Part IV
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Chapter I
‘C
an this be still a dream?’v 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 in bewilderment.
His visitor did not seem at all surprised at this exclama-
tion.
‘I’ve come to you for two reasons. In the first place, I want-
ed to make your personal acquaintance, as I have already
heard a great deal about you that is interesting and flatter-
ing; secondly, I cherish the hope that you may not refuse to
assist me in a matter directly concerning the welfare of your
sister, Avdotya Romanovna. For without your support she
might 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 necessary to justify myself, but kindly tell
me what was there particularly criminal on my part in all
this business, speaking without prejudice, with common
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sense?’
Raskolnikov continued to look at him in silence.
‘That in my own house I persecuted a defenceless girl and
‘insulted her with my infamous proposals’—is that it? (I am
anticipating you.) But you’ve only to assume that I, too, am
a man et nihil humanum … in a word, that I am capable of
being attracted and falling in love (which does not depend
on our will), then everything can be explained in the most
natural manner. The question is, am I a monster, or am I
myself a victim? And what if I am a victim? In proposing
to the object of my passion to elope with me to America or
Switzerland, I may have cherished the deepest respect for
her and may have thought that I was promoting our 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’s simply that whether you are right or wrong, we
dislike you. We don’t want 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 in the frankest way. ‘I hoped to get round you, but
you took up the right line at once!’
‘But you are trying to get round me still!’
‘What of it? What of it?’ cried Svidrigaïlov, laughing
openly. ‘But this is what the French call bonne guerre and
the most innocent form of deception! … But still you have
interrupted me; one way or another, I repeat again: there
would never have been any unpleasantness except for what
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happened in the garden. Marfa Petrovna …’
‘You have got rid of Marfa Petrovna, too, so they say?’
Raskolnikov interrupted rudely.
‘Oh, you’ve heard that, too, then? You’d be sure to,
though…. But as for your question, I really don’t know what
to say, though my own conscience is quite at rest on that
score. Don’t suppose that I am in any apprehension about it.
All was regular and in order; the medical inquiry diagnosed
apoplexy due to bathing immediately after a heavy dinner
and a bottle of wine, and indeed it could have proved noth-
ing else. But I’ll tell you what I have been thinking to myself
of late, on my way here in the train, especially: didn’t I con-
tribute to all that … calamity, morally, in a way, by irritation
or something of the sort. But I came to the conclusion that
that, too, was quite out of the question.’
Raskolnikov laughed.
‘I wonder you trouble yourself about it!’
‘But what are you laughing at? Only consider, I struck her
just twice with a switch—there were no marks even … don’t
regard me as a cynic, please; I am perfectly aware how atro-
cious it was of me and all that; but I know for certain, too,
that Marfa Petrovna was very likely pleased at my, so to say,
warmth. The story of your sister had been wrung out to the
last drop; for the last three days Marfa Petrovna had been
forced to sit 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 the letter). And all of a sud-
den those two switches fell from heaven! Her first act was
to order the carriage to be got out…. Not to speak of the
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fact that there are cases when women are very, very glad to
be insulted in spite of all their show of indignation. There
are instances of it with everyone; human beings in general,
indeed, greatly love to be 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 walk-
ing out and so finishing the interview. But some curiosity
and even a sort of prudence made him linger for a moment.
‘You are fond of fighting?’ he asked carelessly.
‘No, not very,’ Svidrigaïlov answered, calmly. ‘And Marfa
Petrovna and I scarcely ever fought. We lived very harmo-
niously, and she was always pleased with me. I only used
the whip twice in all our seven years (not counting a third
occasion of a very ambiguous character). The first time,
two months after our marriage, immediately after we ar-
rived in the country, and the last time was that of which we
are speaking. Did you suppose 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 years ago,
in those days of beneficent publicity, a nobleman, I’ve for-
gotten his name, was put to shame everywhere, in all the
papers, for having thrashed a German woman in the rail-
way train. You remember? It was in those 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
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after all what need is there for sympathy? But I must say
that there are sometimes such provoking ‘Germans’ that I
don’t believe there is a progressive who could quite answer
for himself. No one looked at the subject from that point of
view then, but that’s the truly humane point of view, I as-
sure you.’
