pas contents. ’ He laughed, ‘That’s right, isn’t it, Dounia?’
‘No, it’s not,’ answered Dounia firmly.
‘Bah! you, too, have ideals,’ he muttered, looking at her
almost with hatred, and smiling sarcastically. ‘I ought to
have considered that…. Well, that’s praiseworthy, and it’s
better for you … and if you reach a line 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 added
irritably, vexed at being carried away. ‘I only meant to say
that I beg your 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
this conversation, and in the silence, and in the reconcilia-
tion, and in the forgiveness, and all were feeling it.
‘It is as though they were afraid of me,’ Raskolnikov was
thinking to himself, looking askance at his mother and
sister. Pulcheria Alexandrovna was indeed growing more
timid the longer she kept silent.
‘Yet in their absence I seemed to love them so much,’
flashed through his mind.
‘Do you know, Rodya, Marfa Petrovna is dead,’ Pulcheria
Alexandrovna suddenly blurted out.
‘What Marfa Petrovna?’
‘Oh, mercy on us—Marfa Petrovna Svidrigaïlov. I wrote
you so much about her.’
Crime and Punishment
‘A-a-h! Yes, I remember…. So she’s dead! Oh, really?’ he
roused himself suddenly, as if waking up. ‘What did she die
of?’
‘Only imagine, quite suddenly,’ Pulcheria Alexandrovna
answered hurriedly, encouraged by his curiosity. ‘On the
very day I was sending you that letter! Would you believe it,
that awful man seems to have been the cause of her death.
They say he beat her dreadfully.’
‘Why, were they on such bad terms?’ he asked, address-
ing his sister.
‘Not at all. Quite the contrary indeed. With her, he was
always very patient, considerate even. In fact, all those sev-
en years of their married life he gave way to her, too much
so indeed, in many cases. All of a sudden he seems to have
lost patience.’
‘Then he could not have been so awful if he controlled
himself for seven years? You seem to be defending him,
Dounia?’
‘No, no, he’s an awful man! I can imagine nothing more
awful!’ Dounia answered, almost with a shudder, knitting
her brows, and sinking into thought.
‘That had happened in the morning,’ Pulcheria Alex-
androvna went on hurriedly. ‘And directly afterwards she
ordered the horses to be harnessed to drive to the town im-
mediately after dinner. She always used to drive to the town
in such cases. She ate a very good dinner, I am told….’
‘After the beating?’
‘That was always her … habit; and immediately after
dinner, so as not to be late in starting, she went to the bath-
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house…. You see, she was undergoing some treatment with
baths. They have a cold spring there, and she used to bathe
in it regularly every day, and no sooner had she got into 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 gos-
sip, mother,’ said Raskolnikov irritably, as it were in spite
of himself.
‘Ah, my dear, I don’t know what to talk about,’ broke
from Pulcheria Alexandrovna.
‘Why, are you all afraid of me?’ he asked, with a con-
strained smile.
‘That’s certainly true,’ said Dounia, looking directly and
sternly at her brother. ‘Mother was crossing herself with
terror as she came up the stairs.’
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 Alex-
androvna began, overwhelmed—‘You see, coming here, I
was dreaming all the way, in the train, how we should meet,
how we should talk over everything together…. And I was
so happy, I did not notice the journey! But what am I say-
ing? I am happy now…. You should not, Dounia…. I am
happy now—simply in seeing you, Rodya….’
‘Hush, mother,’ he muttered in confusion, not looking
at her, but pressing her hand. ‘We shall have time to speak
freely of everything!’
Crime and Punishment
As he said this, he was suddenly overwhelmed with con-
fusion and turned pale. Again that awful sensation he had
known of late passed with deadly chill over his soul. Again
it became suddenly plain and perceptible to him that he had
just told a fearful lie—that he would never now be able 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 that for a moment he almost forgot him-
self. He got up from his seat, and not looking 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 si-
lence. They were all looking at him in perplexity.
‘But what are you all so dull for?’ he shouted, suddenly
and quite unexpectedly. ‘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 beginning again,’ said Pulcheria Alexandrovna, cross-
ing herself.
‘What is the matter, Rodya?’ asked Avdotya Romanovna,
distrustfully.
‘Oh, nothing! I remembered something,’ he answered,
and suddenly laughed.
‘Well, if you remembered something; that’s all right! … I
was beginning to think …’ muttered Zossimov, getting up
from the sofa. ‘It is time for me to be off. I will look in again
perhaps … if I can …’ He made his bows, and went out.
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‘What an excellent man!’ observed Pulcheria Alexan-
drovna.
‘Yes, excellent, splendid, well-educated, intelligent,’ Ras-
kolnikov began, suddenly speaking with surprising rapidity,
and a liveliness he had not shown till then. ‘I can’t remem-
ber where I met him before my illness…. I believe I have
met him somewhere—— … And this is a good man, too,’ he
nodded at Razumihin. ‘Do you like him, Dounia?’ he asked
her; and suddenly, for some unknown reason, laughed.
‘Very much,’ answered Dounia.
‘Foo!—what a pig you are!’ Razumihin protested, blush-
ing in terrible confusion, and he got up from his chair.
Pulcheria Alexandrovna smiled faintly, 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 si-
lent again? I do all the talking.’
‘It was a present from Marfa Petrovna,’ answered Dou-
nia.
‘And a very expensive one!’ added Pulcheria Alexandrov-
na.
‘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 Razumi-
hin, and was unreasonably delighted.
‘I thought it was Luzhin’s present,’ observed Raskol-
Crime and Punishment
nikov.
‘No, he has not made Dounia any presents yet.’
‘A-ah! And do you remember, mother, I was in love and
wanted to get married?’ he said suddenly, looking at his
mother, who was disconcerted by the sudden change of sub-
ject and the way he spoke of it.
‘Oh, yes, my dear.’
