Fedor Dostoiewski

Crimen y Castigo

Revisado por: Carlos J. J.

PRIMERA PARTE

I

Una tarde extremadamente calurosa de principios de julio, un joven salio de la reducida habitacion que tenia alquilada en la callejuela de S... y, con paso lento e indeciso, se dirigio al puente K...

Habia tenido la suerte de no encontrarse con su patrona en la escalera.

Su cuartucho se hallaba bajo el tejado de un gran edificio de cinco pisos y, mas que una habitacion, parecia una alacena. En cuanto a la patrona, que le habia alquilado el cuarto con servicio y pension, ocupaba un departamento del piso de abajo; de modo que nuestro joven, cada vez que salia, se veia obligado a pasar por delante de la puerta de la cocina, que daba a la escalera y estaba casi siempre abierta de par en par. En esos momentos experimentaba invariablemente una sensacion ingrata de vago temor, que le humillaba y daba a su semblante una expresion sombria. Debia una cantidad considerable a la patrona y por eso temia encontrarse con ella. No es que fuera un cobarde ni un hombre abatido por la vida. Por el contrario, se hallaba desde hacia algun tiempo en un estado de irritacion, de tension incesante, que rayaba en la hipocondria. Se habia habituado a vivir tan encerrado en si mismo, tan aislado, que no solo temia encontrarse con su patrona, sino que rehuia toda relacion con sus semejantes. La pobreza le abrumaba. Sin embargo, ultimamente esta miseria habia dejado de ser para el un sufrimiento. El joven habia renunciado a todas sus ocupaciones diarias, a todo trabajo.

En el fondo, se mofaba de la patrona y de todas las intenciones que pudiera abrigar contra el, pero detenerse en la escalera para oir sandeces y vulgaridades, recriminaciones, quejas, amenazas, y tener que contestar con evasivas, excusas, embustes... No, mas valia deslizarse por la escalera como un gato para pasar inadvertido y desaparecer.

Aquella tarde, el temor que experimentaba ante la idea de encontrarse con su acreedora le lleno de asombro cuando se vio en la calle.

"?Que me inquieten semejantes menudencias cuando tengo en proyecto un negocio tan audaz! -penso con una sonrisa extrana-. Si, el hombre lo tiene todo al alcance de la mano, y, como buen holgazan, deja que todo pase ante sus mismas narices... Esto es ya un axioma... Es chocante que lo que mas temor inspira a los hombres sea aquello que les aparta de sus costumbres. Si, eso es lo que mas los altera... ?Pero esto ya es demasiado divagar! Mientras divago, no hago nada. Y tambien podria decir que no hacer nada es lo que me lleva a divagar. Hace ya un mes que tengo la costumbre de hablar conmigo mismo, de pasar dias enteros echado en mi rincon, pensando... Tonterias... Porque ?que necesidad tengo yo de dar este paso? ?Soy verdaderamente capaz de hacer... "eso"? ?Es que, por lo menos, lo he pensado en serio? De ningun modo: todo ha sido un juego de mi imaginacion, una fantasia que me divierte... Un juego, si; nada mas que un juego."

El calor era sofocante. El aire irrespirable, la multitud, la vision de los andamios, de la cal, de los ladrillos esparcidos por todas partes, y ese hedor especial tan conocido por los petersburgueses que no disponen de medios para alquilar una casa en el campo, todo esto aumentaba la tension de los nervios, ya bastante excitados, del joven. El insoportable olor de las tabernas, abundantisimas en aquel barrio, y los borrachos que a cada paso se tropezaban a pesar de ser dia de trabajo, completaban el lastimoso y horrible cuadro. Una expresion de amargo disgusto paso por las finas facciones del joven. Era, dicho sea de paso, extraordinariamente bien parecido, de una talla que rebasaba la media, delgado y bien formado. Tenia el cabello negro y unos magnificos ojos oscuros. Pronto cayo en un profundo desvario, o, mejor, en una especie de embotamiento, y prosiguio su camino sin ver o, mas exactamente, sin querer ver nada de lo que le rodeaba.

De tarde en tarde musitaba unas palabras confusas, cediendo a aquella costumbre de monologar que habia reconocido hacia unos instantes. Se daba cuenta de que las ideas se le embrollaban a veces en el cerebro, y de que estaba sumamente debil.

Iba tan miserablemente vestido, que nadie en su lugar, ni siquiera un viejo vagabundo, se habria atrevido a salir a la calle en pleno dia con semejantes andrajos. Bien es verdad que este espectaculo era corriente en el barrio en que nuestro joven habitaba.

La vecindad del Mercado Central, la multitud de obreros y artesanos amontonados en aquellos callejones y callejuelas del centro de Petersburgo ponian en el cuadro tintes tan singulares, que ni la figura mas chocante podia llamar a nadie la atencion.

Por otra parte, se habia apoderado de aquel hombre un desprecio tan feroz hacia todo, que, a pesar de su altivez natural un tanto ingenua, exhibia sus harapos sin rubor alguno. Otra cosa habria sido si se hubiese encontrado con alguna persona conocida o algun viejo camarada, cosa que procuraba evitar.

Sin embargo, se detuvo en seco y se llevo nerviosamente la mano al sombrero cuando un borracho al que transportaban, no se sabe adonde ni por que, en una carreta vacia que arrastraban al trote dos grandes caballos, le dijo a voz en grito:

-?Eh, tu, sombrerero aleman!

Era un sombrero de copa alta, circular, descolorido por el uso, agujereado, cubierto de manchas, de bordes desgastados y lleno de abolladuras. Sin embargo, no era la verguenza, sino otro sentimiento, muy parecido al terror, lo que se habia apoderado del joven.

-Lo sabia -murmuro en su turbacion-, lo presentia. Nada hay peor que esto. Una naderia, una insignificancia, puede malograr todo el negocio. Si, este sombrero llama la atencion; es tan ridiculo, que atrae las miradas. El que va vestido con estos pingajos necesita una gorra, por vieja que sea; no esta cosa tan horrible. Nadie lleva un sombrero como este. Se me distingue a una versta a la redonda. Te recordaran. Esto es lo importante: se acordaran de el, andando el tiempo, y sera una pista... Lo cierto es que hay que llamar la atencion lo menos posible. Los pequenos detalles... Ahi esta el quid. Eso es lo que acaba por perderle a uno...

No tenia que ir muy lejos; sabia incluso el numero exacto de pasos que tenia que dar desde la puerta de su casa; exactamente setecientos treinta. Los habia contado un dia, cuando la concepcion de su proyecto estaba aun reciente. Entonces ni el mismo creia en su realizacion. Su ilusoria audacia, a la vez sugestiva y monstruosa, solo servia para excitar sus nervios. Ahora, transcurrido un mes, empezaba a mirar las cosas de otro modo y, a pesar de sus enervantes soliloquios sobre su debilidad, su impotencia y su irresolucion, se iba acostumbrando poco a poco, como a pesar suyo, a llamar "negocio" a aquella fantasia espantosa, y, al considerarla asi, la podria llevar a cabo, aunque siguiera dudando de si mismo.

Aquel dia se habia propuesto hacer un ensayo y su agitacion crecia a cada paso que daba. Con el corazon desfallecido y sacudidos los miembros por un temblor nervioso, llego, al fin, a un inmenso edificio, una de cuyas fachadas daba al canal y otra a la calle. El caseron estaba dividido en infinidad de pequenos departamentos habitados por modestos artesanos de toda especie: sastres, cerrajeros... Habia alli cocineras, alemanes, prostitutas, funcionarios de infima categoria. El ir y venir de gente era continuo a traves de las puertas y de los dos patios del inmueble. Lo guardaban tres o cuatro porteros, pero nuestro joven tuvo la satisfaccion de no encontrarse con ninguno.

Franqueo el umbral y se introdujo en la escalera de la derecha, estrecha y oscura como era propio de una escalera de servicio. Pero estos detalles eran familiares a nuestro heroe y, por otra parte, no le disgustaban: en aquella oscuridad no habia que temer a las miradas de los curiosos.

"Si tengo tanto miedo en este ensayo, ?que seria si viniese a llevar a cabo de verdad el "negocio"?", penso involuntariamente al llegar al cuarto piso.

Alli le cortaron el paso varios antiguos soldados que hacian el oficio de mozos y estaban sacando los muebles de un departamento ocupado -el joven lo sabia- por un funcionario aleman casado.

"Ya que este aleman se muda -se dijo el joven-, en este rellano no habra durante algun tiempo mas inquilino que la vieja. Esto esta mas que bien."

Llamo a la puerta de la vieja. La campanilla resono tan debilmente, que se diria que era de hojalata y no de cobre. Asi eran las campanillas de los pequenos departamentos en todos los grandes edificios semejantes a aquel. Pero el joven se habia olvidado ya de este detalle, y el tintineo de la campanilla debio de despertar claramente en el algun viejo recuerdo, pues se estremecio. La debilidad de sus nervios era extrema.

Transcurrido un instante, la puerta se entreabrio. Por la estrecha abertura, la inquilina observo al intruso con evidente desconfianza. Solo se veian sus ojillos brillando en la sombra. Al ver que habia gente en el rellano, se tranquilizo y abrio la puerta. El joven franqueo el umbral y entro en un vestibulo oscuro, dividido en dos por un tabique, tras el cual habia una minuscula cocina. La vieja permanecia inmovil ante el. Era una mujer menuda, reseca, de unos sesenta anos, con una nariz puntiaguda y unos ojos chispeantes de malicia. Llevaba la cabeza descubierta, y sus cabellos, de un rubio desvaido y con solo algunas hebras grises, estaban embadurnados de aceite. Un viejo chal de franela rodeaba su cuello, largo y descarnado como una pata de pollo, y, a pesar del calor, llevaba sobre los hombros una pelliza, pelada y amarillenta. La tos la sacudia a cada momento. La vieja gemia. El joven debio de mirarla de un modo algo extrano, pues los menudos ojos recobraron su expresion de desconfianza.

-Raskolnikof, estudiante. Vine a su casa hace un mes -barboto rapidamente, inclinandose a medias, pues se habia dicho que debia mostrarse muy amable.

-Lo recuerdo, muchacho, lo recuerdo perfectamente -articulo la vieja, sin dejar de mirarlo con una expresion de recelo.

-Bien; pues he venido para un negocillo como aquel -dijo Raskolnikof, un tanto turbado y sorprendido por aquella desconfianza.

"Tal vez esta mujer es siempre asi y yo no lo adverti la otra vez", penso, desagradablemente impresionado.

La vieja no contesto; parecia reflexionar. Despues indico al visitante la puerta de su habitacion, mientras se apartaba para dejarle pasar.

-Entre, muchacho.

La reducida habitacion donde fue introducido el joven tenia las paredes revestidas de papel amarillo. Cortinas de muselina pendian ante sus ventanas, adornadas con macetas de geranios. En aquel momento, el sol poniente iluminaba la habitacion.

"Entonces -se dijo de subito Raskolnikof-, tambien, seguramente lucira un sol como este."

Y paseo una rapida mirada por toda la habitacion para grabar hasta el menor detalle en su memoria. Pero la pieza no tenia nada de particular. El mobiliario, decrepito, de madera clara, se componia de un sofa enorme, de respaldo curvado, una mesa ovalada colocada ante el sofa, un tocador con espejo, varias sillas adosadas a las paredes y dos o tres grabados sin ningun valor, que representaban senoritas alemanas, cada una con un pajaro en la mano. Esto era todo.

En un rincon, ante una imagen, ardia una lamparilla. Todo resplandecia de limpieza.

"Esto es obra de Lisbeth", penso el joven.

Nadie habria podido descubrir ni la menor particula de polvo en todo el departamento.

"Solo en las viviendas de estas perversas y viejas viudas puede verse una limpieza semejante", se dijo Raskolnikof. Y dirigio, con curiosidad y al soslayo, una mirada a la cortina de indiana que ocultaba la puerta de la segunda habitacion, tambien sumamente reducida, donde estaban la cama y la comoda de la vieja, y en la que el no habia puesto los pies jamas. Ya no habia mas piezas en el departamento.

-?Que desea usted? -pregunto asperamente la vieja, que, apenas habia entrado en la habitacion, se habia plantado ante el para mirarle frente a frente.

-Vengo a empenar esto.

Y saco del bolsillo un viejo reloj de plata, en cuyo dorso habia un grabado que representaba el globo terrestre y del que pendia una cadena de acero.

-?Pero si todavia no me ha devuelto la cantidad que le preste! El plazo termino hace tres dias.

-Le pagare los intereses de un mes mas. Tenga paciencia.

-?Soy yo quien ha de decidir tener paciencia o vender inmediatamente el objeto empenado, jovencito!

-?Me dara una buena cantidad por el reloj, Alena Ivanovna?

-?Pero si me trae usted una miseria! Este reloj no vale nada, mi buen amigo. La vez pasada le di dos hermosos billetes por un anillo que podia obtenerse nuevo en una joyeria por solo rublo y medio.

-Deme cuatro rublos y lo desempenare. Es un recuerdo de mi padre. Recibire dinero de un momento a otro.

-Rublo y medio, y le descontare los intereses.

-?Rublo y medio! -exclamo el joven.

-Si no le parece bien, se lo lleva.

Y la vieja le devolvio el reloj. El lo cogio y se dispuso a salir, indignado; pero, de pronto, cayo en la cuenta de que la vieja usurera era su ultimo recurso y de que habia ido alli para otra cosa.

-Venga el dinero- dijo secamente.

La vieja saco unas llaves del bolsillo y paso a la habitacion inmediata.

Al quedar a solas, el joven empezo a reflexionar, mientras aguzaba el oido. Hacia deducciones. Oyo abrir la comoda.

"Sin duda, el cajon de arriba -dedujo-. Lleva las llaves en el bolsillo derecho. Un manojo de llaves en un anillo de acero. Hay una mayor que las otras y que tiene el paleton dentado. Seguramente no es de la comoda. Por lo tanto, hay una caja, tal vez una caja de caudales. Las llaves de las cajas de caudales suelen tener esa forma... ?Ah, que innoble es todo esto!"

La vieja reaparecio.

-Aqui tiene, amigo mio. A diez kopeks por rublo y por mes, los intereses del rublo y medio son quince kopeks, que cobro por adelantado. Ademas, por los dos rublos del prestamo anterior he de descontar veinte kopeks para el mes que empieza, lo que hace un total de treinta y cinco kopeks. Por lo tanto, usted ha de recibir por su reloj un rublo y quince kopeks. Aqui los tiene.

-Asi, ?todo ha quedado reducido a un rublo y quince kopeks?

-Exactamente.

El joven cogio el dinero. No queria discutir. Miraba a la vieja y no mostraba ninguna prisa por marcharse. Parecia deseoso de hacer o decir algo, aunque ni el mismo sabia exactamente que.

-Es posible, Alena Ivanovna, que le traiga muy pronto otro objeto de plata... Una bonita pitillera que le preste a un amigo. En cuanto me la devuelva...

Se detuvo, turbado.

-Ya hablaremos cuando la traiga, amigo mio.

-Entonces, adios... ?Esta usted siempre sola aqui? ?No esta nunca su hermana con usted? -pregunto en el tono mas indiferente que le fue posible, mientras pasaba al vestibulo.

-?A usted que le importa?

-No lo he dicho con ninguna intencion... Usted en seguida... Adios, Alena Ivanovna.

Raskolnikof salio al rellano, presa de una turbacion creciente. Al bajar la escalera se detuvo varias veces, dominado por repentinas emociones. Al fin, ya en la calle, exclamo:

-?Que repugnante es todo esto, Dios mio! ?Como es posible que yo...? No, todo ha sido una necedad, un absurdo -afirmo resueltamente-. ?Como ha podido llegar a mi espiritu una cosa tan atroz? No me creia tan miserable. Todo esto es repugnante, innoble, horrible. ?Y yo he sido capaz de estar todo un mes pen...!

