turning his head away and dropping his eyes, as though unwilling todisconcert his former victim and as though disdaining his former wiles. "Yes, such suspicions and such scenes cannot continue for long. Nikolayput a stop to it, or I don't know what we might not have come to. Thatdamned workman was sitting at the time in the next room--can you realisethat? You know that, of course; and I am aware that he came to youafterwards. But what you supposed then was not true: I had not sent foranyone, I had made no kind of arrangements. You ask why I hadn't? Whatshall I say to you? it had all come upon me so suddenly. I had scarcelysent for the porters (you noticed them as you went out, I dare say). An idea flashed upon me; I was firmly convinced at the time, you see, Rodion Romanovitch. Come, I thought--even if I let one thing slip fora time, I shall get hold of something else--I shan't lose what I want, anyway. You are nervously irritable, Rodion Romanovitch, by temperament;it's out of proportion with other qualities of your heart and character, which I flatter myself I have to some extent divined. Of course I didreflect even then that it does not always happen that a man gets up andblurts out his whole story. It does happen sometimes, if you make aman lose all patience, though even then it's rare. I was capable ofrealising that. If I only had a fact, I thought, the least little factto go upon, something I could lay hold of, something tangible, notmerely psychological. For if a man is guilty, you must be able to getsomething substantial out of him; one may reckon upon most surprisingresults indeed. I was reckoning on your temperament, Rodion Romanovitch, on your temperament above all things! I had great hopes of you at thattime. "

"But what are you driving at now?" Raskolnikov muttered at last, askingthe question without thinking. 

"What is he talking about?" he wondered distractedly, "does he reallytake me to be innocent?"

"What am I driving at? I've come to explain myself, I consider it myduty, so to speak. I want to make clear to you how the whole business, the whole misunderstanding arose. I've caused you a great deal ofsuffering, Rodion Romanovitch. I am not a monster. I understand whatit must mean for a man who has been unfortunate, but who is proud, imperious and above all, impatient, to have to bear such treatment!I regard you in any case as a man of noble character and not withoutelements of magnanimity, though I don't agree with all your convictions. I wanted to tell you this first, frankly and quite sincerely, for aboveall I don't want to deceive you. When I made your acquaintance, I feltattracted by you. Perhaps you will laugh at my saying so. You have aright to. I know you disliked me from the first and indeed you've noreason to like me. You may think what you like, but I desire now to doall I can to efface that impression and to show that I am a man of heartand conscience. I speak sincerely. "

Porfiry Petrovitch made a dignified pause. Raskolnikov felt a rush ofrenewed alarm. The thought that Porfiry believed him to be innocentbegan to make him uneasy. 

"It's scarcely necessary to go over everything in detail, " PorfiryPetrovitch went on. "Indeed, I could scarcely attempt it. To begin withthere were rumours. Through whom, how, and when those rumours came tome. . . And how they affected you, I need not go into. My suspicionswere aroused by a complete accident, which might just as easily not havehappened. What was it? Hm! I believe there is no need to go into thateither. Those rumours and that accident led to one idea in my mind. Iadmit it openly--for one may as well make a clean breast of it--I wasthe first to pitch on you. The old woman's notes on the pledges andthe rest of it--that all came to nothing. Yours was one of a hundred. I happened, too, to hear of the scene at the office, from a man whodescribed it capitally, unconsciously reproducing the scene with greatvividness. It was just one thing after another, Rodion Romanovitch, mydear fellow! How could I avoid being brought to certain ideas? From ahundred rabbits you can't make a horse, a hundred suspicions don't makea proof, as the English proverb says, but that's only from the rationalpoint of view--you can't help being partial, for after all a lawyeris only human. I thought, too, of your article in that journal, do youremember, on your first visit we talked of it? I jeered at you at thetime, but that was only to lead you on. I repeat, Rodion Romanovitch, you are ill and impatient. That you were bold, headstrong, in earnestand. . . Had felt a great deal I recognised long before. I, too, have feltthe same, so that your article seemed familiar to me. It was conceivedon sleepless nights, with a throbbing heart, in ecstasy and suppressedenthusiasm. And that proud suppressed enthusiasm in young people isdangerous! I jeered at you then, but let me tell you that, as a literaryamateur, I am awfully fond of such first essays, full of the heat ofyouth. There is a mistiness and a chord vibrating in the mist. Yourarticle is absurd and fantastic, but there's a transparent sincerity, a youthful incorruptible pride and the daring of despair in it. It's agloomy article, but that's what's fine in it. I read your article andput it aside, thinking as I did so 'that man won't go the common way. 'Well, I ask you, after that as a preliminary, how could I help beingcarried away by what followed? Oh, dear, I am not saying anything, Iam not making any statement now. I simply noted it at the time. What isthere in it? I reflected. There's nothing in it, that is really nothingand perhaps absolutely nothing. And it's not at all the thing forthe prosecutor to let himself be carried away by notions: here I haveNikolay on my hands with actual evidence against him--you may think whatyou like of it, but it's evidence. He brings in his psychology, too; onehas to consider him, too, for it's a matter of life and death. Why amI explaining this to you? That you may understand, and not blame mymalicious behaviour on that occasion. It was not malicious, I assureyou, he-he! Do you suppose I didn't come to search your room at thetime? I did, I did, he-he! I was here when you were lying ill in bed, not officially, not in my own person, but I was here. Your room wassearched to the last thread at the first suspicion; but _umsonst_! Ithought to myself, now that man will come, will come of himself andquickly, too; if he's guilty, he's sure to come. Another man wouldn't, but he will. And you remember how Mr. Razumihin began discussing thesubject with you? We arranged that to excite you, so we purposely spreadrumours, that he might discuss the case with you, and Razumihin is not aman to restrain his indignation. Mr. Zametov was tremendously struck byyour anger and your open daring. Think of blurting out in a restaurant'I killed her. ' It was too daring, too reckless. I thought so myself, ifhe is guilty he will be a formidable opponent. That was what I thoughtat the time. I was expecting you. But you simply bowled Zametov overand. . . Well, you see, it all lies in this--that this damnable psychologycan be taken two ways! Well, I kept expecting you, and so it was, youcame! My heart was fairly throbbing. Ach!

"Now, why need you have come? Your laughter, too, as you came in, do youremember? I saw it all plain as daylight, but if I hadn't expected youso specially, I should not have noticed anything in your laughter. Yousee what influence a mood has! Mr. Razumihin then--ah, that stone, thatstone under which the things were hidden! I seem to see it somewherein a kitchen garden. It was in a kitchen garden, you told Zametov andafterwards you repeated that in my office? And when we began pickingyour article to pieces, how you explained it! One could take every wordof yours in two senses, as though there were another meaning hidden. 

"So in this way, Rodion Romanovitch, I reached the furthest limit, andknocking my head against a post, I pulled myself up, asking myself whatI was about. After all, I said, you can take it all in another sense ifyou like, and it's more natural so, indeed. I couldn't help admittingit was more natural. I was bothered! 'No, I'd better get hold of somelittle fact' I said. So when I heard of the bell-ringing, I held mybreath and was all in a tremor. 'Here is my little fact, ' thought I, andI didn't think it over, I simply wouldn't. I would have given a thousandroubles at that minute to have seen you with my own eyes, when youwalked a hundred paces beside that workman, after he had called youmurderer to your face, and you did not dare to ask him a questionall the way. And then what about your trembling, what about yourbell-ringing in your illness, in semi-delirium?

"And so, Rodion Romanovitch, can you wonder that I played such pranks onyou? And what made you come at that very minute? Someone seemed tohave sent you, by Jove! And if Nikolay had not parted us. . . And do youremember Nikolay at the time? Do you remember him clearly? It was athunderbolt, a regular thunderbolt! And how I met him! I didn't believein the thunderbolt, not for a minute. You could see it for yourself;and how could I? Even afterwards, when you had gone and he began makingvery, very plausible answers on certain points, so that I was surprisedat him myself, even then I didn't believe his story! You see what it isto be as firm as a rock! No, thought I, _Morgenfrüh_. What has Nikolaygot to do with it!"

"Razumihin told me just now that you think Nikolay guilty and hadyourself assured him of it. . . . "

His voice failed him, and he broke off. He had been listening inindescribable agitation, as this man who had seen through and throughhim, went back upon himself. He was afraid of believing it and did notbelieve it. In those still ambiguous words he kept eagerly looking forsomething more definite and conclusive. 

"Mr. Razumihin!" cried Porfiry Petrovitch, seeming glad of a questionfrom Raskolnikov, who had till then been silent. "He-he-he! But I had toput Mr. Razumihin off; two is company, three is none. Mr. Razumihin isnot the right man, besides he is an outsider. He came running to mewith a pale face. . . . But never mind him, why bring him in? To returnto Nikolay, would you like to know what sort of a type he is, how Iunderstand him, that is? To begin with, he is still a child and notexactly a coward, but something by way of an artist. Really, don't laughat my describing him so. He is innocent and responsive to influence. Hehas a heart, and is a fantastic fellow. He sings and dances, he tellsstories, they say, so that people come from other villages to hear him. He attends school too, and laughs till he cries if you hold up a fingerto him; he will drink himself senseless--not as a regular vice, but attimes, when people treat him, like a child. And he stole, too, then, without knowing it himself, for 'How can it be stealing, if one picks itup?' And do you know he is an Old Believer, or rather a dissenter? Therehave been Wanderers[*] in his family, and he was for two years in hisvillage under the spiritual guidance of a certain elder. I learnt allthis from Nikolay and from his fellow villagers. And what's more, hewanted to run into the wilderness! He was full of fervour, prayed atnight, read the old books, 'the true' ones, and read himself crazy. 

 [*] A religious sect. --TRANSLATOR'S NOTE. 

"Petersburg had a great effect upon him, especially the women and thewine. He responds to everything and he forgot the elder and all that. Ilearnt that an artist here took a fancy to him, and used to go and seehim, and now this business came upon him. 

"Well, he was frightened, he tried to hang himself! He ran away! How canone get over the idea the people have of Russian legal proceedings? Thevery word 'trial' frightens some of them. Whose fault is it? We shallsee what the new juries will do. God grant they do good! Well, inprison, it seems, he remembered the venerable elder; the Bible, too, made its appearance again. Do you know, Rodion Romanovitch, the force ofthe word 'suffering' among some of these people! It's not a question ofsuffering for someone's benefit, but simply, 'one must suffer. ' If theysuffer at the hands of the authorities, so much the better. In my timethere was a very meek and mild prisoner who spent a whole year in prisonalways reading his Bible on the stove at night and he read himselfcrazy, and so crazy, do you know, that one day, apropos of nothing, heseized a brick and flung it at the governor; though he had done himno harm. And the way he threw it too: aimed it a yard on one sideon purpose, for fear of hurting him. Well, we know what happens toa prisoner who assaults an officer with a weapon. So 'he took hissuffering. '

"So I suspect now that Nikolay wants to take his suffering or somethingof the sort. I know it for certain from facts, indeed. Only he doesn'tknow that I know. What, you don't admit that there are such fantasticpeople among the peasants? Lots of them. The elder now has beguninfluencing him, especially since he tried to hang himself. But he'llcome and tell me all himself. You think he'll hold out? Wait a bit, he'll take his words back. I am waiting from hour to hour for him tocome and abjure his evidence. I have come to like that Nikolay and amstudying him in detail. And what do you think? He-he! He answered mevery plausibly on some points, he obviously had collected some evidenceand prepared himself cleverly. But on other points he is simply at sea, knows nothing and doesn't even suspect that he doesn't know!

"No, Rodion Romanovitch, Nikolay doesn't come in! This is a fantastic, gloomy business, a modern case, an incident of to-day when the heartof man is troubled, when the phrase is quoted that blood 'renews, ' whencomfort is preached as the aim of life. Here we have bookish dreams, aheart unhinged by theories. Here we see resolution in the first stage, but resolution of a special kind: he resolved to do it like jumping overa precipice or from a bell tower and his legs shook as he went to thecrime. He forgot to shut the door after him, and murdered two people fora theory. He committed the murder and couldn't take the money, and whathe did manage to snatch up he hid under a stone. It wasn't enough forhim to suffer agony behind the door while they battered at the door andrung the bell, no, he had to go to the empty lodging, half delirious, torecall the bell-ringing, he wanted to feel the cold shiver over again. . . . Well, that we grant, was through illness, but consider this: he isa murderer, but looks upon himself as an honest man, despises others, poses as injured innocence. No, that's not the work of a Nikolay, mydear Rodion Romanovitch!"

All that had been said before had sounded so like a recantation thatthese words were too great a shock. Raskolnikov shuddered as though hehad been stabbed. 

"Then. . . Who then. . . Is the murderer?" he asked in a breathless voice, unable to restrain himself. 

Porfiry Petrovitch sank back in his chair, as though he were amazed atthe question. 

"Who is the murderer?" he repeated, as though unable to believe hisears. "Why, _you_, Rodion Romanovitch! You are the murderer, " he added, almost in a whisper, in a voice of genuine conviction. 

Raskolnikov leapt from the sofa, stood up for a few seconds and sat downagain without uttering a word. His face twitched convulsively. 

"Your lip is twitching just as it did before, " Porfiry Petrovitchobserved almost sympathetically. "You've been misunderstanding me, Ithink, Rodion Romanovitch, " he added after a brief pause, "that's whyyou are so surprised. I came on purpose to tell you everything and dealopenly with you. "

"It was not I murdered her, " Raskolnikov whispered like a frightenedchild caught in the act. 

"No, it was you, you Rodion Romanovitch, and no one else, " Porfirywhispered sternly, with conviction. 

They were both silent and the silence lasted strangely long, about tenminutes. Raskolnikov put his elbow on the table and passed his fingersthrough his hair. Porfiry Petrovitch sat quietly waiting. SuddenlyRaskolnikov looked scornfully at Porfiry. 

"You are at your old tricks again, Porfiry Petrovitch! Your old methodagain. I wonder you don't get sick of it!"

"Oh, stop that, what does that matter now? It would be a differentmatter if there were witnesses present, but we are whispering alone. Yousee yourself that I have not come to chase and capture you like a hare. Whether you confess it or not is nothing to me now; for myself, I amconvinced without it. "

"If so, what did you come for?" Raskolnikov asked irritably. "I ask youthe same question again: if you consider me guilty, why don't you takeme to prison?"

"Oh, that's your question! I will answer you, point for point. In thefirst place, to arrest you so directly is not to my interest. "

"How so? If you are convinced you ought. . . . "

"Ach, what if I am convinced? That's only my dream for the time. Whyshould I put you in safety? You know that's it, since you ask me to doit. If I confront you with that workman for instance and you say to him'were you drunk or not? Who saw me with you? I simply took you to bedrunk, and you were drunk, too. ' Well, what could I answer, especiallyas your story is a more likely one than his? for there's nothing butpsychology to support his evidence--that's almost unseemly with his uglymug, while you hit the mark exactly, for the rascal is an inveteratedrunkard and notoriously so. And I have myself admitted candidly severaltimes already that that psychology can be taken in two ways and that thesecond way is stronger and looks far more probable, and that apart fromthat I have as yet nothing against you. And though I shall put you inprison and indeed have come--quite contrary to etiquette--to inform youof it beforehand, yet I tell you frankly, also contrary to etiquette, that it won't be to my advantage. Well, secondly, I've come to youbecause. . . "

"Yes, yes, secondly?" Raskolnikov was listening breathless. 

"Because, as I told you just now, I consider I owe you an explanation. Idon't want you to look upon me as a monster, as I have a genuine likingfor you, you may believe me or not. And in the third place I've come toyou with a direct and open proposition--that you should surrenderand confess. It will be infinitely more to your advantage and to myadvantage too, for my task will be done. Well, is this open on my partor not?"

Raskolnikov thought a minute. 

"Listen, Porfiry Petrovitch. You said just now you have nothing butpsychology to go on, yet now you've gone on mathematics. Well, what ifyou are mistaken yourself, now?"

"No, Rodion Romanovitch, I am not mistaken. I have a little fact eventhen, Providence sent it me. "

"What little fact?"

"I won't tell you what, Rodion Romanovitch. And in any case, I haven'tthe right to put it off any longer, I must arrest you. So think it over:it makes no difference to me _now_ and so I speak only for your sake. Believe me, it will be better, Rodion Romanovitch. "

Raskolnikov smiled malignantly. 

"That's not simply ridiculous, it's positively shameless. Why, even if Iwere guilty, which I don't admit, what reason should I have to confess, when you tell me yourself that I shall be in greater safety in prison?"

"Ah, Rodion Romanovitch, don't put too much faith in words, perhapsprison will not be altogether a restful place. That's only theory andmy theory, and what authority am I for you? Perhaps, too, even now I amhiding something from you? I can't lay bare everything, he-he! And howcan you ask what advantage? Don't you know how it would lessen yoursentence? You would be confessing at a moment when another man has takenthe crime on himself and so has muddled the whole case. Consider that! Iswear before God that I will so arrange that your confession shallcome as a complete surprise. We will make a clean sweep of all thesepsychological points, of a suspicion against you, so that your crimewill appear to have been something like an aberration, for in truth itwas an aberration. I am an honest man, Rodion Romanovitch, and will keepmy word. "

Raskolnikov maintained a mournful silence and let his head sinkdejectedly. He pondered a long while and at last smiled again, but hissmile was sad and gentle. 

"No!" he said, apparently abandoning all attempt to keep up appearanceswith Porfiry, "it's not worth it, I don't care about lessening thesentence!"

"That's just what I was afraid of!" Porfiry cried warmly and, as itseemed, involuntarily. "That's just what I feared, that you wouldn'tcare about the mitigation of sentence. "

Raskolnikov looked sadly and expressively at him. 

"Ah, don't disdain life!" Porfiry went on. "You have a great deal ofit still before you. How can you say you don't want a mitigation ofsentence? You are an impatient fellow!"

"A great deal of what lies before me?"

"Of life. What sort of prophet are you, do you know much about it? Seekand ye shall find. This may be God's means for bringing you to Him. Andit's not for ever, the bondage. . . . "

"The time will be shortened, " laughed Raskolnikov. 

"Why, is it the bourgeois disgrace you are afraid of? It may be that youare afraid of it without knowing it, because you are young! But anyway_you_ shouldn't be afraid of giving yourself up and confessing. "

"Ach, hang it!" Raskolnikov whispered with loathing and contempt, asthough he did not want to speak aloud. 

He got up again as though he meant to go away, but sat down again inevident despair. 

"Hang it, if you like! You've lost faith and you think that I amgrossly flattering you; but how long has your life been? How much doyou understand? You made up a theory and then were ashamed that it brokedown and turned out to be not at all original! It turned out somethingbase, that's true, but you are not hopelessly base. By no means so base!At least you didn't deceive yourself for long, you went straight to thefurthest point at one bound. How do I regard you? I regard you as oneof those men who would stand and smile at their torturer while he cutstheir entrails out, if only they have found faith or God. Find it andyou will live. You have long needed a change of air. Suffering, too, is a good thing. Suffer! Maybe Nikolay is right in wanting to suffer. I know you don't believe in it--but don't be over-wise; fling yourselfstraight into life, without deliberation; don't be afraid--the floodwill bear you to the bank and set you safe on your feet again. Whatbank? How can I tell? I only believe that you have long life beforeyou. I know that you take all my words now for a set speech preparedbeforehand, but maybe you will remember them after. They may be of usesome time. That's why I speak. It's as well that you only killed theold woman. If you'd invented another theory you might perhaps havedone something a thousand times more hideous. You ought to thank God, perhaps. How do you know? Perhaps God is saving you for something. But keep a good heart and have less fear! Are you afraid of the greatexpiation before you? No, it would be shameful to be afraid of it. Sinceyou have taken such a step, you must harden your heart. There is justicein it. You must fulfil the demands of justice. I know that you don'tbelieve it, but indeed, life will bring you through. You will live itdown in time. What you need now is fresh air, fresh air, fresh air!"

Raskolnikov positively started. 

"But who are you? what prophet are you? From the height of what majesticcalm do you proclaim these words of wisdom?"

"Who am I? I am a man with nothing to hope for, that's all. A manperhaps of feeling and sympathy, maybe of some knowledge too, but my dayis over. But you are a different matter, there is life waiting for you. Though, who knows? maybe your life, too, will pass off in smoke and cometo nothing. Come, what does it matter, that you will pass into anotherclass of men? It's not comfort you regret, with your heart! What ofit that perhaps no one will see you for so long? It's not time, butyourself that will decide that. Be the sun and all will see you. Thesun has before all to be the sun. Why are you smiling again? At my beingsuch a Schiller? I bet you're imagining that I am trying to get roundyou by flattery. Well, perhaps I am, he-he-he! Perhaps you'd better notbelieve my word, perhaps you'd better never believe it altogether--I'mmade that way, I confess it. But let me add, you can judge for yourself, I think, how far I am a base sort of man and how far I am honest. "

"When do you mean to arrest me?"

"Well, I can let you walk about another day or two. Think it over, mydear fellow, and pray to God. It's more in your interest, believe me. "

"And what if I run away?" asked Raskolnikov with a strange smile. 

"No, you won't run away. A peasant would run away, a fashionabledissenter would run away, the flunkey of another man's thought, foryou've only to show him the end of your little finger and he'll be readyto believe in anything for the rest of his life. But you've ceased tobelieve in your theory already, what will you run away with? And whatwould you do in hiding? It would be hateful and difficult for you, andwhat you need more than anything in life is a definite position, anatmosphere to suit you. And what sort of atmosphere would you have? Ifyou ran away, you'd come back to yourself. _You can't get on withoutus. _ And if I put you in prison--say you've been there a month, or two, or three--remember my word, you'll confess of yourself and perhaps toyour own surprise. You won't know an hour beforehand that you are comingwith a confession. I am convinced that you will decide, 'to take yoursuffering. ' You don't believe my words now, but you'll come to it ofyourself. For suffering, Rodion Romanovitch, is a great thing. Nevermind my having grown fat, I know all the same. Don't laugh at it, there's an idea in suffering, Nokolay is right. No, you won't run away, Rodion Romanovitch. "

Raskolnikov got up and took his cap. Porfiry Petrovitch also rose. 

