Re: Достоевский Ф. М. - Преступление и наказание в переводе на английский

"I am ready, I'll be responsible... but calm yourself, madam, calm
yourself. I see that you are not so submissive!... Well, well, but
as to that..." Luzhin muttered, "that ought to be before the police...
though indeed there are witnesses enough as it is.... I am ready....
But in any case it's difficult for a man... on account of her
sex.... But with the help of Amalia Ivanovna... though, of course,
it's not the way to do things.... How is it to be done?"
  "As you will! Let any one who likes search her!" cried Katerina
Ivanovna. "Sonia, turn out your pockets! See. Look, monster, the
pocket is empty, here was her handkerchief! Here is the other
pocket, look! D'you see, d'you see?"
  And Katerina Ivanovna turned- or rather snatched- both pockets
inside out. But from the right pocket a piece of paper flew out and
describing a parabola in the air fell at Luzhin's feet. Every one
saw it, several cried out. Pyotr Petrovitch stooped down, picked up
the paper in two fingers, lifted it where all could see it and
opened it. It was a hundred-rouble note folded in eight. Pyotr
Petrovitch held up the note showing it to every one.
  "Thief! Out of my lodging. Police, police!" yelled Amalia
Ivanovna. "They must to Siberia be sent! Away!"
  Exclamations arose on all sides. Raskolnikov was silent, keeping his
eyes fixed on Sonia, except for an occasional rapid glance at
Luzhin. Sonia stood still, as though unconscious. She was hardly
able to feel surprise. Suddenly the colour rushed to her cheeks; she
uttered a cry and hid her face in her hands.
  "No, it wasn't I! I didn't take it! I know nothing about it," she
cried with a heartrending wail, and she ran to Katerina Ivanovna,
who clasped her tightly in her arms, as though she would shelter her
from all the world.
  "Sonia! Sonia! I don't believe it! You see, I don't believe it!" she
cried in the face of the obvious fact, swaying her to and fro in her
arms like a baby, kissing her face continually, then snatching at
her hands and kissing them, too. "You took it! How stupid these people
are! Oh dear! You are fools, fools," she cried, addressing the whole
room, "you don't know, you don't know what a heart she has, what a
girl she is! She take it, she? She'd sell her last rag, she'd go
barefoot to help you if you needed it, that's what she is! She has the
yellow passport because my children were starving, she sold herself
for us! Ah, husband, husband! Do you see? Do you see? What a
memorial dinner for you! Merciful heavens! Defend her, why are you all
standing still? Rodion Romanovitch, why don't you stand up for her? Do
you believe it, too? You are not worth her little finger, all of you
together! Good God! Defend her now, at least!"
  The wail of the poor, consumptive, helpless woman seemed to
produce a great effect on her audience. The agonised, wasted,
consumptive face, the parched blood-stained lips, the hoarse voice,
the tears unrestrained as a child's, the trustful, childish and yet
despairing prayer for help were so piteous that every one seemed to
feel for her. Pyotr Petrovitch at any rate was at once moved to
  "Madam, madam, this incident does not reflect upon you!" he cried
impressively, "no one would take upon himself to accuse you of being
an instigator or even an accomplice in it, especially as you have
proved her guilt by turning out her pockets, showing that you had no
previous idea of it. I am most ready, most ready to show compassion,
if poverty, so to speak, drove Sofya Semyonovna to it, but why did you
refuse to confess, mademoiselle? Were you afraid of the disgrace?
The first step? You lost your head, perhaps? One can quite
understand it.... But how could you have lowered yourself to such an
action? Gentlemen," he addressed the whole company, "gentlemen!
Compassionate and so to say commiserating these people, I am ready
to overlook it even now in spite of the personal insult lavished
upon me! And may this disgrace be a lesson to you for the future,"
he said, addressing Sonia, "and I will carry the matter no further.
  Pyotr Petrovitch stole a glance at Raskolnikov. Their eyes met,
and the fire in Raskolnikov's seemed ready to reduce him to ashes.
Meanwhile Katerina Ivanovna apparently heard nothing. She was
kissing and hugging Sonia like a madwoman. The children, too, were
embracing Sonia on all sides, and Polenka,- though she did not fully
understand what was wrong,- was drowned in tears and shaking with
sobs, as she hid her pretty little face, swollen with weeping, on
Sonia's shoulder.