Pero ni palabras ni exclamaciones bastaban para expresar su turbacion. La sensacion de profundo disgusto que le oprimia y le ahogaba cuando se dirigia a casa de la vieja era ahora sencillamente insoportable. No sabia como librarse de la angustia que le torturaba. Iba por la acera como embriagado: no veia a nadie y tropezaba con todos. No se recobro hasta que estuvo en otra calle. Al levantar la mirada vio que estaba a la puerta de una taberna. De la acera partia una escalera que se hundia en el subsuelo y conducia al establecimiento. De el salian en aquel momento dos borrachos. Subian la escalera apoyados el uno en el otro e injuriandose. Raskolnikof bajo la escalera sin vacilar. No habia entrado nunca en una taberna, pero entonces la cabeza le daba vueltas y la sed le abrasaba. Le dominaba el deseo de beber cerveza fresca, en parte para llenar su vacio estomago, ya que atribuia al hambre su estado. Se sento en un rincon oscuro y sucio, ante una pringosa mesa, pidio cerveza y se bebio un vaso con avidez.

Al punto experimento una impresion de profundo alivio. Sus ideas parecieron aclararse.

"Todo esto son necedades -se dijo, reconfortado-. No habia motivo para perder la cabeza. Un trastorno fisico, sencillamente. Un vaso de cerveza, un trozo de galleta, y ya esta firme el espiritu, y el pensamiento se aclara, y la voluntad renace. ?Cuanta nimiedad!"

Sin embargo, a despecho de esta amarga conclusion, estaba contento como el hombre que se ha librado de pronto de una carga espantosa, y recorrio con una mirada amistosa a las personas que le rodeaban. Pero en lo mas hondo de su ser presentia que su animacion, aquel resurgir de su esperanza, era algo enfermizo y ficticio. La taberna estaba casi vacia. Detras de los dos borrachos con que se habia cruzado Raskolnikof habia salido un grupo de cinco personas, entre ellas una muchacha. Llevaban una armonica. Despues de su marcha, el local quedo en calma y parecio mas amplio.

En la taberna solo habia tres hombres mas. Uno de ellos era un individuo algo embriagado, un pequeno burgues a juzgar por su apariencia, que estaba tranquilamente sentado ante una botella de cerveza. Tenia un amigo al lado, un hombre alto y grueso, de barba gris, que dormitaba en el banco, completamente ebrio. De vez en cuando se agitaba en pleno sueno, abria los brazos, empezaba a castanetear los dedos, mientras movia el busto sin levantarse de su asiento, y comenzaba a canturrear una burda tonadilla, haciendo esfuerzos para recordar las palabras.

Durante un ano entero acaricie a mi mujer...

Duran...te un ano entero a...ca...ricie a mi mu...jer.

O:

En la Podiatcheskaia

me he vuelto a encontrar con mi antigua...

Pero nadie daba muestras de compartir su buen humor. Su taciturno companero observaba estas explosiones de alegria con gesto desconfiado y casi hostil.

El tercer cliente tenia la apariencia de un funcionario retirado. Estaba sentado aparte, ante un vaso que se llevaba de vez en cuando a la boca, mientras lanzaba una mirada en torno de el. Tambien este hombre parecia presa de cierta agitacion interna.

II

Raskolnikof no estaba acostumbrado al trato con la gente y, como ya hemos dicho ultimamente incluso huia de sus semejantes. Pero ahora se sintio de pronto atraido hacia ellos. En su animo acababa de producirse una especie de revolucion. Experimentaba la necesidad de ver seres humanos. Estaba tan hastiado de las angustias y la sombria exaltacion de aquel largo mes que acababa de vivir en la mas completa soledad, que sentia la necesidad de tonificarse en otro mundo, cualquiera que fuese y aunque solo fuera por unos instantes. Por eso estaba a gusto en aquella taberna, a pesar de la suciedad que en ella reinaba. El tabernero estaba en otra dependencia, pero hacia frecuentes apariciones en la sala. Cuando bajaba los escalones, eran sus botas, sus elegantes botas bien lustradas y con anchas vueltas rojas, lo que primero se veia. Llevaba una blusa y un chaleco de saten negro lleno de mugre, e iba sin corbata. Su rostro parecia tan cubierto de aceite como un candado. Un muchacho de catorce anos estaba sentado detras del mostrador; otro mas joven aun servia a los clientes. Trozos de cohombro, panecillos negros y rodajas de pescado se exhibian en una vitrina que despedia un olor infecto. El calor era insoportable. La atmosfera estaba tan cargada de vapores de alcohol, que daba la impresion de poder embriagar a un hombre en cinco minutos.

A veces nos ocurre que personas a las que no conocemos nos inspiran un interes subito cuando las vemos por primera vez, incluso antes de cruzar una palabra con ellas. Esta impresion produjo en Raskolnikof el cliente que permanecia aparte y que tenia aspecto de funcionario retirado. Algun tiempo despues, cada vez que se acordaba de esta primera impresion, Raskolnikof la atribuia a una especie de presentimiento. El no quitaba ojo al supuesto funcionario, y este no solo no cesaba de mirarle, sino que parecia ansioso de entablar conversacion con el. A las demas personas que estaban en la taberna, sin excluir al tabernero, las miraba con un gesto de desagrado, con una especie de altivo desden, como a personas que considerase de una esfera y de una educacion demasiado inferiores para que mereciesen que el les dirigiera la palabra.

Era un hombre que habia rebasado los cincuenta, robusto y de talla media. Sus escasos y grises cabellos coronaban un rostro de un amarillo verdoso, hinchado por el alcohol. Entre sus abultados parpados fulguraban dos ojillos encarnizados pero llenos de vivacidad. Lo que mas asombraba de aquella fisonomia era la vehemencia que expresaba -y acaso tambien cierta finura y un resplandor de inteligencia-, pero por su mirada pasaban relampagos de locura. Llevaba un viejo y desgarrado frac, del que solo quedaba un boton, que mantenia abrochado, sin duda con el deseo de guardar las formas. Un chaleco de nanquin dejaba ver un plastron ajado y lleno de manchas. No llevaba barba, esa barba caracteristica del funcionario, pero no se habia afeitado hacia tiempo, y una capa de pelo recio y azulado invadia su menton y sus carrillos. Sus ademanes tenian una gravedad burocratica, pero parecia profundamente agitado. Con los codos apoyados en la grasienta mesa, introducia los dedos en su cabello, lo despeinaba y se oprimia la cabeza con ambas manos, dando visibles muestras de angustia. Al fin miro a Raskolnikof directamente y dijo, en voz alta y firme:

-Senor: ?puedo permitirme dirigirme a usted para conversar en buena forma? A pesar de la sencillez de su aspecto, mi experiencia me induce a ver en usted un hombre culto y no uno de esos individuos que van de taberna en taberna. Yo he respetado siempre la cultura unida a las cualidades del corazon. Soy consejero titular: Marmeladof, consejero titular. ?Puedo preguntarle si tambien usted pertenece a la administracion del Estado?

-No: estoy estudiando -repuso el joven, un tanto sorprendido por aquel lenguaje ampuloso y tambien al verse abordado tan directamente, tan a quemarropa, por un desconocido. A pesar de sus recientes deseos de compania humana, fuera cual fuere, a la primera palabra que Marmeladof le habia dirigido habia experimentado su habitual y desagradable sentimiento de irritacion y repugnancia hacia toda persona extrana que intentaba ponerse en relacion con el.

-Es decir, que es usted estudiante, o tal vez lo ha sido -exclamo vivamente el funcionario-. Exactamente lo que me habia figurado. He aqui el resultado de mi experiencia, senor, de mi larga experiencia.

Se llevo la mano a la frente con un gesto de alabanza para sus prendas intelectuales.

-Usted es hombre de estudios... Pero permitame...

Se levanto, vacilo, cogio su vaso y fue a sentarse al lado del joven. Aunque embriagado, hablaba con soltura y vivacidad. Solo de vez en cuando se le trababa la lengua y decia cosas incoherentes. Al verle arrojarse tan avidamente sobre Raskolnikof, cualquiera habria dicho que tambien el llevaba un mes sin desplegar los labios.

-Senor -siguio diciendo en tono solemne-, la pobreza no es un vicio: esto es una verdad incuestionable. Pero tambien es cierto que la embriaguez no es una virtud, cosa que lamento. Ahora bien, senor; la miseria si que es un vicio. En la pobreza, uno conserva la nobleza de sus sentimientos innatos; en la indigencia, nadie puede conservar nada noble. Con el indigente no se emplea el baston, sino la escoba, pues asi se le humilla mas, para arrojarlo de la sociedad humana. Y esto es justo, porque el indigente se ultraja a si mismo. He aqui el origen de la embriaguez, senor. El mes pasado, el senor Lebeziatnikof golpeo a mi mujer, y mi mujer, senor, no es como yo en modo alguno. ?Comprende? Permitame hacerle una pregunta. Simple curiosidad. ?Ha pasado usted alguna noche en el Neva, en una barca de heno?

-No, nunca me he visto en un trance asi -repuso Raskolnikof.

-Pues bien, yo si que me he visto. Ya llevo cinco noches durmiendo en el Neva.

Lleno su vaso, lo vacio y quedo en una actitud sonadora. En efecto, briznas de heno se veian aqui y alla, sobre sus ropas y hasta en sus cabellos. A juzgar por las apariencias, no se habia desnudado ni lavado desde hacia cinco dias. Sus manos, gruesas, rojas, de unas negras, estaban cargadas de suciedad. Todos los presentes le escuchaban, aunque con bastante indiferencia. Los chicos se reian detras del mostrador. El tabernero habia bajado expresamente para oir a aquel tipo. Se sento un poco aparte, bostezando con indolencia, pero con aire de persona importante. Al parecer, Marmeladof era muy conocido en la casa. Ello se debia, sin duda, a su costumbre de trabar conversacion con cualquier desconocido que encontraba en la taberna, habito que se convierte en verdadera necesidad, especialmente en los alcoholicos que se ven juzgados severamente, e incluso maltratados, en su propia casa. Asi, tratan de justificarse ante sus companeros de orgia y, de paso, atraerse su consideracion.

-Pero di, so fantoche -exclamo el patron, con voz potente-. ?Por que no trabajas? Si eres funcionario, ?por que no estas en una oficina del Estado?

-?Que por que no estoy en una oficina, senor?-dijo Marmeladof, dirigiendose a Raskolnikof, como si la pregunta la hubiera hecho este- ?Dice usted que por que no trabajo en una oficina? ?Cree usted que esta impotencia no es un sufrimiento para mi? ?Cree usted que no sufri cuando el senor Lebeziatnikof golpeo a mi mujer el mes pasado, en un momento en que yo estaba borracho perdido? Digame, joven: ?no se ha visto usted en el caso... en el caso de tener que pedir un prestamo sin esperanza?

-Si... Pero ?que quiere usted decir con eso de "sin esperanza"?

-Pues, al decir "sin esperanza", quiero decir "sabiendo que va uno a un fracaso". Por ejemplo, usted esta convencido por anticipado de que cierto senor, un ciudadano integro y util a su pais, no le prestara dinero nunca y por nada del mundo... ?Por que se lo ha de prestar, digame? El sabe perfectamente que yo no se lo devolveria jamas. ?Por compasion? El senor Lebeziatnikof, que esta siempre al corriente de las ideas nuevas, decia el otro dia que la compasion esta vedada a los hombres incluso para la ciencia, y que asi ocurre en Inglaterra, donde impera la economia politica. ?Como es posible, digame, que este hombre me preste dinero? Pues bien, aun sabiendo que no se le puede sacar nada, uno se pone en camino y...

-Pero ?por que se pone en camino? -le interrumpio Raskolnikof.

-Porque uno no tiene adonde ir, ni a nadie a quien dirigirse. Todos los hombres necesitan saber adonde ir, ?no? Pues siempre llega un momento en que uno siente la necesidad de ir a alguna parte, a cualquier parte. Por eso, cuando mi hija unica fue por primera vez a la policia para inscribirse, yo la acompane... (porque mi hija esta registrada como...) -anadio entre parentesis, mirando al joven con expresion un tanto inquieta-. Eso no me importa, senor -se apresuro a decir cuando los dos muchachos se echaron a reir detras del mostrador, e incluso el tabernero no pudo menos de sonreir-. Eso no me importa. Los gestos de desaprobacion no pueden turbarme, pues esto lo sabe todo el mundo, y no hay misterio que no acabe por descubrirse. Y yo miro estas cosas no con desprecio, sino con resignacion... ?Sea, sea, pues! Ecce Homo. Oigame, joven: ?podria usted...? No, hay que buscar otra expresion mas fuerte, mas significativa. ?Se atreveria usted a afirmar, mirandome a los ojos, que no soy un puerco?

El joven no contesto.

-Bien -dijo el orador, y espero con un aire sosegado y digno el fin de las risas que acababan de estallar nuevamente-. Bien, yo soy un puerco y ella una dama. Yo parezco una bestia, y Catalina Ivanovna, mi esposa, es una persona bien educada, hija de un oficial superior. Demos por sentado que yo soy un granuja y que ella posee un gran corazon, sentimientos elevados y una educacion perfecta. Sin embargo... ?Ah, si ella se hubiera compadecido de mi! Y es que los hombres tenemos necesidad de ser compadecidos por alguien. Pues bien, Catalina Ivanovna, a pesar de su grandeza de alma, es injusta..., aunque yo comprendo perfectamente que cuando me tira del pelo lo hace por mi bien. Te repito sin verguenza, joven; ella me tira del pelo -insistio en un tono mas digno aun, al oir nuevas risas-. ?Ah, Dios mio! Si ella, solamente una vez... Pero, ?bah!, vanas palabras... No hablemos mas de esto... Pues es lo cierto que mi deseo se ha visto satisfecho mas de una vez; si, mas de una vez me han compadecido. Pero mi caracter... Soy un bruto rematado.

-De acuerdo -observo el tabernero, bostezando.

Marmeladof dio un fuerte punetazo en la mesa.

-Si, un bruto... Sepa usted, senor, que me he bebido hasta sus medias. No los zapatos, entiendame, pues, en medio de todo, esto seria una cosa en cierto modo natural; no los zapatos, sino las medias. Y tambien me he bebido su esclavina de piel de cabra, que era de su propiedad, pues se la habian regalado antes de nuestro casamiento. Entonces viviamos en un helado cuchitril. Es invierno; ella se enfria; empieza a toser y a escupir sangre. Tenemos tres ninos pequenos, y Catalina Ivanovna trabaja de sol a sol. Friega, lava la ropa, lava a los ninos. Esta acostumbrada a la limpieza desde su mas tierna infancia... Todo esto con un pecho delicado, con una predisposicion a la tisis. Yo lo siento de veras. ?Creen que no lo siento? Cuanto mas bebo, mas sufro. Por eso, para sentir mas, para sufrir mas, me entrego a la bebida. Yo bebo para sufrir mas profundamente.

Inclino la cabeza con un gesto de desesperacion.