"Are you going for a walk? The evening will be fine, if only we don'thave a storm. Though it would be a good thing to freshen the air. "

He, too, took his cap. 

"Porfiry Petrovitch, please don't take up the notion that I haveconfessed to you to-day, " Raskolnikov pronounced with sullen insistence. "You're a strange man and I have listened to you from simple curiosity. But I have admitted nothing, remember that!"

"Oh, I know that, I'll remember. Look at him, he's trembling! Don'tbe uneasy, my dear fellow, have it your own way. Walk about a bit, youwon't be able to walk too far. If anything happens, I have one requestto make of you, " he added, dropping his voice. "It's an awkward one, butimportant. If anything were to happen (though indeed I don't believein it and think you quite incapable of it), yet in case you were takenduring these forty or fifty hours with the notion of putting an end tothe business in some other way, in some fantastic fashion--laying handson yourself--(it's an absurd proposition, but you must forgive me forit) do leave a brief but precise note, only two lines, and mention thestone. It will be more generous. Come, till we meet! Good thoughts andsound decisions to you!"

Porfiry went out, stooping and avoiding looking at Raskolnikov. Thelatter went to the window and waited with irritable impatience till hecalculated that Porfiry had reached the street and moved away. Then hetoo went hurriedly out of the room. 

CHAPTER III

He hurried to Svidrigaïlov's. What he had to hope from that man hedid not know. But that man had some hidden power over him. Having oncerecognised this, he could not rest, and now the time had come. 

On the way, one question particularly worried him: had Svidrigaïlov beento Porfiry's?

As far as he could judge, he would swear to it, that he had not. Hepondered again and again, went over Porfiry's visit; no, he hadn't been, of course he hadn't. 

But if he had not been yet, would he go? Meanwhile, for the present hefancied he couldn't. Why? He could not have explained, but if he could, he would not have wasted much thought over it at the moment. It allworried him and at the same time he could not attend to it. Strange tosay, none would have believed it perhaps, but he only felt a faint vagueanxiety about his immediate future. Another, much more important anxietytormented him--it concerned himself, but in a different, more vital way. Moreover, he was conscious of immense moral fatigue, though his mind wasworking better that morning than it had done of late. 

And was it worth while, after all that had happened, to contend withthese new trivial difficulties? Was it worth while, for instance, tomanoeuvre that Svidrigaïlov should not go to Porfiry's? Was it worthwhile to investigate, to ascertain the facts, to waste time over anyonelike Svidrigaïlov?

Oh, how sick he was of it all!

And yet he was hastening to Svidrigaïlov; could he be expectingsomething _new_ from him, information, or means of escape? Men willcatch at straws! Was it destiny or some instinct bringing them together?Perhaps it was only fatigue, despair; perhaps it was not Svidrigaïlovbut some other whom he needed, and Svidrigaïlov had simply presentedhimself by chance. Sonia? But what should he go to Sonia for now? To begher tears again? He was afraid of Sonia, too. Sonia stood before him asan irrevocable sentence. He must go his own way or hers. At that momentespecially he did not feel equal to seeing her. No, would it not bebetter to try Svidrigaïlov? And he could not help inwardly owning thathe had long felt that he must see him for some reason. 

But what could they have in common? Their very evil-doing could notbe of the same kind. The man, moreover, was very unpleasant, evidentlydepraved, undoubtedly cunning and deceitful, possibly malignant. Suchstories were told about him. It is true he was befriending KaterinaIvanovna's children, but who could tell with what motive and what itmeant? The man always had some design, some project. 

There was another thought which had been continually hovering of lateabout Raskolnikov's mind, and causing him great uneasiness. It was sopainful that he made distinct efforts to get rid of it. He sometimesthought that Svidrigaïlov was dogging his footsteps. Svidrigaïlov hadfound out his secret and had had designs on Dounia. What if he had themstill? Wasn't it practically certain that he had? And what if, havinglearnt his secret and so having gained power over him, he were to use itas a weapon against Dounia?

This idea sometimes even tormented his dreams, but it had neverpresented itself so vividly to him as on his way to Svidrigaïlov. The very thought moved him to gloomy rage. To begin with, this wouldtransform everything, even his own position; he would have at once toconfess his secret to Dounia. Would he have to give himself up perhapsto prevent Dounia from taking some rash step? The letter? This morningDounia had received a letter. From whom could she get letters inPetersburg? Luzhin, perhaps? It's true Razumihin was there to protecther, but Razumihin knew nothing of the position. Perhaps it was his dutyto tell Razumihin? He thought of it with repugnance. 

In any case he must see Svidrigaïlov as soon as possible, he decidedfinally. Thank God, the details of the interview were of littleconsequence, if only he could get at the root of the matter; butif Svidrigaïlov were capable. . . If he were intriguing againstDounia--then. . . 

Raskolnikov was so exhausted by what he had passed through that monththat he could only decide such questions in one way; "then I shall killhim, " he thought in cold despair. 

A sudden anguish oppressed his heart, he stood still in the middle ofthe street and began looking about to see where he was and which way hewas going. He found himself in X. Prospect, thirty or forty paces fromthe Hay Market, through which he had come. The whole second storey ofthe house on the left was used as a tavern. All the windows were wideopen; judging from the figures moving at the windows, the rooms werefull to overflowing. There were sounds of singing, of clarionet andviolin, and the boom of a Turkish drum. He could hear women shrieking. He was about to turn back wondering why he had come to the X. Prospect, when suddenly at one of the end windows he saw Svidrigaïlov, sittingat a tea-table right in the open window with a pipe in his mouth. Raskolnikov was dreadfully taken aback, almost terrified. Svidrigaïlovwas silently watching and scrutinising him and, what struck Raskolnikovat once, seemed to be meaning to get up and slip away unobserved. Raskolnikov at once pretended not to have seen him, but to be lookingabsent-mindedly away, while he watched him out of the corner of his eye. His heart was beating violently. Yet, it was evident that Svidrigaïlovdid not want to be seen. He took the pipe out of his mouth and was onthe point of concealing himself, but as he got up and moved back hischair, he seemed to have become suddenly aware that Raskolnikov had seenhim, and was watching him. What had passed between them was much thesame as what happened at their first meeting in Raskolnikov's room. Asly smile came into Svidrigaïlov's face and grew broader andbroader. Each knew that he was seen and watched by the other. At lastSvidrigaïlov broke into a loud laugh. 

"Well, well, come in if you want me; I am here!" he shouted from thewindow. 

Raskolnikov went up into the tavern. He found Svidrigaïlov in a tinyback room, adjoining the saloon in which merchants, clerks and numbersof people of all sorts were drinking tea at twenty little tables to thedesperate bawling of a chorus of singers. The click of billiard ballscould be heard in the distance. On the table before Svidrigaïlov stoodan open bottle and a glass half full of champagne. In the room he foundalso a boy with a little hand organ, a healthy-looking red-cheeked girlof eighteen, wearing a tucked-up striped skirt, and a Tyrolese hat withribbons. In spite of the chorus in the other room, she was singing someservants' hall song in a rather husky contralto, to the accompaniment ofthe organ. 

"Come, that's enough, " Svidrigaïlov stopped her at Raskolnikov'sentrance. The girl at once broke off and stood waiting respectfully. She had sung her guttural rhymes, too, with a serious and respectfulexpression in her face. 

"Hey, Philip, a glass!" shouted Svidrigaïlov. 

"I won't drink anything, " said Raskolnikov. 

"As you like, I didn't mean it for you. Drink, Katia! I don't wantanything more to-day, you can go. " He poured her out a full glass, andlaid down a yellow note. 

Katia drank off her glass of wine, as women do, without putting it down, in twenty gulps, took the note and kissed Svidrigaïlov's hand, which heallowed quite seriously. She went out of the room and the boy trailedafter her with the organ. Both had been brought in from the street. Svidrigaïlov had not been a week in Petersburg, but everything about himwas already, so to speak, on a patriarchal footing; the waiter, Philip, was by now an old friend and very obsequious. 

The door leading to the saloon had a lock on it. Svidrigaïlov was athome in this room and perhaps spent whole days in it. The tavern wasdirty and wretched, not even second-rate. 

"I was going to see you and looking for you, " Raskolnikov began, "butI don't know what made me turn from the Hay Market into the X. Prospectjust now. I never take this turning. I turn to the right from the HayMarket. And this isn't the way to you. I simply turned and here you are. It is strange!"

"Why don't you say at once 'it's a miracle'?"

"Because it may be only chance. "

"Oh, that's the way with all you folk, " laughed Svidrigaïlov. "You won'tadmit it, even if you do inwardly believe it a miracle! Here you saythat it may be only chance. And what cowards they all are here, abouthaving an opinion of their own, you can't fancy, Rodion Romanovitch. Idon't mean you, you have an opinion of your own and are not afraid tohave it. That's how it was you attracted my curiosity. "

"Nothing else?"

"Well, that's enough, you know, " Svidrigaïlov was obviously exhilarated, but only slightly so, he had not had more than half a glass of wine. 

"I fancy you came to see me before you knew that I was capable of havingwhat you call an opinion of my own, " observed Raskolnikov. 

"Oh, well, it was a different matter. Everyone has his own plans. Andapropos of the miracle let me tell you that I think you have been asleepfor the last two or three days. I told you of this tavern myself, thereis no miracle in your coming straight here. I explained the way myself, told you where it was, and the hours you could find me here. Do youremember?"

"I don't remember, " answered Raskolnikov with surprise. 

"I believe you. I told you twice. The address has been stampedmechanically on your memory. You turned this way mechanically and yetprecisely according to the direction, though you are not aware ofit. When I told you then, I hardly hoped you understood me. You giveyourself away too much, Rodion Romanovitch. And another thing, I'mconvinced there are lots of people in Petersburg who talk to themselvesas they walk. This is a town of crazy people. If only we had scientificmen, doctors, lawyers and philosophers might make most valuableinvestigations in Petersburg each in his own line. There are few placeswhere there are so many gloomy, strong and queer influences on the soulof man as in Petersburg. The mere influences of climate mean so much. And it's the administrative centre of all Russia and its character mustbe reflected on the whole country. But that is neither here nor therenow. The point is that I have several times watched you. You walk outof your house--holding your head high--twenty paces from home you let itsink, and fold your hands behind your back. You look and evidently seenothing before nor beside you. At last you begin moving your lips andtalking to yourself, and sometimes you wave one hand and declaim, and atlast stand still in the middle of the road. That's not at all the thing. Someone may be watching you besides me, and it won't do you any good. It's nothing really to do with me and I can't cure you, but, of course, you understand me. "

"Do you know that I am being followed?" asked Raskolnikov, lookinginquisitively at him. 

"No, I know nothing about it, " said Svidrigaïlov, seeming surprised. 

"Well, then, let us leave me alone, " Raskolnikov muttered, frowning. 

"Very good, let us leave you alone. "

"You had better tell me, if you come here to drink, and directed metwice to come here to you, why did you hide, and try to get away justnow when I looked at the window from the street? I saw it. "

"He-he! And why was it you lay on your sofa with closed eyes andpretended to be asleep, though you were wide awake while I stood in yourdoorway? I saw it. "

"I may have had. . . Reasons. You know that yourself. "

"And I may have had my reasons, though you don't know them. "

Raskolnikov dropped his right elbow on the table, leaned his chin in thefingers of his right hand, and stared intently at Svidrigaïlov. For afull minute he scrutinised his face, which had impressed him before. Itwas a strange face, like a mask; white and red, with bright red lips, with a flaxen beard, and still thick flaxen hair. His eyes were somehowtoo blue and their expression somehow too heavy and fixed. There wassomething awfully unpleasant in that handsome face, which looked sowonderfully young for his age. Svidrigaïlov was smartly dressed in lightsummer clothes and was particularly dainty in his linen. He wore a hugering with a precious stone in it. 

"Have I got to bother myself about you, too, now?" said Raskolnikovsuddenly, coming with nervous impatience straight to the point. "Eventhough perhaps you are the most dangerous man if you care to injure me, I don't want to put myself out any more. I will show you at once that Idon't prize myself as you probably think I do. I've come to tell you atonce that if you keep to your former intentions with regard to my sisterand if you think to derive any benefit in that direction from what hasbeen discovered of late, I will kill you before you get me locked up. You can reckon on my word. You know that I can keep it. And in thesecond place if you want to tell me anything--for I keep fancying allthis time that you have something to tell me--make haste and tell it, for time is precious and very likely it will soon be too late. "

"Why in such haste?" asked Svidrigaïlov, looking at him curiously. 

"Everyone has his plans, " Raskolnikov answered gloomily and impatiently. 

"You urged me yourself to frankness just now, and at the first questionyou refuse to answer, " Svidrigaïlov observed with a smile. "Youkeep fancying that I have aims of my own and so you look at me withsuspicion. Of course it's perfectly natural in your position. Butthough I should like to be friends with you, I shan't trouble myselfto convince you of the contrary. The game isn't worth the candle and Iwasn't intending to talk to you about anything special. "

"What did you want me, for, then? It was you who came hanging about me. "

"Why, simply as an interesting subject for observation. I liked thefantastic nature of your position--that's what it was! Besides you arethe brother of a person who greatly interested me, and from that personI had in the past heard a very great deal about you, from which Igathered that you had a great influence over her; isn't that enough?Ha-ha-ha! Still I must admit that your question is rather complex, andis difficult for me to answer. Here, you, for instance, have come to menot only for a definite object, but for the sake of hearing somethingnew. Isn't that so? Isn't that so?" persisted Svidrigaïlov with a slysmile. "Well, can't you fancy then that I, too, on my way here in thetrain was reckoning on you, on your telling me something new, and on mymaking some profit out of you! You see what rich men we are!"

"What profit could you make?"

"How can I tell you? How do I know? You see in what a tavern I spend allmy time and it's my enjoyment, that's to say it's no great enjoyment, but one must sit somewhere; that poor Katia now--you saw her?. . . If onlyI had been a glutton now, a club gourmand, but you see I can eat this. "

He pointed to a little table in the corner where the remnants of aterrible-looking beef-steak and potatoes lay on a tin dish. 

"Have you dined, by the way? I've had something and want nothing more. I don't drink, for instance, at all. Except for champagne I never touchanything, and not more than a glass of that all the evening, and eventhat is enough to make my head ache. I ordered it just now to windmyself up, for I am just going off somewhere and you see me in apeculiar state of mind. That was why I hid myself just now like aschoolboy, for I was afraid you would hinder me. But I believe, " hepulled out his watch, "I can spend an hour with you. It's half-pastfour now. If only I'd been something, a landowner, a father, a cavalryofficer, a photographer, a journalist. . . I am nothing, no specialty, and sometimes I am positively bored. I really thought you would tell mesomething new. "

"But what are you, and why have you come here?"

"What am I? You know, a gentleman, I served for two years in thecavalry, then I knocked about here in Petersburg, then I married MarfaPetrovna and lived in the country. There you have my biography!"

"You are a gambler, I believe?"

"No, a poor sort of gambler. A card-sharper--not a gambler. "

"You have been a card-sharper then?"

"Yes, I've been a card-sharper too. "

"Didn't you get thrashed sometimes?"

"It did happen. Why?"

"Why, you might have challenged them. . . Altogether it must have beenlively. "

"I won't contradict you, and besides I am no hand at philosophy. Iconfess that I hastened here for the sake of the women. "

"As soon as you buried Marfa Petrovna?"

"Quite so, " Svidrigaïlov smiled with engaging candour. "What of it? Youseem to find something wrong in my speaking like that about women?"

"You ask whether I find anything wrong in vice?"

"Vice! Oh, that's what you are after! But I'll answer you in order, first about women in general; you know I am fond of talking. Tell me, what should I restrain myself for? Why should I give up women, since Ihave a passion for them? It's an occupation, anyway. "

"So you hope for nothing here but vice?"

"Oh, very well, for vice then. You insist on its being vice. But anywayI like a direct question. In this vice at least there is somethingpermanent, founded indeed upon nature and not dependent on fantasy, something present in the blood like an ever-burning ember, for eversetting one on fire and, maybe, not to be quickly extinguished, evenwith years. You'll agree it's an occupation of a sort. "

"That's nothing to rejoice at, it's a disease and a dangerous one. "

"Oh, that's what you think, is it! I agree, that it is a disease likeeverything that exceeds moderation. And, of course, in this one mustexceed moderation. But in the first place, everybody does so in one wayor another, and in the second place, of course, one ought to be moderateand prudent, however mean it may be, but what am I to do? If I hadn'tthis, I might have to shoot myself. I am ready to admit that a decentman ought to put up with being bored, but yet. . . "

"And could you shoot yourself?"

"Oh, come!" Svidrigaïlov parried with disgust. "Please don't speak ofit, " he added hurriedly and with none of the bragging tone he had shownin all the previous conversation. His face quite changed. "I admit it'san unpardonable weakness, but I can't help it. I am afraid of death andI dislike its being talked of. Do you know that I am to a certain extenta mystic?"

"Ah, the apparitions of Marfa Petrovna! Do they still go on visitingyou?"

"Oh, don't talk of them; there have been no more in Petersburg, confoundthem!" he cried with an air of irritation. "Let's rather talk of that. . . Though. . . H'm! I have not much time, and can't stay long with you, it's a pity! I should have found plenty to tell you. "

"What's your engagement, a woman?"

"Yes, a woman, a casual incident. . . . No, that's not what I want to talkof. "

"And the hideousness, the filthiness of all your surroundings, doesn'tthat affect you? Have you lost the strength to stop yourself?"

"And do you pretend to strength, too? He-he-he! You surprised me justnow, Rodion Romanovitch, though I knew beforehand it would be so. You preach to me about vice and æsthetics! You--a Schiller, you--anidealist! Of course that's all as it should be and it would besurprising if it were not so, yet it is strange in reality. . . . Ah, what a pity I have no time, for you're a most interesting type! And, by-the-way, are you fond of Schiller? I am awfully fond of him. "

"But what a braggart you are, " Raskolnikov said with some disgust. 

"Upon my word, I am not, " answered Svidrigaïlov laughing. "However, Iwon't dispute it, let me be a braggart, why not brag, if it hurts noone? I spent seven years in the country with Marfa Petrovna, so now whenI come across an intelligent person like you--intelligent and highlyinteresting--I am simply glad to talk and, besides, I've drunk thathalf-glass of champagne and it's gone to my head a little. And besides, there's a certain fact that has wound me up tremendously, but about thatI. . . Will keep quiet. Where are you off to?" he asked in alarm. 

Raskolnikov had begun getting up. He felt oppressed and stifled and, as it were, ill at ease at having come here. He felt convinced thatSvidrigaïlov was the most worthless scoundrel on the face of the earth. 

"A-ach! Sit down, stay a little!" Svidrigaïlov begged. "Let them bringyou some tea, anyway. Stay a little, I won't talk nonsense, aboutmyself, I mean. I'll tell you something. If you like I'll tell you how awoman tried 'to save' me, as you would call it? It will be an answer toyour first question indeed, for the woman was your sister. May I tellyou? It will help to spend the time. "

"Tell me, but I trust that you. . . "

"Oh, don't be uneasy. Besides, even in a worthless low fellow like me, Avdotya Romanovna can only excite the deepest respect. "

CHAPTER IV

"You know perhaps--yes, I told you myself, " began Svidrigaïlov, "thatI was in the debtors' prison here, for an immense sum, and had notany expectation of being able to pay it. There's no need to go intoparticulars how Marfa Petrovna bought me out; do you know to what apoint of insanity a woman can sometimes love? She was an honest woman, and very sensible, although completely uneducated. Would you believethat this honest and jealous woman, after many scenes of hysterics andreproaches, condescended to enter into a kind of contract with me whichshe kept throughout our married life? She was considerably older thanI, and besides, she always kept a clove or something in her mouth. Therewas so much swinishness in my soul and honesty too, of a sort, as totell her straight out that I couldn't be absolutely faithful to her. This confession drove her to frenzy, but yet she seems in a way to haveliked my brutal frankness. She thought it showed I was unwilling todeceive her if I warned her like this beforehand and for a jealouswoman, you know, that's the first consideration. After many tears anunwritten contract was drawn up between us: first, that I would neverleave Marfa Petrovna and would always be her husband; secondly, that Iwould never absent myself without her permission; thirdly, that I wouldnever set up a permanent mistress; fourthly, in return for this, MarfaPetrovna gave me a free hand with the maidservants, but only with hersecret knowledge; fifthly, God forbid my falling in love with a woman ofour class; sixthly, in case I--which God forbid--should be visited bya great serious passion I was bound to reveal it to Marfa Petrovna. Onthis last score, however, Marfa Petrovna was fairly at ease. She was asensible woman and so she could not help looking upon me as a dissoluteprofligate incapable of real love. But a sensible woman and a jealouswoman are two very different things, and that's where the troublecame in. But to judge some people impartially we must renounce certainpreconceived opinions and our habitual attitude to the ordinary peopleabout us. I have reason to have faith in your judgment rather thanin anyone's. Perhaps you have already heard a great deal that wasridiculous and absurd about Marfa Petrovna. She certainly had some veryridiculous ways, but I tell you frankly that I feel really sorry for theinnumerable woes of which I was the cause. Well, and that's enough, Ithink, by way of a decorous _oraison funèbre_ for the most tender wifeof a most tender husband. When we quarrelled, I usually held my tongueand did not irritate her and that gentlemanly conduct rarely failed toattain its object, it influenced her, it pleased her, indeed. These weretimes when she was positively proud of me. But your sister she couldn'tput up with, anyway. And however she came to risk taking such abeautiful creature into her house as a governess. My explanation is thatMarfa Petrovna was an ardent and impressionable woman and simply fellin love herself--literally fell in love--with your sister. Well, littlewonder--look at Avdotya Romanovna! I saw the danger at the first glanceand what do you think, I resolved not to look at her even. But AvdotyaRomanovna herself made the first step, would you believe it? Would youbelieve it too that Marfa Petrovna was positively angry with me at firstfor my persistent silence about your sister, for my careless receptionof her continual adoring praises of Avdotya Romanovna. I don't knowwhat it was she wanted! Well, of course, Marfa Petrovna told AvdotyaRomanovna every detail about me. She had the unfortunate habit oftelling literally everyone all our family secrets and continuallycomplaining of me; how could she fail to confide in such a delightfulnew friend? I expect they talked of nothing else but me and no doubtAvdotya Romanovna heard all those dark mysterious rumours that werecurrent about me. . . . I don't mind betting that you too have heardsomething of the sort already?"