After saying this, Svidrigaïlov broke into a sudden laugh
again. Raskolnikov saw clearly that this was a man with a
firm purpose in his mind 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 be-
ing such an adaptable man?’
‘No, I am only wondering at your being too adaptable a
man.’
‘Because I am not offended at the rudeness of your ques-
tions? Is that it? But why take offence? As you asked, so I
answered,’ he replied, with a surprising expression of sim-
plicity. ‘You know, there’s hardly anything I take interest in,’
he went on, as it were dreamily, ‘especially now, I’ve nothing
to do…. You are quite at liberty to imagine though that I am
making up to you with a motive, particularly as I told you
I want to see your sister about something. But I’ll confess
frankly, I am very much bored. The last three days especial-
ly, so I am delighted to see you…. Don’t be angry, Rodion
Romanovitch, but you seem to be somehow awfully strange
yourself. Say what you like, there’s something 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 am
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not 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 in-
deed that you are a man of very good breeding, or at least
know how on occasion to behave like one.’
‘I am not particularly interested in anyone’s opin-
ion,’ Svidrigaïlov answered, dryly and even with a shade
of haughtiness, ‘and therefore why not be vulgar at times
when vulgarity is such a convenient cloak for our climate …
and especially if one has a natural propensity that way,’ he
added, laughing again.
‘But I’ve heard you have many friends here. You are, as
they say, ‘not without connections.’ What can you want
with me, then, unless you’ve some special object?’
‘That’s true that I have friends here,’ Svidrigaïlov admit-
ted, not replying to the chief point. ‘I’ve met some already.
I’ve been lounging about 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 poor man; the emanci-
pation of the serfs hasn’t affected me; my property consists
chiefly of forests and water meadows. The revenue has not
fallen off; but … I am not going to see them, I was sick of
them long ago. I’ve been here three days and have called on
no one…. What a town it is! How has it come into existence
among us, tell me that? A town of officials and students of
all sorts. Yes, there’s a great deal I didn’t notice when I was
here eight years ago, kicking up my heels…. My only hope
now is in anatomy, by Jove, it is!’
‘Anatomy?’
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‘But as for these clubs, Dussauts, parades, or progress,
indeed, maybe —well, all that can go on without me,’ he
went on, again without noticing 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 best society, 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 Russian society the best manners
are found among those who’ve been thrashed, have you no-
ticed that? I’ve deteriorated in the country. But I did get into
prison for debt, through a low Greek who came from Ne-
zhin. Then Marfa Petrovna turned up; she bargained with
him and bought me off for thirty thousand silver pieces (I
owed seventy thousand). We were united in 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. For seven years I never left the country. And, take note,
that all my life she held a document over me, the IOU for
thirty thousand roubles, so if I were to elect to be restive
about anything I should be trapped at once! And she would
have done it! Women find nothing incompatible in that.’
‘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. I didn’t want to go anywhere else. Mar-
fa Petrovna herself invited me to go abroad, seeing I was
bored, but I’ve been abroad before, and always felt sick
there. For no reason, but the sunrise, the bay of Naples, the
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sea—you look at them and it makes you sad. What’s most
revolting is that one is really sad! No, it’s better at home.
Here at least one blames others for everything and excuses
oneself. I should have gone perhaps on an expedition to the
North Pole, because j’ai le vin mauvais and hate drinking,
and there’s nothing left but wine. I have tried it. But, I say,
I’ve been told Berg is going up in a great balloon next Sun-
day from the Yusupov Garden and will take up passengers
at a fee. Is it true?’
‘Why, would you go up?’
‘I … No, oh, no,’ muttered Svidrigaïlov really seeming to
be deep in thought.