  "How vile!" a loud voice cried suddenly in the doorway.
  Pyotr Petrovitch looked round quickly.
  "What vileness!" Lebeziatnikov repeated, staring him straight in the
  Pyotr Petrovitch gave a positive start- all noticed it and
recalled it afterwards. Lebeziatnikov strode into the room.
  "And you dared to call me as witness?" he said, going up to Pyotr
  "What do you mean? What are you talking about?" muttered Luzhin.
  "I mean that you... are a slanderer, that's what my words mean!"
Lebeziatnikov said hotly, looking sternly at him with his shortsighted
  He was extremely angry. Raskolnikov gazed intently at him, as though
seizing and weighing each word. Again there was a silence. Pyotr
Petrovitch indeed seemed almost dumbfounded for the first moment.
  "If you mean that for me,..." he began, stammering. "But what's
the matter with you? Are you out of your mind?"
  "I'm in my mind, but you are a scoundrel! Ah, how vile! I have heard
everything. I kept waiting on purpose to understand it, for I must own
even now it is not quite logical.... What you have done it all for I
can't understand."
  "Why, what have I done then? Give over talking in your nonsensical
riddles! Or maybe you are drunk!"
  "You may be a drunkard, perhaps, vile man, but I am not! I never
touch vodka, for it's against my convictions. Would you believe it,
he, he himself, with his own hands gave Sofya Semyonovna that
hundred-rouble note- I saw it, I was a witness, I'll take my oath!
He did it, he!" repeated Lebeziatnikov, addressing all.
  "Are you crazy, milksop?" squealed Luzhin. "She is herself before
you,- she herself here declared just now before every one that I
gave her only ten roubles. How could I have given it to her?"
  "I saw it, I saw it," Lebeziatnikov repeated, "and although it is
against my principles, I am ready this very minute to take any oath
you like before the court, for I saw how you slipped it in her pocket.
Only like a fool I thought you did it out of kindness! When you were
saying good-bye to her at the door, while you held her hand in one
hand, with the other, the left, you slipped the note into her
pocket. I saw it, I saw it!"
  Luzhin turned pale.
  "What lies!" he cried impudently, "why, how could you, standing by
the window, see the note! You fancied it with your shortsighted
eyes. You are raving!"
  "No, I didn't fancy it. And though I was standing some way off, I
saw it all. And though it certainly would be hard to distinguish a
note from the window,- that's true- I knew for certain that it was a
hundred-rouble note, because, when you were going to give Sofya
Semyonovna ten roubles, you took up from the table a hundred-rouble
note (I saw it because I was standing near then, and an idea struck me
at once, so that I did not forget you had it in your hand). You folded
it and kept it in your hand all the time. I didn't think of it again
until, when you were getting up, you changed it from your right hand
to your left and nearly dropped it! I noticed it because the same idea
struck me again, that you meant to do her a kindness without my
seeing. You can fancy how I watched you and I saw how you succeeded in
slipping it into her pocket. I saw it, I saw it, I'll take my oath."
  Lebeziatnikov was almost breathless. Exclamations arose on all hands
chiefly expressive of wonder, but some were menacing in tone. They all
crowded round Pyotr Petrovitch. Katerina Ivanovna flew to
  "I was mistaken in you! Protect her! You are the only one to take
her part! She is an orphan. God has sent you!"
  Katerina Ivanovna, hardly knowing what she was doing, sank on her
knees before him.
  "A pack of nonsense!" yelled Luzhin, roused to fury, "it's all
nonsense you've been talking! 'An idea struck you, you didn't think,
you noticed'- what does it amount to? So I gave it to her on the sly
on purpose? What for? With what object? What have I to do with
  "What for? That's what I can't understand, but that what I am
telling you is the fact, that's certain! So far from my being
mistaken, you infamous, criminal man, I remember how, on account of
it, a question occurred to me at once, just when I was thanking you
and pressing your hand. What made you put it secretly in her pocket?