"I have. Luzhin charged you with having caused the death of a child. Isthat true?"

"Don't refer to those vulgar tales, I beg, " said Svidrigaïlov withdisgust and annoyance. "If you insist on wanting to know about all thatidiocy, I will tell you one day, but now. . . "

"I was told too about some footman of yours in the country whom youtreated badly. "

"I beg you to drop the subject, " Svidrigaïlov interrupted again withobvious impatience. 

"Was that the footman who came to you after death to fill your pipe?. . . You told me about it yourself. " Raskolnikov felt more and moreirritated. 

Svidrigaïlov looked at him attentively and Raskolnikov fancied he caughta flash of spiteful mockery in that look. But Svidrigaïlov restrainedhimself and answered very civilly:

"Yes, it was. I see that you, too, are extremely interested and shallfeel it my duty to satisfy your curiosity at the first opportunity. Uponmy soul! I see that I really might pass for a romantic figure withsome people. Judge how grateful I must be to Marfa Petrovna for havingrepeated to Avdotya Romanovna such mysterious and interesting gossipabout me. I dare not guess what impression it made on her, but in anycase it worked in my interests. With all Avdotya Romanovna's naturalaversion and in spite of my invariably gloomy and repellent aspect--shedid at least feel pity for me, pity for a lost soul. And if once agirl's heart is moved to _pity_, it's more dangerous than anything. Sheis bound to want to 'save him, ' to bring him to his senses, and lifthim up and draw him to nobler aims, and restore him to new life andusefulness--well, we all know how far such dreams can go. I saw at oncethat the bird was flying into the cage of herself. And I too made ready. I think you are frowning, Rodion Romanovitch? There's no need. As youknow, it all ended in smoke. (Hang it all, what a lot I am drinking!)Do you know, I always, from the very beginning, regretted that it wasn'tyour sister's fate to be born in the second or third century A. D. , asthe daughter of a reigning prince or some governor or pro-consul in AsiaMinor. She would undoubtedly have been one of those who would enduremartyrdom and would have smiled when they branded her bosom with hotpincers. And she would have gone to it of herself. And in the fourth orfifth century she would have walked away into the Egyptian desert andwould have stayed there thirty years living on roots and ecstasies andvisions. She is simply thirsting to face some torture for someone, andif she can't get her torture, she'll throw herself out of a window. I'veheard something of a Mr. Razumihin--he's said to be a sensible fellow;his surname suggests it, indeed. He's probably a divinity student. Well, he'd better look after your sister! I believe I understand her, and I amproud of it. But at the beginning of an acquaintance, as you know, oneis apt to be more heedless and stupid. One doesn't see clearly. Hang itall, why is she so handsome? It's not my fault. In fact, it began onmy side with a most irresistible physical desire. Avdotya Romanovna isawfully chaste, incredibly and phenomenally so. Take note, I tell youthis about your sister as a fact. She is almost morbidly chaste, inspite of her broad intelligence, and it will stand in her way. Therehappened to be a girl in the house then, Parasha, a black-eyedwench, whom I had never seen before--she had just come from anothervillage--very pretty, but incredibly stupid: she burst into tears, wailed so that she could be heard all over the place and caused scandal. One day after dinner Avdotya Romanovna followed me into an avenue inthe garden and with flashing eyes _insisted_ on my leaving poor Parashaalone. It was almost our first conversation by ourselves. I, of course, was only too pleased to obey her wishes, tried to appear disconcerted, embarrassed, in fact played my part not badly. Then came interviews, mysterious conversations, exhortations, entreaties, supplications, eventears--would you believe it, even tears? Think what the passion forpropaganda will bring some girls to! I, of course, threw it all onmy destiny, posed as hungering and thirsting for light, and finallyresorted to the most powerful weapon in the subjection of thefemale heart, a weapon which never fails one. It's the well-knownresource--flattery. Nothing in the world is harder than speaking thetruth and nothing easier than flattery. If there's the hundredth partof a false note in speaking the truth, it leads to a discord, and thatleads to trouble. But if all, to the last note, is false in flattery, itis just as agreeable, and is heard not without satisfaction. It may bea coarse satisfaction, but still a satisfaction. And however coarse theflattery, at least half will be sure to seem true. That's so for allstages of development and classes of society. A vestal virgin might beseduced by flattery. I can never remember without laughter how I onceseduced a lady who was devoted to her husband, her children, and herprinciples. What fun it was and how little trouble! And the lady reallyhad principles--of her own, anyway. All my tactics lay in simply beingutterly annihilated and prostrate before her purity. I flattered hershamelessly, and as soon as I succeeded in getting a pressure ofthe hand, even a glance from her, I would reproach myself for havingsnatched it by force, and would declare that she had resisted, so thatI could never have gained anything but for my being so unprincipled. I maintained that she was so innocent that she could not foresee mytreachery, and yielded to me unconsciously, unawares, and so on. Infact, I triumphed, while my lady remained firmly convinced that she wasinnocent, chaste, and faithful to all her duties and obligations andhad succumbed quite by accident. And how angry she was with me when Iexplained to her at last that it was my sincere conviction that she wasjust as eager as I. Poor Marfa Petrovna was awfully weak on the side offlattery, and if I had only cared to, I might have had all her propertysettled on me during her lifetime. (I am drinking an awful lot of winenow and talking too much. ) I hope you won't be angry if I mention nowthat I was beginning to produce the same effect on Avdotya Romanovna. But I was stupid and impatient and spoiled it all. Avdotya Romanovna hadseveral times--and one time in particular--been greatly displeased bythe expression of my eyes, would you believe it? There was sometimes alight in them which frightened her and grew stronger and stronger andmore unguarded till it was hateful to her. No need to go into detail, but we parted. There I acted stupidly again. I fell to jeering in thecoarsest way at all such propaganda and efforts to convert me; Parashacame on to the scene again, and not she alone; in fact there was atremendous to-do. Ah, Rodion Romanovitch, if you could only see how yoursister's eyes can flash sometimes! Never mind my being drunk at thismoment and having had a whole glass of wine. I am speaking the truth. I assure you that this glance has haunted my dreams; the very rustle ofher dress was more than I could stand at last. I really began to thinkthat I might become epileptic. I could never have believed that I couldbe moved to such a frenzy. It was essential, indeed, to be reconciled, but by then it was impossible. And imagine what I did then! To whata pitch of stupidity a man can be brought by frenzy! Never undertakeanything in a frenzy, Rodion Romanovitch. I reflected that AvdotyaRomanovna was after all a beggar (ach, excuse me, that's not the word. . . But does it matter if it expresses the meaning?), that she lived byher work, that she had her mother and you to keep (ach, hang it, youare frowning again), and I resolved to offer her all my money--thirtythousand roubles I could have realised then--if she would run away withme here, to Petersburg. Of course I should have vowed eternal love, rapture, and so on. Do you know, I was so wild about her at that timethat if she had told me to poison Marfa Petrovna or to cut her throatand to marry herself, it would have been done at once! But it ended inthe catastrophe of which you know already. You can fancy how frantic Iwas when I heard that Marfa Petrovna had got hold of that scoundrellyattorney, Luzhin, and had almost made a match between them--which wouldreally have been just the same thing as I was proposing. Wouldn't it?Wouldn't it? I notice that you've begun to be very attentive. . . Youinteresting young man. . . . "

Svidrigaïlov struck the table with his fist impatiently. He was flushed. Raskolnikov saw clearly that the glass or glass and a half of champagnethat he had sipped almost unconsciously was affecting him--and heresolved to take advantage of the opportunity. He felt very suspiciousof Svidrigaïlov. 

"Well, after what you have said, I am fully convinced that you havecome to Petersburg with designs on my sister, " he said directly toSvidrigaïlov, in order to irritate him further. 

"Oh, nonsense, " said Svidrigaïlov, seeming to rouse himself. "Why, Itold you. . . Besides your sister can't endure me. "

"Yes, I am certain that she can't, but that's not the point. "

"Are you so sure that she can't?" Svidrigaïlov screwed up his eyes andsmiled mockingly. "You are right, she doesn't love me, but you cannever be sure of what has passed between husband and wife or lover andmistress. There's always a little corner which remains a secret tothe world and is only known to those two. Will you answer for it thatAvdotya Romanovna regarded me with aversion?"

"From some words you've dropped, I notice that you still havedesigns--and of course evil ones--on Dounia and mean to carry them outpromptly. "

"What, have I dropped words like that?" Svidrigaïlov asked in naïvedismay, taking not the slightest notice of the epithet bestowed on hisdesigns. 

"Why, you are dropping them even now. Why are you so frightened? Whatare you so afraid of now?"

"Me--afraid? Afraid of you? You have rather to be afraid of me, _cherami_. But what nonsense. . . . I've drunk too much though, I see that. Iwas almost saying too much again. Damn the wine! Hi! there, water!"

He snatched up the champagne bottle and flung it without ceremony out ofthe window. Philip brought the water. 

"That's all nonsense!" said Svidrigaïlov, wetting a towel and putting itto his head. "But I can answer you in one word and annihilate all yoursuspicions. Do you know that I am going to get married?"

"You told me so before. "

"Did I? I've forgotten. But I couldn't have told you so for certain forI had not even seen my betrothed; I only meant to. But now I reallyhave a betrothed and it's a settled thing, and if it weren't that I havebusiness that can't be put off, I would have taken you to see themat once, for I should like to ask your advice. Ach, hang it, only tenminutes left! See, look at the watch. But I must tell you, for it's aninteresting story, my marriage, in its own way. Where are you off to?Going again?"

"No, I'm not going away now. "

"Not at all? We shall see. I'll take you there, I'll show you mybetrothed, only not now. For you'll soon have to be off. You have to goto the right and I to the left. Do you know that Madame Resslich, thewoman I am lodging with now, eh? I know what you're thinking, that she'sthe woman whose girl they say drowned herself in the winter. Come, areyou listening? She arranged it all for me. You're bored, she said, you want something to fill up your time. For, you know, I am a gloomy, depressed person. Do you think I'm light-hearted? No, I'm gloomy. I dono harm, but sit in a corner without speaking a word for three days at atime. And that Resslich is a sly hussy, I tell you. I know what she hasgot in her mind; she thinks I shall get sick of it, abandon my wife anddepart, and she'll get hold of her and make a profit out of her--in ourclass, of course, or higher. She told me the father was a broken-downretired official, who has been sitting in a chair for the last threeyears with his legs paralysed. The mamma, she said, was a sensiblewoman. There is a son serving in the provinces, but he doesn't help;there is a daughter, who is married, but she doesn't visit them. Andthey've two little nephews on their hands, as though their own childrenwere not enough, and they've taken from school their youngest daughter, a girl who'll be sixteen in another month, so that then she can bemarried. She was for me. We went there. How funny it was! I presentmyself--a landowner, a widower, of a well-known name, with connections, with a fortune. What if I am fifty and she is not sixteen? Who thinksof that? But it's fascinating, isn't it? It is fascinating, ha-ha! Youshould have seen how I talked to the papa and mamma. It was worth payingto have seen me at that moment. She comes in, curtseys, you can fancy, still in a short frock--an unopened bud! Flushing like a sunset--she hadbeen told, no doubt. I don't know how you feel about female faces, butto my mind these sixteen years, these childish eyes, shyness and tearsof bashfulness are better than beauty; and she is a perfect littlepicture, too. Fair hair in little curls, like a lamb's, full little rosylips, tiny feet, a charmer!. . . Well, we made friends. I told them I wasin a hurry owing to domestic circumstances, and the next day, that isthe day before yesterday, we were betrothed. When I go now I take her onmy knee at once and keep her there. . . . Well, she flushes like a sunsetand I kiss her every minute. Her mamma of course impresses on her thatthis is her husband and that this must be so. It's simply delicious! Thepresent betrothed condition is perhaps better than marriage. Here youhave what is called _la nature et la vérité_, ha-ha! I've talked to hertwice, she is far from a fool. Sometimes she steals a look at me thatpositively scorches me. Her face is like Raphael's Madonna. You know, the Sistine Madonna's face has something fantastic in it, the faceof mournful religious ecstasy. Haven't you noticed it? Well, she'ssomething in that line. The day after we'd been betrothed, I bought herpresents to the value of fifteen hundred roubles--a set of diamonds andanother of pearls and a silver dressing-case as large as this, with allsorts of things in it, so that even my Madonna's face glowed. I sat heron my knee, yesterday, and I suppose rather too unceremoniously--sheflushed crimson and the tears started, but she didn't want to show it. We were left alone, she suddenly flung herself on my neck (for the firsttime of her own accord), put her little arms round me, kissed me, andvowed that she would be an obedient, faithful, and good wife, would makeme happy, would devote all her life, every minute of her life, wouldsacrifice everything, everything, and that all she asks in return ismy _respect_, and that she wants 'nothing, nothing more from me, nopresents. ' You'll admit that to hear such a confession, alone, from anangel of sixteen in a muslin frock, with little curls, with a flushof maiden shyness in her cheeks and tears of enthusiasm in her eyes israther fascinating! Isn't it fascinating? It's worth paying for, isn'tit? Well. . . Listen, we'll go to see my betrothed, only not just now!"

"The fact is this monstrous difference in age and development excitesyour sensuality! Will you really make such a marriage?"

"Why, of course. Everyone thinks of himself, and he lives most gaily whoknows best how to deceive himself. Ha-ha! But why are you so keen aboutvirtue? Have mercy on me, my good friend. I am a sinful man. Ha-ha-ha!"

"But you have provided for the children of Katerina Ivanovna. Though. . . Though you had your own reasons. . . . I understand it all now. "

"I am always fond of children, very fond of them, " laughed Svidrigaïlov. "I can tell you one curious instance of it. The first day I came here Ivisited various haunts, after seven years I simply rushed at them. Youprobably notice that I am not in a hurry to renew acquaintance with myold friends. I shall do without them as long as I can. Do you know, whenI was with Marfa Petrovna in the country, I was haunted by the thoughtof these places where anyone who knows his way about can find a greatdeal. Yes, upon my soul! The peasants have vodka, the educated youngpeople, shut out from activity, waste themselves in impossible dreamsand visions and are crippled by theories; Jews have sprung up and areamassing money, and all the rest give themselves up to debauchery. Fromthe first hour the town reeked of its familiar odours. I chanced to bein a frightful den--I like my dens dirty--it was a dance, so called, andthere was a _cancan_ such as I never saw in my day. Yes, there youhave progress. All of a sudden I saw a little girl of thirteen, nicelydressed, dancing with a specialist in that line, with another one_vis-à-vis_. Her mother was sitting on a chair by the wall. You can'tfancy what a _cancan_ that was! The girl was ashamed, blushed, atlast felt insulted, and began to cry. Her partner seized her and beganwhirling her round and performing before her; everyone laughed and--Ilike your public, even the _cancan_ public--they laughed and shouted, 'Serves her right--serves her right! Shouldn't bring children!' Well, it's not my business whether that consoling reflection was logical ornot. I at once fixed on my plan, sat down by the mother, and began bysaying that I too was a stranger and that people here were ill-bred andthat they couldn't distinguish decent folks and treat them with respect, gave her to understand that I had plenty of money, offered to take themhome in my carriage. I took them home and got to know them. They werelodging in a miserable little hole and had only just arrived from thecountry. She told me that she and her daughter could only regard myacquaintance as an honour. I found out that they had nothing of theirown and had come to town upon some legal business. I proffered myservices and money. I learnt that they had gone to the dancing saloonby mistake, believing that it was a genuine dancing class. I offered toassist in the young girl's education in French and dancing. My offer wasaccepted with enthusiasm as an honour--and we are still friendly. . . . Ifyou like, we'll go and see them, only not just now. "

"Stop! Enough of your vile, nasty anecdotes, depraved vile, sensualman!"

"Schiller, you are a regular Schiller! _O la vertu va-t-elle se nicher?_But you know I shall tell you these things on purpose, for the pleasureof hearing your outcries!"

"I dare say. I can see I am ridiculous myself, " muttered Raskolnikovangrily. 

Svidrigaïlov laughed heartily; finally he called Philip, paid his bill, and began getting up. 

"I say, but I am drunk, _assez causé_, " he said. "It's been a pleasure. "

"I should rather think it must be a pleasure!" cried Raskolnikov, getting up. "No doubt it is a pleasure for a worn-out profligate todescribe such adventures with a monstrous project of the same sort inhis mind--especially under such circumstances and to such a man asme. . . . It's stimulating!"

"Well, if you come to that, " Svidrigaïlov answered, scrutinisingRaskolnikov with some surprise, "if you come to that, you are a thoroughcynic yourself. You've plenty to make you so, anyway. You can understanda great deal. . . And you can do a great deal too. But enough. I sincerelyregret not having had more talk with you, but I shan't lose sight ofyou. . . . Only wait a bit. "

Svidrigaïlov walked out of the restaurant. Raskolnikov walked out afterhim. Svidrigaïlov was not however very drunk, the wine had affected himfor a moment, but it was passing off every minute. He was preoccupiedwith something of importance and was frowning. He was apparently excitedand uneasy in anticipation of something. His manner to Raskolnikov hadchanged during the last few minutes, and he was ruder and more sneeringevery moment. Raskolnikov noticed all this, and he too was uneasy. Hebecame very suspicious of Svidrigaïlov and resolved to follow him. 

They came out on to the pavement. 

"You go to the right, and I to the left, or if you like, the other way. Only _adieu, mon plaisir_, may we meet again. "

And he walked to the right towards the Hay Market. 

CHAPTER V

Raskolnikov walked after him. 

"What's this?" cried Svidrigaïlov turning round, "I thought I said. . . "

"It means that I am not going to lose sight of you now. "

"What?"

Both stood still and gazed at one another, as though measuring theirstrength. 

"From all your half tipsy stories, " Raskolnikov observed harshly, "I am_positive_ that you have not given up your designs on my sister, butare pursuing them more actively than ever. I have learnt that my sisterreceived a letter this morning. You have hardly been able to sit stillall this time. . . . You may have unearthed a wife on the way, but thatmeans nothing. I should like to make certain myself. "

Raskolnikov could hardly have said himself what he wanted and of what hewished to make certain. 

"Upon my word! I'll call the police!"

"Call away!"

Again they stood for a minute facing each other. At last Svidrigaïlov'sface changed. Having satisfied himself that Raskolnikov was notfrightened at his threat, he assumed a mirthful and friendly air. 

"What a fellow! I purposely refrained from referring to your affair, though I am devoured by curiosity. It's a fantastic affair. I've put itoff till another time, but you're enough to rouse the dead. . . . Well, letus go, only I warn you beforehand I am only going home for a moment, to get some money; then I shall lock up the flat, take a cab and go tospend the evening at the Islands. Now, now are you going to follow me?"

"I'm coming to your lodgings, not to see you but Sofya Semyonovna, tosay I'm sorry not to have been at the funeral. "

"That's as you like, but Sofya Semyonovna is not at home. She has takenthe three children to an old lady of high rank, the patroness of someorphan asylums, whom I used to know years ago. I charmed the old lady bydepositing a sum of money with her to provide for the three children ofKaterina Ivanovna and subscribing to the institution as well. I told hertoo the story of Sofya Semyonovna in full detail, suppressing nothing. It produced an indescribable effect on her. That's why Sofya Semyonovnahas been invited to call to-day at the X. Hotel where the lady isstaying for the time. "

"No matter, I'll come all the same. "

"As you like, it's nothing to me, but I won't come with you; here we areat home. By the way, I am convinced that you regard me with suspicionjust because I have shown such delicacy and have not so far troubledyou with questions. . . You understand? It struck you as extraordinary; Idon't mind betting it's that. Well, it teaches one to show delicacy!"

"And to listen at doors!"

"Ah, that's it, is it?" laughed Svidrigaïlov. "Yes, I should have beensurprised if you had let that pass after all that has happened. Ha-ha!Though I did understand something of the pranks you had been up to andwere telling Sofya Semyonovna about, what was the meaning of it? PerhapsI am quite behind the times and can't understand. For goodness' sake, explain it, my dear boy. Expound the latest theories!"

"You couldn't have heard anything. You're making it all up!"

"But I'm not talking about that (though I did hear something). No, I'mtalking of the way you keep sighing and groaning now. The Schiller inyou is in revolt every moment, and now you tell me not to listen atdoors. If that's how you feel, go and inform the police that you hadthis mischance: you made a little mistake in your theory. But if you areconvinced that one mustn't listen at doors, but one may murder old womenat one's pleasure, you'd better be off to America and make haste. Run, young man! There may still be time. I'm speaking sincerely. Haven't youthe money? I'll give you the fare. "

"I'm not thinking of that at all, " Raskolnikov interrupted with disgust. 

"I understand (but don't put yourself out, don't discuss it if you don'twant to). I understand the questions you are worrying over--moral ones, aren't they? Duties of citizen and man? Lay them all aside. They arenothing to you now, ha-ha! You'll say you are still a man and a citizen. If so you ought not to have got into this coil. It's no use taking up ajob you are not fit for. Well, you'd better shoot yourself, or don't youwant to?"