Pulcheria Alexandrovna exchanged glances with Dou-
nia and Razumihin.
‘H’m, yes. What shall I tell you? I don’t remember much
indeed. She was such 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 was always dreaming
of a nunnery, and once she burst into tears when she began
talking to me about it. Yes, yes, I remember. I remember
very well. She was an ugly little thing. I really don’t know
what drew me to her then—I think it was because she was
always ill. If she had been lame or hunchback, I believe I
should have liked her better still,’ he smiled 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 did not 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
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all now, as it were, in another world … and so long ago.
And indeed everything happening 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, good-
ness knows why we are talking of that! And what’s the use
of asking about it?’ he added with annoyance, and biting his
nails, fell into dreamy silence again.
‘What a wretched lodging you have, Rodya! It’s like a
tomb,’ said Pulcheria Alexandrovna, suddenly breaking the
oppressive silence. ‘I am sure it’s quite half through your
lodging you have become so melancholy.’
‘My lodging,’ he answered, listlessly. ‘Yes, the lodging
had a great deal to do with it…. I thought that, too…. If
only you knew, though, what a strange thing you said just
now, mother,’ he said, laughing strangely.
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 re-
ally speaking about anything, would have been beyond his
power of endurance. But there was one urgent matter which
must be settled one way or the other that day—so he had
decided when he woke. Now he was glad to remember it, as
a means of escape.
‘Listen, Dounia,’ he began, gravely and drily, ‘of course I
beg your pardon for yesterday, but I consider it my duty to
tell you again that I do not withdraw from my chief point. It
is me or Luzhin. If I am a scoundrel, you must not be. One
is enough. If you marry Luzhin, I cease at once to look on
you as a sister.’
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0
‘Rodya, Rodya! It is the same as yesterday again,’ Pulche-
ria Alexandrovna cried, mournfully. ‘And why do you call
yourself a scoundrel? I can’t bear it. You said the same yes-
terday.’
‘Brother,’ Dounia answered firmly and with the same
dryness. ‘In all this 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 am sacrificing myself to some-
one and for someone. That is not the case at all. I am simply
marrying for my own sake, because things are hard for me.
Though, of course, I shall be glad if I succeed in being useful
to my family. But that is not the chief motive for my deci-
sion….’
‘She is lying,’ he thought to himself, biting his nails vin-
dictively. ‘Proud creature! She won’t admit she wants to do
it out of charity! Too haughty! Oh, base characters! They
even love as though they hate…. Oh, how I … hate them
all!’
‘In fact,’ continued Dounia, ‘I am marrying Pyotr Petro-
vitch because of two evils I choose the less. I intend to do
honestly all he expects of me, 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’s courtship showed me at once what he
wanted. He may, of course, think too well of himself, but I
hope he esteems me, too…. Why are you laughing again?’
‘And why are you blushing again? You are lying, sister.
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You are intentionally lying, simply from feminine obstinacy,
simply to hold your own against me…. You cannot respect
Luzhin. I have seen him and talked with him. So you are
selling yourself for money, and so in any case you are 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 me and thinks highly of me. I would not
marry him if I were not firmly convinced that I can respect
him. Fortunately, I can have convincing proof of it this very
day … and such a marriage is not a vileness, as you say! And
even if you were right, if I really had determined on a vile
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? It is despotism; it is tyranny. If I ruin
anyone, it is only myself…. I am not committing a murder.
Why do you look at me like that? Why are you so pale? Ro-
dya, darling, what’s the matter?’
‘Good heavens! You have made him faint,’ cried Pulche-
ria Alexandrovna.
‘No, no, nonsense! It’s nothing. A little giddiness—not
fainting. You have fainting on the brain. H’m, yes, what was
I saying? Oh, yes. In what 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 Dou-
nia.
With trembling hands, Pulcheria Alexandrovna gave
him the letter. He took it with great interest, but, before
Crime and Punishment
opening it, he suddenly looked with a sort of wonder at
Dounia.
‘It is strange,’ he said, slowly, as though struck by a new
idea. ‘What am 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 for some time at his sister, as though puzzled. He
opened the letter at last, 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 expected something
particular.
‘What surprises me,’ he began, after a short pause, hand-
ing the letter to his mother, but not addressing anyone in
particular, ‘is that he is a business man, a lawyer, and his
conversation is pretentious indeed, and yet he writes such
an uneducated letter.’
They all started. They had expected something quite dif-
ferent.
‘But they all write like that, you know,’ Razumihin ob-
served, abruptly.
‘Have you read it?’
‘Yes.’
‘We showed him, Rodya. We … consulted him just now,’
Pulcheria Alexandrovna began, embarrassed.
‘That’s just the jargon of the courts,’ Razumihin put in.
‘Legal documents 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!’
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‘Pyotr Petrovitch makes no secret of the fact that he had
a cheap education, he is proud indeed of having made his
own way,’ Avdotya Romanovna observed, somewhat of-
fended by her brother’s tone.
‘Well, if he’s proud of it, he has reason, I don’t deny it. You
seem to be offended, sister, at my making only such a frivo-
lous criticism on the letter, and to think that I speak of such
trifling matters on purpose to annoy you. It is quite the con-
trary, an observation apropos of the style occurred to me
that is by no means irrelevant as things stand. There is one
expression, ‘blame yourselves’ put in very significantly and
plainly, and there is besides a threat that he will go away at
once if I am present. That threat to go away is equivalent to
a threat to abandon you both if you are disobedient, and to
abandon you now after summoning you to Petersburg. Well,
what do you think? Can one resent such an expression from
Luzhin, as we should if he (he pointed to Razumihin) had
written it, or Zossimov, or one of us?’