-Joven -continuo mientras volvia a erguirse-, creo leer en su semblante la expresion de un dolor. Apenas le he visto entrar, he tenido esta impresion. Por eso le he dirigido la palabra. Si le cuento la historia de mi vida no es para divertir a estos ociosos, que, ademas, ya la conocen, sino porque deseo que me escuche un hombre instruido. Sepa usted, pues, que mi esposa se educo en un pensionado aristocratico provincial, y que el dia en que salio bailo la danza del chal ante el gobernador de la provincia y otras altas personalidades. Fue premiada con una medalla de oro y un diploma. La medalla... se vendio hace tiempo. En cuanto al diploma, mi esposa lo tiene guardado en su baul. Ultimamente se lo ensenaba a nuestra patrona. Aunque estaba a matar con esta mujer, lo hacia porque experimentaba la necesidad de vanagloriarse ante alguien de sus exitos pasados y de evocar sus tiempos felices. Yo no se lo censuro, pues lo unico que tiene son estos recuerdos: todo lo demas se ha desvanecido... Si, es una dama energica, orgullosa, intratable. Se friega ella misma el suelo y come pan negro, pero no toleraria de nadie la menor falta de respeto. Aqui tiene usted explicado por que no consintio las groserias de Lebeziatnikof; y cuando este, para vengarse, le pego ella tuvo que guardar cama, no a causa de los golpes recibidos, sino por razones de orden sentimental. Cuando me case con ella, era viuda y tenia tres hijos de corta edad. Su primer matrimonio habia sido de amor. El marido era un oficial de infanteria con el que huyo de la casa paterna. Catalina adoraba a su marido, pero el se entrego al juego, tuvo asuntos con la justicia y murio. En los ultimos tiempos, el le pegaba. Ella no se lo perdono, lo se positivamente; sin embargo, incluso ahora llora cuando lo recuerda, y establece entre el y yo comparaciones nada halagadoras para mi amor propio; pero yo la dejo, porque asi ella se imagina, al menos, que ha sido algun dia feliz. Despues de la muerte de su marido, quedo sola con sus tres hijitos en una region lejana y salvaje, donde yo me encontraba entonces. Vivia en una miseria tan espantosa, que yo, que he visto los cuadros mas tristes, no me siento capaz de describirla. Todos sus parientes la habian abandonado. Era orgullosa, demasiado orgullosa. Fue entonces, senor, entonces, como ya le he dicho, cuando yo, viudo tambien y con una hija de catorce anos, le ofreci mi mano, pues no podia verla sufrir de aquel modo. El hecho de que siendo una mujer instruida y de una familia excelente aceptara casarse conmigo, le permitira comprender a que extremo llegaba su miseria. Acepto llorando, sollozando, retorciendose las manos; pero acepto. Y es que no tenia adonde ir. ?Se da usted cuenta, senor, se da usted cuenta exacta de lo que significa no tener donde ir? No, usted no lo puede comprender todavia... Durante un ano entero cumpli con mi deber honestamente, santamente, sin probar eso -y senalaba con el dedo la media botella que tenia delante-, pues yo soy un hombre de sentimientos. Pero no consegui atraermela. Entre tanto, quede cesante, no por culpa mia, sino a causa de ciertos cambios burocraticos. Entonces me entregue a la bebida... Ya hace ano y medio que, tras mil sinsabores y peregrinaciones continuas, nos instalamos en esta capital magnifica, embellecida por incontables monumentos. Aqui encontre un empleo, pero pronto lo perdi. ?Comprende, senor? Esta vez fui yo el culpable: ya me dominaba el vicio de la bebida. Ahora vivimos en un rincon que nos tiene alquilado Amalia Ivanovna Lipevechsel. Pero ?como vivimos, como pagamos el alquiler? Eso lo ignoro. En la casa hay otros muchos inquilinos: aquello es un verdadero infierno. Entre tanto, la hija que tuve de mi primera mujer ha crecido. En cuanto a lo que su madrastra la ha hecho sufrir, prefiero pasarlo por alto. Pues Catalina Ivanovna, a pesar de sus sentimientos magnanimos, es una mujer irascible e incapaz de contener sus impulsos... Si, asi es. Pero ?a que mencionar estas cosas? Ya comprendera usted que Sonia no ha recibido una educacion esmerada. Hace muchos anos intente ensenarle geografia e historia universal, pero como yo no estaba muy fuerte en estas materias y, ademas, no teniamos buenos libros, pues los libros que hubieramos podido tener..., pues..., ?bueno, ya no los teniamos!, se acabaron las lecciones. Nos quedamos en Ciro, rey de los persas. Despues leyo algunas novelas, y ultimamente Lebeziatnikof le presto La Fisiologia, de Lewis. Conoce usted esta obra, ?verdad? A ella le parecio muy interesante, e incluso nos leyo algunos pasajes en voz alta. A esto se reduce su cultura intelectual. Ahora, senor, me dirijo a usted, por mi propia iniciativa, para hacerle una pregunta de orden privado. Una muchacha pobre pero honesta, ?puede ganarse bien la vida con un trabajo honesto? No ganara ni quince kopeks al dia, senor mio, y eso trabajando hasta la extenuacion, si es honesta y no posee ningun talento. Hay mas: el consejero de Estado Klopstock Ivan Ivanovitch..., ?ha oido usted hablar de el...?, no solamente no ha pagado a Sonia media docena de camisas de Holanda que le encargo, sino que la despidio ferozmente con el pretexto de que le habia tomado mal las medidas y el cuello le quedaba torcido.

                                     1866
                              CRIME AND PUNISHMENT

                              by Fyodor Dostoevsky

                        translated by Constance Garnett

                               PART ONE
                             Chapter One

  ON AN exceptionally hot evening early in July a young man came out
of the garret in which he lodged in S. Place and walked slowly, as
though in hesitation, towards K. bridge.
  He had successfully avoided meeting his landlady on the staircase.
His garret was under the roof of a high, five-storied house and was
more like a cupboard than a room. The landlady who provided him with
garret, dinners, and attendance, lived on the floor below, and every
time he went out he was obliged to pass her kitchen, the door of which
invariably stood open. And each time he passed, the young man had a
sick, frightened feeling, which made him scowl and feel ashamed. He
was hopelessly in debt to his landlady, and was afraid of meeting her.
  This was not because he was cowardly and abject, quite the contrary;
but for some time past he had been in an overstrained irritable
condition, verging on hypochondria. He had become so completely
absorbed in himself, and isolated from his fellows that he dreaded
meeting, not only his landlady, but any one at all. He was crushed
by poverty, but the anxieties of his position had of late ceased to
weigh upon him. He had given up attending to matters of practical
importance; he had lost all desire to do so. Nothing that any landlady
could do had a real terror for him. But to be stopped on the stairs,
to be forced to listen to her trivial, irrelevant gossip, to pestering
demands for payment, threats and complaints, and to rack his brains
for excuses, to prevaricate, to lie- no, rather than that, he would
creep down the stairs like a cat and slip out unseen.
  This evening, however, on coming out into the street, he became
acutely aware of his fears.
  "I want to attempt a thing like that and am frightened by these
trifles," he thought, with an odd smile. "Hm... yes, all is in a man's
hands and he lets it all slip from cowardice, that's an axiom. It
would be interesting to know what it is men are most afraid of. Taking
a new step, uttering a new word is what they fear most.... But I am
talking too much. It's because I chatter that I do nothing. Or perhaps
it is that I chatter because I do nothing. I've learned to chatter
this last month, lying for days together in my den thinking... of Jack
the Giant-killer. Why am I going there now? Am I capable of that? Is
that serious? It is not serious at all. It's simply a fantasy to amuse
myself; a plaything! Yes, maybe it is a plaything."
  The heat in the street was terrible: and the airlessness, the bustle
and the plaster, scaffolding, bricks, and dust all about him, and that
special Petersburg stench, so familiar to all who are unable to get
out of town in summer- all worked painfully upon the young man's
already overwrought nerves. The insufferable stench from the
pot-houses, which are particularly numerous in that part of the
town, and the drunken men whom he met continually, although it was a
working day, completed the revolting misery of the picture. An
expression of the profoundest disgust gleamed for a moment in the
young man's refined face. He was, by the way, exceptionally
handsome, above the average in height, slim, well-built, with
beautiful dark eyes and dark brown hair. Soon he sank into deep
thought, or more accurately speaking into a complete blankness of
mind; he walked along not observing what was about him and not
caring to observe it. From time to time, he would mutter something,
from the habit of talking to himself, to which he had just
confessed. At these moments he would become conscious that his ideas
were sometimes in a tangle and that he was very weak; for two days
he had scarcely tasted food.
  He was so badly dressed that even a man accustomed to shabbiness
would have been ashamed to be seen in the street in such rags. In that
quarter of the town, however, scarcely any shortcoming in dress
would have created surprise. Owing to the proximity of the Hay Market,
the number of establishments of bad character, the preponderance of
the trading and working class population crowded in these streets
and alleys in the heart of Petersburg, types so various were to be
seen in the streets that no figure, however queer, would have caused
surprise. But there was such accumulated bitterness and contempt in
the young man's heart, that, in spite of all the fastidiousness of
youth, he minded his rags least of all in the street. It was a
different matter when he met with acquaintances or with former
fellow students, whom, indeed, he disliked meeting at any time. And
yet when a drunken man who, for some unknown reason, was being taken
somewhere in a huge waggon dragged by a heavy dray horse, suddenly
shouted at him as he drove past: "Hey there, German hatter" bawling at
the top of his voice and pointing at him- the young man stopped
suddenly and clutched tremulously at his hat. It was a tall round
hat from Zimmerman's, but completely worn out, rusty with age, all
torn and bespattered, brimless and bent on one side in a most unseemly
fashion. Not shame, however, but quite another feeling akin to
terror had overtaken him.
  "I knew it," he muttered in confusion, "I thought so! That's the
worst of all! Why, a stupid thing like this, the most trivial detail
might spoil the whole plan. Yes, my hat is too noticeable.... It looks
absurd and that makes it noticeable.... With my rags I ought to wear a
cap, any sort of old pancake, but not this grotesque thing. Nobody
wears such a hat, it would be noticed a mile off, it would be
remembered.... What matters is that people would remember it, and that
would give them a clue. For this business one should be as little
conspicuous as possible.... Trifles, trifles are what matter! Why,
it's just such trifles that always ruin everything...."
  He had not far to go; he knew indeed how many steps it was from
the gate of his lodging house: exactly seven hundred and thirty. He
had counted them once when he had been lost in dreams. At the time
he had put no faith in those dreams and was only tantalising himself
by their hideous but daring recklessness. Now, a month later, he had
begun to look upon them differently, and, in spite of the monologues
in which he jeered at his own impotence and indecision, he had
involuntarily come to regard this "hideous" dream as an exploit to
be attempted, although he still did not realise this himself. He was
positively going now for a "rehearsal" of his project, and at every
step his excitement grew more and more violent.
  With a sinking heart and a nervous tremor, he went up to a huge
house which on one side looked on to the canal, and on the other
into the street. This house was let out in tiny tenements and was
inhabited by working people of all kinds- tailors, locksmiths,
cooks, Germans of sorts, girls picking up a living as best they could,
petty clerks, &c. There was a continual coming and going through the
two gates and in the two courtyards of the house. Three or four
door-keepers were employed on the building. The young man was very
glad to meet none of them, and at once slipped unnoticed through the
door on the right, and up the staircase. It was a back staircase, dark
and narrow, but he was familiar with it already, and knew his way, and
he liked all these surroundings: in such darkness even the most
inquisitive eyes were not to be dreaded.
  "If I am so scared now, what would it be if it somehow came to
pass that I were really going to do it?" he could not help asking
himself as he reached the fourth storey. There his progress was barred
by some porters who were engaged in moving furniture out of a flat. He
knew that the flat had been occupied by a German clerk in the civil
service, and his family. This German was moving out then, and so the
fourth floor on this staircase would be untenanted except by the old
woman. "That's a good thing anyway," he thought to himself, as he rang
the bell of the old woman's flat. The bell gave a faint tinkle as
though it were made of tin and not of copper. The little flats in such
houses always have bells that ring like that. He had forgotten the
note of that bell, and now its peculiar tinkle seemed to remind him of
something and to bring it clearly before him.... He started, his
nerves were terribly overstrained by now. In a little while, the
door was opened a tiny crack: the old woman eyed her visitor with
evident distrust through the crack, and nothing could be seen but
her little eyes, glittering in the darkness. But, seeing a number of
people on the landing, she grew bolder, and opened the door wide.
The young man stepped into the dark entry, which was partitioned off
from the tiny kitchen. The old woman stood facing him in silence and
looking inquiringly at him. She was a diminutive, withered up old
woman of sixty, with sharp malignant eyes and a sharp little nose. Her
colourless, somewhat grizzled hair was thickly smeared with oil, and
she wore no kerchief over it. Round her thin long neck, which looked
like a hen's leg, was knotted some sort of flannel rag, and, in
spite of the heat, there hung flapping on her shoulders, a mangy fur
cape, yellow with age. The old woman coughed and groaned at every
instant. The young man must have looked at her with a rather
peculiar expression, for a gleam of mistrust came into her eyes again.
  "Raskolnikov, a student, I came here a month ago," the young man
made haste to mutter, with a half bow, remembering that he ought to be
more polite.
  "I remember, my good sir, I remember quite well your coming here,"
the old woman said distinctly, still keeping her inquiring eyes on his
face.
  "And here... I am again on the same errand," Raskolnikov
continued, a little disconcerted and surprised at the old woman's
mistrust. "Perhaps she is always like that though, only I did not
notice it the other time," he thought with an uneasy feeling.
  The old woman paused, as though hesitating; then stepped on one
side, and pointing to the door of the room, she said, letting her
visitor pass in front of her:
  "Step in, my good sir."
  The little room into which the young man walked, with yellow paper
on the walls, geraniums and muslin curtains in the windows, was
brightly lighted up at that moment by the setting sun.
  "So the sun will shine like this then too!" flashed as it were by
chance through Raskolnikov's mind, and with a rapid glance he
scanned everything in the room, trying as far as possible to notice
and remember its arrangement. But there was nothing special in the
room. The furniture, all very old and of yellow wood, consisted of a
sofa with a huge bent wooden back, an oval table in front of the sofa,
a dressing-table with a looking-glass fixed on it between the windows,
chairs along the walls and two or three half-penny prints in yellow
frames, representing German damsels with birds in their hands- that
was all. In the corner a light was burning before a small ikon.
Everything was very clean; the floor and the furniture were brightly
polished; everything shone.
  "Lizaveta's work," thought the young man. There was not a speck of
dust to be seen in the whole flat.
  "It's in the houses of spiteful old widows that one finds such
cleanliness," Raskolnikov thought again, and he stole a curious glance
at the cotton curtain over the door leading into another tiny room, in
which stood the old woman's bed and chest of drawers and into which he
had never looked before. These two rooms made up the whole flat.
  "What do you want?" the old woman said severely, coming into the
room and, as before, standing in front of him so as to look him
straight in the face.
  "I've brought something to pawn here," and he drew out of his pocket
an old-fashioned flat silver watch, on the back of which was
engraved a globe; the chain was of steel.
  "But the time is up for your last pledge. The month was up the day
before yesterday."
  "I will bring you the interest for another month; wait a little."
  "But that's for me to do as I please, my good sir, to wait or to
sell your pledge at once."
  "How much will you give me for the watch, Alyona Ivanovna?"
  "You come with such trifles, my good sir, it's scarcely worth
anything. I gave you two roubles last time for your ring and one could
buy it quite new at a jeweler's for a rouble and a half."
  "Give me four roubles for it, I shall redeem it, it was my father's.
I shall be getting some money soon."
  "A rouble and a half, and interest in advance, if you like!"
  "A rouble and a half!" cried the young man.
  "Please yourself"- and the old woman handed him back the watch.
The young man took it, and was so angry that he was on the point of
going away; but checked himself at once, remembering that there was
nowhere else he could go, and that he had had another object also in
coming.
  "Hand it over," he said roughly.
  The old woman fumbled in her pocket for her keys, and disappeared
behind the curtain into the other room. The young man, left standing
alone in the middle of the room, listened inquisitively, thinking.
He could hear her unlocking the chest of drawers.
  "It must be the top drawer," he reflected. "So she carries the
keys in a pocket on the right. All in one bunch on a steel ring....
And there's one key there, three times as big as all the others,
with deep notches; that can't be the key of the chest of drawers...
then there must be some other chest or strong-box... that's worth
knowing. Strong-boxes always have keys like that... but how
degrading it all is."
  The old woman came back.
  "Here, sir: as we say ten copecks the rouble a month, so I must take
fifteen copecks from a rouble and a half for the month in advance. But
for the two roubles I lent you before, you owe me now twenty copecks
on the same reckoning in advance. That makes thirty-five copecks
altogether. So I must give you a rouble and fifteen copecks for the
watch. Here it is."
  "What! only a rouble and fifteen copecks now!"
  "Just so."
  The young man did not dispute it and took the money. He looked at
the old woman, and was in no hurry to get away, as though there was
still something he wanted to say or to do, but he did not himself
quite know what.
  "I may be bringing you something else in a day or two, Alyona
Ivanovna- a valuable thing- silver- a cigarette box, as soon as I
get it back from a friend..." he broke off in confusion.
  "Well, we will talk about it then, sir."
  "Good-bye- are you always at home alone, your sister is not here
with you?" He asked her as casually as possible as he went out into
the passage.
  "What business is she of yours, my good sir?"
  "Oh, nothing particular, I simply asked. You are too quick....
Good-day, Alyona Ivanovna."
  Raskolnikov went out in complete confusion. This confusion became
more and more intense. As he went down the stairs, he even stopped
short, two or three times, as though suddenly struck by some
thought. When he was in the street he cried out, "Oh, God, how
loathsome it all is! and can I, can I possibly.... No, it's
nonsense, it's rubbish!" he added resolutely. "And how could such an
atrocious thing come into my head? What filthy things my heart is
capable of. Yes, filthy above all, disgusting, loathsome,
loathsome!- and for a whole month I've been...." But no words, no
exclamations, could express his agitation. The feeling of intense
repulsion, which had begun to oppress and torture his heart while he
was on his way to the old woman, had by now reached such a pitch and
had taken such a definite form that he did not know what to do with
himself to escape from his wretchedness. He walked along the
pavement like a drunken man, regardless of the passers-by, and
jostling against them, and only came to his senses when he was in
the next street. Looking round, he noticed that he was standing
close to a tavern which was entered by steps leading from the pavement
to the basement. At that instant two drunken men came out at the door,
and abusing and supporting one another, they mounted the steps.
Without stopping to think, Raskolnikov went down the steps at once.
Till that moment he had never been into a tavern, but now he felt
giddy and was tormented by a burning thirst. He longed for a drink
of cold beer, and attributed his sudden weakness to the want of
food. He sat down at a sticky little table in a dark and dirty corner;
ordered some beer, and eagerly drank off the first glassful. At once
he felt easier; and his thoughts became clear.
  "All that's nonsense," he said hopefully, "and there is nothing in
it all to worry about! It's simply physical derangement. Just a
glass of beer, a piece of dry bread- and in one moment the brain is
stronger, the mind is clearer and the will is firm! Phew, how
utterly petty it all is!"
  But in spite of this scornful reflection, he was by now looking
cheerful as though he were suddenly set free from a terrible burden:
and he gazed round in a friendly way at the people in the room. But
even at that moment he had a dim foreboding that this happier frame of
mind was also not normal.
  There were few people at the time in the tavern. Besides the two
drunken men he had met on the steps, a group consisting of about
five men and a girl with a concertina had gone out at the same time.
Their departure left the room quiet and rather empty. The persons
still in the tavern were a man who appeared to be an artisan, drunk,
but not extremely so, sitting before a pot of beer, and his companion,
a huge, stout man with a grey beard, in a short full-skirted coat.
He was very drunk: and had dropped asleep on the bench; every now
and then, he began as though in his sleep, cracking his fingers,
with his arms wide apart and the upper part of his body bounding about
on the bench, while he hummed some meaningless refrain, trying to
recall some such lines as these:
-
               "His wife a year he fondly loved
                His wife a- a year he- fondly loved."
-
  Or suddenly waking up again:
-
               "Walking along the crowded row
                He met the one he used to know."
-
  But no one shared his enjoyment: his silent companion looked with
positive hostility and mistrust at all these manifestations. There was
another man in the room who looked somewhat like a retired
government clerk. He was sitting apart, now and then sipping from
his pot and looking round at the company. He, too, appeared to be in
some agitation.