"You seem trying to enrage me, to make me leave you. "

"What a queer fellow! But here we are. Welcome to the staircase. Yousee, that's the way to Sofya Semyonovna. Look, there is no one at home. Don't you believe me? Ask Kapernaumov. She leaves the key with him. Hereis Madame de Kapernaumov herself. Hey, what? She is rather deaf. Has shegone out? Where? Did you hear? She is not in and won't be till late inthe evening probably. Well, come to my room; you wanted to come and seeme, didn't you? Here we are. Madame Resslich's not at home. She is awoman who is always busy, an excellent woman I assure you. . . . She mighthave been of use to you if you had been a little more sensible. Now, see! I take this five-per-cent bond out of the bureau--see what a lotI've got of them still--this one will be turned into cash to-day. Imustn't waste any more time. The bureau is locked, the flat is locked, and here we are again on the stairs. Shall we take a cab? I'm going tothe Islands. Would you like a lift? I'll take this carriage. Ah, yourefuse? You are tired of it! Come for a drive! I believe it will come onto rain. Never mind, we'll put down the hood. . . . "

Svidrigaïlov was already in the carriage. Raskolnikov decided that hissuspicions were at least for that moment unjust. Without answering aword he turned and walked back towards the Hay Market. If he had onlyturned round on his way he might have seen Svidrigaïlov get out not ahundred paces off, dismiss the cab and walk along the pavement. But hehad turned the corner and could see nothing. Intense disgust drew himaway from Svidrigaïlov. 

"To think that I could for one instant have looked for help from thatcoarse brute, that depraved sensualist and blackguard!" he cried. 

Raskolnikov's judgment was uttered too lightly and hastily: there wassomething about Svidrigaïlov which gave him a certain original, even amysterious character. As concerned his sister, Raskolnikov was convincedthat Svidrigaïlov would not leave her in peace. But it was too tiresomeand unbearable to go on thinking and thinking about this. 

When he was alone, he had not gone twenty paces before he sank, asusual, into deep thought. On the bridge he stood by the railing andbegan gazing at the water. And his sister was standing close by him. 

He met her at the entrance to the bridge, but passed by without seeingher. Dounia had never met him like this in the street before and wasstruck with dismay. She stood still and did not know whether to callto him or not. Suddenly she saw Svidrigaïlov coming quickly from thedirection of the Hay Market. 

He seemed to be approaching cautiously. He did not go on to thebridge, but stood aside on the pavement, doing all he could to avoidRaskolnikov's seeing him. He had observed Dounia for some time and hadbeen making signs to her. She fancied he was signalling to beg her notto speak to her brother, but to come to him. 

That was what Dounia did. She stole by her brother and went up toSvidrigaïlov. 

"Let us make haste away, " Svidrigaïlov whispered to her, "I don't wantRodion Romanovitch to know of our meeting. I must tell you I've beensitting with him in the restaurant close by, where he looked me up andI had great difficulty in getting rid of him. He has somehow heard ofmy letter to you and suspects something. It wasn't you who told him, ofcourse, but if not you, who then?"

"Well, we've turned the corner now, " Dounia interrupted, "and my brotherwon't see us. I have to tell you that I am going no further with you. Speak to me here. You can tell it all in the street. "

"In the first place, I can't say it in the street; secondly, you musthear Sofya Semyonovna too; and, thirdly, I will show you some papers. . . . Oh well, if you won't agree to come with me, I shall refuse to giveany explanation and go away at once. But I beg you not to forget thata very curious secret of your beloved brother's is entirely in mykeeping. "

Dounia stood still, hesitating, and looked at Svidrigaïlov withsearching eyes. 

"What are you afraid of?" he observed quietly. "The town is not thecountry. And even in the country you did me more harm than I did you. "

"Have you prepared Sofya Semyonovna?"

"No, I have not said a word to her and am not quite certain whether sheis at home now. But most likely she is. She has buried her stepmotherto-day: she is not likely to go visiting on such a day. For the time Idon't want to speak to anyone about it and I half regret having spokento you. The slightest indiscretion is as bad as betrayal in a thing likethis. I live there in that house, we are coming to it. That's the porterof our house--he knows me very well; you see, he's bowing; he sees I'mcoming with a lady and no doubt he has noticed your face already and youwill be glad of that if you are afraid of me and suspicious. Excusemy putting things so coarsely. I haven't a flat to myself; SofyaSemyonovna's room is next to mine--she lodges in the next flat. Thewhole floor is let out in lodgings. Why are you frightened like a child?Am I really so terrible?"

Svidrigaïlov's lips were twisted in a condescending smile; but he was inno smiling mood. His heart was throbbing and he could scarcely breathe. He spoke rather loud to cover his growing excitement. But Dounia did notnotice this peculiar excitement, she was so irritated by his remark thatshe was frightened of him like a child and that he was so terrible toher. 

"Though I know that you are not a man. . . Of honour, I am not in theleast afraid of you. Lead the way, " she said with apparent composure, but her face was very pale. 

Svidrigaïlov stopped at Sonia's room. 

"Allow me to inquire whether she is at home. . . . She is not. Howunfortunate! But I know she may come quite soon. If she's gone out, itcan only be to see a lady about the orphans. Their mother is dead. . . . I've been meddling and making arrangements for them. If Sofya Semyonovnadoes not come back in ten minutes, I will send her to you, to-day ifyou like. This is my flat. These are my two rooms. Madame Resslich, my landlady, has the next room. Now, look this way. I will show youmy chief piece of evidence: this door from my bedroom leads into twoperfectly empty rooms, which are to let. Here they are. . . You must lookinto them with some attention. "

Svidrigaïlov occupied two fairly large furnished rooms. Dounia waslooking about her mistrustfully, but saw nothing special in thefurniture or position of the rooms. Yet there was something to observe, for instance, that Svidrigaïlov's flat was exactly between two sets ofalmost uninhabited apartments. His rooms were not entered directlyfrom the passage, but through the landlady's two almost empty rooms. Unlocking a door leading out of his bedroom, Svidrigaïlov showed Douniathe two empty rooms that were to let. Dounia stopped in the doorway, notknowing what she was called to look upon, but Svidrigaïlov hastened toexplain. 

"Look here, at this second large room. Notice that door, it's locked. By the door stands a chair, the only one in the two rooms. I brought itfrom my rooms so as to listen more conveniently. Just the other side ofthe door is Sofya Semyonovna's table; she sat there talking to RodionRomanovitch. And I sat here listening on two successive evenings, fortwo hours each time--and of course I was able to learn something, whatdo you think?"

"You listened?"

"Yes, I did. Now come back to my room; we can't sit down here. "

He brought Avdotya Romanovna back into his sitting-room and offered hera chair. He sat down at the opposite side of the table, at least sevenfeet from her, but probably there was the same glow in his eyes whichhad once frightened Dounia so much. She shuddered and once more lookedabout her distrustfully. It was an involuntary gesture; she evidentlydid not wish to betray her uneasiness. But the secluded position ofSvidrigaïlov's lodging had suddenly struck her. She wanted to askwhether his landlady at least were at home, but pride kept her fromasking. Moreover, she had another trouble in her heart incomparablygreater than fear for herself. She was in great distress. 

"Here is your letter, " she said, laying it on the table. "Can it be truewhat you write? You hint at a crime committed, you say, by my brother. You hint at it too clearly; you daren't deny it now. I must tell youthat I'd heard of this stupid story before you wrote and don't believe aword of it. It's a disgusting and ridiculous suspicion. I know the storyand why and how it was invented. You can have no proofs. You promised toprove it. Speak! But let me warn you that I don't believe you! I don'tbelieve you!"

Dounia said this, speaking hurriedly, and for an instant the colourrushed to her face. 

"If you didn't believe it, how could you risk coming alone to my rooms?Why have you come? Simply from curiosity?"

"Don't torment me. Speak, speak!"

"There's no denying that you are a brave girl. Upon my word, I thoughtyou would have asked Mr. Razumihin to escort you here. But he was notwith you nor anywhere near. I was on the look-out. It's spirited ofyou, it proves you wanted to spare Rodion Romanovitch. But everythingis divine in you. . . . About your brother, what am I to say to you? You'vejust seen him yourself. What did you think of him?"

"Surely that's not the only thing you are building on?"

"No, not on that, but on his own words. He came here on two successiveevenings to see Sofya Semyonovna. I've shown you where they sat. He madea full confession to her. He is a murderer. He killed an old woman, apawnbroker, with whom he had pawned things himself. He killed her sistertoo, a pedlar woman called Lizaveta, who happened to come in while hewas murdering her sister. He killed them with an axe he brought withhim. He murdered them to rob them and he did rob them. He took money andvarious things. . . . He told all this, word for word, to Sofya Semyonovna, the only person who knows his secret. But she has had no share by wordor deed in the murder; she was as horrified at it as you are now. Don'tbe anxious, she won't betray him. "

"It cannot be, " muttered Dounia, with white lips. She gasped for breath. "It cannot be. There was not the slightest cause, no sort of ground. . . . It's a lie, a lie!"

"He robbed her, that was the cause, he took money and things. It's truethat by his own admission he made no use of the money or things, but hidthem under a stone, where they are now. But that was because he darednot make use of them. "

"But how could he steal, rob? How could he dream of it?" cried Dounia, and she jumped up from the chair. "Why, you know him, and you've seenhim, can he be a thief?"

She seemed to be imploring Svidrigaïlov; she had entirely forgotten herfear. 

"There are thousands and millions of combinations and possibilities, Avdotya Romanovna. A thief steals and knows he is a scoundrel, but I'veheard of a gentleman who broke open the mail. Who knows, very likely hethought he was doing a gentlemanly thing! Of course I should not havebelieved it myself if I'd been told of it as you have, but I believe myown ears. He explained all the causes of it to Sofya Semyonovna too, butshe did not believe her ears at first, yet she believed her own eyes atlast. "

"What. . . Were the causes?"

"It's a long story, Avdotya Romanovna. Here's. . . How shall I tellyou?--A theory of a sort, the same one by which I for instance considerthat a single misdeed is permissible if the principal aim is right, asolitary wrongdoing and hundreds of good deeds! It's galling too, ofcourse, for a young man of gifts and overweening pride to know that ifhe had, for instance, a paltry three thousand, his whole career, hiswhole future would be differently shaped and yet not to have that threethousand. Add to that, nervous irritability from hunger, from lodgingin a hole, from rags, from a vivid sense of the charm of his socialposition and his sister's and mother's position too. Above all, vanity, pride and vanity, though goodness knows he may have good qualitiestoo. . . . I am not blaming him, please don't think it; besides, it's notmy business. A special little theory came in too--a theory of asort--dividing mankind, you see, into material and superior persons, that is persons to whom the law does not apply owing to theirsuperiority, who make laws for the rest of mankind, the material, thatis. It's all right as a theory, _une théorie comme une autre_. Napoleonattracted him tremendously, that is, what affected him was that agreat many men of genius have not hesitated at wrongdoing, but haveoverstepped the law without thinking about it. He seems to have fanciedthat he was a genius too--that is, he was convinced of it for a time. Hehas suffered a great deal and is still suffering from the idea that hecould make a theory, but was incapable of boldly overstepping the law, and so he is not a man of genius. And that's humiliating for a young manof any pride, in our day especially. . . . "

"But remorse? You deny him any moral feeling then? Is he like that?"

"Ah, Avdotya Romanovna, everything is in a muddle now; not that it wasever in very good order. Russians in general are broad in their ideas, Avdotya Romanovna, broad like their land and exceedingly disposed tothe fantastic, the chaotic. But it's a misfortune to be broad withouta special genius. Do you remember what a lot of talk we had together onthis subject, sitting in the evenings on the terrace after supper? Why, you used to reproach me with breadth! Who knows, perhaps we were talkingat the very time when he was lying here thinking over his plan. Thereare no sacred traditions amongst us, especially in the educated class, Avdotya Romanovna. At the best someone will make them up somehow forhimself out of books or from some old chronicle. But those are for themost part the learned and all old fogeys, so that it would be almostill-bred in a man of society. You know my opinions in general, though. Inever blame anyone. I do nothing at all, I persevere in that. Butwe've talked of this more than once before. I was so happy indeed as tointerest you in my opinions. . . . You are very pale, Avdotya Romanovna. "

"I know his theory. I read that article of his about men to whom all ispermitted. Razumihin brought it to me. "

"Mr. Razumihin? Your brother's article? In a magazine? Is there such anarticle? I didn't know. It must be interesting. But where are you going, Avdotya Romanovna?"

"I want to see Sofya Semyonovna, " Dounia articulated faintly. "How do Igo to her? She has come in, perhaps. I must see her at once. Perhapsshe. . . "

Avdotya Romanovna could not finish. Her breath literally failed her. 

"Sofya Semyonovna will not be back till night, at least I believe not. She was to have been back at once, but if not, then she will not be intill quite late. "

"Ah, then you are lying! I see. . . You were lying. . . Lying all thetime. . . . I don't believe you! I don't believe you!" cried Dounia, completely losing her head. 

Almost fainting, she sank on to a chair which Svidrigaïlov made haste togive her. 

"Avdotya Romanovna, what is it? Control yourself! Here is some water. Drink a little. . . . "

He sprinkled some water over her. Dounia shuddered and came to herself. 

"It has acted violently, " Svidrigaïlov muttered to himself, frowning. "Avdotya Romanovna, calm yourself! Believe me, he has friends. We willsave him. Would you like me to take him abroad? I have money, I can geta ticket in three days. And as for the murder, he will do all sorts ofgood deeds yet, to atone for it. Calm yourself. He may become a greatman yet. Well, how are you? How do you feel?"

"Cruel man! To be able to jeer at it! Let me go. . . "

"Where are you going?"

"To him. Where is he? Do you know? Why is this door locked? We came inat that door and now it is locked. When did you manage to lock it?"

"We couldn't be shouting all over the flat on such a subject. I am farfrom jeering; it's simply that I'm sick of talking like this. But howcan you go in such a state? Do you want to betray him? You will drivehim to fury, and he will give himself up. Let me tell you, he is alreadybeing watched; they are already on his track. You will simply be givinghim away. Wait a little: I saw him and was talking to him just now. Hecan still be saved. Wait a bit, sit down; let us think it over together. I asked you to come in order to discuss it alone with you and toconsider it thoroughly. But do sit down!"

"How can you save him? Can he really be saved?"

Dounia sat down. Svidrigaïlov sat down beside her. 

"It all depends on you, on you, on you alone, " he began with glowingeyes, almost in a whisper and hardly able to utter the words foremotion. 

Dounia drew back from him in alarm. He too was trembling all over. 

"You. . . One word from you, and he is saved. I. . . I'll save him. I havemoney and friends. I'll send him away at once. I'll get a passport, two passports, one for him and one for me. I have friends. . . Capablepeople. . . . If you like, I'll take a passport for you. . . For yourmother. . . . What do you want with Razumihin? I love you too. . . . I loveyou beyond everything. . . . Let me kiss the hem of your dress, let me, letme. . . . The very rustle of it is too much for me. Tell me, 'do that, 'and I'll do it. I'll do everything. I will do the impossible. What youbelieve, I will believe. I'll do anything--anything! Don't, don't lookat me like that. Do you know that you are killing me?. . . "

He was almost beginning to rave. . . . Something seemed suddenly to go tohis head. Dounia jumped up and rushed to the door. 

"Open it! Open it!" she called, shaking the door. "Open it! Is there noone there?"

Svidrigaïlov got up and came to himself. His still trembling lips slowlybroke into an angry mocking smile. 

"There is no one at home, " he said quietly and emphatically. "Thelandlady has gone out, and it's waste of time to shout like that. Youare only exciting yourself uselessly. "

"Where is the key? Open the door at once, at once, base man!"

"I have lost the key and cannot find it. "

"This is an outrage, " cried Dounia, turning pale as death. She rushedto the furthest corner, where she made haste to barricade herself with alittle table. 

She did not scream, but she fixed her eyes on her tormentor and watchedevery movement he made. 

Svidrigaïlov remained standing at the other end of the room facing her. He was positively composed, at least in appearance, but his face waspale as before. The mocking smile did not leave his face. 

"You spoke of outrage just now, Avdotya Romanovna. In that case youmay be sure I've taken measures. Sofya Semyonovna is not at home. TheKapernaumovs are far away--there are five locked rooms between. I am atleast twice as strong as you are and I have nothing to fear, besides. For you could not complain afterwards. You surely would not be willingactually to betray your brother? Besides, no one would believe you. Howshould a girl have come alone to visit a solitary man in his lodgings?So that even if you do sacrifice your brother, you could prove nothing. It is very difficult to prove an assault, Avdotya Romanovna. "

"Scoundrel!" whispered Dounia indignantly. 

"As you like, but observe I was only speaking by way of a generalproposition. It's my personal conviction that you are perfectlyright--violence is hateful. I only spoke to show you that you need haveno remorse even if. . . You were willing to save your brother of yourown accord, as I suggest to you. You would be simply submitting tocircumstances, to violence, in fact, if we must use that word. Thinkabout it. Your brother's and your mother's fate are in your hands. Iwill be your slave. . . All my life. . . I will wait here. "

Svidrigaïlov sat down on the sofa about eight steps from Dounia. She hadnot the slightest doubt now of his unbending determination. Besides, sheknew him. Suddenly she pulled out of her pocket a revolver, cocked itand laid it in her hand on the table. Svidrigaïlov jumped up. 

"Aha! So that's it, is it?" he cried, surprised but smiling maliciously. "Well, that completely alters the aspect of affairs. You've made thingswonderfully easier for me, Avdotya Romanovna. But where did you get therevolver? Was it Mr. Razumihin? Why, it's my revolver, an old friend!And how I've hunted for it! The shooting lessons I've given you in thecountry have not been thrown away. "

"It's not your revolver, it belonged to Marfa Petrovna, whom you killed, wretch! There was nothing of yours in her house. I took it when I beganto suspect what you were capable of. If you dare to advance one step, Iswear I'll kill you. " She was frantic. 

"But your brother? I ask from curiosity, " said Svidrigaïlov, stillstanding where he was. 

"Inform, if you want to! Don't stir! Don't come nearer! I'll shoot! Youpoisoned your wife, I know; you are a murderer yourself!" She held therevolver ready. 

"Are you so positive I poisoned Marfa Petrovna?"

"You did! You hinted it yourself; you talked to me of poison. . . . I knowyou went to get it. . . You had it in readiness. . . . It was your doing. . . . It must have been your doing. . . . Scoundrel!"

"Even if that were true, it would have been for your sake. . . You wouldhave been the cause. "

"You are lying! I hated you always, always. . . . "

"Oho, Avdotya Romanovna! You seem to have forgotten how you softenedto me in the heat of propaganda. I saw it in your eyes. Do you rememberthat moonlight night, when the nightingale was singing?"

"That's a lie, " there was a flash of fury in Dounia's eyes, "that's alie and a libel!"

"A lie? Well, if you like, it's a lie. I made it up. Women ought notto be reminded of such things, " he smiled. "I know you will shoot, youpretty wild creature. Well, shoot away!"

Dounia raised the revolver, and deadly pale, gazed at him, measuring thedistance and awaiting the first movement on his part. Her lower lip waswhite and quivering and her big black eyes flashed like fire. He hadnever seen her so handsome. The fire glowing in her eyes at the momentshe raised the revolver seemed to kindle him and there was a pang ofanguish in his heart. He took a step forward and a shot rang out. Thebullet grazed his hair and flew into the wall behind. He stood still andlaughed softly. 

"The wasp has stung me. She aimed straight at my head. What's this?Blood?" he pulled out his handkerchief to wipe the blood, which flowedin a thin stream down his right temple. The bullet seemed to have justgrazed the skin. 

Dounia lowered the revolver and looked at Svidrigaïlov not so much interror as in a sort of wild amazement. She seemed not to understand whatshe was doing and what was going on. 

"Well, you missed! Fire again, I'll wait, " said Svidrigaïlov softly, still smiling, but gloomily. "If you go on like that, I shall have timeto seize you before you cock again. "

Dounia started, quickly cocked the pistol and again raised it. 

"Let me be, " she cried in despair. "I swear I'll shoot again. I. . . I'llkill you. "

"Well. . . At three paces you can hardly help it. But if you don't. . . Then. " His eyes flashed and he took two steps forward. Dounia shotagain: it missed fire. 

"You haven't loaded it properly. Never mind, you have another chargethere. Get it ready, I'll wait. "

He stood facing her, two paces away, waiting and gazing at her with wilddetermination, with feverishly passionate, stubborn, set eyes. Douniasaw that he would sooner die than let her go. "And. . . Now, of course shewould kill him, at two paces!" Suddenly she flung away the revolver. 

"She's dropped it!" said Svidrigaïlov with surprise, and he drew a deepbreath. A weight seemed to have rolled from his heart--perhaps not onlythe fear of death; indeed he may scarcely have felt it at that moment. It was the deliverance from another feeling, darker and more bitter, which he could not himself have defined. 

He went to Dounia and gently put his arm round her waist. She did notresist, but, trembling like a leaf, looked at him with suppliant eyes. He tried to say something, but his lips moved without being able toutter a sound. 

"Let me go, " Dounia implored. Svidrigaïlov shuddered. Her voice now wasquite different. 

"Then you don't love me?" he asked softly. Dounia shook her head. 

"And. . . And you can't? Never?" he whispered in despair. 

"Never!"

There followed a moment of terrible, dumb struggle in the heart ofSvidrigaïlov. He looked at her with an indescribable gaze. Suddenlyhe withdrew his arm, turned quickly to the window and stood facing it. Another moment passed. 

"Here's the key. "

He took it out of the left pocket of his coat and laid it on the tablebehind him, without turning or looking at Dounia. 

"Take it! Make haste!"

He looked stubbornly out of the window. Dounia went up to the table totake the key. 

"Make haste! Make haste!" repeated Svidrigaïlov, still without turningor moving. But there seemed a terrible significance in the tone of that"make haste. "

Dounia understood it, snatched up the key, flew to the door, unlocked itquickly and rushed out of the room. A minute later, beside herself, sheran out on to the canal bank in the direction of X. Bridge. 

Svidrigaïlov remained three minutes standing at the window. At last heslowly turned, looked about him and passed his hand over his forehead. Astrange smile contorted his face, a pitiful, sad, weak smile, a smile ofdespair. The blood, which was already getting dry, smeared his hand. He looked angrily at it, then wetted a towel and washed his temple. The revolver which Dounia had flung away lay near the door and suddenlycaught his eye. He picked it up and examined it. It was a little pocketthree-barrel revolver of old-fashioned construction. There were stilltwo charges and one capsule left in it. It could be fired again. Hethought a little, put the revolver in his pocket, took his hat and wentout. 