‘N-no,’ answered Dounia, with more animation. ‘I saw
clearly that it was too naïvely expressed, and that perhaps
he simply has no skill in writing … that is a true criticism,
brother. I did not expect, indeed …’
‘It is expressed in legal style, and sounds coarser than per-
haps he intended. But I must disillusion you a little. There
is one expression in the letter, one slander about me, and
rather a contemptible one. I gave the money last night to
the widow, a woman in consumption, crushed with trouble,
and not ‘on the pretext of the funeral,’ but simply to pay for
the funeral, and not to the daughter—a young woman, as
Crime and Punishment
he writes, of notorious behaviour (whom I saw last night for
the first time in my life)—but to the widow. In all this I see
a too hasty desire to slander me and to raise dissension be-
tween us. It is expressed again in legal jargon, that is to say,
with a too obvious display of the aim, and with a very naïve
eagerness. He is a man of intelligence, but to act sensibly, in-
telligence is not enough. It all shows the man and … I don’t
think he has a great esteem for you. I tell you this simply to
warn you, because I sincerely wish for your good …’
Dounia did not reply. Her resolution had been taken. She
was only awaiting the evening.
‘Then what is your decision, Rodya?’ asked Pulcheria Al-
exandrovna, who was more uneasy than ever at the sudden,
new businesslike tone of his talk.
‘What decision?’
‘You see Pyotr Petrovitch writes that you are not to be
with us this evening, 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 are not offended by such a request; and secondly, by
Dounia, if she, too, is not offended. I will do what you think
best,’ he added, drily.
‘Dounia has already decided, and I fully agree with her,’
Pulcheria Alexandrovna hastened to declare.
‘I decided to ask you, Rodya, to urge you not to fail to be
with us at this 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.’
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‘Quite right, Dounia. Well, since you have decided,’
added Pulcheria Alexandrovna, ‘so be it. I shall feel easier
myself. I do not like concealment and deception. Better let
us have the whole truth…. Pyotr Petrovitch may be angry
or not, now!’
Crime and Punishment
Chapter IV
A
t that moment the door was softly opened, and a young
girl walked into the room, looking timidly about her.
Everyone turned towards her with surprise and curiosity.
At first sight, Raskolnikov did not recognise her. It was So-
fya Semyonovna Marmeladov. He had seen her yesterday
for the first time, but at such a moment, in such surround-
ings and in such a dress, that his memory retained a very
different image of her. Now she was a modestly and poorly-
dressed young girl, very young, indeed, almost like a child,
with a modest and refined manner, with a candid but some-
what frightened-looking face. She was wearing a very plain
indoor dress, and had on a shabby old- fashioned hat, but
she still carried a parasol. Unexpectedly finding the room
full of people, she was not so much embarrassed as com-
pletely overwhelmed with shyness, like a little child. She
was even about to retreat. ‘Oh … it’s you!’ said Raskolnikov,
extremely astonished, and he, too, was confused. He at once
recollected that his mother and sister knew through Lu-
zhin’s letter of ‘some young woman of notorious behaviour.’
He had only just been protesting against Luzhin’s calumny
and declaring that he had seen the girl last night for the
first time, and suddenly she had walked in. He remembered,
too, that he had not protested against the expression ‘of no-
torious behaviour.’ All this passed vaguely and fleetingly
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through his brain, but looking at her more intently, he saw
that the humiliated creature was so humiliated that he felt
suddenly sorry for her. When she made a movement to re-
treat in terror, it sent a pang to his heart.
‘I did not expect you,’ he said, hurriedly, with a look that
made her stop. ‘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 of Raskolnikov’s three chairs, close to the door, got up
to allow her to enter. Raskolnikov had at first shown her the
place on the sofa where Zossimov had been sitting, but feel-
ing that the sofa which served him as a bed, was too familiar
a place, he hurriedly motioned her to Razumihin’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 the two ladies. It was evidently almost inconceiv-
able to herself that she could sit down beside them. At the
thought of it, she was so frightened that she hurriedly got
up again, and in utter confusion addressed Raskolnikov.
‘I … I … have come for one minute. Forgive me for dis-
turbing you,’ she began falteringly. ‘I come from Katerina
Ivanovna, and she had no one to send. Katerina Ivanovna
told me to beg you … to be at the service … in the morning
… at Mitrofanievsky … and then … to us … to her … to do
her the honour … she told me to beg you …’ Sonia stam-
mered and ceased speaking.
‘I will try, certainly, most certainly,’ answered Raskol-
nikov. He, too, stood up, and he, too, faltered and could not
Crime and Punishment
finish his sentence. ‘Please sit down,’ he said, suddenly. ‘I
want to talk to you. You are perhaps in a hurry, but please,
be so kind, spare me two minutes,’ and he drew up a chair
for her.
Sonia sat down again, and again timidly she took a hur-
ried, frightened look at the two ladies, and dropped her eyes.
Raskolnikov’s pale face flushed, a shudder passed over him,
his eyes glowed.
‘Mother,’ he said, firmly and insistently, ‘this is Sofya
Semyonovna Marmeladov, the daughter of that unfortu-
nate Mr. Marmeladov, who was run over yesterday before
my eyes, and of whom I was just telling you.’
Pulcheria Alexandrovna glanced at Sonia, and slightly
screwed up her eyes. In spite of her embarrassment before
Rodya’s urgent and challenging look, she could not deny
herself that satisfaction. Dounia gazed gravely and intently
into the poor girl’s face, and scrutinised her with perplex-
ity. Sonia, hearing herself introduced, tried to raise her eyes
again, but was more embarrassed than ever.
‘I wanted to ask you,’ said Raskolnikov, hastily, ‘how
things were arranged 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 an-
gry.’
‘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, until to-morrow. At first Katerina Ivanovna was un-
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willing, but now she sees herself that it’s necessary …’
‘To-day, then?’
‘She begs you to do us the honour to be in the church
to-morrow for the service, and then to be present at the fu-
neral lunch.’