CHAPTER_TWO
                             Chapter Two
-
  RASKOLNIKOV was not used to crowds, and, as we said before, he
avoided society of every sort, more especially of late. But now all at
once he felt a desire to be with other people. Something new seemed to
be taking place within him, and with it he felt a sort of thirst for
company. He was so weary after a whole month of concentrated
wretchedness and gloomy excitement that he longed to rest, if only for
a moment, in some other world, whatever it might be; and, in spite
of the filthiness of the surroundings, he was glad now to stay in
the tavern.
  The master of the establishment was in another room, but he
frequently came down some steps into the main room, his jaunty, tarred
boots with red turn-over tops coming into view each time before the
rest of his person. He wore a full coat and a horribly greasy black
satin waistcoat, with no cravat, and his whole face seemed smeared
with oil like an iron lock. At the counter stood a boy of about
fourteen, and there was another boy somewhat younger who handed
whatever was wanted. On the counter lay some sliced cucumber, some
pieces of dried black bread, and some fish, chopped up small, all
smelling very bad. It was insufferably close, and so heavy with the
fumes of spirits that five minutes in such an atmosphere might well
make a man drunk.
  There are chance meetings with strangers that interest us from the
first moment, before a word is spoken. Such was the impression made on
Raskolnikov by the person sitting a little distance from him, who
looked like a retired clerk. The young man often recalled this
impression afterwards, and even ascribed it to presentiment. He looked
repeatedly at the clerk, partly no doubt because the latter was
staring persistently at him, obviously anxious to enter into
conversation. At the other persons in the room, including the
tavern-keeper, the clerk looked as though he were used to their
company, and weary of it, showing a shade of condescending contempt
for them as persons of station and culture inferior to his own, with
whom it would be useless for him to converse. He was a man over fifty,
bald and grizzled, of medium height, and stoutly built. His face,
bloated from continual drinking, was of a yellow, even greenish,
tinge, with swollen eyelids out of which keen reddish eyes gleamed
like little chinks. But there was something very strange in him; there
was a light in his eyes as though of intense feeling- perhaps there
were even thought and intelligence, but at the same time there was a
gleam of something like madness. He was wearing an old and
hopelessly ragged black dress coat, with all its buttons missing
except one, and that one he had buttoned, evidently clinging to this
last trace of respectability. A crumpled shirt front covered with
spots and stains, protruded from his canvas waistcoat. Like a clerk,
he wore no beard, nor moustache, but had been so long unshaven that
his chin looked like a stiff greyish brush. And there was something
respectable and like an official about his manner too. But he was
restless; he ruffled up his hair and from time to time let his head
drop into his hands dejectedly resting his ragged elbows on the
stained and sticky table. At last he looked straight at Raskolnikov,
and said loudly and resolutely:
  "May I venture, honoured sir, to engage you in polite
conversation? Forasmuch as, though your exterior would not command
respect, my experience admonishes me that you are a man of education
and not accustomed to drinking. I have always respected education when
in conjunction with genuine sentiments, and I am besides a titular
counsellor in rank. Marmeladov- such is my name; titular counsellor. I
make bold to inquire- have you been in the service?"
  "No, I am studying," answered the young man, somewhat surprised at
the grandiloquent style of the speaker and also at being so directly
addressed. In spite of the momentary desire he had just been feeling
for company of any sort, on being actually spoken to he felt
immediately his habitual irritable and uneasy aversion for any
stranger who approached or attempted to approach him.
  "A student then, or formerly a student," cried the clerk. "Just what
I thought! I'm a man of experience, immense experience, sir," and he
tapped his forehead with his fingers in self-approval. "You've been
a student or have attended some learned institution!... But allow
me...." He got up, staggered, took up his jug and glass, and sat
down beside the young man, facing him a little sideways. He was drunk,
but spoke fluently and boldly, only occasionally losing the thread
of his sentences and drawling his words. He pounced upon Raskolnikov
as greedily as though he too had not spoken to a soul for a month.
  "Honoured sir," he began almost with solemnity, "poverty is not a
vice, that's a true saying. Yet I know too that drunkenness is not a
virtue, and that that's even truer. But beggary, honoured sir, beggary
is a vice. In poverty you may still retain your innate nobility of
soul, but in beggary- never- no one. For beggary a man is not chased
out of human society with a stick, he is swept out with a broom, so as
to make it as humiliating as possible; and quite right, too, forasmuch
as in beggary I am ready to be the first to humiliate myself. Hence
the pot-house! Honoured sir, a month ago Mr. Lebeziatnikov gave my
wife a beating, and my wife is a very different matter from me! Do you
understand? Allow me to ask you another question out of simple
curiosity: have you ever spent a night on a hay barge, on the Neva?"
  "No, I have not happened to," answered Raskolnikov. "What do you
mean?"
  "Well, I've just come from one and it's the fifth night I've slept
so...." He filled his glass, emptied it and paused. Bits of hay were
in fact clinging to his clothes and sticking to his hair. It seemed
quite probable that he had not undressed or washed for the last five
days. His hands, particularly, were filthy. They were fat and red,
with black nails.
  His conversation seemed to excite a general though languid interest.
The boys at the counter fell to sniggering. The innkeeper came down
from the upper room, apparently on purpose to listen to the "funny
fellow" and sat down at a little distance, yawning lazily, but with
dignity. Evidently Marmeladov was a familiar figure here, and he had
most likely acquired his weakness for high-flown speeches from the
habit of frequently entering into conversation with strangers of all
sorts in the tavern. This habit develops into a necessity in some
drunkards, and especially in those who are looked after sharply and
kept in order at home. Hence in the company of other drinkers they try
to justify themselves and even if possible obtain consideration.
  "Funny fellow!" pronounced the innkeeper. "And why don't you work,
why aren't you at your duty, if you are in the service?"
  "Why am I not at my duty, honoured sir," Marmeladov went on,
addressing himself exclusively to Raskolnikov, as though it had been
he who put that question to him. "Why am I not at my duty? Does not my
heart ache to think what a useless worm I am? A month ago when Mr.
Lebeziatnikov beat my wife with his own hands, and I lay drunk, didn't
I suffer? Excuse me, young man, has it ever happened to you... hm...
well, to petition hopelessly for a loan?"
  "Yes, it has. But what do you mean by hopelessly?"
  "Hopelessly in the fullest sense, when you know beforehand that
you will get nothing by it. You know, for instance, beforehand with
positive certainty that this man, this most reputable and exemplary
citizen, will on no consideration give you money; and indeed I ask you
why should he? For he knows of course that I shan't pay it back.
From compassion? But Mr. Lebeziatnikov who keeps up with modern
ideas explained the other day that compassion is forbidden nowadays by
science itself, and that that's what is done now in England, where
there is political economy. Why, I ask you, should he give it to me?
And yet though I know beforehand that he won't, I set off to him
and..."

    Traduzioni telematiche a cura di
    Rosaria Biondi, Nadia Ponti, Giulio Cacciotti, Vincenzo Guagliardo
    (Casa di reclusione - Opera)

    Fedor Dostoevskij.
    IL GIOCATORE.

    INDICE.

    Capitolo  1: pagina 3.
    Capitolo  2: pagina 20.
    Capitolo  3: pagina 31.
    Capitolo  4: pagina 40.
    Capitolo  5: pagina 50.
    Capitolo  6: pagina 65.
    Capitolo  7: pagina 79.
    Capitolo  8: pagina 91.
    Capitolo  9: pagina 105.
    Capitolo 10: pagina 121.
    Capitolo 11: apgina 142.
    Capitolo 12: pagina 158.
    Capitolo 13: pagina 178.
    Capitolo 14: pagina 198.
    Capitolo 15: pagina 213.
    Capitolo 16: pagina 231.
    Capitolo 17: pagina 249.

    1.

    Finalmente ritornavo dopo un'assenza di due settimane.  Gia da tre
    giorni  i  nostri si trovavano a Roulettenburg.  Pensavo di essere
    atteso con chi sa quale ansia, e invece mi sbagliavo.  Il generale
    mi  accolse con una disinvoltura eccessiva,  mi parlo squadrandomi
    dall'alto in basso e mi mando da sua sorella.  Era evidente che da
    qualche  parte  erano  riusciti  a  procurarsi  del  denaro.  Ebbi
    addirittura l'impressione che il  generale  mi  guardasse  con  un
    certo imbarazzo.  Marja Filippovna,  indaffaratissima,  mi liquido
    con poche parole; prese,  pero,  il denaro,  lo conto e ascolto il
    mio rapporto.  A pranzo erano attesi Mezentzov, il francesino e un
    inglese; come sempre, quando c'era denaro, subito inviti a pranzo:
    secondo  l'uso  moscovita.  Polina  Aleksandrovna,  vedendomi,  mi
    chiese  come  mai  fossi  rimasto  assente  tanto a lungo.  Ma non
    aspetto nemmeno la risposta e se  ne  ando.  Si  capisce,  l'aveva
    fatto  apposta.  Pero dovevo parlarle a ogni costo.  Molte cose si
    erano accumulate.
    Mi era  stata  assegnata  una  piccola  stanza,  al  quarto  piano
    dell'albergo:  si  sa  qui  che  io  appartengo  al  "seguito  del
    generale".  Da ogni cosa si capisce che essi sono riusciti a  dare
    nell'occhio.  Qui  il  generale  e  creduto un ricchissimo magnate
    russo.  Ancora prima di pranzo,  ha fatto in tempo,  tra gli altri
    incarichi,  a darmi due biglietti da mille franchi da cambiare, la
    qual cosa feci alla segreteria dell'albergo. Ora ci riterranno dei
    milionari, almeno per una settimana. Volevo prendere Misha e Nadja
    e portarli a fare una passeggiata,  ma sulla scala  mi  chiamarono
    per  conto  del  generale:  si degnava di informarsi su dove avrei
    portato i bambini.  Quest'uomo  non  puo  assolutamente  guardarmi
    negli occhi: vorrebbe farlo,  ma io,  ogni volta, gli rispondo con
    uno sguardo cosi fisso,  vorrei dire irriverente,  che egli sembra
    confondersi.  Con  un  discorso  tronfio,  legando alla meglio una
    frase dopo l'altra e, alla fine, impappinandosi completamente,  mi
    fece  capire  che  dovevo  passeggiare  con  i bambini lontano dal
    Casino, nel parco. E, irritandosi, concluse bruscamente:
    "Se no,  a voi salta magari in mente di portarli al  Casino,  alla
    roulette. Mi dovete scusare," aggiunse, "ma so che siete ancora un
    po'  sventato  e capace,  Dio sa,  di mettervi a giocare.  In ogni
    caso,  anche se io non sono il vostro  mentore  e  non  ho  alcuna
    intenzione di assumere una simile parte, ho tuttavia il diritto di
    pretendere che voi, per cosi dire, non mi compromettiate..."
    "Ma  sapete  che non ho denaro," risposi in tutta calma,  "e,  per
    perderlo, bisogna averlo."
    "Lo  avrete  immediatamente"  rispose  il   generale,   arrossendo
    leggermente;   poi,  rovistato  nel  suo  scrittoio,  consulto  un
    libriccino e risulto che mi doveva circa centoventi rubli.
    "Per poter fare questi conti" riprese, "serve cambiare i denari in
    talleri.  Prendete per ora cento talleri,  cifra tonda;  il resto,
    naturalmente, non andra perduto."
    Presi il denaro in silenzio.
    "Per  favore,  non offendetevi per quanto vi ho detto,  siete cosi   
permaloso... Se vi ho fatto un'osservazione, l'ho fatto,  per cosi
    dire,  allo  scopo  di mettervi in guardia e,  certamente,  con un
    certo diritto..."
    Ritornando a casa con i bambini per il pranzo, incontrai un'intera
    cavalcata: erano i nostri che andavano a  visitare  non  so  quali
    rovine...   Due   splendide   carrozze   e  dei  cavalli  superbi!
    Mademoiselle Blanche  era  in  carrozza  con  Marja  Filippovna  e
    Polina;  il francesino,  l'inglese e il nostro generale andavano a
    cavallo.  I passanti  si  fermavano  a  guardarli:  l'effetto  era
    raggiunto...  ma  il generale finira male!  Ho fatto il conto che,
    aggiungendo ai quattromila franchi che ho portato  io  quelli  che
    evidentemente sono riusciti a procurarsi, avranno in tutto sette o
    ottomila franchi; troppo pochi per mademoiselle Blanche.
    Mademoiselle Blanche sta anche lei nel nostro albergo, insieme con
    la madre;  e ci sta anche, non so bene dove, il nostro francesino.
    I camerieri lo chiamano "monsieur le comte",  la madre di  Blanche
    viene  chiamata  "madame la comtesse",  e magari lo sono veramente
    "comte" e "comtesse".
    Sapevo gia che "monsieur le comte"  non  mi  avrebbe  riconosciuto
    quando  ci  saremmo  trovati a tavola per il pranzo.  Il generale,
    naturalmente, non penso a presentarci o, almeno, a presentare me a
    lui;  ma "monsieur le comte" e stato in Russia e sa benissimo  che
    persona  poco  importante sia quello che essi chiamano "outchitel"
    (1).  Egli,  d'altra parte,  mi conosce molto bene.  Ma,  se  devo
    essere  sincero,   anche  a  pranzo  sono  capitato  senza  essere
    invitato: sembra che il generale  si  fosse  dimenticato  di  dare
    disposizioni al riguardo,  se no senza dubbio mi avrebbero mandato
    a  pranzare  alla  "table  d'hote".  Mi  presentai  cosi,  di  mia
    iniziativa,  tanto  che  il  generale  mi  getto  un'occhiata poco
    soddisfatta.  La buona Marja Filippovna mi indico subito un posto,
    ma  l'incontro  con  mister  Astley  mi tolse d'impiccio e,  senza
    volerlo, feci la figura di appartenere alla loro societa.
    Avevo incontrato questo strano  inglese  per  la  prima  volta  in
    Prussia, in treno, dove sedevamo l'uno di fronte all'altro, quando
    ero  in viaggio per raggiungere i nostri;  poi mi ero imbattuto in
    lui entrando in Francia e,  infine,  in Svizzera;  poi un paio  di
    volte nel corso di quelle due settimane,  ed ecco che ora lo avevo
    incontrato inaspettatamente a Roulettenburg. Non mi e mai capitato
    in tutta la vita di conoscere un uomo piu timido, timido fino alla
    stupidita e lui,  naturalmente,  se ne rende conto perche  stupido
    non lo e affatto.  Del resto,  e molto simpatico e tranquillo. Ero
    riuscito a farlo parlare  durante  il  nostro  primo  incontro  in
    Prussia.  Mi  disse  che nell'estate era andato al Capo Nord e che
    aveva una gran voglia di visitare la  fiera  di  Niginij-Novgorod.
    Non  so  come  abbia  conosciuto  il  generale:  mi sembra che sia
    innamoratissimo di Polina. Quando lei e entrata, il viso di lui si
    e fatto di bracie.  Era molto contento che a  tavola  gli  sedessi
    vicino, e mi sembra che mi consideri gia come suo intimo amico.
    A  tavola il francesino si dava molte arie: e superbo e sprezzante
    con tutti. E a Mosca, mi ricordo,  non faceva che bolle di sapone.
    Parlo senza posa di finanze e di politica russa. Il generale, ogni
    tanto,  osava  contraddirlo  ma con molta discrezione,  unicamente
    quel tanto che bastava per non mettere a  repentaglio  la  propria
    importanza.
    Io  ero in uno strano stato d'animo;  si capisce,  prima ancora di
    essere a meta del pranzo mi ero gia posto  la  solita  domanda  di
    tutti  i  giorni: "Perche continuo a frequentare questo generale e
    non l'ho piantato da un pezzo?" Di tanto in tanto guardavo  Polina
    Aleksandrovna,  ma  lei  non badava assolutamente a me.  Finii con
    l'irritarmi e decisi di diventare insolente.
    E cominciai cosi che a un tratto,  senza  nessun  motivo  e  senza
    essere  interpellato,  mi  intromisi  nella  conversazione altrui.
    Avevo voglia,  soprattutto,  di attaccarmi con il  francesino.  Mi
    rivolsi  al  generale  e  di colpo,  a voce alta e mi sembra anche
    interrompendolo,  osservai che quell'estate  era  diventato  quasi
    impossibile per i russi mangiare alle "tables d'hote". Il generale
    mi getto uno sguardo stupito.
    "Se siete uno che appena si rispetti" continuai,  "immancabilmente
    vi sentirete insultare  e  dovrete  sopportare  le  piu  umilianti
    mortificazioni. A Parigi, sul Reno, e persino in Svizzera, ci sono
    alle  "tables  d'hote"  tanti  di quei polaccuzzi e francesini che
    simpatizzano tra loro che non e  possibile  dire  una  parola,  se
    siete russo."
    Dissi questo in francese. Il generale mi guardo, incerto se andare
    in  collera  o  solo meravigliarsi che io mi fossi lasciato andare
    fino a quel punto.
    "Vuol dire allora che da qualche parte qualcuno  vi  ha  dato  una
    lezione" disse il francesino, con incurante disprezzo.
    "Io,  a  Parigi,  prima  ho  attaccato  lite  con un polacco," gli
    risposi,  "poi con un ufficiale francese che aveva preso le  parti
    del polacco. Ma poi una parte dei francesi comincio a spalleggiare
    me  quando  raccontai  loro  che  volevo  sputare  nel caffe di un
    monsignore."