CHAPTER VI

He spent that evening till ten o'clock going from one low haunt toanother. Katia too turned up and sang another gutter song, how a certain"villain and tyrant, "

"began kissing Katia. "

Svidrigaïlov treated Katia and the organ-grinder and some singers andthe waiters and two little clerks. He was particularly drawn to theseclerks by the fact that they both had crooked noses, one bent to theleft and the other to the right. They took him finally to a pleasuregarden, where he paid for their entrance. There was one lankythree-year-old pine-tree and three bushes in the garden, besides a"Vauxhall, " which was in reality a drinking-bar where tea too wasserved, and there were a few green tables and chairs standing round it. A chorus of wretched singers and a drunken but exceedingly depressedGerman clown from Munich with a red nose entertained the public. Theclerks quarrelled with some other clerks and a fight seemed imminent. Svidrigaïlov was chosen to decide the dispute. He listened to them fora quarter of an hour, but they shouted so loud that there was nopossibility of understanding them. The only fact that seemed certain wasthat one of them had stolen something and had even succeeded inselling it on the spot to a Jew, but would not share the spoil with hiscompanion. Finally it appeared that the stolen object was a teaspoonbelonging to the Vauxhall. It was missed and the affair began to seemtroublesome. Svidrigaïlov paid for the spoon, got up, and walked out ofthe garden. It was about six o'clock. He had not drunk a drop of wineall this time and had ordered tea more for the sake of appearances thananything. 

It was a dark and stifling evening. Threatening storm-clouds came overthe sky about ten o'clock. There was a clap of thunder, and the raincame down like a waterfall. The water fell not in drops, but beat on theearth in streams. There were flashes of lightning every minute and eachflash lasted while one could count five. 

Drenched to the skin, he went home, locked himself in, opened thebureau, took out all his money and tore up two or three papers. Then, putting the money in his pocket, he was about to change his clothes, but, looking out of the window and listening to the thunder and therain, he gave up the idea, took up his hat and went out of the roomwithout locking the door. He went straight to Sonia. She was at home. 

She was not alone: the four Kapernaumov children were with her. Shewas giving them tea. She received Svidrigaïlov in respectful silence, looking wonderingly at his soaking clothes. The children all ran away atonce in indescribable terror. 

Svidrigaïlov sat down at the table and asked Sonia to sit beside him. She timidly prepared to listen. 

"I may be going to America, Sofya Semyonovna, " said Svidrigaïlov, "andas I am probably seeing you for the last time, I have come to make somearrangements. Well, did you see the lady to-day? I know what she said toyou, you need not tell me. " (Sonia made a movement and blushed. ) "Thosepeople have their own way of doing things. As to your sisters and yourbrother, they are really provided for and the money assigned to themI've put into safe keeping and have received acknowledgments. You hadbetter take charge of the receipts, in case anything happens. Here, takethem! Well now, that's settled. Here are three 5-per-cent bonds to thevalue of three thousand roubles. Take those for yourself, entirely foryourself, and let that be strictly between ourselves, so that no oneknows of it, whatever you hear. You will need the money, for to go onliving in the old way, Sofya Semyonovna, is bad, and besides there is noneed for it now. "

"I am so much indebted to you, and so are the children and mystepmother, " said Sonia hurriedly, "and if I've said so little. . . Pleasedon't consider. . . "

"That's enough! that's enough!"

"But as for the money, Arkady Ivanovitch, I am very grateful to you, but I don't need it now. I can always earn my own living. Don't think meungrateful. If you are so charitable, that money. . . . "

"It's for you, for you, Sofya Semyonovna, and please don't waste wordsover it. I haven't time for it. You will want it. Rodion Romanovitchhas two alternatives: a bullet in the brain or Siberia. " (Sonia lookedwildly at him, and started. ) "Don't be uneasy, I know all about it fromhimself and I am not a gossip; I won't tell anyone. It was good advicewhen you told him to give himself up and confess. It would be muchbetter for him. Well, if it turns out to be Siberia, he will go andyou will follow him. That's so, isn't it? And if so, you'll need money. You'll need it for him, do you understand? Giving it to you is the sameas my giving it to him. Besides, you promised Amalia Ivanovna to paywhat's owing. I heard you. How can you undertake such obligations soheedlessly, Sofya Semyonovna? It was Katerina Ivanovna's debt and notyours, so you ought not to have taken any notice of the German woman. You can't get through the world like that. If you are ever questionedabout me--to-morrow or the day after you will be asked--don't sayanything about my coming to see you now and don't show the money toanyone or say a word about it. Well, now good-bye. " (He got up. ) "Mygreetings to Rodion Romanovitch. By the way, you'd better put the moneyfor the present in Mr. Razumihin's keeping. You know Mr. Razumihin? Ofcourse you do. He's not a bad fellow. Take it to him to-morrow or. . . When the time comes. And till then, hide it carefully. "

Sonia too jumped up from her chair and looked in dismay at Svidrigaïlov. She longed to speak, to ask a question, but for the first moments shedid not dare and did not know how to begin. 

"How can you. . . How can you be going now, in such rain?"

"Why, be starting for America, and be stopped by rain! Ha, ha! Good-bye, Sofya Semyonovna, my dear! Live and live long, you will be of use toothers. By the way. . . Tell Mr. Razumihin I send my greetings to him. Tell him Arkady Ivanovitch Svidrigaïlov sends his greetings. Be sureto. "

He went out, leaving Sonia in a state of wondering anxiety and vagueapprehension. 

It appeared afterwards that on the same evening, at twenty past eleven, he made another very eccentric and unexpected visit. The rain stillpersisted. Drenched to the skin, he walked into the little flat wherethe parents of his betrothed lived, in Third Street in VassilyevskyIsland. He knocked some time before he was admitted, and his visitat first caused great perturbation; but Svidrigaïlov could bevery fascinating when he liked, so that the first, and indeed veryintelligent surmise of the sensible parents that Svidrigaïlov hadprobably had so much to drink that he did not know what he was doingvanished immediately. The decrepit father was wheeled in to seeSvidrigaïlov by the tender and sensible mother, who as usual began theconversation with various irrelevant questions. She never asked a directquestion, but began by smiling and rubbing her hands and then, if shewere obliged to ascertain something--for instance, when Svidrigaïlovwould like to have the wedding--she would begin by interested andalmost eager questions about Paris and the court life there, and onlyby degrees brought the conversation round to Third Street. On otheroccasions this had of course been very impressive, but this time ArkadyIvanovitch seemed particularly impatient, and insisted on seeing hisbetrothed at once, though he had been informed, to begin with, that shehad already gone to bed. The girl of course appeared. 

Svidrigaïlov informed her at once that he was obliged by very importantaffairs to leave Petersburg for a time, and therefore brought herfifteen thousand roubles and begged her accept them as a present fromhim, as he had long been intending to make her this trifling presentbefore their wedding. The logical connection of the present with hisimmediate departure and the absolute necessity of visiting them for thatpurpose in pouring rain at midnight was not made clear. But it all wentoff very well; even the inevitable ejaculations of wonder and regret, the inevitable questions were extraordinarily few and restrained. On theother hand, the gratitude expressed was most glowing and was reinforcedby tears from the most sensible of mothers. Svidrigaïlov got up, laughed, kissed his betrothed, patted her cheek, declared he would sooncome back, and noticing in her eyes, together with childish curiosity, asort of earnest dumb inquiry, reflected and kissed her again, thoughhe felt sincere anger inwardly at the thought that his present would beimmediately locked up in the keeping of the most sensible of mothers. Hewent away, leaving them all in a state of extraordinary excitement, butthe tender mamma, speaking quietly in a half whisper, settled some ofthe most important of their doubts, concluding that Svidrigaïlov wasa great man, a man of great affairs and connections and of greatwealth--there was no knowing what he had in his mind. He would startoff on a journey and give away money just as the fancy took him, so thatthere was nothing surprising about it. Of course it was strange that hewas wet through, but Englishmen, for instance, are even more eccentric, and all these people of high society didn't think of what was said ofthem and didn't stand on ceremony. Possibly, indeed, he came like thaton purpose to show that he was not afraid of anyone. Above all, not aword should be said about it, for God knows what might come of it, andthe money must be locked up, and it was most fortunate that Fedosya, thecook, had not left the kitchen. And above all not a word must be saidto that old cat, Madame Resslich, and so on and so on. They sat upwhispering till two o'clock, but the girl went to bed much earlier, amazed and rather sorrowful. 

Svidrigaïlov meanwhile, exactly at midnight, crossed the bridge on theway back to the mainland. The rain had ceased and there was a roaringwind. He began shivering, and for one moment he gazed at the blackwaters of the Little Neva with a look of special interest, even inquiry. But he soon felt it very cold, standing by the water; he turned andwent towards Y. Prospect. He walked along that endless street for a longtime, almost half an hour, more than once stumbling in the dark on thewooden pavement, but continually looking for something on the right sideof the street. He had noticed passing through this street lately thatthere was a hotel somewhere towards the end, built of wood, but fairlylarge, and its name he remembered was something like Adrianople. He wasnot mistaken: the hotel was so conspicuous in that God-forsaken placethat he could not fail to see it even in the dark. It was a long, blackened wooden building, and in spite of the late hour there werelights in the windows and signs of life within. He went in and askeda ragged fellow who met him in the corridor for a room. The latter, scanning Svidrigaïlov, pulled himself together and led him at once to aclose and tiny room in the distance, at the end of the corridor, underthe stairs. There was no other, all were occupied. The ragged fellowlooked inquiringly. 

"Is there tea?" asked Svidrigaïlov. 

"Yes, sir. "

"What else is there?"

"Veal, vodka, savouries. "

"Bring me tea and veal. "

"And you want nothing else?" he asked with apparent surprise. 

"Nothing, nothing. "

The ragged man went away, completely disillusioned. 

"It must be a nice place, " thought Svidrigaïlov. "How was it I didn'tknow it? I expect I look as if I came from a café chantant and havehad some adventure on the way. It would be interesting to know who stayhere?"

He lighted the candle and looked at the room more carefully. It was aroom so low-pitched that Svidrigaïlov could only just stand up in it;it had one window; the bed, which was very dirty, and the plain-stainedchair and table almost filled it up. The walls looked as though theywere made of planks, covered with shabby paper, so torn and dustythat the pattern was indistinguishable, though the generalcolour--yellow--could still be made out. One of the walls was cut shortby the sloping ceiling, though the room was not an attic but just underthe stairs. 

Svidrigaïlov set down the candle, sat down on the bed and sank intothought. But a strange persistent murmur which sometimes rose to a shoutin the next room attracted his attention. The murmur had not ceased fromthe moment he entered the room. He listened: someone was upbraiding andalmost tearfully scolding, but he heard only one voice. 

Svidrigaïlov got up, shaded the light with his hand and at once he sawlight through a crack in the wall; he went up and peeped through. Theroom, which was somewhat larger than his, had two occupants. One ofthem, a very curly-headed man with a red inflamed face, was standingin the pose of an orator, without his coat, with his legs wide apart topreserve his balance, and smiting himself on the breast. He reproachedthe other with being a beggar, with having no standing whatever. Hedeclared that he had taken the other out of the gutter and he could turnhim out when he liked, and that only the finger of Providence sees itall. The object of his reproaches was sitting in a chair, and had theair of a man who wants dreadfully to sneeze, but can't. He sometimesturned sheepish and befogged eyes on the speaker, but obviously had notthe slightest idea what he was talking about and scarcely heard it. Acandle was burning down on the table; there were wine-glasses, a nearlyempty bottle of vodka, bread and cucumber, and glasses with the dregsof stale tea. After gazing attentively at this, Svidrigaïlov turned awayindifferently and sat down on the bed. 

The ragged attendant, returning with the tea, could not resist askinghim again whether he didn't want anything more, and again receiving anegative reply, finally withdrew. Svidrigaïlov made haste to drink aglass of tea to warm himself, but could not eat anything. He beganto feel feverish. He took off his coat and, wrapping himself in theblanket, lay down on the bed. He was annoyed. "It would have been betterto be well for the occasion, " he thought with a smile. The room wasclose, the candle burnt dimly, the wind was roaring outside, he hearda mouse scratching in the corner and the room smelt of mice and ofleather. He lay in a sort of reverie: one thought followed another. Hefelt a longing to fix his imagination on something. "It must be a gardenunder the window, " he thought. "There's a sound of trees. How I dislikethe sound of trees on a stormy night, in the dark! They give one ahorrid feeling. " He remembered how he had disliked it when he passedPetrovsky Park just now. This reminded him of the bridge over the LittleNeva and he felt cold again as he had when standing there. "I never haveliked water, " he thought, "even in a landscape, " and he suddenly smiledagain at a strange idea: "Surely now all these questions of taste andcomfort ought not to matter, but I've become more particular, like ananimal that picks out a special place. . . For such an occasion. I oughtto have gone into the Petrovsky Park! I suppose it seemed dark, cold, ha-ha! As though I were seeking pleasant sensations!. . . By the way, whyhaven't I put out the candle?" he blew it out. "They've gone to bed nextdoor, " he thought, not seeing the light at the crack. "Well, now, MarfaPetrovna, now is the time for you to turn up; it's dark, and the verytime and place for you. But now you won't come!"

He suddenly recalled how, an hour before carrying out his design onDounia, he had recommended Raskolnikov to trust her to Razumihin'skeeping. "I suppose I really did say it, as Raskolnikov guessed, totease myself. But what a rogue that Raskolnikov is! He's gone through agood deal. He may be a successful rogue in time when he's got overhis nonsense. But now he's _too_ eager for life. These young menare contemptible on that point. But, hang the fellow! Let him pleasehimself, it's nothing to do with me. "

He could not get to sleep. By degrees Dounia's image rose before him, and a shudder ran over him. "No, I must give up all that now, " hethought, rousing himself. "I must think of something else. It's queerand funny. I never had a great hatred for anyone, I never particularlydesired to avenge myself even, and that's a bad sign, a bad sign, a badsign. I never liked quarrelling either, and never lost my temper--that'sa bad sign too. And the promises I made her just now, too--Damnation!But--who knows?--perhaps she would have made a new man of mesomehow. . . . "

He ground his teeth and sank into silence again. Again Dounia's imagerose before him, just as she was when, after shooting the first time, she had lowered the revolver in terror and gazed blankly at him, so thathe might have seized her twice over and she would not have lifted a handto defend herself if he had not reminded her. He recalled how at thatinstant he felt almost sorry for her, how he had felt a pang at hisheart. . . 

"Aïe! Damnation, these thoughts again! I must put it away!"

He was dozing off; the feverish shiver had ceased, when suddenlysomething seemed to run over his arm and leg under the bedclothes. Hestarted. "Ugh! hang it! I believe it's a mouse, " he thought, "that's theveal I left on the table. " He felt fearfully disinclined to pull off theblanket, get up, get cold, but all at once something unpleasant ran overhis leg again. He pulled off the blanket and lighted the candle. Shakingwith feverish chill he bent down to examine the bed: there was nothing. He shook the blanket and suddenly a mouse jumped out on the sheet. He tried to catch it, but the mouse ran to and fro in zigzags withoutleaving the bed, slipped between his fingers, ran over his hand andsuddenly darted under the pillow. He threw down the pillow, but in oneinstant felt something leap on his chest and dart over his body and downhis back under his shirt. He trembled nervously and woke up. 

The room was dark. He was lying on the bed and wrapped up in the blanketas before. The wind was howling under the window. "How disgusting, " hethought with annoyance. 

He got up and sat on the edge of the bedstead with his back to thewindow. "It's better not to sleep at all, " he decided. There was a colddamp draught from the window, however; without getting up he drew theblanket over him and wrapped himself in it. He was not thinking ofanything and did not want to think. But one image rose after another, incoherent scraps of thought without beginning or end passed through hismind. He sank into drowsiness. Perhaps the cold, or the dampness, orthe dark, or the wind that howled under the window and tossed the treesroused a sort of persistent craving for the fantastic. He kept dwellingon images of flowers, he fancied a charming flower garden, a bright, warm, almost hot day, a holiday--Trinity day. A fine, sumptuous countrycottage in the English taste overgrown with fragrant flowers, withflower beds going round the house; the porch, wreathed in climbers, wassurrounded with beds of roses. A light, cool staircase, carpeted withrich rugs, was decorated with rare plants in china pots. He noticedparticularly in the windows nosegays of tender, white, heavily fragrantnarcissus bending over their bright, green, thick long stalks. He wasreluctant to move away from them, but he went up the stairs and cameinto a large, high drawing-room and again everywhere--at the windows, the doors on to the balcony, and on the balcony itself--were flowers. The floors were strewn with freshly-cut fragrant hay, the windowswere open, a fresh, cool, light air came into the room. The birds werechirruping under the window, and in the middle of the room, on a tablecovered with a white satin shroud, stood a coffin. The coffin wascovered with white silk and edged with a thick white frill; wreaths offlowers surrounded it on all sides. Among the flowers lay a girl in awhite muslin dress, with her arms crossed and pressed on her bosom, asthough carved out of marble. But her loose fair hair was wet; there wasa wreath of roses on her head. The stern and already rigid profile ofher face looked as though chiselled of marble too, and the smile on herpale lips was full of an immense unchildish misery and sorrowful appeal. Svidrigaïlov knew that girl; there was no holy image, no burning candlebeside the coffin; no sound of prayers: the girl had drowned herself. She was only fourteen, but her heart was broken. And she had destroyedherself, crushed by an insult that had appalled and amazed that childishsoul, had smirched that angel purity with unmerited disgrace and tornfrom her a last scream of despair, unheeded and brutally disregarded, ona dark night in the cold and wet while the wind howled. . . . 

Svidrigaïlov came to himself, got up from the bed and went to thewindow. He felt for the latch and opened it. The wind lashed furiouslyinto the little room and stung his face and his chest, only covered withhis shirt, as though with frost. Under the window there must have beensomething like a garden, and apparently a pleasure garden. There, too, probably there were tea-tables and singing in the daytime. Now drops ofrain flew in at the window from the trees and bushes; it was dark asin a cellar, so that he could only just make out some dark blurs ofobjects. Svidrigaïlov, bending down with elbows on the window-sill, gazed for five minutes into the darkness; the boom of a cannon, followedby a second one, resounded in the darkness of the night. "Ah, thesignal! The river is overflowing, " he thought. "By morning it will beswirling down the street in the lower parts, flooding the basements andcellars. The cellar rats will swim out, and men will curse in the rainand wind as they drag their rubbish to their upper storeys. What time isit now?" And he had hardly thought it when, somewhere near, a clock onthe wall, ticking away hurriedly, struck three. 

"Aha! It will be light in an hour! Why wait? I'll go out at oncestraight to the park. I'll choose a great bush there drenched with rain, so that as soon as one's shoulder touches it, millions of drops drip onone's head. "

He moved away from the window, shut it, lighted the candle, put on hiswaistcoat, his overcoat and his hat and went out, carrying the candle, into the passage to look for the ragged attendant who would be asleepsomewhere in the midst of candle-ends and all sorts of rubbish, to payhim for the room and leave the hotel. "It's the best minute; I couldn'tchoose a better. "

He walked for some time through a long narrow corridor without findinganyone and was just going to call out, when suddenly in a dark cornerbetween an old cupboard and the door he caught sight of a strange objectwhich seemed to be alive. He bent down with the candle and saw a littlegirl, not more than five years old, shivering and crying, with herclothes as wet as a soaking house-flannel. She did not seem afraid ofSvidrigaïlov, but looked at him with blank amazement out of her bigblack eyes. Now and then she sobbed as children do when they have beencrying a long time, but are beginning to be comforted. The child's facewas pale and tired, she was numb with cold. "How can she have come here?She must have hidden here and not slept all night. " He began questioningher. The child suddenly becoming animated, chattered away in her babylanguage, something about "mammy" and that "mammy would beat her, " andabout some cup that she had "bwoken. " The child chattered on withoutstopping. He could only guess from what she said that she was aneglected child, whose mother, probably a drunken cook, in the serviceof the hotel, whipped and frightened her; that the child had brokena cup of her mother's and was so frightened that she had run away theevening before, had hidden for a long while somewhere outside in therain, at last had made her way in here, hidden behind the cupboard andspent the night there, crying and trembling from the damp, the darknessand the fear that she would be badly beaten for it. He took her in hisarms, went back to his room, sat her on the bed, and began undressingher. The torn shoes which she had on her stockingless feet were aswet as if they had been standing in a puddle all night. When he hadundressed her, he put her on the bed, covered her up and wrapped her inthe blanket from her head downwards. She fell asleep at once. Then hesank into dreary musing again. 

"What folly to trouble myself, " he decided suddenly with an oppressivefeeling of annoyance. "What idiocy!" In vexation he took up the candleto go and look for the ragged attendant again and make haste to go away. "Damn the child!" he thought as he opened the door, but he turned againto see whether the child was asleep. He raised the blanket carefully. The child was sleeping soundly, she had got warm under the blanket, and her pale cheeks were flushed. But strange to say that flush seemedbrighter and coarser than the rosy cheeks of childhood. "It's a flushof fever, " thought Svidrigaïlov. It was like the flush from drinking, asthough she had been given a full glass to drink. Her crimson lips werehot and glowing; but what was this? He suddenly fancied that her longblack eyelashes were quivering, as though the lids were opening and asly crafty eye peeped out with an unchildlike wink, as though the littlegirl were not asleep, but pretending. Yes, it was so. Her lips parted ina smile. The corners of her mouth quivered, as though she were trying tocontrol them. But now she quite gave up all effort, now it was a grin, a broad grin; there was something shameless, provocative in that quiteunchildish face; it was depravity, it was the face of a harlot, theshameless face of a French harlot. Now both eyes opened wide; theyturned a glowing, shameless glance upon him; they laughed, invitedhim. . . . There was something infinitely hideous and shocking in thatlaugh, in those eyes, in such nastiness in the face of a child. "What, at five years old?" Svidrigaïlov muttered in genuine horror. "What doesit mean?" And now she turned to him, her little face all aglow, holdingout her arms. . . . "Accursed child!" Svidrigaïlov cried, raising his handto strike her, but at that moment he woke up. 

He was in the same bed, still wrapped in the blanket. The candle had notbeen lighted, and daylight was streaming in at the windows. 