‘She is giving a funeral lunch?’
‘Yes … just a little…. She told me to thank you very much
for helping us 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, she controlled herself, looking down again.
During the conversation, Raskolnikov watched her
carefully. She had a thin, very thin, pale little face, rather
irregular and angular, with a sharp little nose and chin. She
could not have been called pretty, but her blue eyes were
so clear, and when they lighted up, there was such a kind-
liness and simplicity in her expression that one could not
help being attracted. Her face, and her whole figure indeed,
had another peculiar characteristic. In spite of her eighteen
years, she looked almost a little girl—almost a child. And in
some of her gestures, this childishness seemed almost ab-
surd.
‘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 con-
versation.
‘The coffin will be plain, of course … and everything will
be plain, so it won’t cost much. Katerina Ivanovna and I
have reckoned it all out, so that there will be enough left
Crime and Punishment
0
… and Katerina Ivanovna was very anxious it should be so.
You know one can’t … it’s a comfort to her … she is like that,
you know….’
‘I understand, I understand … of course … why do you
look at my room like that? My mother has just said it is like
a tomb.’
‘You gave us everything yesterday,’ Sonia said suddenly,
in reply, in a loud rapid whisper; and again she looked down
in confusion. Her lips and chin were trembling once more.
She had been struck at once by Raskolnikov’s poor sur-
roundings, and now these words broke out spontaneously.
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 togeth-
er, of course. Come, Dounia…. And you, Rodya, had better
go for a little walk, and then rest and lie down before you
come to see us…. I am afraid we have exhausted you….’
‘Yes, yes, I’ll come,’ he answered, getting up fussily. ‘But I
have something to see to.’
‘But surely you will have dinner together?’ cried Razu-
mihin, looking in surprise 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, moth-
er? Or perhaps I am taking him from you?’
‘Oh, no, no. And will you, Dmitri Prokofitch, do us the
favour of dining with us?’
‘Please do,’ added Dounia.
Razumihin bowed, positively radiant. For one moment,
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they were all strangely embarrassed.
‘Good-bye, Rodya, that is till we meet. I do not like say-
ing good-bye. Good-bye, Nastasya. Ah, I have said good-bye
again.’
Pulcheria Alexandrovna meant to greet Sonia, too; but
it somehow failed to come off, and she went in a flutter out
of the room.
But Avdotya Romanovna seemed to await her turn, and
following her mother out, gave Sonia an attentive, courte-
ous bow. Sonia, in confusion, gave a hurried, frightened
curtsy. There was a look of poignant discomfort in her face,
as though Avdotya Romanovna’s courtesy and attention
were oppressive and painful to her.
‘Dounia, good-bye,’ called Raskolnikov, in the passage.
‘Give me your hand.’
‘Why, I did give it to you. Have you forgotten?’ said Dou-
nia, turning warmly 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
looking brightly at her. ‘God give peace to the dead, the liv-
ing have still to live. That is right, isn’t it?’
Sonia looked surprised at the sudden brightness of his
face. He looked at her for some moments in silence. The
whole history of the dead father floated before his memory
in those moments….
*****
Crime and Punishment
‘Heavens, Dounia,’ Pulcheria Alexandrovna began, as
soon as they were in the street, ‘I really feel relieved myself
at coming away—more at ease. How little did I think yester-
day in the train that I could ever be glad of 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 pa-
tient, and much, much can be forgiven.’
‘Well, you were not very patient!’ Pulcheria Alexan-
drovna caught her up, hotly and jealously. ‘Do you know,
Dounia, I was looking at you two. You are the very portrait
of him, and not so much in face as in soul. You are both
melancholy, both morose and hot-tempered, both haughty
and both generous…. Surely he can’t be an egoist, Dounia.
Eh? When I think of what 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 Petrovitch breaks it off?’ poor Pulcheria Alexandrov-
na blurted out, incautiously.
‘He won’t be worth much if he does,’ answered Dounia,
sharply and contemptuously.
‘We did well to come away,’ Pulcheria Alexandrovna hur-
riedly broke in. ‘He was in a hurry about some business or
other. If he gets out and has a breath of air … it is fearfully
close in his room…. But where is one to get a breath of air
here? The very streets here feel like shut-up rooms. Good
heavens! what a town! … stay … this side … they will crush
you—carrying something. Why, it is a piano they have got, I
declare … how they push! … I am very much afraid of that
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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, but as soon as she came in, that very minute, I felt
that she was the chief cause of the trouble….’
‘Nothing of the sort!’ cried Dounia, in vexation. ‘What
nonsense, with your presentiments, mother! He only made
her acquaintance the evening before, and he did not know
her when she came in.’
‘Well, you will see…. She worries me; but you will see,
you will see! I was so frightened. She was gazing at me with
those eyes. I could scarcely sit still in my chair when he be-
gan introducing her, do you remember? It seems so strange,
but Pyotr Petrovitch writes like that about her, and he in-
troduces her to us—to you! So he must think a great deal
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 it is all nonsense.’
‘God grant it may be!’
‘And Pyotr Petrovitch is a contemptible slanderer,’ Dou-
nia snapped out, suddenly.
Pulcheria Alexandrovna was crushed; the conversation
was not resumed.
*****
‘I will tell you what I want with you,’ said Raskolnikov,
drawing Razumihin to the window.
Crime and Punishment
‘Then I will tell Katerina Ivanovna that you are coming,’
Sonia said hurriedly, preparing to depart.
‘One minute, Sofya Semyonovna. We have no secrets.
You are not in our way. I want to have another word or two
with you. Listen!’ he turned suddenly to Razumihin again.
‘You know that … what’s his name … Porfiry Petrovitch?’
‘I should think so! He is a relation. Why?’ added the lat-
ter, with interest.
‘Is not he managing that case … you know, about that
murder? … You were speaking about it yesterday.’