Why you did it secretly, I mean? Could it be simply to conceal it from
me, knowing that my convictions are opposed to yours and that I do not
approve of private benevolence, which effects no radical cure? Well, I
decided that you really were ashamed of giving such a large sum before
me. Perhaps, too, I thought, he wants to give her a surprise, when she
finds a whole hundred-rouble note in her pocket. (For I know some
benevolent people are very fond of decking out their charitable
actions in that way.) Then the idea struck me, too, that you wanted to
test her, to see whether, when she found it, she would come to thank
you. Then, too, that you wanted to avoid thanks and that, as the
saying is, your right hand should not know... something of that
sort, in fact. I thought of so many possibilities that I put off
considering it, but still thought it indelicate to show you I knew
your secret. But another idea struck me again that Sofya Semyonovna
might easily lose the money before she noticed it, that was why I
decided to come in here to call her out of the room and to tell her
that you put a hundred roubles in her pocket. But on my way I went
first to Madame Kobilatnikov's to take them the 'General Treatise on
the Positive Method' and especially to recommend Piderit's article
(and also Wagner's); then I come on here and what a state of things
I find! Now could I, could I, have all these ideas and reflections, if
I had not seen you put the hundred-rouble note in her pocket?"
  When Lebeziatnikov finished his long-winded harangue with the
logical deduction at the end, he was quite tired, and the perspiration
streamed from his face. He could not, alas, even express himself
correctly in Russian, though he knew no other language, so that he was
quite exhausted, almost emaciated after this heroic exploit. But his
speech produced a powerful effect. He had spoken with such
vehemence, with such conviction that every one obviously believed him.
Pyotr Petrovitch felt that things were going badly with him.
  "What is it to do with me if silly ideas did occur to you?" he
shouted, "that's no evidence. You may have dreamt it, that's all!
And I tell you, you are lying, sir. You are lying and slandering
from some spite against me, simply from pique, because I did not agree
with your freethinking, godless, social propositions!"
  But this retort did not benefit Pyotr Petrovitch. Murmurs of
disapproval were heard on all sides.
  "Ah, that's your line now, is it!" cried Lebeziatnikov, "that's
nonsense! Call the police and I'll take my oath! There's only one
thing I can't understand: what made him risk such a contemptible
action. Oh, pitiful, despicable man!"
  "I can explain why he risked such an action, and if necessary, I,
too, will swear to it," Raskolnikov said at last in a firm voice,
and he stepped forward.
  He appeared to be firm and composed. Every one felt clearly, from
the very look of him that he really knew about it and that the mystery
would be solved.
  "Now I can explain it all to myself," said Raskolnikov, addressing
Lebeziatnikov. "From the very beginning of the business, I suspected
that there was some scoundrelly intrigue at the bottom of it. I
began to suspect it from some special circumstances known to me
only, which I will explain at once to every one: they account for
everything. Your valuable evidence has finally made everything clear
to me. I beg all, all to listen. This gentleman (he pointed to Luzhin)
was recently engaged to be married to a young lady- my sister, Avdotya
Romanovna Raskolnikov. But coming to Petersburg he quarrelled with me,
the day before yesterday, at our first meeting and I drove him out
of my room- I have two witnesses to prove it. He is a very spiteful
man.... The day before yesterday I did not know that he was staying
here, in your room, and that consequently on the very day we
quarrelled- the day before yesterday- he saw me give Katerina Ivanovna
some money for the funeral, as a friend of the late Mr. Marmeladov. He
at once wrote a note to my mother and informed her that I had given
away all my money, not to Katerina Ivanovna, but to Sofya
Semyonovna, and referred in a most contemptible way to the...
character of Sofya Semyonovna, that is, hinted at the character of
my attitude to Sofya Semyonovna. All this you understand was with
the object of dividing me from my mother and sister, by insinuating
that I was squandering on unworthy objects the money which they had
sent me and which was all they had. Yesterday evening, before my
mother and sister and in his presence, I declared that I had given the
money to Katerina Ivanovna for the funeral and not to Sofya Semyonovna
and that I had no acquaintance with Sofya Semyonovna and had never
seen her before, indeed. At the same time I added that he, Pyotr
Petrovitch Luzhin, with all his virtues was not worth Sofya
Semyonovna's little finger, though he spoke so ill of her. To his
question- would I let Sofya Semyonovna sit down beside my sister, I
answered that I had already done so that day. Irritated that my mother
and sister were unwilling to quarrel with me at his insinuations, he
gradually began being unpardonably rude to them. A final rupture
took place and he was turned out of the house. All this happened
yesterday evening. Now I beg your special attention: consider: if he
had now succeeded in proving that Sofya Semyonovna was a thief, he
would have shown to my mother and sister that he was almost right in
his suspicions, that he had reason to be angry at my putting my sister
on a level with Sofya Semyonovna, that, in attacking me, he was
protecting and preserving the honour of my sister, his betrothed. In
fact he might even, through all this, have been able to estrange me
from my family, and no doubt he hoped to be restored to favour with
them; to say nothing of revenging himself on me personally, for he has
grounds for supposing that the honour and happiness of Sofya
Semyonovna are very precious to me. That was what he was working
for! That's how I understand it. That's the whole reason for it and
there can be no other!"