"I've had nightmare all night!" He got up angrily, feeling utterlyshattered; his bones ached. There was a thick mist outside and he couldsee nothing. It was nearly five. He had overslept himself! He got up, put on his still damp jacket and overcoat. Feeling the revolver in hispocket, he took it out and then he sat down, took a notebook out of hispocket and in the most conspicuous place on the title page wrote a fewlines in large letters. Reading them over, he sank into thought with hiselbows on the table. The revolver and the notebook lay beside him. Someflies woke up and settled on the untouched veal, which was still onthe table. He stared at them and at last with his free right hand begantrying to catch one. He tried till he was tired, but could not catch it. At last, realising that he was engaged in this interesting pursuit, hestarted, got up and walked resolutely out of the room. A minute later hewas in the street. 

A thick milky mist hung over the town. Svidrigaïlov walked along theslippery dirty wooden pavement towards the Little Neva. He was picturingthe waters of the Little Neva swollen in the night, Petrovsky Island, the wet paths, the wet grass, the wet trees and bushes and at last thebush. . . . He began ill-humouredly staring at the houses, trying to thinkof something else. There was not a cabman or a passer-by in the street. The bright yellow, wooden, little houses looked dirty and dejected withtheir closed shutters. The cold and damp penetrated his whole body andhe began to shiver. From time to time he came across shop signs and readeach carefully. At last he reached the end of the wooden pavement andcame to a big stone house. A dirty, shivering dog crossed his path withits tail between its legs. A man in a greatcoat lay face downwards; deaddrunk, across the pavement. He looked at him and went on. A high towerstood up on the left. "Bah!" he shouted, "here is a place. Why shouldit be Petrovsky? It will be in the presence of an official witnessanyway. . . . "

He almost smiled at this new thought and turned into the street wherethere was the big house with the tower. At the great closed gates ofthe house, a little man stood with his shoulder leaning against them, wrapped in a grey soldier's coat, with a copper Achilles helmet on hishead. He cast a drowsy and indifferent glance at Svidrigaïlov. Hisface wore that perpetual look of peevish dejection, which is so sourlyprinted on all faces of Jewish race without exception. They both, Svidrigaïlov and Achilles, stared at each other for a few minuteswithout speaking. At last it struck Achilles as irregular for a mannot drunk to be standing three steps from him, staring and not saying aword. 

"What do you want here?" he said, without moving or changing hisposition. 

"Nothing, brother, good morning, " answered Svidrigaïlov. 

"This isn't the place. "

"I am going to foreign parts, brother. "

"To foreign parts?"

"To America. "

"America. "

Svidrigaïlov took out the revolver and cocked it. Achilles raised hiseyebrows. 

"I say, this is not the place for such jokes!"

"Why shouldn't it be the place?"

"Because it isn't. "

"Well, brother, I don't mind that. It's a good place. When you areasked, you just say he was going, he said, to America. "

He put the revolver to his right temple. 

"You can't do it here, it's not the place, " cried Achilles, rousinghimself, his eyes growing bigger and bigger. 

Svidrigaïlov pulled the trigger. 

CHAPTER VII

The same day, about seven o'clock in the evening, Raskolnikov was onhis way to his mother's and sister's lodging--the lodging in Bakaleyev'shouse which Razumihin had found for them. The stairs went up fromthe street. Raskolnikov walked with lagging steps, as though stillhesitating whether to go or not. But nothing would have turned him back:his decision was taken. 

"Besides, it doesn't matter, they still know nothing, " he thought, "andthey are used to thinking of me as eccentric. "

He was appallingly dressed: his clothes torn and dirty, soaked with anight's rain. His face was almost distorted from fatigue, exposure, theinward conflict that had lasted for twenty-four hours. He had spent allthe previous night alone, God knows where. But anyway he had reached adecision. 

He knocked at the door which was opened by his mother. Dounia was notat home. Even the servant happened to be out. At first PulcheriaAlexandrovna was speechless with joy and surprise; then she took him bythe hand and drew him into the room. 

"Here you are!" she began, faltering with joy. "Don't be angry withme, Rodya, for welcoming you so foolishly with tears: I am laughing notcrying. Did you think I was crying? No, I am delighted, but I've gotinto such a stupid habit of shedding tears. I've been like that eversince your father's death. I cry for anything. Sit down, dear boy, youmust be tired; I see you are. Ah, how muddy you are. "

"I was in the rain yesterday, mother. . . . " Raskolnikov began. 

"No, no, " Pulcheria Alexandrovna hurriedly interrupted, "you thought Iwas going to cross-question you in the womanish way I used to; don't beanxious, I understand, I understand it all: now I've learned the wayshere and truly I see for myself that they are better. I've made up mymind once for all: how could I understand your plans and expect you togive an account of them? God knows what concerns and plans you may have, or what ideas you are hatching; so it's not for me to keep nudging yourelbow, asking you what you are thinking about? But, my goodness! whyam I running to and fro as though I were crazy. . . ? I am reading yourarticle in the magazine for the third time, Rodya. Dmitri Prokofitchbrought it to me. Directly I saw it I cried out to myself: 'There, foolish one, ' I thought, 'that's what he is busy about; that's thesolution of the mystery! Learned people are always like that. He mayhave some new ideas in his head just now; he is thinking them over and Iworry him and upset him. ' I read it, my dear, and of course there was agreat deal I did not understand; but that's only natural--how should I?"

"Show me, mother. "

Raskolnikov took the magazine and glanced at his article. Incongruousas it was with his mood and his circumstances, he felt that strange andbitter sweet sensation that every author experiences the first time hesees himself in print; besides, he was only twenty-three. It lasted onlya moment. After reading a few lines he frowned and his heart throbbedwith anguish. He recalled all the inward conflict of the precedingmonths. He flung the article on the table with disgust and anger. 

"But, however foolish I may be, Rodya, I can see for myself that youwill very soon be one of the leading--if not the leading man--in theworld of Russian thought. And they dared to think you were mad! Youdon't know, but they really thought that. Ah, the despicable creatures, how could they understand genius! And Dounia, Dounia was all butbelieving it--what do you say to that? Your father sent twice tomagazines--the first time poems (I've got the manuscript and will showyou) and the second time a whole novel (I begged him to let me copy itout) and how we prayed that they should be taken--they weren't! I wasbreaking my heart, Rodya, six or seven days ago over your food and yourclothes and the way you are living. But now I see again how foolishI was, for you can attain any position you like by your intellect andtalent. No doubt you don't care about that for the present and you areoccupied with much more important matters. . . . "

"Dounia's not at home, mother?"

"No, Rodya. I often don't see her; she leaves me alone. DmitriProkofitch comes to see me, it's so good of him, and he always talksabout you. He loves you and respects you, my dear. I don't say thatDounia is very wanting in consideration. I am not complaining. She hasher ways and I have mine; she seems to have got some secrets of late andI never have any secrets from you two. Of course, I am sure that Douniahas far too much sense, and besides she loves you and me. . . But I don'tknow what it will all lead to. You've made me so happy by coming now, Rodya, but she has missed you by going out; when she comes in I'll tellher: 'Your brother came in while you were out. Where have you been allthis time?' You mustn't spoil me, Rodya, you know; come when you can, but if you can't, it doesn't matter, I can wait. I shall know, anyway, that you are fond of me, that will be enough for me. I shall read whatyou write, I shall hear about you from everyone, and sometimes you'llcome yourself to see me. What could be better? Here you've come now tocomfort your mother, I see that. "

Here Pulcheria Alexandrovna began to cry. 

"Here I am again! Don't mind my foolishness. My goodness, why am Isitting here?" she cried, jumping up. "There is coffee and I don't offeryou any. Ah, that's the selfishness of old age. I'll get it at once!"

"Mother, don't trouble, I am going at once. I haven't come for that. Please listen to me. "

Pulcheria Alexandrovna went up to him timidly. 

"Mother, whatever happens, whatever you hear about me, whatever you aretold about me, will you always love me as you do now?" he asked suddenlyfrom the fullness of his heart, as though not thinking of his words andnot weighing them. 

"Rodya, Rodya, what is the matter? How can you ask me such a question?Why, who will tell me anything about you? Besides, I shouldn't believeanyone, I should refuse to listen. "

"I've come to assure you that I've always loved you and I am gladthat we are alone, even glad Dounia is out, " he went on with the sameimpulse. "I have come to tell you that though you will be unhappy, youmust believe that your son loves you now more than himself, and that allyou thought about me, that I was cruel and didn't care about you, wasall a mistake. I shall never cease to love you. . . . Well, that's enough:I thought I must do this and begin with this. . . . "

Pulcheria Alexandrovna embraced him in silence, pressing him to herbosom and weeping gently. 

"I don't know what is wrong with you, Rodya, " she said at last. "I'vebeen thinking all this time that we were simply boring you and now I seethat there is a great sorrow in store for you, and that's why you aremiserable. I've foreseen it a long time, Rodya. Forgive me for speakingabout it. I keep thinking about it and lie awake at nights. Your sisterlay talking in her sleep all last night, talking of nothing but you. Icaught something, but I couldn't make it out. I felt all the morningas though I were going to be hanged, waiting for something, expectingsomething, and now it has come! Rodya, Rodya, where are you going? Youare going away somewhere?"

"Yes. "

"That's what I thought! I can come with you, you know, if you needme. And Dounia, too; she loves you, she loves you dearly--and SofyaSemyonovna may come with us if you like. You see, I am glad to look uponher as a daughter even. . . Dmitri Prokofitch will help us to go together. But. . . Where. . . Are you going?"

"Good-bye, mother. "

"What, to-day?" she cried, as though losing him for ever. 

"I can't stay, I must go now. . . . "

"And can't I come with you?"

"No, but kneel down and pray to God for me. Your prayer perhaps willreach Him. "

"Let me bless you and sign you with the cross. That's right, that'sright. Oh, God, what are we doing?"

Yes, he was glad, he was very glad that there was no one there, thathe was alone with his mother. For the first time after all those awfulmonths his heart was softened. He fell down before her, he kissed herfeet and both wept, embracing. And she was not surprised and did notquestion him this time. For some days she had realised that somethingawful was happening to her son and that now some terrible minute hadcome for him. 

"Rodya, my darling, my first born, " she said sobbing, "now you are justas when you were little. You would run like this to me and hug me andkiss me. When your father was living and we were poor, you comforted ussimply by being with us and when I buried your father, how often wewept together at his grave and embraced, as now. And if I've been cryinglately, it's that my mother's heart had a foreboding of trouble. Thefirst time I saw you, that evening, you remember, as soon as we arrivedhere, I guessed simply from your eyes. My heart sank at once, and to-daywhen I opened the door and looked at you, I thought the fatal hour hadcome. Rodya, Rodya, you are not going away to-day?"

"No!"

"You'll come again?"

"Yes. . . I'll come. "

"Rodya, don't be angry, I don't dare to question you. I know I mustn't. Only say two words to me--is it far where you are going?"

"Very far. "

"What is awaiting you there? Some post or career for you?"

"What God sends. . . Only pray for me. " Raskolnikov went to the door, butshe clutched him and gazed despairingly into his eyes. Her face workedwith terror. 

"Enough, mother, " said Raskolnikov, deeply regretting that he had come. 

"Not for ever, it's not yet for ever? You'll come, you'll cometo-morrow?"

"I will, I will, good-bye. " He tore himself away at last. 

It was a warm, fresh, bright evening; it had cleared up in the morning. Raskolnikov went to his lodgings; he made haste. He wanted to finish allbefore sunset. He did not want to meet anyone till then. Going up thestairs he noticed that Nastasya rushed from the samovar to watch himintently. "Can anyone have come to see me?" he wondered. He had adisgusted vision of Porfiry. But opening his door he saw Dounia. Shewas sitting alone, plunged in deep thought, and looked as though she hadbeen waiting a long time. He stopped short in the doorway. She rose fromthe sofa in dismay and stood up facing him. Her eyes, fixed upon him, betrayed horror and infinite grief. And from those eyes alone he saw atonce that she knew. 

"Am I to come in or go away?" he asked uncertainly. 

"I've been all day with Sofya Semyonovna. We were both waiting for you. We thought that you would be sure to come there. "

Raskolnikov went into the room and sank exhausted on a chair. 

"I feel weak, Dounia, I am very tired; and I should have liked at thismoment to be able to control myself. "

He glanced at her mistrustfully. 

"Where were you all night?"

"I don't remember clearly. You see, sister, I wanted to make up my mindonce for all, and several times I walked by the Neva, I remember thatI wanted to end it all there, but. . . I couldn't make up my mind, " hewhispered, looking at her mistrustfully again. 

"Thank God! That was just what we were afraid of, Sofya Semyonovna andI. Then you still have faith in life? Thank God, thank God!"

Raskolnikov smiled bitterly. 

"I haven't faith, but I have just been weeping in mother's arms; Ihaven't faith, but I have just asked her to pray for me. I don't knowhow it is, Dounia, I don't understand it. "

"Have you been at mother's? Have you told her?" cried Dounia, horror-stricken. "Surely you haven't done that?"

"No, I didn't tell her. . . In words; but she understood a great deal. She heard you talking in your sleep. I am sure she half understands italready. Perhaps I did wrong in going to see her. I don't know why I didgo. I am a contemptible person, Dounia. "

"A contemptible person, but ready to face suffering! You are, aren'tyou?"

"Yes, I am going. At once. Yes, to escape the disgrace I thought ofdrowning myself, Dounia, but as I looked into the water, I thought thatif I had considered myself strong till now I'd better not be afraid ofdisgrace, " he said, hurrying on. "It's pride, Dounia. "

"Pride, Rodya. "

There was a gleam of fire in his lustreless eyes; he seemed to be gladto think that he was still proud. 

"You don't think, sister, that I was simply afraid of the water?" heasked, looking into her face with a sinister smile. 

"Oh, Rodya, hush!" cried Dounia bitterly. Silence lasted for twominutes. He sat with his eyes fixed on the floor; Dounia stood at theother end of the table and looked at him with anguish. Suddenly he gotup. 

"It's late, it's time to go! I am going at once to give myself up. But Idon't know why I am going to give myself up. "

Big tears fell down her cheeks. 

"You are crying, sister, but can you hold out your hand to me?"

"You doubted it?"

She threw her arms round him. 

"Aren't you half expiating your crime by facing the suffering?" shecried, holding him close and kissing him. 

"Crime? What crime?" he cried in sudden fury. "That I killed a vilenoxious insect, an old pawnbroker woman, of use to no one!. . . Killingher was atonement for forty sins. She was sucking the life out of poorpeople. Was that a crime? I am not thinking of it and I am not thinkingof expiating it, and why are you all rubbing it in on all sides? 'Acrime! a crime!' Only now I see clearly the imbecility of my cowardice, now that I have decided to face this superfluous disgrace. It's simplybecause I am contemptible and have nothing in me that I have decided to, perhaps too for my advantage, as that. . . Porfiry. . . Suggested!"

"Brother, brother, what are you saying? Why, you have shed blood?" criedDounia in despair. 

"Which all men shed, " he put in almost frantically, "which flows and hasalways flowed in streams, which is spilt like champagne, and for whichmen are crowned in the Capitol and are called afterwards benefactors ofmankind. Look into it more carefully and understand it! I too wanted todo good to men and would have done hundreds, thousands of good deedsto make up for that one piece of stupidity, not stupidity even, simplyclumsiness, for the idea was by no means so stupid as it seems nowthat it has failed. . . . (Everything seems stupid when it fails. ) By thatstupidity I only wanted to put myself into an independent position, totake the first step, to obtain means, and then everything would havebeen smoothed over by benefits immeasurable in comparison. . . . But I. . . I couldn't carry out even the first step, because I am contemptible, that's what's the matter! And yet I won't look at it as you do. If I hadsucceeded I should have been crowned with glory, but now I'm trapped. "

"But that's not so, not so! Brother, what are you saying?"

"Ah, it's not picturesque, not æsthetically attractive! I fail tounderstand why bombarding people by regular siege is more honourable. The fear of appearances is the first symptom of impotence. I've never, never recognised this more clearly than now, and I am further than everfrom seeing that what I did was a crime. I've never, never been strongerand more convinced than now. "

The colour had rushed into his pale exhausted face, but as he utteredhis last explanation, he happened to meet Dounia's eyes and he saw suchanguish in them that he could not help being checked. He felt that hehad, anyway, made these two poor women miserable, that he was, anyway, the cause. . . 

"Dounia darling, if I am guilty forgive me (though I cannot be forgivenif I am guilty). Good-bye! We won't dispute. It's time, high time to go. Don't follow me, I beseech you, I have somewhere else to go. . . . But yougo at once and sit with mother. I entreat you to! It's my last requestof you. Don't leave her at all; I left her in a state of anxiety, thatshe is not fit to bear; she will die or go out of her mind. Be withher! Razumihin will be with you. I've been talking to him. . . . Don't cryabout me: I'll try to be honest and manly all my life, even if I am amurderer. Perhaps I shall some day make a name. I won't disgrace you, you will see; I'll still show. . . . Now good-bye for the present, " heconcluded hurriedly, noticing again a strange expression in Dounia'seyes at his last words and promises. "Why are you crying? Don't cry, don't cry: we are not parting for ever! Ah, yes! Wait a minute, I'dforgotten!"

He went to the table, took up a thick dusty book, opened it and tookfrom between the pages a little water-colour portrait on ivory. It wasthe portrait of his landlady's daughter, who had died of fever, thatstrange girl who had wanted to be a nun. For a minute he gazed at thedelicate expressive face of his betrothed, kissed the portrait and gaveit to Dounia. 

"I used to talk a great deal about it to her, only to her, " he saidthoughtfully. "To her heart I confided much of what has since been sohideously realised. Don't be uneasy, " he returned to Dounia, "she wasas much opposed to it as you, and I am glad that she is gone. The greatpoint is that everything now is going to be different, is going tobe broken in two, " he cried, suddenly returning to his dejection. "Everything, everything, and am I prepared for it? Do I want it myself?They say it is necessary for me to suffer! What's the object of thesesenseless sufferings? shall I know any better what they are for, when Iam crushed by hardships and idiocy, and weak as an old man after twentyyears' penal servitude? And what shall I have to live for then? Why am Iconsenting to that life now? Oh, I knew I was contemptible when I stoodlooking at the Neva at daybreak to-day!"

At last they both went out. It was hard for Dounia, but she loved him. She walked away, but after going fifty paces she turned round to lookat him again. He was still in sight. At the corner he too turned and forthe last time their eyes met; but noticing that she was looking at him, he motioned her away with impatience and even vexation, and turned thecorner abruptly. 

"I am wicked, I see that, " he thought to himself, feeling ashamed amoment later of his angry gesture to Dounia. "But why are they so fondof me if I don't deserve it? Oh, if only I were alone and no one lovedme and I too had never loved anyone! _Nothing of all this would havehappened. _ But I wonder shall I in those fifteen or twenty years grow someek that I shall humble myself before people and whimper at every wordthat I am a criminal? Yes, that's it, that's it, that's what they aresending me there for, that's what they want. Look at them running to andfro about the streets, every one of them a scoundrel and a criminal atheart and, worse still, an idiot. But try to get me off and they'd bewild with righteous indignation. Oh, how I hate them all!"

He fell to musing by what process it could come to pass, that he couldbe humbled before all of them, indiscriminately--humbled by conviction. And yet why not? It must be so. Would not twenty years of continualbondage crush him utterly? Water wears out a stone. And why, why shouldhe live after that? Why should he go now when he knew that it would beso? It was the hundredth time perhaps that he had asked himself thatquestion since the previous evening, but still he went. 

CHAPTER VIII

When he went into Sonia's room, it was already getting dark. All daySonia had been waiting for him in terrible anxiety. Dounia had beenwaiting with her. She had come to her that morning, rememberingSvidrigaïlov's words that Sonia knew. We will not describe theconversation and tears of the two girls, and how friendly they became. Dounia gained one comfort at least from that interview, that herbrother would not be alone. He had gone to her, Sonia, first with hisconfession; he had gone to her for human fellowship when he needed it;she would go with him wherever fate might send him. Dounia did not ask, but she knew it was so. She looked at Sonia almost with reverence andat first almost embarrassed her by it. Sonia was almost on the pointof tears. She felt herself, on the contrary, hardly worthy to look atDounia. Dounia's gracious image when she had bowed to her so attentivelyand respectfully at their first meeting in Raskolnikov's room hadremained in her mind as one of the fairest visions of her life. 

Dounia at last became impatient and, leaving Sonia, went to herbrother's room to await him there; she kept thinking that he would comethere first. When she had gone, Sonia began to be tortured by the dreadof his committing suicide, and Dounia too feared it. But they had spentthe day trying to persuade each other that that could not be, and bothwere less anxious while they were together. As soon as they parted, eachthought of nothing else. Sonia remembered how Svidrigaïlov had said toher the day before that Raskolnikov had two alternatives--Siberia or. . . Besides she knew his vanity, his pride and his lack of faith. 

"Is it possible that he has nothing but cowardice and fear of death tomake him live?" she thought at last in despair. 

Meanwhile the sun was setting. Sonia was standing in dejection, lookingintently out of the window, but from it she could see nothing but theunwhitewashed blank wall of the next house. At last when she began tofeel sure of his death--he walked into the room. 

She gave a cry of joy, but looking carefully into his face she turnedpale. 

"Yes, " said Raskolnikov, smiling. "I have come for your cross, Sonia. Itwas you told me to go to the cross-roads; why is it you are frightenednow it's come to that?"

Sonia gazed at him astonished. His tone seemed strange to her; a coldshiver ran over her, but in a moment she guessed that the tone and thewords were a mask. He spoke to her looking away, as though to avoidmeeting her eyes. 

"You see, Sonia, I've decided that it will be better so. There is onefact. . . . But it's a long story and there's no need to discuss it. Butdo you know what angers me? It annoys me that all those stupid brutishfaces will be gaping at me directly, pestering me with their stupidquestions, which I shall have to answer--they'll point their fingers atme. . . . Tfoo! You know I am not going to Porfiry, I am sick of him. I'drather go to my friend, the Explosive Lieutenant; how I shall surprisehim, what a sensation I shall make! But I must be cooler; I've becometoo irritable of late. You know I was nearly shaking my fist at mysister just now, because she turned to take a last look at me. It'sa brutal state to be in! Ah! what am I coming to! Well, where are thecrosses?"