‘Yes … well?’ Razumihin’s eyes opened wide.
‘He was inquiring for people who had pawned things,
and I have some pledges there, too—trifles—a ring my sis-
ter gave me as a keepsake when I left home, and my father’s
silver watch—they are only worth five or six roubles alto-
gether … but I value them. So what am I to do now? I do not
want to lose the things, especially the watch. I was quaking
just now, for fear mother would ask to look at it, when we
spoke of Dounia’s watch. It is the only thing of father’s left
us. She would be ill if it were lost. You know what women
are. So tell me what to do. I know I ought to have given
notice at the police station, but would it not be better to
go straight to Porfiry? Eh? What do you think? The matter
might be settled more quickly. You see, mother may ask for
it before dinner.’
‘Certainly not to the police station. Certainly to Porfiry,’
Razumihin shouted in extraordinary excitement. ‘Well,
how glad I am. Let us go at once. It is a couple of steps. We
shall be sure to find him.’
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‘Very well, let us go.’
‘And he will be very, very glad to make your acquain-
tance. I have often talked to him of you at different times. I
was speaking of you yesterday. Let us go. So you knew the
old woman? So that’s it! It is all turning out splendidly….
Oh, yes, Sofya Ivanovna …’
‘Sofya Semyonovna,’ corrected Raskolnikov. ‘Sofya
Semyonovna, this is my friend Razumihin, and he is a good
man.’
‘If you have to go now,’ Sonia was beginning, not looking
at Razumihin at all, and still more embarrassed.
‘Let us go,’ decided Raskolnikov. ‘I will come to you to-
day, Sofya Semyonovna. Only tell me where you live.’
He was not exactly ill at ease, but seemed hurried, and
avoided her eyes. Sonia gave her address, and flushed as she
did so. They all went out 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 for these 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 the way?’ he added, as though he wanted to
say something quite different. He wanted 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?’
Crime and Punishment
‘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 you had 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 possi-
ble, to walk the twenty steps to the turning on the right and
to be at last alone, and then moving rapidly along, looking
at no one, noticing nothing, to think, to remember, to med-
itate on every word, every detail. Never, never had she felt
anything like this. Dimly and unconsciously a whole new
world was opening before her. She remembered suddenly
that Raskolnikov meant to come to her that day, perhaps
at once!
‘Only not to-day, please, not to-day!’ she kept muttering
with a sinking heart, as though entreating someone, like a
frightened child. ‘Mercy! to me … to that room … he will
see … oh, dear!’
She was not capable at that instant of noticing an un-
known gentleman who was watching her and following at
her heels. He had accompanied her from the gateway. At
the moment when Razumihin, Raskolnikov, and she stood
still at parting on the pavement, this gentleman, who was
just passing, started on hearing Sonia’s words: ‘and I asked
where Mr. Raskolnikov lived?’ He turned a rapid but atten-
tive look upon all three, especially upon Raskolnikov, to
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whom Sonia was speaking; then looked back and noted the
house. All this was done in an instant as he passed, and try-
ing not to betray his interest, he walked on more slowly as
though waiting for something. He was waiting for Sonia; he
saw that they were parting, and that Sonia was going home.
‘Home? Where? I’ve seen that face somewhere,’ he
thought. ‘I must find out.’
At the turning he crossed over, looked round, and saw
Sonia coming the same way, noticing nothing. She turned
the corner. He followed her on the other side. After about
fifty paces he crossed over again, overtook her and kept two
or three yards behind her.
He was a man about fifty, rather tall and thickly set, with
broad high shoulders which made him look as though he
stooped a little. He wore good and fashionable clothes, and
looked like a gentleman of position. He carried a handsome
cane, which he tapped on the pavement at each step; his
gloves were spotless. He had a broad, rather pleasant face
with high cheek-bones and a fresh colour, not often seen
in Petersburg. His flaxen hair was still abundant, and only
touched here and there with grey, and his thick square beard
was even lighter than his hair. His eyes were blue and had
a cold and thoughtful look; his lips were crimson. He was a
remarkedly well-preserved man and looked much younger
than his years.
When Sonia came out on the canal bank, they were the
only two persons on the pavement. He observed her dream-
iness and preoccupation. On reaching the house where she
lodged, Sonia turned in at the gate; he followed her, seem-
Crime and Punishment
ing rather surprised. In the courtyard she turned to the
right corner. ‘Bah!’ muttered the unknown gentleman, and
mounted the stairs behind her. Only then Sonia noticed
him. She reached the third storey, turned down the pas-
sage, and rang at No. 9. On the door was inscribed in 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 at Madame Resslich’s. How odd!’ Sonia
looked at him attentively.
‘We are neighbours,’ he went on gaily. ‘I only came to
town the day before yesterday. Good-bye for the present.’
Sonia made no reply; the door opened and she slipped in.
She felt for some reason ashamed and uneasy.
*****
On the way to Porfiry’s, Razumihin was obviously ex-
cited.
‘That’s capital, brother,’ he repeated several times, ‘and I
am glad! I am glad!’
‘What are you glad about?’ Raskolnikov thought to him-
self.
‘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 three days before her death it must have been. But
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I am not going to redeem the things now,’ he put in with a
sort of hurried and conspicuous solicitude about the things.
‘I’ve not more than a silver rouble left … after last night’s ac-
cursed delirium!’
He laid special emphasis on the delirium.
‘Yes, yes,’ Razumihin hastened to agree—with what was
not clear. ‘Then that’s why you … were stuck … partly …
you know in your delirium you were continually mention-
ing some rings or chains! Yes, yes … that’s clear, it’s all clear
now.’
‘Hullo! How that idea must have got about among them.
Here this man will go to the stake for me, and I find him
delighted at having it cleared up why I spoke of rings in my
delirium! What a hold the idea must have on all of them!’