‘What does he mean? Is he in earnest?’ Raskolnikov won-
dered.
‘No, the document didn’t restrain me,’ Svidrigaïlov went
on, meditatively. ‘It was my own doing, not leaving the
country, and nearly a year ago Marfa Petrovna gave me back
the document on my name- day and made me a present of
a considerable sum of money, too. She had a fortune, you
know. ‘You see how I trust you, Arkady Ivanovitch’— that
was actually her expression. You don’t believe she used it?
But do you know I managed the estate quite decently, they
know me in the neighbourhood. I ordered books, too. Mar-
fa 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 you believe in ghosts?’
‘What ghosts?’
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‘Why, ordinary ghosts.’
‘Do you believe in them?’
‘Perhaps not, pour vous plaire…. I wouldn’t say no ex-
actly.’
‘Do you see them, then?’
Svidrigaïlov looked at him rather oddly.
‘Marfa Petrovna is pleased to visit me,’ he said, twisting
his mouth into 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 the funeral, an hour after she was buried. It was the day
before I left to come here. The second time was the day be-
fore yesterday, at daybreak, on the journey at the station of
Malaya Vishera, and the third time was two hours 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 for a minute and goes out at the door—always
at the door. I can almost hear her.’
‘What made me think that something of the sort must be
happening to you?’ Raskolnikov said suddenly.
At the same moment he was surprised at having said it.
He was much excited.
‘What! Did you think so?’ Svidrigaïlov asked in astonish-
ment. ‘Did you really? 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?’
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‘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?’ cried Raskolnikov.
‘What do I mean? I really don’t know….’ Svidrigaïlov
muttered ingenuously, 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 she say when she comes to you?’
‘She! Would you believe it, she talks of the silliest trifles
and—man is a strange creature—it makes me angry. The
first time she came in (I was tired you know: the funeral
service, the funeral ceremony, the lunch afterwards. At last
I was left alone in my study. I lighted a cigar and began to
think), she came in at the door. ‘You’ve been so busy to-day,
Arkady Ivanovitch, you have forgotten to wind the din-
ing- room clock,’ she said. All those seven years I’ve wound
that clock every week, and if I forgot it she would always
remind me. The next day I set off on my way here. 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
and there was suddenly Marfa Petrovna sitting beside me
with a pack of cards in her hands. ‘Shall I tell your fortune
for the journey, Arkady Ivanovitch?’ She was a great hand
at telling fortunes. I shall never forgive myself for not ask-
ing her to. I ran away in a fright, and, besides, the bell rang.
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I was sitting to-day, feeling very heavy after a miserable
dinner from a cookshop; I was sitting smoking, all of a sud-
den Marfa Petrovna again. She came in very smart in a new
green silk dress with a long train. ‘Good day, Arkady Iva-
novitch! How do you like my dress? Aniska can’t make like
this.’ (Aniska was a dressmaker in the country, one of our
former serf girls who had been trained in Moscow, a pretty
wench.) She stood turning round before me. I looked at the
dress, and then I looked carefully, very carefully, at her face.
‘I wonder you trouble to come to me about such trifles, Mar-
fa Petrovna.’ ‘Good gracious, you won’t let one disturb you
about anything!’ To tease her I 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 a bride when
you’ve hardly buried your wife. And if you could make a
good choice, at least, but I know it won’t be for your happi-
ness or hers, you will only be a laughing-stock to all good
people.’ Then she went out and her train seemed to rustle.
Isn’t it nonsense, eh?’
‘But perhaps you are telling lies?’ Raskolnikov put in.