  It was like this, or somewhat like this, that Raskolnikov wound up
his speech which was followed very attentively, though often
interrupted by exclamations from his audience. But in spite of
interruptions he spoke clearly, calmly, exactly, firmly. His
decisive voice, his tone of conviction and his stern face made a great
impression on every one.
  "Yes, yes, that's it," Lebeziatnikov assented gleefully, "that
must be it, for he asked me, as soon as Sofya Semyonovna came into our
room, whether you were here, whether I had seen you among Katerina
Ivanovna's guests. He called me aside to the window and asked me in
secret. It was essential for him that you should be here! That's it,
that's it!"
  Luzhin smiled contemptuously and did not speak. But he was very
pale. He seemed to be deliberating on some means of escape. Perhaps he
would have been glad to give up everything and get away, but at the
moment this was scarcely possible. It would have implied admitting the
truth of the accusations brought against him. Moreover, the company,
which had already been excited by drink, was now too much stirred to
allow it. The commissariat clerk, though indeed he had not grasped the
whole position, was shouting louder than any one and was making some
suggestions very unpleasant to Luzhin. But not all those present
were drunk; lodgers came in from all the rooms. The three Poles were
tremendously excited and were continually shouting at him: "The Pan is
a lajdak!" and muttering threats in Polish. Sonia had been listening
with strained attention, though she too seemed unable to grasp it all;
she seemed as though she had just returned to consciousness. She did
not take her eyes off Raskolnikov, feeling that all her safety lay
in him. Katerina Ivanovna breathed hard and painfully and seemed
fearfully exhausted. Amalia Ivanovna stood looking more stupid than
any one, with her mouth wide open, unable to make out what had
happened. She only saw that Pyotr Petrovitch had somehow come to
  Raskolnikov was attempting to speak again, but they did not let him.
Every one was crowding round Luzhin with threats and shouts of
abuse. But Pyotr Petrovitch was not intimidated. Seeing that his
accusation of Sonia had completely failed, he had recourse to
  "Allow me, gentlemen, allow me! Don't squeeze, let me pass!" he
said, making his way through the crowd. "And no threats if you please!
I assure you it will be useless, you will gain nothing by it. On the
contrary, you'll have to answer, gentlemen, for violently
obstructing the course of justice. The thief has been more than
unmasked, and I shall prosecute. Our judges are not so blind and...
not so drunk, and will not believe the testimony of two notorious
infidels, agitators, and atheists, who accuse me from motives of
personal revenge which they are foolish enough to admit.... Yes, allow
me to pass!"
  "Don't let me find a trace of you in my room! Kindly leave at
once, and everything is at an end between us! When I think of the
trouble I've been taking, the way I've been expounding... all this
  "I told you myself to-day that I was going, when you tried to keep
me; now I will simply add that you are a fool. I advise you to see a
doctor for your brains and your short sight. Let me pass, gentlemen!"
  He forced his way through. But the commissariat clerk was
unwilling to let him off so easily: he picked up a glass from the
table, brandished it in the air and flung it at Pyotr Petrovitch;
but the glass flew straight at Amalia Ivanovna. She screamed, and
the clerk, overbalancing, fell heavily under the table. Pyotr
Petrovitch made his way to his room and half an hour later had left
the house. Sonia, timid by nature, had felt before that day that she
could be ill-treated more easily than any one, and that she could be
wronged with impunity. Yet till that moment she had fancied that she
might escape misfortune by care, gentleness and submissiveness
before every one. Her disappointment was too great. She could, of
course, bear with patience and almost without murmur anything, even
this. But for the first minute she felt it too bitter. In spite of her
triumph and her justification- when her first terror and
stupefaction had passed and she could understand it all clearly- the
feeling of her helplessness and of the wrong done to her made her
heart throb with anguish and she was overcome with hysterical weeping.