‘Shall we find him?’ he asked suddenly.
‘Oh, yes,’ Razumihin answered quickly. ‘He is a nice fel-
low, you will see, brother. Rather clumsy, that is to say, he is
a man of polished manners, but I mean clumsy in a differ-
ent sense. He is an intelligent fellow, very much so indeed,
but he has his own range of ideas…. He is incredulous, scep-
tical, cynical … he likes to impose on people, or rather to
make fun of them. His is the old, circumstantial method….
But he understands his work … thoroughly…. Last year he
cleared up a case of murder in which the police had hardly a
clue. He is very, very anxious 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 have mentioned you several times…. So, when
he heard about you … about your being a law student and
Crime and Punishment
0
not able to finish your studies, he said, ‘What a pity!’ And
so I concluded … from everything together, not only that;
yesterday Zametov … you know, Rodya, I talked some non-
sense on the 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 said with a constrained smile.
‘Yes, yes…. That is, pooh, no! … But all that I said (and
there was something else too) it was all nonsense, drunken
nonsense.’
‘But why are you apologising? I am so sick of it all!’ Ras-
kolnikov cried with exaggerated irritability. It was partly
assumed, however.
‘I know, I know, I understand. Believe me, I understand.
One’s ashamed to speak of it.’
‘If you are ashamed, then don’t speak of it.’
Both were silent. Razumihin was more than ecstatic and
Raskolnikov perceived it with repulsion. He was alarmed,
too, by what Razumihin had just said about Porfiry.
‘I shall have to pull a long face with him too,’ he thought,
with a beating heart, and he turned white, ‘and do it natu-
rally, too. But the most natural thing would be to do nothing
at all. Carefully do nothing at all! No, carefully would not
be natural again…. Oh, well, we shall see how it turns out….
We shall see … directly. Is it a good thing to go or not? The
butterfly flies to the light. My heart is beating, that’s what’s
bad!’
‘In this grey house,’ said Razumihin.
‘The most important thing, does Porfiry know that I was
1
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at the old hag’s flat yesterday … and asked about the blood?
I must find that out instantly, as soon as I go in, find out
from his face; otherwise … I’ll find out, if it’s my ruin.’
‘I say, brother,’ he said suddenly, addressing Razumihin,
with a sly smile, ‘I have been noticing all day that you seem
to be curiously excited. 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 chair in a way you never do sit, on the edge somehow,
and you seemed to be writhing all the time. You kept jump-
ing up for nothing. One moment you were angry, and the
next your face looked like a sweetmeat. You even blushed;
especially when you were invited to dinner, you blushed
awfully.’
‘Nothing of the sort, nonsense! What do you mean?’
‘But why are you wriggling out of it, like a schoolboy? By
Jove, there he’s blushing again.’
‘What a pig you are!’
‘But why are you so shamefaced about it? Romeo! Stay,
I’ll tell of you to-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 will you 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; a Romeo over six foot high! And how you’ve
washed to-day—you cleaned your nails, I declare. Eh? That’s
Crime and Punishment
something unheard of! Why, I do believe you’ve got poma-
tum on your hair! Bend down.’
‘Pig!’
Raskolnikov laughed as though he could not restrain
himself. So laughing, they entered Porfiry Petrovitch’s flat.
This is what Raskolnikov wanted: from within they could
be heard laughing as they came in, still guffawing in the
passage.
‘Not a word here or I’ll … brain you!’ Razumihin whis-
pered furiously, seizing Raskolnikov by the shoulder.
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Chapter V
R
askolnikov was already entering the room. He came in
looking as though he had the utmost difficulty not to
burst out laughing again. Behind him Razumihin strode in
gawky and awkward, shamefaced and red as a peony, with
an utterly crestfallen and ferocious expression. His face
and whole figure really were ridiculous at that moment and
amply justified Raskolnikov’s laughter. Raskolnikov, not
waiting for an introduction, bowed to Porfiry Petrovitch,
who stood in the middle of the room looking inquiringly at
them. He held out his hand and shook hands, still apparent-
ly making desperate efforts to subdue his mirth and utter a
few words to introduce himself. But he had no sooner suc-
ceeded in assuming a serious air and muttering something
when he suddenly glanced again as though accidentally at
Razumihin, and could no longer control himself: his stifled
laughter broke out the more irresistibly the more he tried to
restrain it. The extraordinary ferocity with which Razumi-
hin received this ‘spontaneous’ mirth gave the whole scene
the appearance of most genuine fun and naturalness. Razu-
mihin strengthened this impression as though on purpose.
‘Fool! You fiend,’ he roared, waving his arm which at
once struck a little round table with an empty tea-glass on
it. Everything was sent flying and crashing.
‘But why break chairs, gentlemen? You know it’s a loss to
Crime and Punishment
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 natural end to it. Razumihin, completely
put to confusion by upsetting the table and smashing the
glass, gazed gloomily at the fragments, cursed and turned
sharply to the window where he stood looking out with his
back to the company with a fiercely scowling countenance,
seeing nothing. Porfiry Petrovitch laughed and was ready
to go on laughing, but obviously looked for explanations.
Zametov had been sitting in the corner, but he rose at the
visitors’ entrance and was standing in expectation with a
smile on his lips, though he looked with surprise and even
it seemed incredulity at the whole scene and at Raskolnikov
with a certain embarrassment. Zametov’s unexpected pres-
ence struck Raskolnikov unpleasantly.
‘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 come in…. Why, won’t he even say good-morning?’
Porfiry Petrovitch nodded at Razumihin.
‘Upon my honour I don’t know why he is in such a rage
with me. I only told him as we came along that he was like
Romeo … and proved it. And that was all, I think!’
‘Pig!’ ejaculated Razumihin, without turning round.
‘There must have been very grave grounds for it, if he is
so furious at the word,’ Porfiry laughed.