‘I rarely lie,’ answered Svidrigaïlov thoughtfully, appar-
ently not noticing 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 had a serf, Filka; just after his burial I called
out forgetting ‘Filka, my pipe!’ He came in and went to the
cupboard where my pipes were. I sat still and thought ‘he
is doing it out of revenge,’ because we had a violent quarrel
just before his death. ‘How dare you come in with a hole in
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your elbow?’ I said. ‘Go away, you scamp!’ He turned and
went out, and never came again. I didn’t tell Marfa Petro-
vna at the time. I wanted to 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 know what’s wrong; I believe I am five times as strong
as you are. I didn’t ask you whether you believe that ghosts
are seen, but whether you believe that they exist.’
‘No, I won’t believe it!’ Raskolnikov cried, with positive
anger.
‘What do people generally say?’ muttered Svidrigaïlov, as
though speaking to himself, looking aside and bowing his
head. ‘They say, ‘You are ill, so what appears to you is only
unreal fantasy.’ But that’s not strictly logical. I agree that
ghosts only appear to the sick, but that only proves that they
are unable to appear except to the sick, not that they don’t
exist.’
‘Nothing of the sort,’ Raskolnikov insisted irritably.
‘No? You don’t think so?’ Svidrigaïlov went on, looking
at him deliberately. ‘But what do you say to this argument
(help me with it): ghosts are, as it were, shreds and frag-
ments of other worlds, the beginning of them. A man in
health has, of course, no reason to see them, because he is
above all a man of this earth and is bound for the sake of
completeness and order to live only in this life. But as soon
as one is ill, as soon as the normal earthly order of the or-
ganism is broken, one begins to realise the possibility of
another world; and the more seriously ill one is, the closer
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becomes one’s contact with that other world, so that as soon
as the man dies he steps straight into that world. I thought
of that long ago. If you believe in a future life, you could be-
lieve 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, what if it’s one little room, like a bath
house in the country, black and grimy and spiders in every
corner, and that’s all eternity is? I sometimes fancy it like
that.’
‘Can it be you can imagine nothing juster and more
comforting than that?’ Raskolnikov cried, with a feeling of
anguish.
‘Juster? And how can we tell, perhaps that is just, and
do you know it’s what I would certainly have made it,’ an-
swered Svidrigaïlov, with a vague smile.
This horrible answer sent a cold chill through Raskol-
nikov. Svidrigaïlov raised 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 between us; we’ve thrown it aside, and
away we’ve gone into the abstract! Wasn’t I right in saying
that we were birds of a feather?’
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‘Kindly allow me,’ Raskolnikov went on irritably, ‘to ask
you to explain why 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 Ro-
manovna, is going to be married to Mr. Luzhin, Pyotr
Petrovitch?’
‘Can you refrain from any question about my sister and
from mentioning her name? I can’t understand how you
dare utter her name in my presence, if you really are Svid-
rigaïlov.’
‘Why, but I’ve come here to speak about her; how can I
avoid mentioning her?’
‘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 only seen him for half an hour, or heard any
facts about him. He is no match for Avdotya Romanovna.
I believe Avdotya Romanovna is sacrificing herself gener-
ously and imprudently for the sake of … for the sake of her
family. I fancied from all I had heard of you that you would
be very glad if the match could be broken off without the
sacrifice of worldly advantages. Now I know you personally,
I am convinced of it.’
‘All this is very naïve … excuse me, I should have said im-
pudent on your part,’ said Raskolnikov.
‘You mean to say that I am seeking my own ends. Don’t
be uneasy, Rodion Romanovitch, if I were working for my
own advantage, I would not have spoken out so directly. I
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am not quite a fool. I will confess something psychologically
curious about that: just now, defending my love for Avdotya
Romanovna, I said I was myself the victim. Well, let me tell
you that I’ve no feeling of love now, not the slightest, so that
I wonder myself 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 qualities that even I could not help being impressed by
them. But that’s all nonsense, 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 the day before yesterday, almost at the moment
I arrived in Petersburg. I still fancied in Moscow, though,
that I was coming to try to get Avdotya Romanovna’s hand
and to cut out Mr. Luzhin.’