by William Shakespeare

Persons Represented.

Lear, King of Britain.
King of France.
Duke of Burgundy.
Duke of Cornwall.
Duke of Albany.
Earl of Kent.
Earl of Gloster.
Edgar, Son to Gloster.
Edmund, Bastard Son to Gloster.
Curan, a Courtier.
Old Man, Tenant to Gloster.
Physician.
Fool.
Oswald, steward to Goneril.
An Officer employed by Edmund.
Gentleman, attendant on Cordelia.
A Herald.
Servants to Cornwall.

Goneril, daughter to Lear.
Regan, daughter to Lear.
Cordelia, daughter to Lear.

Knights attending on the King, Officers, Messengers, Soldiers,
and Attendants.

Scene,--Britain.

ACT I.

Scene I. A Room of State in King Lear's Palace.

(Enter Kent, Gloster, and Edmund.)

Kent.
I thought the King had more affected the Duke of Albany than
Cornwall.

Glou.
It did always seem so to us; but now, in the division of the
kingdom, it appears not which of the Dukes he values most, for
equalities are so weighed that curiosity in neither can make
choice of either's moiety.

Kent.
Is not this your son, my lord?

Glou.
His breeding, sir, hath been at my charge: I have so often
blush'd to acknowledge him that now I am braz'd to't.

Kent.
I cannot conceive you.

Glou.
Sir, this young fellow's mother could: whereupon she grew
round-wombed, and had indeed, sir, a son for her cradle ere she
had a husband for her bed. Do you smell a fault?

Kent.
I cannot wish the fault undone, the issue of it being so proper.

Glou.
But I have, sir, a son by order of law, some year elder than
this, who yet is no dearer in my account: though this knave came
something saucily into the world before he was sent for, yet was
his mother fair; there was good sport at his making, and the
whoreson must be acknowledged.--Do you know this noble gentleman,
Edmund?

Edm.
No, my lord.

Glou.
My Lord of Kent: remember him hereafter as my honourable friend.

Edm.
My services to your lordship.

Kent.
I must love you, and sue to know you better.

Edm.
Sir, I shall study deserving.

Glou.
He hath been out nine years, and away he shall again.--The king
is coming.

(Sennet within.)

(Enter Lear, Cornwall, Albany, Goneril, Regan, Cordelia, and
Attendants.)

Lear.
Attend the lords of France and Burgundy,
Gloster.

Glou.
I shall, my liege.

(Exeunt Gloster and Edmund.)

Lear.
Meantime we shall express our darker purpose.--
Give me the map there.--Know that we have divided
In three our kingdom: and 'tis our fast intent
To shake all cares and business from our age;
Conferring them on younger strengths, while we
Unburden'd crawl toward death.--Our son of Cornwall,
And you, our no less loving son of Albany,
We have this hour a constant will to publish
Our daughters' several dowers, that future strife
May be prevented now. The princes, France and Burgundy,
Great rivals in our youngest daughter's love,
Long in our court have made their amorous sojourn,
And here are to be answer'd.--Tell me, my daughters,--
Since now we will divest us both of rule,
Interest of territory, cares of state,--
Which of you shall we say doth love us most?
That we our largest bounty may extend
Where nature doth with merit challenge.--Goneril,
Our eldest-born, speak first.

Gon.
Sir, I love you more than words can wield the matter;
Dearer than eyesight, space, and liberty;
Beyond what can be valu'd, rich or rare;
No less than life, with grace, health, beauty, honour;
As much as child e'er lov'd, or father found;
A love that makes breath poor and speech unable;
Beyond all manner of so much I love you.

Cor.
(Aside.) What shall Cordelia speak? Love, and be silent.

Lear.
Of all these bounds, even from this line to this,
With shadowy forests and with champains rich'd,
With plenteous rivers and wide-skirted meads,
We make thee lady: to thine and Albany's issue
Be this perpetual.--What says our second daughter,
Our dearest Regan, wife to Cornwall? Speak.

Reg.
Sir, I am made of the selfsame metal that my sister is,
And prize me at her worth. In my true heart
I find she names my very deed of love;
Only she comes too short,--that I profess
Myself an enemy to all other joys
Which the most precious square of sense possesses,
And find I am alone felicitate
In your dear highness' love.

Cor.
(Aside.) Then poor Cordelia!
And yet not so; since, I am sure, my love's
More richer than my tongue.

Lear.
To thee and thine hereditary ever
Remain this ample third of our fair kingdom;
No less in space, validity, and pleasure
Than that conferr'd on Goneril.--Now, our joy,
Although the last, not least; to whose young love
The vines of France and milk of Burgundy
Strive to be interess'd; what can you say to draw
A third more opulent than your sisters? Speak.

Cor.
Nothing, my lord.

Lear.
Nothing!

Cor.
Nothing.

Lear.
Nothing can come of nothing: speak again.

Cor.
Unhappy that I am, I cannot heave
My heart into my mouth: I love your majesty
According to my bond; no more nor less.

Lear.
How, how, Cordelia? mend your speech a little,
Lest you may mar your fortunes.

Cor.
Good my lord,
You have begot me, bred me, lov'd me: I
Return those duties back as are right fit,
Obey you, love you, and most honour you.
Why have my sisters husbands if they say
They love you all? Haply, when I shall wed,
That lord whose hand must take my plight shall carry
Half my love with him, half my care and duty:
Sure I shall never marry like my sisters,
To love my father all.

Lear.
But goes thy heart with this?

Cor.
Ay, good my lord.

Lear.
So young, and so untender?

Cor.
So young, my lord, and true.

Lear.
Let it be so,--thy truth then be thy dower:
For, by the sacred radiance of the sun,
The mysteries of Hecate, and the night;
By all the operation of the orbs,
From whom we do exist and cease to be;
Here I disclaim all my paternal care,
Propinquity, and property of blood,
And as a stranger to my heart and me
Hold thee, from this for ever. The barbarous Scythian,
Or he that makes his generation messes
To gorge his appetite, shall to my bosom
Be as well neighbour'd, pitied, and reliev'd,
As thou my sometime daughter.

Kent.
Good my liege,--

Lear.
Peace, Kent!
Come not between the dragon and his wrath.
I lov'd her most, and thought to set my rest
On her kind nursery.--Hence, and avoid my sight!--(To Cordelia.)
So be my grave my peace, as here I give
Her father's heart from her!--Call France;--who stirs?
Call Burgundy!--Cornwall and Albany,
With my two daughters' dowers digest this third:
Let pride, which she calls plainness, marry her.
I do invest you jointly in my power,
Pre-eminence, and all the large effects
That troop with majesty.--Ourself, by monthly course,
With reservation of an hundred knights,
By you to be sustain'd, shall our abode
Make with you by due turns. Only we still retain
The name, and all the additions to a king;
The sway,
Revenue, execution of the rest,
Beloved sons, be yours; which to confirm,
This coronet part betwixt you.
(Giving the crown.)

Kent.
Royal Lear,
Whom I have ever honour'd as my king,
Lov'd as my father, as my master follow'd,
As my great patron thought on in my prayers.--

Lear.
The bow is bent and drawn; make from the shaft.

Kent.
Let it fall rather, though the fork invade
The region of my heart: be Kent unmannerly
When Lear is mad. What wouldst thou do, old man?
Think'st thou that duty shall have dread to speak
When power to flattery bows? To plainness honour's bound
When majesty falls to folly. Reverse thy state;
And in thy best consideration check
This hideous rashness: answer my life my judgment,
Thy youngest daughter does not love thee least;
Nor are those empty-hearted whose low sound
Reverbs no hollowness.

Lear.
Kent, on thy life, no more.

Kent.
My life I never held but as a pawn
To wage against thine enemies; nor fear to lose it,
Thy safety being the motive.

Lear.
Out of my sight!

Kent.
See better, Lear; and let me still remain
The true blank of thine eye.

Lear.
Now, by Apollo,

Kent.
Now by Apollo, king,
Thou swear'st thy gods in vain.

Lear.
O vassal! miscreant!

(Laying his hand on his sword.)

by William Shakespeare

PERSONS REPRESENTED.

Claudius, King of Denmark.
Hamlet, Son to the former, and Nephew to the present King.
Polonius, Lord Chamberlain.
Horatio, Friend to Hamlet.
Laertes, Son to Polonius.
Voltimand, Courtier.
Cornelius, Courtier.
Rosencrantz, Courtier.
Guildenstern, Courtier.
Osric, Courtier.
A Gentleman, Courtier.
A Priest.
Marcellus, Officer.
Bernardo, Officer.
Francisco, a Soldier
Reynaldo, Servant to Polonius.
Players.
Two Clowns, Grave-diggers.
Fortinbras, Prince of Norway.
A Captain.
English Ambassadors.
Ghost of Hamlet's Father.

Gertrude, Queen of Denmark, and Mother of Hamlet.
Ophelia, Daughter to Polonius.

Lords, Ladies, Officers, Soldiers, Sailors, Messengers, and other
Attendants.

SCENE. Elsinore.

ACT I.

Scene I. Elsinore. A platform before the Castle.

(Francisco at his post. Enter to him Bernardo.)

Ber.
Who's there?

Fran.
Nay, answer me: stand, and unfold yourself.

Ber.
Long live the king!

Fran.
Bernardo?

Ber.
He.

Fran.
You come most carefully upon your hour.

Ber.
'Tis now struck twelve. Get thee to bed, Francisco.

Fran.
For this relief much thanks: 'tis bitter cold,
And I am sick at heart.

Ber.
Have you had quiet guard?

Fran.
Not a mouse stirring.

Ber.
Well, good night.
If you do meet Horatio and Marcellus,
The rivals of my watch, bid them make haste.

Fran.
I think I hear them.--Stand, ho! Who is there?

(Enter Horatio and Marcellus.)

Hor.
Friends to this ground.

Mar.
And liegemen to the Dane.

Fran.
Give you good-night.

Mar.
O, farewell, honest soldier;
Who hath reliev'd you?

Fran.
Bernardo has my place.
Give you good-night.

(Exit.)

Mar.
Holla! Bernardo!

Ber.
Say.
What, is Horatio there?

Hor.
A piece of him.

Ber.
Welcome, Horatio:--Welcome, good Marcellus.

Mar.
What, has this thing appear'd again to-night?

Ber.
I have seen nothing.

Mar.
Horatio says 'tis but our fantasy,
And will not let belief take hold of him
Touching this dreaded sight, twice seen of us:
Therefore I have entreated him along
With us to watch the minutes of this night;
That, if again this apparition come
He may approve our eyes and speak to it.

Hor.
Tush, tush, 'twill not appear.

Ber.
Sit down awhile,
And let us once again assail your ears,
That are so fortified against our story,
What we two nights have seen.

Hor.
Well, sit we down,
And let us hear Bernardo speak of this.

Ber.
Last night of all,
When yond same star that's westward from the pole
Had made his course to illume that part of heaven
Where now it burns, Marcellus and myself,
The bell then beating one,--

Mar.
Peace, break thee off; look where it comes again!

(Enter Ghost, armed.)

Ber.
In the same figure, like the king that's dead.

Mar.
Thou art a scholar; speak to it, Horatio.

Ber.
Looks it not like the King? mark it, Horatio.

Hor.
Most like:--it harrows me with fear and wonder.

Ber.
It would be spoke to.

Mar.
Question it, Horatio.

Hor.
What art thou, that usurp'st this time of night,
Together with that fair and warlike form
In which the majesty of buried Denmark
Did sometimes march? By heaven I charge thee, speak!

Mar.
It is offended.

Ber.
See, it stalks away!

Hor.
Stay! speak, speak! I charge thee speak!

(Exit Ghost.)

Mar.
'Tis gone, and will not answer.

Ber.
How now, Horatio! You tremble and look pale:
Is not this something more than fantasy?
What think you on't?

Hor.
Before my God, I might not this believe
Without the sensible and true avouch
Of mine own eyes.

Mar.
Is it not like the King?

Hor.
As thou art to thyself:
Such was the very armour he had on
When he the ambitious Norway combated;
So frown'd he once when, in an angry parle,
He smote the sledded Polacks on the ice.
'Tis strange.

Mar.
Thus twice before, and jump at this dead hour,
With martial stalk hath he gone by our watch.

Hor.
In what particular thought to work I know not;
But, in the gross and scope of my opinion,
This bodes some strange eruption to our state.

Mar.
Good now, sit down, and tell me, he that knows,
Why this same strict and most observant watch
So nightly toils the subject of the land;
And why such daily cast of brazen cannon,
And foreign mart for implements of war;
Why such impress of shipwrights, whose sore task
Does not divide the Sunday from the week;
What might be toward, that this sweaty haste
Doth make the night joint-labourer with the day:
Who is't that can inform me?