‘Oh, you sharp lawyer! … Damn you all!’ snapped Razu-
mihin, and suddenly bursting out laughing himself, he went
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up to Porfiry with a more cheerful face as though nothing
had happened. ‘That’ll do! We are all fools. To come to busi-
ness. This is my friend Rodion Romanovitch Raskolnikov;
in the first place he has heard of you and wants to make
your acquaintance, and secondly, he has a little matter of
business with you. Bah! Zametov, what brought you here?
Have you met before? Have you known 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 eas-
ily.
‘Then I have been spared the trouble. All last week he was
begging me to introduce him to you. Porfiry and you have
sniffed each other out without me. Where is your tobacco?’
Porfiry Petrovitch was wearing a dressing-gown, very
clean linen, and trodden-down slippers. He was a man of
about five and thirty, short, stout even to corpulence, and
clean shaven. He wore his hair cut short and had a large
round head, particularly prominent at the back. His soft,
round, rather snub-nosed face was of a sickly yellowish co-
lour, but had a vigorous and rather ironical expression. It
would have been good-natured except for a look in the eyes,
which shone with a watery, mawkish light under almost
white, blinking eyelashes. The expression of those eyes was
strangely out of keeping with his somewhat womanish fig-
ure, and gave it something far more serious than could be
guessed at first sight.
As soon as Porfiry Petrovitch heard that his visitor had
a little matter of business with him, he begged him to sit
Crime and Punishment
down on the sofa and sat down himself on the other end,
waiting for him to explain his business, with that careful
and over-serious attention which is at once oppressive and
embarrassing, especially to a stranger, and especially if
what you are discussing is in your opinion of far too little
importance for such exceptional solemnity. But in brief and
coherent phrases Raskolnikov explained his business clear-
ly and exactly, and was so well satisfied with 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 im-
patiently, looking from one to the other every moment with
rather excessive interest.
‘Fool,’ Raskolnikov swore to himself.
‘You have to give information to the police,’ Porfiry re-
plied, with a most businesslike air, ‘that having learnt of
this incident, that is of the murder, you beg to inform the
lawyer in charge of the case that such and such things be-
long 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,’ Ras-
kolnikov tried his utmost to feign embarrassment, ‘I am not
quite in funds … and even this trifling sum is beyond me
… I only wanted, you see, for the present to declare that the
things are mine, and that when I have money….’
‘That’s no matter,’ answered Porfiry Petrovitch, receiving
his explanation of his pecuniary position coldly, ‘but you
can, if you prefer, write straight to me, to say, that having
been informed of the matter, and claiming such and such
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as your property, you beg …’
‘On an ordinary sheet of paper?’ Raskolnikov inter-
rupted eagerly, again interested in the financial side of the
question.
‘Oh, the most ordinary,’ and suddenly Porfiry Petrovitch
looked with obvious irony at him, screwing up his eyes and,
as it were, winking at him. But perhaps it was Raskolnikov’s
fancy, for it all lasted but a moment. There was certainly
something of the sort, Raskolnikov could have 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 little disconcerted, ‘the things are only worth five
roubles, but I prize them particularly for the sake of those
from whom they came to me, and I must confess that I was
alarmed when I heard …’
‘That’s why you were so much struck when I mentioned
to Zossimov that Porfiry was inquiring for everyone who
had pledges!’ Razumihin put in with obvious intention.
This was really unbearable. Raskolnikov could not help
glancing at him with a flash of vindictive anger in his black
eyes, but immediately recollected himself.
‘You seem to be jeering at me, brother?’ he said to him,
with a well- feigned irritability. ‘I dare say I do seem to you
absurdly anxious about 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 you just now that the
silver watch, though it’s not worth a cent, is the only thing
left us of my father’s. You may laugh at me, but my mother
Crime and Punishment
is here,’ he turned suddenly to Porfiry, ‘and if she knew,’ he
turned again hurriedly to Razumihin, carefully making his
voice tremble, ‘that the watch was lost, she would be in de-
spair! You know what women are!’
‘Not a bit of it! I didn’t mean that at all! Quite the con-
trary!’ shouted Razumihin distressed.
‘Was it right? Was it natural? Did I overdo it?’ Raskol-
nikov asked himself in a tremor. ‘Why did I say that about
women?’
‘Oh, your mother is with you?’ Porfiry Petrovitch in-
quired.
‘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 and coldly. ‘I have been expecting you here for some
time.’
And as though that was a matter of no importance, he
carefully offered the ash-tray to Razumihin, who was ruth-
lessly scattering cigarette ash over the carpet. Raskolnikov
shuddered, but Porfiry did not seem to be looking 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 on the paper your name was legibly written in
pencil, together with the date on which you left them with
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her …’
‘How observant you are!’ Raskolnikov smiled awkwardly,
doing his very utmost to look him straight in the face, but
he failed, and suddenly added:
‘I say that because I suppose there were a great many
pledges … that it must be difficult to remember them all….
But you remember them all so clearly, 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’t come forward,’ Porfiry answered with hard-
ly perceptible irony.
‘I haven’t been quite well.’
‘I heard that too. I heard, indeed, that you were in great
distress about something. You look pale still.’
‘I am not pale at all…. No, I am quite well,’ Raskolnikov
snapped out rudely and angrily, completely changing his
tone. His anger was mounting, he could not repress it. ‘And
in my anger I shall betray myself,’ flashed through his mind
again. ‘Why are they torturing me?’
‘Not quite well!’ Razumihin caught him up. ‘What next!
He was unconscious and delirious all yesterday. Would
you believe, Porfiry, as soon 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 a womanish way.
‘Nonsense! Don’t you believe it! But you don’t believe it
anyway,’ Raskolnikov let slip in his anger. But Porfiry Petro-
Crime and Punishment
0
vitch did not seem to catch those strange words.