‘Excuse me for interrupting you; kindly be brief, and
come to the object of your visit. I am in a hurry, I want to
go out …’
‘With the greatest pleasure. On arriving here and de-
termining on a certain … journey, I should like to make
some necessary preliminary arrangements. I left my chil-
dren with an aunt; they are well provided for; and they have
no need of me personally. And a nice father I should make,
too! I have taken nothing but what Marfa Petrovna gave me
a year ago. That’s enough for me. Excuse me, I am just com-
ing 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 quarrelled with Marfa
Petrovna when I learned that she had dished up this mar-
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riage. I want now to see Avdotya Romanovna through your
mediation, and if you like in your presence, to explain to
her that in the first place she will never gain anything but
harm from Mr. Luzhin. Then, begging her pardon for all
past unpleasantness, to make her a present of ten thousand
roubles and so assist the rupture with Mr. Luzhin, a rupture
to which I believe she is herself not disinclined, if she could
see the way to it.’
‘You are certainly mad,’ cried Raskolnikov not so much
angered as astonished. ‘How dare you talk like that!’
‘I knew you would scream at me; but in the first place,
though I am not rich, this ten thousand roubles is perfectly
free; I have absolutely no need for it. If Avdotya Romanovna
does not accept it, I shall waste it in some more foolish way.
That’s the first thing. Secondly, my conscience is perfect-
ly easy; I make the offer with no ulterior motive. You may
not believe it, but in the end Avdotya Romanovna and you
will know. The point is, that I did actually cause your sister,
whom I greatly respect, some trouble and unpleasantness,
and so, sincerely regretting it, I want—not to compensate,
not to repay her for the unpleasantness, but simply to do
something to her advantage, to show that I am not, after all,
privileged to do nothing but harm. If there were a millionth
fraction of self-interest in my offer, I should not have made
it so openly; and I should not have offered her ten thou-
sand only, when five weeks ago I offered her more, Besides, I
may, perhaps, very soon marry a young lady, and that alone
ought to prevent suspicion of any design on Avdotya Ro-
manovna. In conclusion, let me say that in marrying Mr.
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Luzhin, she is taking money just the same, only from an-
other man. Don’t be angry, Rodion Romanovitch, think it
over coolly and quietly.’
Svidrigaïlov himself was exceedingly cool and quiet as
he was saying this.
‘I beg you to say no more,’ said Raskolnikov. ‘In any case
this is unpardonable impertinence.’
‘Not in the least. Then a man may do nothing but harm
to his neighbour in this world, and is prevented from do-
ing the tiniest bit of good by trivial conventional formalities.
That’s absurd. If I died, for instance, and left that sum to
your sister in my will, surely she wouldn’t refuse it?’
‘Very likely she would.’
‘Oh, no, indeed. However, if you refuse it, so be it, though
ten thousand roubles is a capital thing to have on occasion.
In any case I beg 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 her myself 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 her once more.’
‘Don’t hope for it.’
‘I’m sorry. But you don’t know me. Perhaps we may be-
come better friends.’
‘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
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I came here without reckoning on 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 some-
thing about you like me…. But don’t be uneasy. I am not
intrusive; I used to get on all right with card-sharpers, and
I never bored Prince Svirbey, a great personage who is a
distant relation of mine, and I could write about Rapha-
el’s Madonna in Madam Prilukov’s album, and I never left
Marfa Petrovna’s side for seven years, and I used to stay the
night at Viazemsky’s house in the Hay Market in the old
days, and I may go up in a 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 wide subject…. if only you knew what you are asking,’ he
added, and gave a sudden, loud, short laugh. ‘Perhaps I’ll
get married instead of the journey. 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 beg it. Well, good-bye for the present. Oh, yes. I
have forgotten something. Tell your sister, Rodion Roma-
novitch, that Marfa Petrovna remembered her in her will
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and left her three thousand roubles. That’s absolutely cer-
tain. Marfa Petrovna arranged it a week before her death,
and it was done in my presence. Avdotya Romanovna will
be able to receive the money in 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.