Hor.
That can I;
At least, the whisper goes so. Our last king,
Whose image even but now appear'd to us,
Was, as you know, by Fortinbras of Norway,
Thereto prick'd on by a most emulate pride,
Dar'd to the combat; in which our valiant Hamlet,--
For so this side of our known world esteem'd him,--
Did slay this Fortinbras; who, by a seal'd compact,
Well ratified by law and heraldry,
Did forfeit, with his life, all those his lands,
Which he stood seiz'd of, to the conqueror:
Against the which, a moiety competent
Was gaged by our king; which had return'd
To the inheritance of Fortinbras,
Had he been vanquisher; as by the same cov'nant,
And carriage of the article design'd,
His fell to Hamlet. Now, sir, young Fortinbras,
Of unimproved mettle hot and full,
Hath in the skirts of Norway, here and there,
Shark'd up a list of lawless resolutes,
For food and diet, to some enterprise
That hath a stomach in't; which is no other,--
As it doth well appear unto our state,--
But to recover of us, by strong hand,
And terms compulsatory, those foresaid lands
So by his father lost: and this, I take it,
Is the main motive of our preparations,
The source of this our watch, and the chief head
Of this post-haste and romage in the land.

Ber.
I think it be no other but e'en so:
Well may it sort, that this portentous figure
Comes armed through our watch; so like the king
That was and is the question of these wars.

Hor.
A mote it is to trouble the mind's eye.
In the most high and palmy state of Rome,
A little ere the mightiest Julius fell,
The graves stood tenantless, and the sheeted dead
Did squeak and gibber in the Roman streets;
As, stars with trains of fire and dews of blood,
Disasters in the sun; and the moist star,
Upon whose influence Neptune's empire stands,
Was sick almost to doomsday with eclipse:
And even the like precurse of fierce events,--
As harbingers preceding still the fates,
And prologue to the omen coming on,--
Have heaven and earth together demonstrated
Unto our climature and countrymen.--
But, soft, behold! lo, where it comes again!

(Re-enter Ghost.)

I'll cross it, though it blast me.--Stay, illusion!
If thou hast any sound, or use of voice,
Speak to me:
If there be any good thing to be done,
That may to thee do ease, and, race to me,
Speak to me:
If thou art privy to thy country's fate,
Which, happily, foreknowing may avoid,
O, speak!
Or if thou hast uphoarded in thy life
Extorted treasure in the womb of earth,
For which, they say, you spirits oft walk in death,
(The cock crows.)
Speak of it:--stay, and speak!--Stop it, Marcellus!

Mar.
Shall I strike at it with my partisan?

Hor.
Do, if it will not stand.

Ber.
'Tis here!

Hor.
'Tis here!

Mar.
'Tis gone!

(Exit Ghost.)

We do it wrong, being so majestical,
To offer it the show of violence;
For it is, as the air, invulnerable,
And our vain blows malicious mockery.

Ber.
It was about to speak, when the cock crew.

Hor.
And then it started, like a guilty thing
Upon a fearful summons. I have heard
The cock, that is the trumpet to the morn,
Doth with his lofty and shrill-sounding throat
Awake the god of day; and at his warning,
Whether in sea or fire, in earth or air,
The extravagant and erring spirit hies
To his confine: and of the truth herein
This present object made probation.

by William Shakespeare

Persons Represented

DUNCAN, King of Scotland.
MALCOLM, his Son.
DONALBAIN, his Son.
MACBETH, General in the King's Army.
BANQUO, General in the King's Army.
MACDUFF, Nobleman of Scotland.
LENNOX, Nobleman of Scotland.
ROSS, Nobleman of Scotland.
MENTEITH, Nobleman of Scotland.
ANGUS, Nobleman of Scotland.
CAITHNESS, Nobleman of Scotland.
FLEANCE, Son to Banquo.
SIWARD, Earl of Northumberland, General of the English Forces.
YOUNG SIWARD, his Son.
SEYTON, an Officer attending on Macbeth.
BOY, Son to Macduff.
An English Doctor. A Scotch Doctor. A Soldier. A Porter. An Old
Man.

LADY MACBETH.
LADY MACDUFF.
Gentlewoman attending on Lady Macbeth.
HECATE,and three Witches.

Lords, Gentlemen, Officers, Soldiers, Murderers, Attendants,
and Messengers.

The Ghost of Banquo and several other Apparitions.

SCENE: In the end of the Fourth Act, in England; through the rest
of the Play, in Scotland; and chiefly at Macbeth's Castle.

ACT I.

SCENE I. An open Place. Thunder and Lightning.

(Enter three Witches.)

FIRST WITCH.
When shall we three meet again?
In thunder, lightning, or in rain?

SECOND WITCH.
When the hurlyburly's done,
When the battle's lost and won.

THIRD WITCH.
That will be ere the set of sun.

FIRST WITCH.
Where the place?

SECOND WITCH.
Upon the heath.

THIRD WITCH.
There to meet with Macbeth.

FIRST WITCH.
I come, Graymalkin!

ALL.
Paddock calls:--anon:--
Fair is foul, and foul is fair:
Hover through the fog and filthy air.

(Witches vanish.)

SCENE II. A Camp near Forres.

(Alarum within. Enter King Duncan, Malcolm, Donalbain, Lennox,
with Attendants, meeting a bleeding Soldier.)

DUNCAN.
What bloody man is that? He can report,
As seemeth by his plight, of the revolt
The newest state.

MALCOLM.
This is the sergeant
Who, like a good and hardy soldier, fought
'Gainst my captivity.--Hail, brave friend!
Say to the king the knowledge of the broil
As thou didst leave it.

SOLDIER.
Doubtful it stood;
As two spent swimmers that do cling together
And choke their art. The merciless Macdonwald,--
Worthy to be a rebel,--for to that
The multiplying villainies of nature
Do swarm upon him,--from the Western isles
Of kerns and gallowglasses is supplied;
And fortune, on his damned quarrel smiling,
Show'd like a rebel's whore. But all's too weak;
For brave Macbeth,--well he deserves that name,--
Disdaining fortune, with his brandish'd steel,
Which smok'd with bloody execution,
Like valor's minion,
Carv'd out his passag tTill he fac'd the slave;
And ne'er shook hands, nor bade farewell to him,
Till he unseam'd him from the nave to the chaps,
And fix'd his head upon our battlements.

DUNCAN.
O valiant cousin! worthy gentleman!

SOLDIER.
As whence the sun 'gins his reflection
Shipwrecking storms and direful thunders break;
So from that spring, whence comfort seem'd to come
Discomfort swells. Mark, King of Scotland, mark:
No sooner justice had, with valor arm'd,
Compell'd these skipping kerns to trust their heels,
But the Norweyan lord, surveying vantage,
With furbish'd arms and new supplies of men,
Began a fresh assault.

DUNCAN.
Dismay'd not this
Our captains, Macbeth and Banquo?

SOLDIER.
Yes;
As sparrows eagles, or the hare the lion.
If I say sooth, I must report they were
As cannons overcharg'd with double cracks;
So they
Doubly redoubled strokes upon the foe:
Except they meant to bathe in reeking wounds,
Or memorize another Golgotha,
I cannot tell:--
But I am faint; my gashes cry for help.

DUNCAN.
So well thy words become thee as thy wounds;
They smack of honor both.--Go, get him surgeons.

(Exit Soldier, attended.)

Who comes here?

MALCOLM.
The worthy Thane of Ross.

LENNOX.
What a haste looks through his eyes! So should he look
That seems to speak things strange.

(Enter Ross.)

ROSS.
God save the King!

DUNCAN.
Whence cam'st thou, worthy thane?

ROSS.
From Fife, great king;
Where the Norweyan banners flout the sky
And fan our people cold.
Norway himself, with terrible numbers,
Assisted by that most disloyal traitor
The Thane of Cawdor, began a dismal conflict;
Till that Bellona's bridegroom, lapp'd in proof,
Confronted him with self-comparisons,
Point against point rebellious, arm 'gainst arm,
Curbing his lavish spirit: and, to conclude,
The victory fell on us.

DUNCAN.
Great happiness!

ROSS.
That now
Sweno, the Norways' king, craves composition;
Nor would we deign him burial of his men
Till he disbursed, at Saint Colme's-inch,
Ten thousand dollars to our general use.

DUNCAN.
No more that Thane of Cawdor shall deceive
Our bosom interest:--go pronounce his present death,
And with his former title greet Macbeth.

ROSS.
I'll see it done.

DUNCAN.
What he hath lost, noble Macbeth hath won.

(Exeunt.)

SCENE III. A heath.

(Thunder. Enter the three Witches.)

FIRST WITCH.
Where hast thou been, sister?

SECOND WITCH.
Killing swine.

THIRD WITCH.
Sister, where thou?

FIRST WITCH.
A sailor's wife had chestnuts in her lap,
And mounch'd, and mounch'd, and mounch'd:--"Give me," quoth I:
"Aroint thee, witch!" the rump-fed ronyon cries.
Her husband's to Aleppo gone, master o' the Tiger:
But in a sieve I'll thither sail,
And, like a rat without a tail,
I'll do, I'll do, and I'll do.

SECOND WITCH.
I'll give thee a wind.

FIRST WITCH.
Thou art kind.

THIRD WITCH.
And I another.

FIRST WITCH.
I myself have all the other:
And the very ports they blow,
All the quarters that they know
I' the shipman's card.
I will drain him dry as hay:
Sleep shall neither night nor day
Hang upon his pent-house lid;
He shall live a man forbid:
Weary seven-nights nine times nine
Shall he dwindle, peak, and pine:
Though his bark cannot be lost,
Yet it shall be tempest-tost.--
Look what I have.

SECOND WITCH.
Show me, show me.

FIRST WITCH.
Here I have a pilot's thumb,
Wreck'd as homeward he did come.

(Drum within.)

THIRD WITCH.
A drum, a drum!
Macbeth doth come.

ALL.
The weird sisters, hand in hand,
Posters of the sea and land,
Thus do go about, about:
Thrice to thine, and thrice to mine,
And thrice again, to make up nine:--
Peace!--the charm's wound up.

(Enter Macbeth and Banquo.)

MACBETH.
So foul and fair a day I have not seen.

BANQUO.
How far is't call'd to Forres?--What are these
So wither'd, and so wild in their attire,
That look not like the inhabitants o' the earth,
And yet are on't?--Live you? or are you aught
That man may question? You seem to understand me,
By each at once her chappy finger laying
Upon her skinny lips:--you should be women,
And yet your beards forbid me to interpret
That you are so.

MACBETH.
Speak, if you can;--what are you?

FIRST WITCH.
All hail, Macbeth! hail to thee, Thane of Glamis!

SECOND WITCH.
All hail, Macbeth! hail to thee, Thane of Cawdor!

THIRD WITCH.
All hail, Macbeth! that shalt be king hereafter!

BANQUO.
Good sir, why do you start; and seem to fear
Things that do sound so fair?-- I' the name of truth,
Are ye fantastical, or that indeed
Which outwardly ye show? My noble partner
You greet with present grace and great prediction
Of noble having and of royal hope,
That he seems rapt withal:--to me you speak not:
If you can look into the seeds of time,
And say which grain will grow, and which will not,
Speak then to me, who neither beg nor fear
Your favors nor your hate.

FIRST WITCH.
Hail!

SECOND WITCH.
Hail!

THIRD WITCH.
Hail!

FIRST WITCH.
Lesser than Macbeth, and greater.

SECOND WITCH.
Not so happy, yet much happier.

THIRD WITCH.
Thou shalt get kings, though thou be none:
So all hail, Macbeth and Banquo!

FIRST WITCH.
Banquo and Macbeth, all hail!

MACBETH.
Stay, you imperfect speakers, tell me more:
By Sinel's death I know I am Thane of Glamis;
But how of Cawdor? The Thane of Cawdor lives,
A prosperous gentleman; and to be king
Stands not within the prospect of belief,
No more than to be Cawdor. Say from whence
You owe this strange intelligence? or why
Upon this blasted heath you stop our way
With such prophetic greeting?--Speak, I charge you.

(Witches vanish.)

BANQUO.
The earth hath bubbles, as the water has,
And these are of them:--whither are they vanish'd?

MACBETH.
Into the air; and what seem'd corporal melted
As breath into the wind.--Would they had stay'd!

BANQUO.
Were such things here as we do speak about?
Or have we eaten on the insane root
That takes the reason prisoner?

MACBETH.
Your children shall be kings.

BANQUO.
You shall be king.

MACBETH.
And Thane of Cawdor too; went it not so?

BANQUO.
To the selfsame tune and words. Who's here?

(Enter Ross and Angus.)

ROSS.
The king hath happily receiv'd, Macbeth,
The news of thy success: and when he reads
Thy personal venture in the rebels' fight,
His wonders and his praises do contend
Which should be thine or his: silenc'd with that,
In viewing o'er the rest o' the self-same day,
He finds thee in the stout Norweyan ranks,
Nothing afeard of what thyself didst make,
Strange images of death. As thick as hail
Came post with post; and every one did bear
Thy praises in his kingdom's great defense,
And pour'd them down before him.

ANGUS.
We are sent
To give thee, from our royal master, thanks;
Only to herald thee into his sight,
Not pay thee.

ROSS.
And, for an earnest of a greater honor,
He bade me, from him, call thee Thane of Cawdor:
In which addition, hail, most worthy thane,
For it is thine.

BANQUO.
What, can the devil speak true?

MACBETH.
The Thane of Cawdor lives: why do you dress me
In borrow'd robes?

ANGUS.
Who was the Thane lives yet;
But under heavy judgement bears that life
Which he deserves to lose. Whether he was combin'd
With those of Norway, or did line the rebel
With hidden help and vantage, or that with both
He labour'd in his country's wreck, I know not;
But treasons capital, confess'd and proved,
Have overthrown him.

MACBETH.
(Aside.) Glamis, and Thane of Cawdor:
The greatest is behind.--Thanks for your pains.--
Do you not hope your children shall be kings,
When those that gave the Thane of Cawdor to me
Promis'd no less to them?

BANQUO.
That, trusted home,
Might yet enkindle you unto the crown,
Besides the Thane of Cawdor. But 'tis strange:
And oftentimes to win us to our harm,
The instruments of darkness tell us truths;
Win us with honest trifles, to betray's
In deepest consequence.--
Cousins, a word, I pray you.

by William Shakespeare

PERSONS REPRESENTED

Escalus, Prince of Verona.
Paris, a young Nobleman, kinsman to the Prince.
Montague,}Heads of two Houses at variance with each other.
Capulet, }
An Old Man, Uncle to Capulet.
Romeo, Son to Montague.
Mercutio, Kinsman to the Prince, and Friend to Romeo.
Benvolio, Nephew to Montague, and Friend to Romeo.
Tybalt, Nephew to Lady Capulet.
Friar Lawrence, a Franciscan.
Friar John, of the same Order.
Balthasar, Servant to Romeo.
Sampson, Servant to Capulet.
Gregory, Servant to Capulet.
Peter, Servant to Juliet's Nurse.
Abraham, Servant to Montague.
An Apothecary.
Three Musicians.
Chorus.
Page to Paris; another Page.
An Officer.

Lady Montague, Wife to Montague.
Lady Capulet, Wife to Capulet.
Juliet, Daughter to Capulet.
Nurse to Juliet.

Citizens of Verona; several Men and Women, relations to both
houses; Maskers, Guards, Watchmen, and Attendants.

SCENE.--During the greater part of the Play in Verona; once, in
the Fifth Act, at Mantua.

THE PROLOGUE

(Enter Chorus.)

Chor.
Two households, both alike in dignity,
  In fair Verona, where we lay our scene,
From ancient grudge break to new mutiny,
  Where civil blood makes civil hands unclean.
From forth the fatal loins of these two foes
  A pair of star-cross'd lovers take their life;
Whose misadventur'd piteous overthrows
  Doth with their death bury their parents' strife.
The fearful passage of their death-mark'd love,
  And the continuance of their parents' rage,
Which but their children's end naught could remove,
  Is now the two hours' traffic of our stage;
The which, if you with patient ears attend,
What here shall miss, our toil shall strive to mend.

ACT I.

Scene I. A public place.

(Enter Sampson and Gregory armed with swords and bucklers.)

Sampson.
Gregory, o' my word, we'll not carry coals.