‘But how could you have gone out if you hadn’t been de-
lirious?’ Razumihin got hot suddenly. ‘What did you go out
for? What was the object of it? And why on the sly? Were
you in your senses when you did it? Now that all danger is
over I can speak plainly.’
‘I was awfully sick of them yesterday.’ Raskolnikov ad-
dressed Porfiry suddenly with a smile of insolent defiance,
‘I ran away from them to take lodgings where they wouldn’t
find me, and took a lot of money with me. Mr. Zametov
there saw it. I say, Mr. Zametov, was I sensible or delirious
yesterday; settle our dispute.’
He could have strangled Zametov at that moment, so
hateful were his expression and his silence to him.
‘In my opinion you talked sensibly and even artfully, but
you were extremely 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 had been run over.’
‘And there,’ said Razumihin, ‘weren’t you mad then? You
gave your last penny to the widow for the funeral. If you
wanted to help, give fifteen or twenty even, but keep three
roubles for yourself at least, but he flung away all the twenty-
five at once!’
‘Maybe I found a treasure somewhere and you know
nothing of it? So that’s why I was liberal yesterday…. Mr.
Zametov knows I’ve found a treasure! Excuse us, please, for
disturbing you for half an hour with such trivialities,’ he
said, turning to Porfiry Petrovitch, with trembling lips. ‘We
1
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are boring you, aren’t we?’
‘Oh no, quite the contrary, quite the contrary! If only
you knew how you interest me! It’s interesting to look on
and listen … and I am really glad 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 you like … 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 ter-
rible exasperation.
‘The worst of it is they don’t disguise it; they don’t care
to stand on ceremony! And how if you didn’t know me at
all, did you come to talk to Nikodim Fomitch about me?
So they don’t care to hide that they are tracking me like
a pack of dogs. They simply spit in my face.’ He was shak-
ing with rage. ‘Come, strike me openly, don’t play with me
like a cat with a mouse. It’s hardly civil, Porfiry Petrovitch,
but perhaps I won’t allow it! I shall get up and throw the
whole truth in your ugly faces, and you’ll see how I despise
you.’ He could hardly breathe. ‘And what if it’s only my fan-
cy? What if I am mistaken, and through inexperience I get
angry and don’t keep up my nasty part? Perhaps it’s all un-
intentional. All their phrases are the usual ones, but there
is something about them…. It all might be said, but there
is something. Why did he say bluntly, ‘With her’? Why did
Zametov add that I spoke artfully? Why do they speak in
Crime and Punishment
that tone? Yes, the tone…. Razumihin is sitting here, why
does he see nothing? That innocent blockhead never does
see anything! Feverish again! Did Porfiry wink at me just
now? Of course it’s nonsense! What could he wink for? Are
they trying to upset my nerves or are they teasing me? Ei-
ther 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
my first visit. Porfiry does not consider him a visitor; sits
with his back to him. They’re as thick as thieves, no doubt,
over me! Not a doubt they were talking about me before
we came. Do they know about the flat? If only they’d make
haste! When I said that I ran away to take a flat he let it
pass…. I put that in cleverly about a flat, it may be of use
afterwards…. Delirious, indeed … ha-ha-ha! He knows all
about last night! He didn’t know of my mother’s arrival!
The hag had written the date on in pencil! You are wrong,
you won’t catch me! There are no facts … it’s all supposition!
You produce facts! The flat even isn’t a fact but delirium. I
know what to say to them…. Do they know about the flat? I
won’t go without finding out. What did I come for? But my
being angry now, maybe is a fact! Fool, how irritable I am!
Perhaps that’s right; to play the invalid…. He is feeling me.
He will try to catch me. Why did I come?’
All this flashed like lightning through his mind.
Porfiry Petrovitch returned quickly. He became sudden-
ly more jovial.
‘Your party yesterday, brother, has left my head rather….
And I am out of sorts altogether,’ he began in quite a differ-
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ent tone, laughing to Razumihin.
‘Was it interesting? I left you yesterday at the most inter-
esting point. Who got the best of it?’
‘Oh, no one, of course. They got on to everlasting ques-
tions, floated off into space.’
‘Only fancy, Rodya, what we got on to yesterday. Wheth-
er there is such a thing as crime. I told you that we talked
our heads off.’
‘What is there strange? It’s an everyday social question,’
Raskolnikov answered casually.
‘The question wasn’t put quite like that,’ observed Por-
firy.
‘Not quite, that’s true,’ Razumihin agreed at once, get-
ting warm and hurried as usual. ‘Listen, Rodion, and tell us
your opinion, I want to hear it. I was fighting tooth and nail
with them and wanted you to help me. I told them you were
coming…. It began with the socialist doctrine. You know
their doctrine; crime is a protest against the abnormality
of the social organisation and nothing more, and nothing
more; no other causes admitted! …’
‘You are wrong there,’ cried Porfiry Petrovitch; he was
noticeably animated and kept laughing as he looked at Ra-
zumihin, which made him more excited than ever.
‘Nothing is admitted,’ Razumihin interrupted with heat.
‘I am not wrong. I’ll show you their pamphlets. Every-
thing with them is ‘the influence of environment,’ and
nothing else. Their favourite phrase! From which it follows
that, if society is normally organised, all crime will cease at
once, since there will be nothing to protest against and all
Crime and Punishment
men will become righteous in one instant. Human nature
is not taken into account, it is excluded, it’s not supposed to
exist! They don’t recognise that humanity, developing by a
historical living process, will become at last a normal soci-
ety, but they believe that a social system that has come out
of some mathematical brain is going to organise all human-
ity at once and make it just and sinless in an instant, quicker
than any living process! That’s why they instinctively dis-
like history, ‘nothing but ugliness and stupidity in it,’ and
they explain it all as stupidity! That’s why they so dislike the
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