Crime and Punishment
1
Chapter II
I
t 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 the street.
‘It was Svidrigaïlov, that landowner in whose house my
sister was insulted when she was their governess. Through
his persecuting her with his attentions, she was turned out
by his wife, Marfa Petrovna. This Marfa Petrovna begged
Dounia’s forgiveness afterwards, and she’s just died sud-
denly. It was of her we were talking this morning. I don’t
know why I’m afraid of that man. He came here at once af-
ter his wife’s funeral. He is very strange, and is determined
on doing something…. We must guard Dounia from him …
that’s what I wanted to tell you, do you hear?’
‘Guard her! What can he do to harm Avdotya Romanov-
na? Thank you, Rodya, for speaking to me like that…. We
will, we will guard her. Where does he 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?’ Raskol-
nikov insisted.
‘Yes, I remember him perfectly, I should know him in a
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thousand; I have a good memory for faces.’
They were silent again.
‘Hm! … that’s all right,’ muttered Raskolnikov. ‘Do you
know, I fancied … 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 a smile, ‘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 per-
haps everything that happened all these days may be only
imagination.’
‘Ach, Rodya, you have been upset again! … But what did
he say, what did he come for?’
Raskolnikov did not answer. Razumihin thought a min-
ute.
‘Now let me tell you my story,’ he began, ‘I came to you,
you were asleep. Then we had dinner and then I went to
Porfiry’s, Zametov was still with him. I tried to begin, but
it was no use. I couldn’t speak in the right way. They don’t
seem to understand and can’t understand, but are not a bit
ashamed. I drew Porfiry to the window, and began talking
to him, but it was still no use. He looked away and I looked
away. At last I shook my fist in his ugly face, and told him
as a cousin I’d brain him. He merely looked at me, I cursed
and came away. That was all. It was very stupid. To Zametov
I didn’t say a word. But, you see, I thought I’d made a mess
of it, but as I went downstairs a brilliant idea struck me: why
Crime and Punishment
1
should we trouble? Of course if you were in any danger or
anything, but why need you care? You needn’t care a hang
for them. We shall have a laugh at them afterwards, and if
I were in your place I’d mystify them more than ever. How
ashamed they’ll be afterwards! Hang them! 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 never occurred to him to wonder what
Razumihin would think when he knew. As he thought it,
Raskolnikov looked at him. Razumihin’s account of his vis-
it to Porfiry had very little interest for him, so much had
come and gone since then.
In the corridor they came upon Luzhin; he had arrived
punctually at eight, and was looking for the number, so
that all three went in together without greeting or look-
ing at one another. The young men walked in first, while
Pyotr Petrovitch, for good manners, lingered a little in the
passage, taking off his coat. Pulcheria Alexandrovna came
forward at once to greet him in the doorway, Dounia was
welcoming her brother. Pyotr Petrovitch walked in and
quite amiably, though with redoubled dignity, bowed to the
ladies. He looked, however, as though he were a little put
out and could not yet recover himself. Pulcheria Alexan-
drovna, who seemed also a little embarrassed, hastened to
make them all sit down at the round table where a samovar
was boiling. Dounia and Luzhin were facing one another
on opposite sides of the table. Razumihin and Raskolnikov
were facing Pulcheria Alexandrovna, Razumihin was next
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to Luzhin and Raskolnikov was beside his sister.
A moment’s silence followed. Pyotr Petrovitch delib-
erately drew out a cambric handkerchief reeking of scent
and blew his nose with an air of a benevolent man who felt
himself slighted, and was firmly resolved to insist on an ex-
planation. In the passage the idea had occurred to him to
keep on his overcoat and walk away, and so give the two
ladies a sharp and emphatic lesson and make them feel the
gravity of the position. But he could not bring himself to
do this. Besides, he could not endure uncertainty, and he
wanted an explanation: if his request had been so openly
disobeyed, there was something behind it, and in that case
it was better to find it out beforehand; it rested with him to
punish them and there would always be time for that.