Gregory.
No, for then we should be colliers.

Sampson.
I mean, an we be in choler we'll draw.

Gregory.
Ay, while you live, draw your neck out o' the collar.

Sampson.
I strike quickly, being moved.

Gregory.
But thou art not quickly moved to strike.

Sampson.
A dog of the house of Montague moves me.

Gregory.
To move is to stir; and to be valiant is to stand:
therefore, if thou art moved, thou runn'st away.

Sampson.
A dog of that house shall move me to stand:
I will take the wall of any man or maid of Montague's.

Gregory.
That shows thee a weak slave; for the weakest goes to the
wall.

Sampson.
True; and therefore women, being the weaker vessels,
are ever thrust to the wall: therefore I will push Montague's men
from the wall and thrust his maids to the wall.

Gregory.
The quarrel is between our masters and us their men.

Sampson.
'Tis all one, I will show myself a tyrant:
when I have fought with the men I will be cruel with the maids,
I will cut off their heads.

Gregory.
The heads of the maids?

Sampson.
Ay, the heads of the maids, or their maidenheads;
take it in what sense thou wilt.

Gregory.
They must take it in sense that feel it.

Sampson.
Me they shall feel while I am able to stand:
and 'tis known I am a pretty piece of flesh.

Gregory.
'Tis well thou art not fish; if thou hadst,
thou hadst been poor-John.--Draw thy tool;
Here comes two of the house of Montagues.

Sampson.
My naked weapon is out: quarrel! I will back thee.

Gregory.
How! turn thy back and run?

Sampson.
Fear me not.

Gregory.
No, marry; I fear thee!

Sampson.
Let us take the law of our sides; let them begin.

Gregory.
I will frown as I pass by; and let them take it as they
list.

Sampson.
Nay, as they dare. I will bite my thumb at them; which is
disgrace to them if they bear it.

(Enter Abraham and Balthasar.)

Abraham.
Do you bite your thumb at us, sir?

Sampson.
I do bite my thumb, sir.

Abraham.
Do you bite your thumb at us, sir?

Sampson.
Is the law of our side if I say ay?

Gregory.
No.

Sampson.
No, sir, I do not bite my thumb at you, sir; but I bite my
thumb, sir.

Gregory.
Do you quarrel, sir?

Abraham.
Quarrel, sir! no, sir.

Sampson.
But if you do, sir, am for you: I serve as good a man as
you.

Abraham.
No better.

Sampson.
Well, sir.

Gregory.
Say better; here comes one of my master's kinsmen.

Sampson.
Yes, better, sir.

Abraham.
You lie.

Sampson.
Draw, if you be men.--Gregory, remember thy swashing blow.

(They fight.)

(Enter Benvolio.)

Benvolio.
Part, fools! put up your swords; you know not what you do.
(Beats down their swords.)

(Enter Tybalt.)

Tybalt.
What, art thou drawn among these heartless hinds?
Turn thee Benvolio, look upon thy death.

Benvolio.
I do but keep the peace: put up thy sword,
Or manage it to part these men with me.

Tybalt.
What, drawn, and talk of peace! I hate the word
As I hate hell, all Montagues, and thee:
Have at thee, coward!

(They fight.)

(Enter several of both Houses, who join the fray; then enter
Citizens with clubs.)

1 Citizen.
Clubs, bills, and partisans! strike! beat them down!
Down with the Capulets! Down with the Montagues!

(Enter Capulet in his gown, and Lady Capulet.)

Capulet.
What noise is this?--Give me my long sword, ho!

Lady Capulet.
A crutch, a crutch!--Why call you for a sword?

Capulet.
My sword, I say!--Old Montague is come,
And flourishes his blade in spite of me.

(Enter Montague and his Lady  Montague.)

Montague.
Thou villain Capulet!-- Hold me not, let me go.

Lady  Montague.
Thou shalt not stir one foot to seek a foe.

(Enter Prince, with Attendants.)

Prince.
Rebellious subjects, enemies to peace,
Profaners of this neighbour-stained steel,--
Will they not hear?--What, ho! you men, you beasts,
That quench the fire of your pernicious rage
With purple fountains issuing from your veins,--
On pain of torture, from those bloody hands
Throw your mistemper'd weapons to the ground
And hear the sentence of your moved prince.--
Three civil brawls, bred of an airy word,
By thee, old Capulet, and Montague,
Have thrice disturb'd the quiet of our streets;
And made Verona's ancient citizens
Cast by their grave beseeming ornaments,
To wield old partisans, in hands as old,
Canker'd with peace, to part your canker'd hate:
If ever you disturb our streets again,
Your lives shall pay the forfeit of the peace.
For this time, all the rest depart away:--
You, Capulet, shall go along with me;--
And, Montague, come you this afternoon,
To know our farther pleasure in this case,
To old Free-town, our common judgment-place.--
Once more, on pain of death, all men depart.

(Exeunt Prince and Attendants; Capulet, Lady Capulet, Tybalt,
Citizens, and Servants.)

Montague.
Who set this ancient quarrel new abroach?--
Speak, nephew, were you by when it began?

Benvolio.
Here were the servants of your adversary
And yours, close fighting ere I did approach:
I drew to part them: in the instant came
The fiery Tybalt, with his sword prepar'd;
Which, as he breath'd defiance to my ears,
He swung about his head, and cut the winds,
Who, nothing hurt withal, hiss'd him in scorn:
While we were interchanging thrusts and blows,
Came more and more, and fought on part and part,
Till the prince came, who parted either part.

Lady Montague.
O, where is Romeo?--saw you him to-day?--
Right glad I am he was not at this fray.

Benvolio.
Madam, an hour before the worshipp'd sun
Peer'd forth the golden window of the east,
A troubled mind drave me to walk abroad;
Where,--underneath the grove of sycamore
That westward rooteth from the city's side,--
So early walking did I see your son:
Towards him I made; but he was ware of me,
And stole into the covert of the wood:
I, measuring his affections by my own,--
That most are busied when they're most alone,--
Pursu'd my humour, not pursuing his,
And gladly shunn'd who gladly fled from me.

Montague.
Many a morning hath he there been seen,
With tears augmenting the fresh morning's dew,
Adding to clouds more clouds with his deep sighs:
But all so soon as the all-cheering sun
Should in the farthest east begin to draw
The shady curtains from Aurora's bed,
Away from light steals home my heavy son,
And private in his chamber pens himself;
Shuts up his windows, locks fair daylight out
And makes himself an artificial night:
Black and portentous must this humour prove,
Unless good counsel may the cause remove.

Benvolio.
My noble uncle, do you know the cause?

Montague.
I neither know it nor can learn of him.

Benvolio.
Have you importun'd him by any means?

Montague.
Both by myself and many other friends;
But he, his own affections' counsellor,
Is to himself,--I will not say how true,--
But to himself so secret and so close,
So far from sounding and discovery,
As is the bud bit with an envious worm
Ere he can spread his sweet leaves to the air,
Or dedicate his beauty to the sun.
Could we but learn from whence his sorrows grow,
We would as willingly give cure as know.

Benvolio.
See, where he comes: so please you step aside;
I'll know his grievance or be much denied.

Montague.
I would thou wert so happy by thy stay
To hear true shrift.--Come, madam, let's away,

(Exeunt Montague and Lady.)

(Enter Romeo.)

Benvolio.
Good morrow, cousin.

Romeo.
Is the day so young?

Benvolio.
But new struck nine.

Romeo.
Ay me! sad hours seem long.
Was that my father that went hence so fast?

Benvolio.
It was.--What sadness lengthens Romeo's hours?

Romeo.
Not having that which, having, makes them short.

Benvolio.
In love?

Romeo.
Out,--

Benvolio.
Of love?

Romeo.
Out of her favour where I am in love.

Benvolio.
Alas, that love, so gentle in his view,
Should be so tyrannous and rough in proof!

Romeo.
Alas that love, whose view is muffled still,
Should, without eyes, see pathways to his will!--
Where shall we dine?--O me!--What fray was here?
Yet tell me not, for I have heard it all.
Here's much to do with hate, but more with love:--
Why, then, O brawling love! O loving hate!
O anything, of nothing first create!
O heavy lightness! serious vanity!
Mis-shapen chaos of well-seeming forms!
Feather of lead, bright smoke, cold fire, sick health!
Still-waking sleep, that is not what it is!--
This love feel I, that feel no love in this.
Dost thou not laugh?

Benvolio.
No, coz, I rather weep.

Romeo.
Good heart, at what?

Benvolio.
At thy good heart's oppression.

Romeo.
Why, such is love's transgression.--
Griefs of mine own lie heavy in my breast;
Which thou wilt propagate, to have it prest
With more of thine: this love that thou hast shown
Doth add more grief to too much of mine own.
Love is a smoke rais'd with the fume of sighs;
Being purg'd, a fire sparkling in lovers' eyes;
Being vex'd, a sea nourish'd with lovers' tears:
What is it else? a madness most discreet,
A choking gall, and a preserving sweet.--
Farewell, my coz.

---------------------------------------------------------------

    1

     Jeeves placed the sizzling eggs and b. on the breakfast table,  and
Reginald ('Kipper') Herring and I, licking the lips, squared our elbows
and  got down to it. A lifelong buddy of mine, this Herring, linked  to
me   by  what  are  called  imperishable  memories.  Years  ago,   when
striplings,  he  and I had done a stretch together  at  Malvern  House,
Bramley-on-Sea,  the preparatory school conducted  by  that  prince  of
stinkers,  Aubrey Upjohn MA, and had frequently stood side by  side  in
the  Upjohn  study awaiting the receipt of six of the juiciest  from  a
cane of the type that biteth like a serpent and stingeth like an adder,
as  the fellow said. So we were, you might say, rather like a couple of
old  sweats  who had fought shoulder to shoulder on Crispin's  Day,  if
I've got the name right.
     The  plat du jour having gone down the hatch, accompanied  by  some
fluid  ounces  of strengthening coffee, I was about to  reach  for  the
marmalade, when I heard the telephone tootling out in the hall and rose
to attend to it.
     'Bertram  Wooster's residence, 'I said, having connected  with  the
instrument.  'Wooster in person at this end. Oh hullo, ' I  added,  for
the   voice  that  boomed  over  the  wire  was  that  of  Mrs   Thomas
Portarlington  Travers  of  Brinkley  Court,  Market  Snodsbury,   near
Droitwich  -  or,  putting it another way, my good and  deserving  Aunt
Dahlia.  'A  very hearty pip-pip to you, old ancestor, ' I  said,  well
pleased, for she is a woman with whom it is always a privilege to  chew
the fat.
     'And  a rousing toodle-oo to you, you young blot on the landscape,'
she  replied cordially. 'I'm surprised to find you up as early as this.
Or have you just got in from a night on the tiles?'
     I hastened to rebut this slur.
     'Certainly not. Nothing of that description whatsoever.  I've  been
upping  with  the lark this last week, to keep Kipper Herring  company.
He's  staying  with me till he can get into his new flat. You  remember
old  Kipper?  I brought him down to Brinkley one summer.  Chap  with  a
cauliflower ear.'
     'I know who you mean. Looks like Jack Dempsey.'
     'That's right. Far more, indeed, than Jack Dempsey does. He's on the
staff of the Thursday Review, a periodical of which you may or may  not
be  a  reader, and has to clock in at the office at daybreak. No doubt,
when  I apprise him of your call, he will send you his love, for I know
he  holds  you in high esteem. The perfect hostess, he often  describes
you  as. Well, it's nice to hear your voice again, old flesh-and-blood.
How's everything down Market Snodsbury way?'
     'Oh, we're jogging along. But I'm not speaking from Brinkley. I'm in
London.'
     'Till when?'
     'Driving back this afternoon.'
     'I'll give you lunch.'
     'Sorry,  can't  manage  it. I'm putting on  the  nosebag  with  Sir
Roderick Glossop.'
     This surprised me. The eminent brain specialist to whom she alluded
was  a  man  I would not have cared to lunch with myself, our relations
having  been on the stiff side since the night at Lady Wickham's  place
in  Hertfordshire  when, acting on the advice of my hostess's  daughter
Roberta, I had punctured his hot-water bottle with a darning needle  in
the  small hours of the morning. Quite unintentional, of course. I  had
planned to puncture the h-w-b of his nephew Tuppy Glossop, with whom  I
had  a  feud on, and unknown to me they had changed rooms, fust one  of
those unfortunate misunderstandings.
     'What on earth are you doing that for?'
     'Why shouldn't I? He's paying.'
     I saw her point - a penny saved is a penny earned and all that sort
of  thing  - but I continued surprised. It amazed me that Aunt  Dahlia,
presumably  a  free  agent, should have selected this  very  formidable
loony-doctor to chew the mid-day chop with. However, one of  the  first
lessons  life  teaches  us is that aunts will be  aunts,  so  I  merely
shrugged a couple of shoulders.
     'Well, it's up to you, of course, but it seems a rash act. Did  you
come to London just to revel with Glossop?'
     'No, I'm here to collect my new butler and take him home with me.'
     'New butler? What's become of Seppings?'
     'He's gone.'
     I clicked the tongue. I was very fond of the major-domo in question,
having enjoyed many a port in his pantry, and this news saddened me.
     'No,  really?' I said. 'Too bad. I thought he looked a little frail
when  I  last saw him. Well, that's how it goes. All flesh is grass,  I
often say.'
     'To Bognor Regis, for his holiday.'
     I unclicked the tongue.
     'Oh, I see. That puts a different complexion on the matter. Odd how
all  these  pillars of the home seem to be dashing away on toots  these
days.  It's  like  what  Jeeves was telling me  about  the  great  race
movements  of the Middle Ages. Jeeves starts his holiday this  morning.
He's off to Herne Bay for the shrimping, and I'm feeling like that bird
in  the  poem  who lost his pet gazelle or whatever the animal  was.  I
don't know what I'm going to do without him.'
     'I'll tell you what you're going to do. Have you a clean shirt?'
     'Several.'
     'And a toothbrush?'
     'Two, both of the finest quality.'
     'Then pack them. You're coming to Brinkley tomorrow.'
     The  gloom  which always envelops Bertram Wooster like a  fog  when
Jeeves  is  about  to  take his annual vacation lightened  perceptibly.
There  are  few  things I find more agreeable than a  sojourn  at  Aunt
Dahlia's  rural lair. Picturesque scenery, gravel soil, main  drainage,
company's own water and, above all, the superb French cheffing  of  her
French chef Anatole, God's gift to the gastric juices. A full hand,  as
you might put it.
     'What  an admirable suggestion,' I said. 'You solve all my problems
and  bring the blue bird out of a hat. Rely on me. You will observe  me
bowling up in the Wooster sports model tomorrow afternoon with my  hair
in  a  braid  and  a song on my lips. My presence will,  I  feel  sure,
stimulate Anatole to new heights of endeavour. Got anybody else staying
at the old snake pit?'
     'Five inmates in all.'
     'Five?'  I  resumed my tongue-clicking. 'Golly! Uncle Tom  must  be
frothing  at  the  mouth a bit,' I said, for I knew  the  old  buster's
distaste  for guests in the home. Even a single weekender is  sometimes
enough to make him drain the bitter cup.
     'Tom's not there. He's gone to Harrogate with Cream.'
     'You mean lumbago.'
     'I  don't  mean  lumbago. I mean Cream. Homer Cream.  Big  American
tycoon,  who is visiting these shores. He suffers from ulcers, and  his
medicine man has ordered him to take the waters at Harrogate.  Tom  has
gone with him to hold his hand and listen to him of an evening while he
tells him how filthy the stuff tastes.'
     'Antagonistic.'
     'What?'
     'I mean altruistic. You are probably not familiar with the word, but
it's one I've heard Jeeves use. It's what you say of a fellow who gives
selfless service, not counting the cost.'
     'Selfless service, my foot! Tom's in the middle of a very important
business deal with Cream. If it goes through, he'll make a packet  free
of income tax. So he's sucking up to him like a Hollywood Yes-man.'
     I  gave an intelligent nod, though this of course was wasted on her
because  she  couldn't see me. I could readily understand my  uncle-by-
marriage's mental processes. T. Portarlington Travers is a man who  has
accumulated the pieces of eight in sackfuls, but he is always more than
willing  to  shove a bit extra away behind the brick in the  fireplace,
feeling  - and rightly -that every little bit added to what you've  got
makes just a little bit more. And if there's one thing that's right  up
his  street,  it is not paying income tax. He grudges every  penny  the
Government nicks him for.
     'That is why, when kissing me goodbye, he urged me with tears in his
eyes  to  lush  Mrs  Cream and her son Willie up and  treat  them  like
royalty. So they're at Brinkley, dug into the woodwork.'
     'Willie, did you say?'
     'Short for Wilbert.'
     I mused. Willie Cream. The name seemed familiar somehow. I seemed to
have heard it or seen it in the papers somewhere. But it eluded me.
     'Adela  Cream writes mystery stories. Are you a fan  of  hers?  No?
Well,  start  boning  up  on them, directly you arrive,  because  every
little helps. I've bought a complete set. They're very good.'
     'I shall be delighted to run an eye over her material,' I said, for
I  am  what they call an a-something of novels of suspense. Aficionado,
would that be it? 'I can always do with another corpse or two. We  have
established,  then, that among the inmates are this Mrs Cream  and  her
son Wilbert. Who are the other three?'
     'Well, there's Lady Wickham's daughter Roberta.'
     I started violently, as if some unseen hand had goosed me.
     'What! Bobbie Wickham? Oh, my gosh!'
     'Why the agitation? Do you know her?'
     'You bet I know her.'
     'I  begin  to  see  Is she one of the gaggle of girls  you've  been
engaged to?'
     'Not  actually,  no.  We were never engaged. But  that  was  merely
because she wouldn't meet me half-way.'
     'Turned you down, did she?'
     'Yes, thank goodness '
     'Why thank goodness? She's a one-girl beauty chorus '
     'She doesn't try the eyes, I agree.'
     'A pippin, if ever there was one.'
     'Very true, but is being a pippin everything? What price the soul?'
     'Isn't her soul like mother makes?'
     'Far from it. Much below par. What I could tell you ... But no, let
it go Painful subj.'
     I had been about to mention fifty-seven or so of the reasons why the
prudent  operator, if he valued his peace of mind, deemed  it  best  to
stay  well  away  from  the  red-headed menace  under  advisement,  but
realized  that  at  a  moment when I was wanting to  get  back  to  the
marmalade it would occupy too much time. It will be enough to say  that
I  had long since come out of the ether and was fully cognizant of  the
fact  that  in declining to fall in with my suggestion that  we  should
start rounding up clergymen and bridesmaids, the beasel had rendered me
a signal service, and I'll tell you why.
     Aunt  Dahlia,  describing this young blister as a  one-girl  beauty
chorus,  had called her shots perfectly correctly. Her outer crust  was
indeed  of a nature to cause those beholding it to rock back  on  their
heels  with a startled whistle But while equipped with eyes  like  twin
stars,  hair  ruddier than the cherry, oomph, espieglene  and  all  the
fixings,  B.  Wickham had also the disposition and general  outlook  on
life of a ticking bomb In her society you always had the uneasy feeling
that something was likely to go off at any moment with a pop. You never
knew  what she was going to do next or into what murky depths  of  soup
she would carelessly plunge you.
     'Miss  Wickham, sir,' Jeeves had once said to me warningly  at  the
time  when  the  fever  was at its height, 'lacks  seriousness  She  is
volatile and frivolous. I would always hesitate to recommend as a  life
partner a young lady with quite such a vivid shade of red hair.'
     His judgment was sound I have already mentioned how with her subtle
wiles  this  girl  had induced me to sneak into Sir Roderick  Glossop's
sleeping  apartment  and  apply the darning  needle  to  his  hot-water
bottle,  and  that was comparatively mild going for  her.  In  a  word,
Roberta,  daughter  of  the  late Sir  Cuthbert  and  Lady  Wickham  of
Skeldings Hall, Herts, was pure dynamite and better kept at a  distance
by  all  those who aimed at leading the peaceful life The  prospect  of
being  immured  with her in the same house, with all the  facilities  a
country-house affords an enterprising girl for landing her nearest  and
dearest in the mulligatawny, made me singularly dubious about the shape
of things to come.
     And  I  was  tottering  under  this  blow  when  the  old  relative
administered another, and it was a haymaker.
     'And there's Aubrey Upjohn and his stepdaughter Phyllis Mills,' she
said That's the lot What's the matter with you? Got asthma?'
     I  took  her to be alluding to the sharp gasp which had escaped  my
lips, and I must confess that it had come out not unlike the last words
of a dying duck. But I felt perfectly justified in gasping A weaker man
would  have howled like a banshee. There floated into my mind something
Kipper Herring had once said to me. 'You know, Bertie,' he had said, in
philosophical mood, 'we have much to be thankful for in  this  life  of
ours,  you  and  I  However rough the going, there  is  one  sustaining
thought  to  which  we can hold. The storm clouds  may  lower  and  the
horizon grow dark, we may get a nail in our shoe and be caught  in  the
rain  without an umbrella, we may come down to breakfast and find  that
someone  else  has  taken  the brown egg, but  at  least  we  have  the
consolation  of  knowing  that we shall never see  Aubrey  Gawd-help-us
Upjohn  again. Always remember this in times of despondency,' he  said,
and I always had. And now here the bounder was, bobbing up right in  my
midst.  Enough  to  make the stoutest-hearted go  into  his  dying-duck
routine.
     'Aubrey Upjohn?' I quavered. 'You mean my Aubrey Upjohn?'
     'That's the one. Soon after you made your escape from his chain gang
he  married  Jane  Mills, a friend of mine with a  colossal  amount  of
money.  She  died,  leaving a daughter. I'm the  daughter's  godmother.
Upjohn's retired now and going in for politics. The hot tip is that the
boys  in  the  back  room  are going to run  him  as  the  Conservative
candidate  in  the  Market Snodsbury division at the next  by-election.
What a thrill it'll be for you, meeting him again. Or does the prospect
scare you?'
     'Certainly not. We Woosters are intrepid. But what on earth did you
invite him to Brinkley for?'