He seemed hardly to know what he was doing. He could not stay still orconcentrate his attention on anything; his ideas seemed to gallop afterone another, he talked incoherently, his hands trembled slightly. 

Without a word Sonia took out of the drawer two crosses, one of cypresswood and one of copper. She made the sign of the cross over herself andover him, and put the wooden cross on his neck. 

"It's the symbol of my taking up the cross, " he laughed. "As though Ihad not suffered much till now! The wooden cross, that is the peasantone; the copper one, that is Lizaveta's--you will wear yourself, showme! So she had it on. . . At that moment? I remember two things likethese too, a silver one and a little ikon. I threw them back on the oldwoman's neck. Those would be appropriate now, really, those are what Iought to put on now. . . . But I am talking nonsense and forgetting whatmatters; I'm somehow forgetful. . . . You see I have come to warn you, Sonia, so that you might know. . . That's all--that's all I came for. ButI thought I had more to say. You wanted me to go yourself. Well, now Iam going to prison and you'll have your wish. Well, what are you cryingfor? You too? Don't. Leave off! Oh, how I hate it all!"

But his feeling was stirred; his heart ached, as he looked at her. "Whyis she grieving too?" he thought to himself. "What am I to her? Why doesshe weep? Why is she looking after me, like my mother or Dounia? She'llbe my nurse. "

"Cross yourself, say at least one prayer, " Sonia begged in a timidbroken voice. 

"Oh certainly, as much as you like! And sincerely, Sonia, sincerely. . . . "

But he wanted to say something quite different. 

He crossed himself several times. Sonia took up her shawl and putit over her head. It was the green _drap de dames_ shawl of whichMarmeladov had spoken, "the family shawl. " Raskolnikov thought of thatlooking at it, but he did not ask. He began to feel himself that hewas certainly forgetting things and was disgustingly agitated. He wasfrightened at this. He was suddenly struck too by the thought that Soniameant to go with him. 

"What are you doing? Where are you going? Stay here, stay! I'll goalone, " he cried in cowardly vexation, and almost resentful, he movedtowards the door. "What's the use of going in procession?" he mutteredgoing out. 

Sonia remained standing in the middle of the room. He had not even saidgood-bye to her; he had forgotten her. A poignant and rebellious doubtsurged in his heart. 

"Was it right, was it right, all this?" he thought again as he went downthe stairs. "Couldn't he stop and retract it all. . . And not go?"

But still he went. He felt suddenly once for all that he mustn't askhimself questions. As he turned into the street he remembered that hehad not said good-bye to Sonia, that he had left her in the middle ofthe room in her green shawl, not daring to stir after he had shoutedat her, and he stopped short for a moment. At the same instant, anotherthought dawned upon him, as though it had been lying in wait to strikehim then. 

"Why, with what object did I go to her just now? I told her--onbusiness; on what business? I had no sort of business! To tell her I was_going_; but where was the need? Do I love her? No, no, I drove her awayjust now like a dog. Did I want her crosses? Oh, how low I've sunk! No, I wanted her tears, I wanted to see her terror, to see how her heartached! I had to have something to cling to, something to delay me, somefriendly face to see! And I dared to believe in myself, to dream of whatI would do! I am a beggarly contemptible wretch, contemptible!"

He walked along the canal bank, and he had not much further to go. Buton reaching the bridge he stopped and turning out of his way along itwent to the Hay Market. 

He looked eagerly to right and left, gazed intently at every object andcould not fix his attention on anything; everything slipped away. "Inanother week, another month I shall be driven in a prison van over thisbridge, how shall I look at the canal then? I should like to rememberthis!" slipped into his mind. "Look at this sign! How shall I read thoseletters then? It's written here 'Campany, ' that's a thing to remember, that letter _a_, and to look at it again in a month--how shall I lookat it then? What shall I be feeling and thinking then?. . . How trivialit all must be, what I am fretting about now! Of course it must all beinteresting. . . In its way. . . (Ha-ha-ha! What am I thinking about?) I ambecoming a baby, I am showing off to myself; why am I ashamed? Foo! howpeople shove! that fat man--a German he must be--who pushed againstme, does he know whom he pushed? There's a peasant woman with a baby, begging. It's curious that she thinks me happier than she is. I mightgive her something, for the incongruity of it. Here's a five copeckpiece left in my pocket, where did I get it? Here, here. . . Take it, mygood woman!"

"God bless you, " the beggar chanted in a lachrymose voice. 

He went into the Hay Market. It was distasteful, very distasteful to bein a crowd, but he walked just where he saw most people. He would havegiven anything in the world to be alone; but he knew himself that hewould not have remained alone for a moment. There was a man drunk anddisorderly in the crowd; he kept trying to dance and falling down. Therewas a ring round him. Raskolnikov squeezed his way through the crowd, stared for some minutes at the drunken man and suddenly gave a shortjerky laugh. A minute later he had forgotten him and did not see him, though he still stared. He moved away at last, not remembering where hewas; but when he got into the middle of the square an emotion suddenlycame over him, overwhelming him body and mind. 

He suddenly recalled Sonia's words, "Go to the cross-roads, bow down tothe people, kiss the earth, for you have sinned against it too, and sayaloud to the whole world, 'I am a murderer. '" He trembled, rememberingthat. And the hopeless misery and anxiety of all that time, especiallyof the last hours, had weighed so heavily upon him that he positivelyclutched at the chance of this new unmixed, complete sensation. It cameover him like a fit; it was like a single spark kindled in his soul andspreading fire through him. Everything in him softened at once and thetears started into his eyes. He fell to the earth on the spot. . . . 

He knelt down in the middle of the square, bowed down to the earth, andkissed that filthy earth with bliss and rapture. He got up and boweddown a second time. 

"He's boozed, " a youth near him observed. 

There was a roar of laughter. 

"He's going to Jerusalem, brothers, and saying good-bye to his childrenand his country. He's bowing down to all the world and kissing the greatcity of St. Petersburg and its pavement, " added a workman who was alittle drunk. 

"Quite a young man, too!" observed a third. 

"And a gentleman, " someone observed soberly. 

"There's no knowing who's a gentleman and who isn't nowadays. "

These exclamations and remarks checked Raskolnikov, and the words, "I ama murderer, " which were perhaps on the point of dropping from his lips, died away. He bore these remarks quietly, however, and, without lookinground, he turned down a street leading to the police office. He had aglimpse of something on the way which did not surprise him; he had feltthat it must be so. The second time he bowed down in the Hay Market hesaw, standing fifty paces from him on the left, Sonia. She was hidingfrom him behind one of the wooden shanties in the market-place. She hadfollowed him then on his painful way! Raskolnikov at that moment feltand knew once for all that Sonia was with him for ever and would followhim to the ends of the earth, wherever fate might take him. It wrung hisheart. . . But he was just reaching the fatal place. 

He went into the yard fairly resolutely. He had to mount to the thirdstorey. "I shall be some time going up, " he thought. He felt as thoughthe fateful moment was still far off, as though he had plenty of timeleft for consideration. 

Again the same rubbish, the same eggshells lying about on the spiralstairs, again the open doors of the flats, again the same kitchens andthe same fumes and stench coming from them. Raskolnikov had not beenhere since that day. His legs were numb and gave way under him, butstill they moved forward. He stopped for a moment to take breath, tocollect himself, so as to enter _like a man_. "But why? what for?" hewondered, reflecting. "If I must drink the cup what difference does itmake? The more revolting the better. " He imagined for an instant thefigure of the "explosive lieutenant, " Ilya Petrovitch. Was he actuallygoing to him? Couldn't he go to someone else? To Nikodim Fomitch?Couldn't he turn back and go straight to Nikodim Fomitch's lodgings?At least then it would be done privately. . . . No, no! To the "explosivelieutenant"! If he must drink it, drink it off at once. 

Turning cold and hardly conscious, he opened the door of the office. There were very few people in it this time--only a house porter and apeasant. The doorkeeper did not even peep out from behind his screen. Raskolnikov walked into the next room. "Perhaps I still need not speak, "passed through his mind. Some sort of clerk not wearing a uniform wassettling himself at a bureau to write. In a corner another clerk wasseating himself. Zametov was not there, nor, of course, Nikodim Fomitch. 

"No one in?" Raskolnikov asked, addressing the person at the bureau. 

"Whom do you want?"

"A-ah! Not a sound was heard, not a sight was seen, but I scent theRussian. . . How does it go on in the fairy tale. . . I've forgotten! 'Atyour service!'" a familiar voice cried suddenly. 

Raskolnikov shuddered. The Explosive Lieutenant stood before him. Hehad just come in from the third room. "It is the hand of fate, " thoughtRaskolnikov. "Why is he here?"

"You've come to see us? What about?" cried Ilya Petrovitch. Hewas obviously in an exceedingly good humour and perhaps a trifleexhilarated. "If it's on business you are rather early. [*] It's only achance that I am here. . . However I'll do what I can. I must admit, I. . . What is it, what is it? Excuse me. . . . "

 [*] Dostoevsky appears to have forgotten that it is after sunset, and that the last time Raskolnikov visited the police office at two in the afternoon he was reproached for coming too late. --TRANSLATOR. 

"Raskolnikov. "

"Of course, Raskolnikov. You didn't imagine I'd forgotten? Don't think Iam like that. . . Rodion Ro--Ro--Rodionovitch, that's it, isn't it?"

"Rodion Romanovitch. "

"Yes, yes, of course, Rodion Romanovitch! I was just getting at it. Imade many inquiries about you. I assure you I've been genuinely grievedsince that. . . Since I behaved like that. . . It was explained to meafterwards that you were a literary man. . . And a learned one too. . . Andso to say the first steps. . . Mercy on us! What literary or scientificman does not begin by some originality of conduct! My wife and I havethe greatest respect for literature, in my wife it's a genuine passion!Literature and art! If only a man is a gentleman, all the rest can begained by talents, learning, good sense, genius. As for a hat--well, what does a hat matter? I can buy a hat as easily as I can a bun; butwhat's under the hat, what the hat covers, I can't buy that! I was evenmeaning to come and apologise to you, but thought maybe you'd. . . But Iam forgetting to ask you, is there anything you want really? I hear yourfamily have come?"

"Yes, my mother and sister. "

"I've even had the honour and happiness of meeting your sister--a highlycultivated and charming person. I confess I was sorry I got so hot withyou. There it is! But as for my looking suspiciously at your faintingfit--that affair has been cleared up splendidly! Bigotry and fanaticism!I understand your indignation. Perhaps you are changing your lodging onaccount of your family's arriving?"

"No, I only looked in. . . I came to ask. . . I thought that I should findZametov here. "

"Oh, yes! Of course, you've made friends, I heard. Well, no, Zametov isnot here. Yes, we've lost Zametov. He's not been here since yesterday. . . He quarrelled with everyone on leaving. . . In the rudest way. He is afeather-headed youngster, that's all; one might have expected somethingfrom him, but there, you know what they are, our brilliant young men. He wanted to go in for some examination, but it's only to talk andboast about it, it will go no further than that. Of course it's a verydifferent matter with you or Mr. Razumihin there, your friend. Yourcareer is an intellectual one and you won't be deterred by failure. Foryou, one may say, all the attractions of life _nihil est_--you are anascetic, a monk, a hermit!. . . A book, a pen behind your ear, a learnedresearch--that's where your spirit soars! I am the same way myself. . . . Have you read Livingstone's Travels?"

"No. "

"Oh, I have. There are a great many Nihilists about nowadays, you know, and indeed it is not to be wondered at. What sort of days are they? Iask you. But we thought. . . You are not a Nihilist of course? Answer meopenly, openly!"

"N-no. . . "

"Believe me, you can speak openly to me as you would to yourself!Official duty is one thing but. . . You are thinking I meant to say_friendship_ is quite another? No, you're wrong! It's not friendship, but the feeling of a man and a citizen, the feeling of humanity and oflove for the Almighty. I may be an official, but I am always boundto feel myself a man and a citizen. . . . You were asking about Zametov. Zametov will make a scandal in the French style in a house of badreputation, over a glass of champagne. . . That's all your Zametov is goodfor! While I'm perhaps, so to speak, burning with devotion and loftyfeelings, and besides I have rank, consequence, a post! I am married andhave children, I fulfil the duties of a man and a citizen, but who ishe, may I ask? I appeal to you as a man ennobled by education. . . Thenthese midwives, too, have become extraordinarily numerous. "

Raskolnikov raised his eyebrows inquiringly. The words of IlyaPetrovitch, who had obviously been dining, were for the most part astream of empty sounds for him. But some of them he understood. Helooked at him inquiringly, not knowing how it would end. 

"I mean those crop-headed wenches, " the talkative Ilya Petrovitchcontinued. "Midwives is my name for them. I think it a very satisfactoryone, ha-ha! They go to the Academy, study anatomy. If I fall ill, amI to send for a young lady to treat me? What do you say? Ha-ha!" IlyaPetrovitch laughed, quite pleased with his own wit. "It's an immoderatezeal for education, but once you're educated, that's enough. Why abuseit? Why insult honourable people, as that scoundrel Zametov does? Whydid he insult me, I ask you? Look at these suicides, too, how commonthey are, you can't fancy! People spend their last halfpenny and killthemselves, boys and girls and old people. Only this morning we heardabout a gentleman who had just come to town. Nil Pavlitch, I say, whatwas the name of that gentleman who shot himself?"

"Svidrigaïlov, " someone answered from the other room with drowsylistlessness. 

Raskolnikov started. 

"Svidrigaïlov! Svidrigaïlov has shot himself!" he cried. 

"What, do you know Svidrigaïlov?"

"Yes. . . I knew him. . . . He hadn't been here long. "

"Yes, that's so. He had lost his wife, was a man of reckless habits andall of a sudden shot himself, and in such a shocking way. . . . He leftin his notebook a few words: that he dies in full possession of hisfaculties and that no one is to blame for his death. He had money, theysay. How did you come to know him?"

"I. . . Was acquainted. . . My sister was governess in his family. "

"Bah-bah-bah! Then no doubt you can tell us something about him. You hadno suspicion?"

"I saw him yesterday. . . He. . . Was drinking wine; I knew nothing. "

Raskolnikov felt as though something had fallen on him and was stiflinghim. 

"You've turned pale again. It's so stuffy here. . . "

"Yes, I must go, " muttered Raskolnikov. "Excuse my troubling you. . . . "

"Oh, not at all, as often as you like. It's a pleasure to see you and Iam glad to say so. "

Ilya Petrovitch held out his hand. 

"I only wanted. . . I came to see Zametov. "

"I understand, I understand, and it's a pleasure to see you. "

"I. . . Am very glad. . . Good-bye, " Raskolnikov smiled. 

He went out; he reeled, he was overtaken with giddiness and did not knowwhat he was doing. He began going down the stairs, supporting himselfwith his right hand against the wall. He fancied that a porter pushedpast him on his way upstairs to the police office, that a dog inthe lower storey kept up a shrill barking and that a woman flung arolling-pin at it and shouted. He went down and out into the yard. There, not far from the entrance, stood Sonia, pale and horror-stricken. She looked wildly at him. He stood still before her. There was a look ofpoignant agony, of despair, in her face. She clasped her hands. His lipsworked in an ugly, meaningless smile. He stood still a minute, grinnedand went back to the police office. 

Ilya Petrovitch had sat down and was rummaging among some papers. Beforehim stood the same peasant who had pushed by on the stairs. 

"Hulloa! Back again! have you left something behind? What's the matter?"

Raskolnikov, with white lips and staring eyes, came slowly nearer. He walked right to the table, leaned his hand on it, tried to saysomething, but could not; only incoherent sounds were audible. 

"You are feeling ill, a chair! Here, sit down! Some water!"

Raskolnikov dropped on to a chair, but he kept his eyes fixed on theface of Ilya Petrovitch, which expressed unpleasant surprise. Bothlooked at one another for a minute and waited. Water was brought. 

"It was I. . . " began Raskolnikov. 

"Drink some water. "

Raskolnikov refused the water with his hand, and softly and brokenly, but distinctly said:

"_It was I killed the old pawnbroker woman and her sister Lizaveta withan axe and robbed them. _"

Ilya Petrovitch opened his mouth. People ran up on all sides. 

Raskolnikov repeated his statement. 

EPILOGUE

I

Siberia. On the banks of a broad solitary river stands a town, one ofthe administrative centres of Russia; in the town there is a fortress, in the fortress there is a prison. In the prison the second-classconvict Rodion Raskolnikov has been confined for nine months. Almost ayear and a half has passed since his crime. 

There had been little difficulty about his trial. The criminal adheredexactly, firmly, and clearly to his statement. He did not confuse normisrepresent the facts, nor soften them in his own interest, nor omitthe smallest detail. He explained every incident of the murder, thesecret of _the pledge_ (the piece of wood with a strip of metal) whichwas found in the murdered woman's hand. He described minutely how hehad taken her keys, what they were like, as well as the chest and itscontents; he explained the mystery of Lizaveta's murder; described howKoch and, after him, the student knocked, and repeated all they had saidto one another; how he afterwards had run downstairs and heard Nikolayand Dmitri shouting; how he had hidden in the empty flat and afterwardsgone home. He ended by indicating the stone in the yard off theVoznesensky Prospect under which the purse and the trinkets were found. The whole thing, in fact, was perfectly clear. The lawyers and thejudges were very much struck, among other things, by the fact that hehad hidden the trinkets and the purse under a stone, without makinguse of them, and that, what was more, he did not now remember what thetrinkets were like, or even how many there were. The fact that he hadnever opened the purse and did not even know how much was in it seemedincredible. There turned out to be in the purse three hundred andseventeen roubles and sixty copecks. From being so long under the stone, some of the most valuable notes lying uppermost had suffered from thedamp. They were a long while trying to discover why the accused manshould tell a lie about this, when about everything else he had madea truthful and straightforward confession. Finally some of the lawyersmore versed in psychology admitted that it was possible he had reallynot looked into the purse, and so didn't know what was in it when hehid it under the stone. But they immediately drew the deduction thatthe crime could only have been committed through temporary mentalderangement, through homicidal mania, without object or the pursuit ofgain. This fell in with the most recent fashionable theory of temporaryinsanity, so often applied in our days in criminal cases. MoreoverRaskolnikov's hypochondriacal condition was proved by many witnesses, byDr. Zossimov, his former fellow students, his landlady and her servant. All this pointed strongly to the conclusion that Raskolnikov was notquite like an ordinary murderer and robber, but that there was anotherelement in the case. 

To the intense annoyance of those who maintained this opinion, thecriminal scarcely attempted to defend himself. To the decisive questionas to what motive impelled him to the murder and the robbery, heanswered very clearly with the coarsest frankness that the cause washis miserable position, his poverty and helplessness, and his desire toprovide for his first steps in life by the help of the three thousandroubles he had reckoned on finding. He had been led to the murderthrough his shallow and cowardly nature, exasperated moreover byprivation and failure. To the question what led him to confess, heanswered that it was his heartfelt repentance. All this was almostcoarse. . . . 

The sentence however was more merciful than could have been expected, perhaps partly because the criminal had not tried to justify himself, but had rather shown a desire to exaggerate his guilt. All the strangeand peculiar circumstances of the crime were taken into consideration. There could be no doubt of the abnormal and poverty-stricken conditionof the criminal at the time. The fact that he had made no use of what hehad stolen was put down partly to the effect of remorse, partly to hisabnormal mental condition at the time of the crime. Incidentally themurder of Lizaveta served indeed to confirm the last hypothesis: a mancommits two murders and forgets that the door is open! Finally, theconfession, at the very moment when the case was hopelessly muddled bythe false evidence given by Nikolay through melancholy and fanaticism, and when, moreover, there were no proofs against the real criminal, nosuspicions even (Porfiry Petrovitch fully kept his word)--all this didmuch to soften the sentence. Other circumstances, too, in the prisoner'sfavour came out quite unexpectedly. Razumihin somehow discovered andproved that while Raskolnikov was at the university he had helped a poorconsumptive fellow student and had spent his last penny on supportinghim for six months, and when this student died, leaving a decrepitold father whom he had maintained almost from his thirteenth year, Raskolnikov had got the old man into a hospital and paid for his funeralwhen he died. Raskolnikov's landlady bore witness, too, that when theyhad lived in another house at Five Corners, Raskolnikov had rescued twolittle children from a house on fire and was burnt in doing so. This wasinvestigated and fairly well confirmed by many witnesses. These factsmade an impression in his favour. 

And in the end the criminal was, in consideration of extenuatingcircumstances, condemned to penal servitude in the second class for aterm of eight years only. 

At the very beginning of the trial Raskolnikov's mother fell ill. Douniaand Razumihin found it possible to get her out of Petersburg during thetrial. Razumihin chose a town on the railway not far from Petersburg, soas to be able to follow every step of the trial and at the same timeto see Avdotya Romanovna as often as possible. Pulcheria Alexandrovna'sillness was a strange nervous one and was accompanied by a partialderangement of her intellect. 

When Dounia returned from her last interview with her brother, shehad found her mother already ill, in feverish delirium. That eveningRazumihin and she agreed what answers they must make to her mother'squestions about Raskolnikov and made up a complete story for hermother's benefit of his having to go away to a distant part of Russiaon a business commission, which would bring him in the end money andreputation. 

But they were struck by the fact that Pulcheria Alexandrovna neverasked them anything on the subject, neither then nor thereafter. On thecontrary, she had her own version of her son's sudden departure; shetold them with tears how he had come to say good-bye to her, hintingthat she alone knew many mysterious and important facts, and that Rodyahad many very powerful enemies, so that it was necessary for him to bein hiding. As for his future career, she had no doubt that it would bebrilliant when certain sinister influences could be removed. She assuredRazumihin that her son would be one day a great statesman, that hisarticle and brilliant literary talent proved it. This article she wascontinually reading, she even read it aloud, almost took it to bedwith her, but scarcely asked where Rodya was, though the subject wasobviously avoided by the others, which might have been enough to awakenher suspicions. 