‘I trust you had a favourable journey,’ he inquired offi-
cially of Pulcheria Alexandrovna.
‘Oh, very, Pyotr Petrovitch.’
‘I am gratified to hear it. And Avdotya Romanovna is not
over-fatigued either?’
‘I am young and strong, I don’t get tired, but it was a great
strain for mother,’ 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 my desire to do so, I was unable to meet you yes-
terday. But I trust all passed off without inconvenience?’
‘Oh, no, Pyotr Petrovitch, it was all terribly disheart-
ening,’ Pulcheria Alexandrovna hastened to declare with
peculiar intonation, ‘and if Dmitri Prokofitch had not been
sent us, I really believe by God Himself, we should have
Crime and Punishment
0
been utterly lost. Here, he is! Dmitri Prokofitch Razumihin,’
she added, introducing him to Luzhin.
‘I had the pleasure … yesterday,’ muttered Pyotr Petro-
vitch with a hostile glance sidelong at Razumihin; then he
scowled and was silent.
Pyotr Petrovitch belonged to that class of persons, on
the surface very polite in society, who make a great point of
punctiliousness, but who, directly they are crossed in any-
thing, are completely disconcerted, and become more like
sacks of flour than elegant and lively men of society. Again
all was silent; Raskolnikov was obstinately mute, Avdotya
Romanovna was unwilling to open the conversation too
soon. Razumihin had nothing to say, so Pulcheria Alexan-
drovna was anxious again.
‘Marfa Petrovna is dead, have you heard?’ she began hav-
ing recourse to her leading item of conversation.
‘To be sure, I heard so. I was immediately informed,
and I have come to make you acquainted with the fact that
Arkady Ivanovitch Svidrigaïlov set off in haste for Peters-
burg immediately after his wife’s funeral. So at 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 the rapidity of his departure, and all the cir-
cumstances preceding it.’
‘Good heavens! won’t he leave Dounia in peace even
here?’ cried Pulcheria Alexandrovna.
‘I imagine that neither you nor Avdotya Romanovna
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have any grounds for uneasiness, unless, of course, you are
yourselves desirous of getting into communication with
him. For my part I am on my guard, and am now discover-
ing where he is lodging.’
‘Oh, Pyotr Petrovitch, you would not believe what a fright
you have given me,’ Pulcheria Alexandrovna went on: ‘I’ve
only seen him twice, but I thought him terrible, terrible!
I am convinced that he was the cause of Marfa Petrovna’s
death.’
‘It’s impossible to be certain about that. I have precise
information. I do not dispute that he may have contribut-
ed to accelerate the course of events by the moral influence,
so to say, of the affront; but as to the general conduct and
moral characteristics of that personage, I am in agreement
with you. I do not know whether he is well off now, and pre-
cisely what Marfa Petrovna left him; this will be known to
me within a very short period; but no doubt here in Peters-
burg, if he has any pecuniary resources, he will relapse at
once into his old ways. He is the most depraved, and abject-
ly vicious specimen of that class of men. I have considerable
reason to believe that Marfa Petrovna, who was so unfor-
tunate as to fall in love with him and to pay his debts eight
years ago, was of service to him also in another way. Solely
by her exertions and sacrifices, a criminal charge, involving
an element of fantastic and homicidal brutality for which
he might well have been sentenced to Siberia, was hushed
up. That’s the sort of man he is, if you care to know.’
‘Good heavens!’ cried Pulcheria Alexandrovna. Raskol-
nikov listened attentively.
Crime and Punishment
‘Are you speaking the truth when you say that you have
good evidence of this?’ Dounia asked sternly and emphati-
cally.
‘I only repeat what I was told in secret by Marfa Petrovna.