A.S.Griboyedov
WOE FROM WIT
(A Four Act Comedy)

CAST:
Pavel Afanasyevich Famusov, head of office
Sofia Pavlovna, his daughter
Lizzie, maid
Alexey Stepanovich Molchalin, Famusov's secretary living in his house
Alexander Andreyevich Chatsky
Colonel Skalozub, Sergey Dmitriyevich
The Goriches:
Natalia Dmitriyevna, young lady
Platon Mikhailovich, her husband
Count Tugoukhovsky
Countess, his wife with six daughters
The Khryumins:
Countess, the granny
Countess, the daughter
Anton Antonovich Zagoretsky
Old Khlyostova, Famusov's sister-in-law
Mr. N.
Mr. D.
Repetilov
Petrushka and some footmen
A large number of guests of all ranks and footmen engaged at departure of guests.
Famusov's waiters.

The scene is laid in Moscow at Famusov's house.

ACT 1

Scene 1

A sitting room with a big clock in it, to the right is Sofia's bedroom door, the sound of a piano and a flute come from Sofia's room, then the music ceases. Lizzie is asleep hanging down from the armchair (It is morning. The day is just about to break.)
Lizzie
(wakes up suddenly, raises from the chair, looks around):
It's dawning! ...Oh! How fast
The night has passed!
They didn't let me go to bed
'In expectation of a friend'.
I had to be on the alert,
It's only now that I could doze
Sitting like this, in such a pose!
I could have fallen from the chair!
It's dawn... They must be unaware...
(knocks at Sofia's door)
Sir! Madame! What a plight!
You have been chattering all night,
Sir, are you deaf? Ma'am, do you hear?
No, they do not seem to fear.
(walks away from the door)
Look out, uninvited guest!
The father may appear!
I serve a loving woman, yes!
(moves to the door again)
It's time to part. Stop that conversation!
(Sofia's voice):
What time is it?
Lizzie:
The house is all in agitation.
Sofia
(from her room):
What is the time?
Lizzie:
It is about seven, eight or nine...
Sofia
(from the same place):
It isn't true.
Lizzie
(goes away):
Ah, this damn amour!
They do not want to get me right...
Those shutters keeping out the light!
I'll put the clock a little on, although
There'll be a row, I know.
(gets on the chair, moves the hour hand; the clock strikes and plays the tune)

Scene 2

Lizzie and Famusov.
Lizzie:
It's you, sir ?
Famusov:
Yes, it's me.
(stops the clock music)
You naughty little mischief maker! I didn't know!
I had just wondered what it could be:
Now it's a flute, now it's a piano,
It's much too early in the day
For Sofia to play.
Lizzie:
No, sir... For once...
I did it quite by chance.
Famusov:
That's it:
I must be on the watch indeed,
It was intended to be sure.
(cuddles up to her)
You naughty girl, you mischief maker, you are!..
Lizzie:
Naughty yourself! The words you say
Do not befit you, do they?
Famusov:
You're modest but the frivolous kind,
Frivolities and mischief are all you have in mind.
Lizzie:
It's you who's frivolous, let go, will you?
Compose yourself, old man.
Famusov:
I'm not quite old.
Lizzie:
Should somebody come in, what shall we do?
Famusov:
Who may come here now, uncalled?
Is Sofia asleep?
Lizzie:
Just gone to bed.
Famusov:
Just now? And what about the night?
Lizzie:
She read.
Famusov:
The kind of whim she has, you see?
Lizzie:
She's reading there under lock and key.
Famusov:
You tell her what: she mustn't spoil her sight
For reading is of little worth. It's just a fashion.
She doesn't sleep from reading French at night,
I fall asleep when I read Russian.
Lizzie:
When she gets up I'll tell her so,
You'll wake her up, I'm afraid, please go.
Famusov:
I'll wake her up? Why, it is you not me
Who starts the clock and makes it play a symphony.
Lizzie
(raising her voice):
Now stop it, will you?
Famusov
(shutting her mouth):
Why shout like that?
Are you going mad?
Lizzie:
There's something wrong about it, I fear.
Famusov:
About what, my dear?
Lizzie:
You ought to know for you're not a little one:
Young women's sleep is light at down,
They hear every whisper, a door creak, or a sigh,
They hear everything.
Famusov:
No, it's a lie.
Sofia:
(her voice comes from her room)
Ah, Lizzie!
Famusov:
(quickly)
Hush!
(Tiptoeing out of the room hurriedly)
Lizzie
(alone in the room)
He's gone. Beware of masters, they
Will cause you trouble any day.
Of all the woes may God deliver us from both
From their love and their wrath.

Scene 3

Lizzie, Sofia candle in hand, followed by Molchalin.
Sofia
What's up, Liz? You're making such a noise...
Lizzie
You find it hard to part, of course,
Locked up all night -- it is enough, my lady.
Sofia
My, it's the break of day already!
(puts out the candle)
It's light and gloom. The night's so quick to pass!
Lizzie
You may be gloomy. And I feel much worse.
Your father took me by surprise,
I shifted, dodged and told him lies.
(to Molchalin)
Don't stand like that! Just take your bow,
I see that you are scared, and how!
Look at the clock. Now just look out --
People are long up and about,
And in the house all is in motion:
They're knocking, walking, cleaning, washing.
Sofia
Happiness takes no account of time.
Lizzie
You watch the time or not, it's up to you;
I'm in for trouble, I shall get my due.
Sofia
(to Molchalin)
Now you must go. We'll have another tedious day.
Lizzie
God bless you! Take your hands away!
(Separates them; Molchalin runs into Famusov in the doorway)

Scene 4

Sofia, Lizzie, Molchalin, Famusov.
Famusov
What a surprise! It's you, Molchalin?
Molchalin
Yes.
Famusov
What brings you here, at this hour? Do confess.
And, Sofia, you, too. Please tell me why
You got up early today? Don't tell a lie.
How do you come to be together now?
Sofia
He just came in.
Molchalin
I walked around, that is how.
Famusov
Now tell me please, old bloke:
Cannot you choose a better place to walk?
And you, young lady, hardly out of bed --
There is a man around! By your side!
You read those silly books at night
And that's the fruit of it, I bet.
The French! With all their fashion shops and streets,
Their books and writers and artists,
They break our hearts, they make our money fly,
I wonder why
God will not save us from their needles, pins,
Their bonnets, hats and all the other things.
Sofia
I'm sorry, father, I'm feeling ill at ease,
I'm so scared, I can hardy breathe.
You were so quick to come. My God!
I'm confused.
Famusov
Well, thanks a lot!
I took you by surprise!
I scared and disturbed you! Very nice!
My dear Sofia, I dare say,
I'm upset myself. All day
I have to run about, full of care and bother.
Now one keeps pestering me now another.
Could I expect the trouble of being told a lie?
Sofia
(through tears)
Whom by?
Famusov
Well, I may be reproached that I
Keep grumbling all the time for nothing.
Now don't you cry.
I'll tell you something:
I've given you support and care.
Your mother died. I took on this Madame,
Madam Rosiet, your second mere.
A granny with a heart of gold I found for you,
So quick and wise, and of high morals, too.
There is one thing that doesn't do her credit though:
For extra half a thousand or so,
She had the nerve to leave our house...
But anyhow it is beyond her powers.
Just look at me: I'm no boaster,
I'm strong and fresh, although my hair is grey,
I'm a widower, I'm free, I'm my own master
And of monastic chastity, they say.
Lizzie
May I?
Famusov
No, do shut up!
The wretched times! You don't know what to open up!
I see nowadays
People grow wise before their years,
The daughters do, so do the old good men.
Who need the languages we learn?
We hire tutors, resident or not,
That teach our daughters everything:
To court
And give a sigh, to sing and dance,
As if they wished to marry them to clowns.
You, visitor? Do you want anything?
From a nowhere man in God forsaken Tver
I made you an assessor and a secretair.
Without me you would have surely been
A nobody. You, man without kith and kin!
Sofia
I don't know why you should be angry, father.
He's living here, in this house. So what?
He walked to one room and got into another.
Famusov
He got where he wanted, did he not?
Why is he here, uninvited?
Sofia
I'll tell you. Well, it goes like this:
When you were here, you and Liz,
I heard your voice and was so frightened
That I came running like a shot.
Famusov
She'll put the blame on me, it seems.
I came out of time and got them caught!
Sofia
You caught me nodding, I had dreams.
I'll tell you and you will understand.
Famusov
What dreams had you?
Sofia
Shall I tell you?
Famusov
(sits down)
Yes, if you can.
Sofia
Well... Listen... First I see
A fragrant meadow and then me
Looking for some kind of grass,
I don't remember which, alas.
Then comes a gentleman, one of those men
That make at once an old good friend.
A man so tactful, wise, as well as
Shy, you know those poor fellows.
Famusov
Don't talk to me about the poor.
A poor man is not a match for you.
Sofia
And then all vanishes: the meadows and the sky --like magic!
We are in a room. It's dark. Then, just imagine:
Down goes the floor and you come up.
And now the door flies open with a bang,
And in burst monstrous creatures, like a gang.
They fall upon the man, they tear us apart,
I reach for him: he seems so dear to my heart,
You hold him back and take away with you,
And this to hooting, jeering, whistling -- boo!
Then he starts shouting.
I woke up there... Someone was chatting.
It was your voice, yes, it was you.
So I rushed out to find that you were two.
Famusov
Too bad a dream it is indeed.
I see there's everything in it:
The devil, love and flowers, fright. Too bad!
Well, sir, what do you say to that?
Molchalin
I heard you voice...
Famusov
It's really strange.
What's there in my voice? Did they arrange
To hear my voice and come around like a clock?
Why did you come on hearing me talk?
Molchalin
The papers, sir.
Famusov
The papers? Oh what an idea!
What made you care for them, my dear?
Why all this zest?
(raises)
Now Sofia, I'll set your mind at rest;
Dreams can be strange but I should think
Reality is a more frightful thing.
You looked for grass but in the end
You found a friend.
Well, put that tout of your head,
Forget the miracles -- they're all wrong.
You'd better go now back to bed.
(To Molchalin)
Show me your papers, come along.
Molchalin
I want to tell you, sir, instead:
The papers are in such a mess!
They will be null and void unless
They're certified
And all put right.
Famusov
I'm awfully afraid
They might pile up, accumulate.
I know your kind. You'd keep them all
Stuck up for days in a pigeon-hole.
I'd rather have a paper signed.
Once signed -- it's out my mind!
(He and Molchalin exit. He makes way to Molchalin at the door)