They began to be frightened at last at Pulcheria Alexandrovna's strangesilence on certain subjects. She did not, for instance, complain ofgetting no letters from him, though in previous years she had only livedon the hope of letters from her beloved Rodya. This was the cause ofgreat uneasiness to Dounia; the idea occurred to her that her mothersuspected that there was something terrible in her son's fate and wasafraid to ask, for fear of hearing something still more awful. In anycase, Dounia saw clearly that her mother was not in full possession ofher faculties. 

It happened once or twice, however, that Pulcheria Alexandrovna gavesuch a turn to the conversation that it was impossible to answer herwithout mentioning where Rodya was, and on receiving unsatisfactory andsuspicious answers she became at once gloomy and silent, and this moodlasted for a long time. Dounia saw at last that it was hard to deceiveher and came to the conclusion that it was better to be absolutelysilent on certain points; but it became more and more evident thatthe poor mother suspected something terrible. Dounia remembered herbrother's telling her that her mother had overheard her talking in hersleep on the night after her interview with Svidrigaïlov and before thefatal day of the confession: had not she made out something from that?Sometimes days and even weeks of gloomy silence and tears would besucceeded by a period of hysterical animation, and the invalid wouldbegin to talk almost incessantly of her son, of her hopes of hisfuture. . . . Her fancies were sometimes very strange. They humoured her, pretended to agree with her (she saw perhaps that they were pretending), but she still went on talking. 

Five months after Raskolnikov's confession, he was sentenced. Razumihinand Sonia saw him in prison as often as it was possible. At lastthe moment of separation came. Dounia swore to her brother that theseparation should not be for ever, Razumihin did the same. Razumihin, inhis youthful ardour, had firmly resolved to lay the foundations at leastof a secure livelihood during the next three or four years, and savingup a certain sum, to emigrate to Siberia, a country rich in everynatural resource and in need of workers, active men and capital. Therethey would settle in the town where Rodya was and all together wouldbegin a new life. They all wept at parting. 

Raskolnikov had been very dreamy for a few days before. He asked a greatdeal about his mother and was constantly anxious about her. He worriedso much about her that it alarmed Dounia. When he heard about hismother's illness he became very gloomy. With Sonia he was particularlyreserved all the time. With the help of the money left to her bySvidrigaïlov, Sonia had long ago made her preparations to follow theparty of convicts in which he was despatched to Siberia. Not a wordpassed between Raskolnikov and her on the subject, but both knew itwould be so. At the final leave-taking he smiled strangely at hissister's and Razumihin's fervent anticipations of their happy futuretogether when he should come out of prison. He predicted that theirmother's illness would soon have a fatal ending. Sonia and he at lastset off. 

Two months later Dounia was married to Razumihin. It was a quiet andsorrowful wedding; Porfiry Petrovitch and Zossimov were invited however. During all this period Razumihin wore an air of resolute determination. Dounia put implicit faith in his carrying out his plans and indeed shecould not but believe in him. He displayed a rare strength of will. Among other things he began attending university lectures again in orderto take his degree. They were continually making plans for the future;both counted on settling in Siberia within five years at least. Tillthen they rested their hopes on Sonia. 

Pulcheria Alexandrovna was delighted to give her blessing to Dounia'smarriage with Razumihin; but after the marriage she became even moremelancholy and anxious. To give her pleasure Razumihin told her howRaskolnikov had looked after the poor student and his decrepit fatherand how a year ago he had been burnt and injured in rescuing twolittle children from a fire. These two pieces of news excited PulcheriaAlexandrovna's disordered imagination almost to ecstasy. She wascontinually talking about them, even entering into conversation withstrangers in the street, though Dounia always accompanied her. In publicconveyances and shops, wherever she could capture a listener, she wouldbegin the discourse about her son, his article, how he had helped thestudent, how he had been burnt at the fire, and so on! Dounia didnot know how to restrain her. Apart from the danger of her morbidexcitement, there was the risk of someone's recalling Raskolnikov's nameand speaking of the recent trial. Pulcheria Alexandrovna found out theaddress of the mother of the two children her son had saved and insistedon going to see her. 

At last her restlessness reached an extreme point. She would sometimesbegin to cry suddenly and was often ill and feverishly delirious. Onemorning she declared that by her reckoning Rodya ought soon to be home, that she remembered when he said good-bye to her he said that they mustexpect him back in nine months. She began to prepare for his coming, began to do up her room for him, to clean the furniture, to wash andput up new hangings and so on. Dounia was anxious, but said nothing andhelped her to arrange the room. After a fatiguing day spent in continualfancies, in joyful day-dreams and tears, Pulcheria Alexandrovna wastaken ill in the night and by morning she was feverish and delirious. It was brain fever. She died within a fortnight. In her delirium shedropped words which showed that she knew a great deal more about herson's terrible fate than they had supposed. 

For a long time Raskolnikov did not know of his mother's death, thougha regular correspondence had been maintained from the time he reachedSiberia. It was carried on by means of Sonia, who wrote every monthto the Razumihins and received an answer with unfailing regularity. Atfirst they found Sonia's letters dry and unsatisfactory, but later onthey came to the conclusion that the letters could not be better, forfrom these letters they received a complete picture of their unfortunatebrother's life. Sonia's letters were full of the most matter-of-factdetail, the simplest and clearest description of all Raskolnikov'ssurroundings as a convict. There was no word of her own hopes, noconjecture as to the future, no description of her feelings. Instead ofany attempt to interpret his state of mind and inner life, she gave thesimple facts--that is, his own words, an exact account of his health, what he asked for at their interviews, what commission he gave herand so on. All these facts she gave with extraordinary minuteness. Thepicture of their unhappy brother stood out at last with great clearnessand precision. There could be no mistake, because nothing was given butfacts. 

But Dounia and her husband could get little comfort out of the news, especially at first. Sonia wrote that he was constantly sullen and notready to talk, that he scarcely seemed interested in the news she gavehim from their letters, that he sometimes asked after his mother andthat when, seeing that he had guessed the truth, she told him at lastof her death, she was surprised to find that he did not seem greatlyaffected by it, not externally at any rate. She told them that, althoughhe seemed so wrapped up in himself and, as it were, shut himself offfrom everyone--he took a very direct and simple view of his new life;that he understood his position, expected nothing better for the time, had no ill-founded hopes (as is so common in his position) and scarcelyseemed surprised at anything in his surroundings, so unlike anything hehad known before. She wrote that his health was satisfactory; he did hiswork without shirking or seeking to do more; he was almost indifferentabout food, but except on Sundays and holidays the food was so bad thatat last he had been glad to accept some money from her, Sonia, to havehis own tea every day. He begged her not to trouble about anything else, declaring that all this fuss about him only annoyed him. Sonia wrotefurther that in prison he shared the same room with the rest, that shehad not seen the inside of their barracks, but concluded that they werecrowded, miserable and unhealthy; that he slept on a plank bed with arug under him and was unwilling to make any other arrangement. But thathe lived so poorly and roughly, not from any plan or design, but simplyfrom inattention and indifference. 

Sonia wrote simply that he had at first shown no interest in her visits, had almost been vexed with her indeed for coming, unwilling to talk andrude to her. But that in the end these visits had become a habit andalmost a necessity for him, so that he was positively distressed whenshe was ill for some days and could not visit him. She used to see himon holidays at the prison gates or in the guard-room, to which he wasbrought for a few minutes to see her. On working days she would go tosee him at work either at the workshops or at the brick kilns, or at thesheds on the banks of the Irtish. 

About herself, Sonia wrote that she had succeeded in making someacquaintances in the town, that she did sewing, and, as therewas scarcely a dressmaker in the town, she was looked upon as anindispensable person in many houses. But she did not mention that theauthorities were, through her, interested in Raskolnikov; that his taskwas lightened and so on. 

At last the news came (Dounia had indeed noticed signs of alarm anduneasiness in the preceding letters) that he held aloof from everyone, that his fellow prisoners did not like him, that he kept silent for daysat a time and was becoming very pale. In the last letter Sonia wrotethat he had been taken very seriously ill and was in the convict ward ofthe hospital. 

II

He was ill a long time. But it was not the horrors of prison life, notthe hard labour, the bad food, the shaven head, or the patched clothesthat crushed him. What did he care for all those trials and hardships!he was even glad of the hard work. Physically exhausted, he could atleast reckon on a few hours of quiet sleep. And what was the food tohim--the thin cabbage soup with beetles floating in it? In the past as astudent he had often not had even that. His clothes were warm and suitedto his manner of life. He did not even feel the fetters. Was he ashamedof his shaven head and parti-coloured coat? Before whom? Before Sonia?Sonia was afraid of him, how could he be ashamed before her? And yet hewas ashamed even before Sonia, whom he tortured because of it withhis contemptuous rough manner. But it was not his shaven head and hisfetters he was ashamed of: his pride had been stung to the quick. It waswounded pride that made him ill. Oh, how happy he would have been if hecould have blamed himself! He could have borne anything then, evenshame and disgrace. But he judged himself severely, and his exasperatedconscience found no particularly terrible fault in his past, excepta simple _blunder_ which might happen to anyone. He was ashamed justbecause he, Raskolnikov, had so hopelessly, stupidly come to griefthrough some decree of blind fate, and must humble himself and submit to"the idiocy" of a sentence, if he were anyhow to be at peace. 

Vague and objectless anxiety in the present, and in the future acontinual sacrifice leading to nothing--that was all that lay beforehim. And what comfort was it to him that at the end of eight years hewould only be thirty-two and able to begin a new life! What had he tolive for? What had he to look forward to? Why should he strive? To livein order to exist? Why, he had been ready a thousand times before togive up existence for the sake of an idea, for a hope, even for a fancy. Mere existence had always been too little for him; he had always wantedmore. Perhaps it was just because of the strength of his desires that hehad thought himself a man to whom more was permissible than to others. 

And if only fate would have sent him repentance--burning repentance thatwould have torn his heart and robbed him of sleep, that repentance, theawful agony of which brings visions of hanging or drowning! Oh, he wouldhave been glad of it! Tears and agonies would at least have been life. But he did not repent of his crime. 

At least he might have found relief in raging at his stupidity, as hehad raged at the grotesque blunders that had brought him to prison. But now in prison, _in freedom_, he thought over and criticised all hisactions again and by no means found them so blundering and so grotesqueas they had seemed at the fatal time. 

"In what way, " he asked himself, "was my theory stupider than othersthat have swarmed and clashed from the beginning of the world? One hasonly to look at the thing quite independently, broadly, and uninfluencedby commonplace ideas, and my idea will by no means seem so. . . Strange. Oh, sceptics and halfpenny philosophers, why do you halt half-way!"

"Why does my action strike them as so horrible?" he said to himself. "Isit because it was a crime? What is meant by crime? My conscience is atrest. Of course, it was a legal crime, of course, the letter of the lawwas broken and blood was shed. Well, punish me for the letter of thelaw. . . And that's enough. Of course, in that case many of thebenefactors of mankind who snatched power for themselves instead ofinheriting it ought to have been punished at their first steps. Butthose men succeeded and so _they were right_, and I didn't, and so Ihad no right to have taken that step. "

It was only in that that he recognised his criminality, only in the factthat he had been unsuccessful and had confessed it. 

He suffered too from the question: why had he not killed himself? Whyhad he stood looking at the river and preferred to confess? Was thedesire to live so strong and was it so hard to overcome it? Had notSvidrigaïlov overcome it, although he was afraid of death?

In misery he asked himself this question, and could not understand that, at the very time he had been standing looking into the river, he hadperhaps been dimly conscious of the fundamental falsity in himself andhis convictions. He didn't understand that that consciousness might bethe promise of a future crisis, of a new view of life and of his futureresurrection. 

He preferred to attribute it to the dead weight of instinct which hecould not step over, again through weakness and meanness. He looked athis fellow prisoners and was amazed to see how they all loved life andprized it. It seemed to him that they loved and valued life more inprison than in freedom. What terrible agonies and privations some ofthem, the tramps for instance, had endured! Could they care so much fora ray of sunshine, for the primeval forest, the cold spring hidden awayin some unseen spot, which the tramp had marked three years before, andlonged to see again, as he might to see his sweetheart, dreaming of thegreen grass round it and the bird singing in the bush? As he went on hesaw still more inexplicable examples. 

In prison, of course, there was a great deal he did not see and did notwant to see; he lived as it were with downcast eyes. It was loathsomeand unbearable for him to look. But in the end there was much thatsurprised him and he began, as it were involuntarily, to notice muchthat he had not suspected before. What surprised him most of all wasthe terrible impossible gulf that lay between him and all the rest. Theyseemed to be a different species, and he looked at them and they athim with distrust and hostility. He felt and knew the reasons of hisisolation, but he would never have admitted till then that those reasonswere so deep and strong. There were some Polish exiles, politicalprisoners, among them. They simply looked down upon all the rest asignorant churls; but Raskolnikov could not look upon them like that. He saw that these ignorant men were in many respects far wiser than thePoles. There were some Russians who were just as contemptuous, a formerofficer and two seminarists. Raskolnikov saw their mistake as clearly. He was disliked and avoided by everyone; they even began to hate him atlast--why, he could not tell. Men who had been far more guilty despisedand laughed at his crime. 

"You're a gentleman, " they used to say. "You shouldn't hack about withan axe; that's not a gentleman's work. "

The second week in Lent, his turn came to take the sacrament with hisgang. He went to church and prayed with the others. A quarrel broke outone day, he did not know how. All fell on him at once in a fury. 

"You're an infidel! You don't believe in God, " they shouted. "You oughtto be killed. "

He had never talked to them about God nor his belief, but they wanted tokill him as an infidel. He said nothing. One of the prisoners rushed athim in a perfect frenzy. Raskolnikov awaited him calmly and silently;his eyebrows did not quiver, his face did not flinch. The guardsucceeded in intervening between him and his assailant, or there wouldhave been bloodshed. 

There was another question he could not decide: why were they all sofond of Sonia? She did not try to win their favour; she rarely metthem, sometimes only she came to see him at work for a moment. And yeteverybody knew her, they knew that she had come out to follow _him_, knew how and where she lived. She never gave them money, did them noparticular services. Only once at Christmas she sent them all presentsof pies and rolls. But by degrees closer relations sprang up betweenthem and Sonia. She would write and post letters for them to theirrelations. Relations of the prisoners who visited the town, at theirinstructions, left with Sonia presents and money for them. Their wivesand sweethearts knew her and used to visit her. And when she visitedRaskolnikov at work, or met a party of the prisoners on the road, theyall took off their hats to her. "Little mother Sofya Semyonovna, youare our dear, good little mother, " coarse branded criminals said to thatfrail little creature. She would smile and bow to them and everyone wasdelighted when she smiled. They even admired her gait and turned roundto watch her walking; they admired her too for being so little, and, infact, did not know what to admire her most for. They even came to herfor help in their illnesses. 

He was in the hospital from the middle of Lent till after Easter. Whenhe was better, he remembered the dreams he had had while he was feverishand delirious. He dreamt that the whole world was condemned to aterrible new strange plague that had come to Europe from the depths ofAsia. All were to be destroyed except a very few chosen. Some new sortsof microbes were attacking the bodies of men, but these microbes wereendowed with intelligence and will. Men attacked by them became at oncemad and furious. But never had men considered themselves so intellectualand so completely in possession of the truth as these sufferers, neverhad they considered their decisions, their scientific conclusions, theirmoral convictions so infallible. Whole villages, whole towns and peopleswent mad from the infection. All were excited and did not understandone another. Each thought that he alone had the truth and was wretchedlooking at the others, beat himself on the breast, wept, and wrunghis hands. They did not know how to judge and could not agree what toconsider evil and what good; they did not know whom to blame, whomto justify. Men killed each other in a sort of senseless spite. Theygathered together in armies against one another, but even on the marchthe armies would begin attacking each other, the ranks would be brokenand the soldiers would fall on each other, stabbing and cutting, bitingand devouring each other. The alarm bell was ringing all day long inthe towns; men rushed together, but why they were summoned and who wassummoning them no one knew. The most ordinary trades were abandoned, because everyone proposed his own ideas, his own improvements, and theycould not agree. The land too was abandoned. Men met in groups, agreedon something, swore to keep together, but at once began on somethingquite different from what they had proposed. They accused one another, fought and killed each other. There were conflagrations and famine. Allmen and all things were involved in destruction. The plague spread andmoved further and further. Only a few men could be saved in the wholeworld. They were a pure chosen people, destined to found a new race anda new life, to renew and purify the earth, but no one had seen thesemen, no one had heard their words and their voices. 

Raskolnikov was worried that this senseless dream haunted his memory somiserably, the impression of this feverish delirium persisted so long. The second week after Easter had come. There were warm bright springdays; in the prison ward the grating windows under which the sentinelpaced were opened. Sonia had only been able to visit him twice duringhis illness; each time she had to obtain permission, and it wasdifficult. But she often used to come to the hospital yard, especiallyin the evening, sometimes only to stand a minute and look up at thewindows of the ward. 

One evening, when he was almost well again, Raskolnikov fell asleep. Onwaking up he chanced to go to the window, and at once saw Sonia in thedistance at the hospital gate. She seemed to be waiting for someone. Something stabbed him to the heart at that minute. He shuddered andmoved away from the window. Next day Sonia did not come, nor the dayafter; he noticed that he was expecting her uneasily. At last he wasdischarged. On reaching the prison he learnt from the convicts thatSofya Semyonovna was lying ill at home and was unable to go out. 

He was very uneasy and sent to inquire after her; he soon learnt thather illness was not dangerous. Hearing that he was anxious about her, Sonia sent him a pencilled note, telling him that she was much better, that she had a slight cold and that she would soon, very soon come andsee him at his work. His heart throbbed painfully as he read it. 

Again it was a warm bright day. Early in the morning, at six o'clock, hewent off to work on the river bank, where they used to pound alabasterand where there was a kiln for baking it in a shed. There were onlythree of them sent. One of the convicts went with the guard to thefortress to fetch a tool; the other began getting the wood ready andlaying it in the kiln. Raskolnikov came out of the shed on to the riverbank, sat down on a heap of logs by the shed and began gazing at thewide deserted river. From the high bank a broad landscape opened beforehim, the sound of singing floated faintly audible from the other bank. In the vast steppe, bathed in sunshine, he could just see, like blackspecks, the nomads' tents. There there was freedom, there other men wereliving, utterly unlike those here; there time itself seemed to standstill, as though the age of Abraham and his flocks had not passed. Raskolnikov sat gazing, his thoughts passed into day-dreams, intocontemplation; he thought of nothing, but a vague restlessness excitedand troubled him. Suddenly he found Sonia beside him; she had come upnoiselessly and sat down at his side. It was still quite early; themorning chill was still keen. She wore her poor old burnous and thegreen shawl; her face still showed signs of illness, it was thinner andpaler. She gave him a joyful smile of welcome, but held out her handwith her usual timidity. She was always timid of holding out her handto him and sometimes did not offer it at all, as though afraid he wouldrepel it. He always took her hand as though with repugnance, alwaysseemed vexed to meet her and was sometimes obstinately silent throughouther visit. Sometimes she trembled before him and went away deeplygrieved. But now their hands did not part. He stole a rapid glanceat her and dropped his eyes on the ground without speaking. They werealone, no one had seen them. The guard had turned away for the time. 

How it happened he did not know. But all at once something seemed toseize him and fling him at her feet. He wept and threw his arms roundher knees. For the first instant she was terribly frightened and sheturned pale. She jumped up and looked at him trembling. But at the samemoment she understood, and a light of infinite happiness came into hereyes. She knew and had no doubt that he loved her beyond everything andthat at last the moment had come. . . . 

They wanted to speak, but could not; tears stood in their eyes. Theywere both pale and thin; but those sick pale faces were bright with thedawn of a new future, of a full resurrection into a new life. They wererenewed by love; the heart of each held infinite sources of life for theheart of the other. 

They resolved to wait and be patient. They had another seven years towait, and what terrible suffering and what infinite happiness beforethem! But he had risen again and he knew it and felt it in all hisbeing, while she--she only lived in his life. 

On the evening of the same day, when the barracks were locked, Raskolnikov lay on his plank bed and thought of her. He had even fanciedthat day that all the convicts who had been his enemies looked at himdifferently; he had even entered into talk with them and they answeredhim in a friendly way. He remembered that now, and thought it was boundto be so. Wasn't everything now bound to be changed?

He thought of her. He remembered how continually he had tormented herand wounded her heart. He remembered her pale and thin little face. But these recollections scarcely troubled him now; he knew with whatinfinite love he would now repay all her sufferings. And what were all, _all_ the agonies of the past! Everything, even his crime, his sentenceand imprisonment, seemed to him now in the first rush of feeling anexternal, strange fact with which he had no concern. But he could notthink for long together of anything that evening, and he could not haveanalysed anything consciously; he was simply feeling. Life had steppedinto the place of theory and something quite different would work itselfout in his mind. 

Under his pillow lay the New Testament. He took it up mechanically. The book belonged to Sonia; it was the one from which she had read theraising of Lazarus to him. At first he was afraid that she would worryhim about religion, would talk about the gospel and pester him withbooks. But to his great surprise she had not once approached the subjectand had not even offered him the Testament. He had asked her for ithimself not long before his illness and she brought him the book withouta word. Till now he had not opened it. 

He did not open it now, but one thought passed through his mind: "Canher convictions not be mine now? Her feelings, her aspirations atleast. . . . "

She too had been greatly agitated that day, and at night she was takenill again. But she was so happy--and so unexpectedly happy--that she wasalmost frightened of her happiness. Seven years, _only_ seven years! Atthe beginning of their happiness at some moments they were both readyto look on those seven years as though they were seven days. He did notknow that the new life would not be given him for nothing, that he wouldhave to pay dearly for it, that it would cost him great striving, greatsuffering. 

But that is the beginning of a new story--the story of the gradualrenewal of a man, the story of his gradual regeneration, of his passingfrom one world into another, of his initiation into a new unknown life. That might be the subject of a new story, but our present story isended.