I must observe 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 other commissions, and with
this woman Svidrigaïlov had for a long while close and mys-
terious relations. She had a relation, a niece I believe, living
with her, a deaf and dumb girl of fifteen, or perhaps not
more than fourteen. Resslich hated this girl, and grudged
her every crust; she used to beat her mercilessly. One day
the girl was found hanging in the garret. At the inquest the
verdict was suicide. After the usual proceedings the matter
ended, but, later on, information was given that the child
had been … cruelly outraged by Svidrigaïlov. It is true, this
was not clearly established, the information was given by
another German woman of loose character whose word
could not be trusted; no statement was actually made to the
police, thanks to Marfa Petrovna’s money and exertions; it
did not get beyond gossip. And yet the story is a very signifi-
cant one. You heard, no doubt, Avdotya Romanovna, when
you were with them the story of the servant Philip who died
of ill treatment he received six years ago, before the aboli-
tion of serfdom.’
‘I heard, on the contrary, that this Philip hanged him-
self.’
‘Quite so, but what drove him, or rather perhaps dis-
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posed 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 story that Philip was a sort of hypochondriac, a sort
of domestic philosopher, the servants used to say, ‘he read
himself silly,’ and that he hanged himself partly on account
of Mr. Svidrigaïlov’s mockery of him and not his blows.
When I was there he behaved well to the servants, and they
were actually fond of him, though they certainly did blame
him for Philip’s death.’
‘I perceive, Avdotya Romanovna, that you seem disposed
to undertake his defence all of a sudden,’ Luzhin observed,
twisting his lips into an ambiguous smile, ‘there’s no doubt
that he is an astute man, and insinuating where ladies are
concerned, of which Marfa Petrovna, who has died so
strangely, is a terrible instance. My only desire has been to
be of service to you and your mother with my advice, in
view of the renewed efforts which may certainly be antici-
pated from him. For my part it’s my firm conviction, that he
will end in a debtor’s prison again. Marfa Petrovna had not
the slightest intention of settling anything substantial 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 a man 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 for the first time.
Crime and Punishment
There were exclamations from all, and they all turned to
him. Even Pyotr Petrovitch was roused.
‘An hour and a half ago, he came in when I was asleep,
waked me, and introduced himself,’ Raskolnikov continued.
‘He was fairly cheerful and at ease, and quite hopes that we
shall become friends. He is particularly anxious, by the way,
Dounia, for an interview with you, at which he asked me to
assist. He has a proposition to make to you, and he told me
about it. He told me, too, that a week before her death Marfa
Petrovna left you three thousand roubles in her will, Dou-
nia, and that you can receive the money very shortly.’
‘Thank God!’ cried Pulcheria Alexandrovna, crossing
herself. ‘Pray for her 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 his children who are now with an aunt, then that he
was staying somewhere not far from me, but where, I don’t
know, I didn’t ask….’
‘But what, what does he want to propose to Dounia?’
cried Pulcheria Alexandrovna 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 in your way,’ he added with an air of some pique
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and he began getting up.
‘Don’t go, Pyotr Petrovitch,’ said Dounia, ‘you intended
to spend the evening. Besides, you wrote yourself that you
wanted to have an explanation with mother.’
‘Precisely so, Avdotya Romanovna,’ Pyotr Petrovitch an-
swered impressively, sitting down again, but still holding
his hat. ‘I certainly desired an explanation with you and
your honoured mother upon a very important point indeed.
But as your brother cannot speak openly in my presence of
some proposals of Mr. Svidrigaïlov, I, too, do not desire and
am not able to speak openly … in the presence of others
… of certain matters of the greatest gravity. Moreover, my
most weighty and urgent request has been disregarded….’
Assuming an aggrieved air, Luzhin relapsed into digni-
fied silence.
‘Your request that my brother should not be present at our
meeting was disregarded solely at my instance,’ said Dou-
nia. ‘You wrote that you had been insulted by my brother; I
think that this must be explained at once, and you must be
reconciled. And if Rodya really has insulted you, then he
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