At last, unable to bear any more, she rushed out of the room and ran
home, almost immediately after Luzhin's departure. When amidst loud
laughter the glass flew at Amalia Ivanovna, it was more than the
landlady could endure. With a shriek she rushed like a fury at
Katerina Ivanovna, considering her to blame for everything.
  "Out of my lodgings! At once! Quick march!"
  And with these words she began snatching up everything she could lay
her hands on that belonged to Katerina Ivanovna, and throwing it on
the floor, Katerina Ivanovna, pale, almost fainting, and gasping for
breath, jumped up from the bed where she had sunk in exhaustion and
darted at Amalia Ivanovna. But the battle was too unequal: the
landlady waved her away like a feather.
  "What! As though that godless calumny was not enough- this vile
creature attacks me! What! On the day of my husband's funeral I am
turned out of my lodgings! After eating my bread and salt she turns me
into the street, with my orphans! Where am I to go?" wailed the poor
woman, sobbing and gasping. "Good God!" she cried with flashing
eyes, "is there no justice upon earth? Whom should you protect if
not us orphans? We shall see! There is law and justice on earth, there
is, I will find it! Wait a bit, godless creature! Polenka, stay with
the children, I'll come back. Wait for me, if you have to wait in
the street. We will see whether there is justice on earth!"
  And throwing over her head that green shawl which Marmeladov had
mentioned to Raskolnikov, Katerina Ivanovna squeezed her way through
the disorderly and drunken crowd of lodgers who still filled the room,
and, wailing and tearful, she ran into the street- with a vague
intention of going at once somewhere to find justice. Polenka with the
two little ones in her arms crouched, terrified, on the trunk in the
corner of the room, where she waited trembling for her mother to
come back. Amalia Ivanovna raged about the room, shrieking,
lamenting and throwing everything she came across on the floor. The
lodgers talked incoherently, some commented to the best of their
ability on what had happened, others quarreled and swore at one
another, while others struck up a song....
  "Now it's time for me to go," thought Raskolnikov. "Well, Sofya
Semyonovna, we shall see what you'll say now!"
  And he set off in the direction of Sonia's lodgings.

                             Chapter Four
  RASKOLNIKOV had been a vigorous and active champion of Sonia against
Luzhin, although he had such a load of horror and anguish in his own
heart. But having gone through so much in the morning, he found a sort
of relief in a change of sensations, apart from the strong personal
feeling which impelled him to defend Sonia. He was agitated too,
especially at some moments, by the thought of his approaching
interview with Sonia: he had to tell her who had killed Lizaveta. He
knew the terrible suffering it would be to him and, as it were,
brushed away the thought of it. So when he cried as he left Katerina
Ivanovna's, "Well, Sofya Semyonovna, we shall see what you'll say
now!" he was still superficially excited, still vigorous and defiant
from his triumph over Luzhin. But, strange to say, by the time he
reached Sonia's lodging, he felt a sudden impotence and fear. He stood
still in hesitation at the door, asking himself the strange
question: "Must I tell her who killed Lizaveta?" It was a strange
question because he felt at the very time not only that he could not
help telling her, but also that he could not put off the telling. He
did not yet know why it must be so, he only felt it, and the agonising
sense of his impotence before the inevitable almost crushed him. To
cut short his hesitation and suffering, he quickly opened the door and
looked at Sonia from the doorway. She was sitting with her elbows on
the table and her face in her hands, but seeing Raskolnikov she got up
at once and came to meet him as though she were expecting him.
  "What would have become of me but for you!" she said quickly,
meeting him in the middle of the room.
  Evidently she was in haste to say this to him. It was what she had
been waiting for.
  Raskolnikov went to the table and sat down on the chair from which
she had only just risen. She stood facing him, two steps away, just as
she had done the day before.
  "Well, Sonia?" he said, and felt that his voice was trembling, "it
was all due to 'your social position and the habits associated with
it.' Did you understand that just now?"
  Her face showed her distress.
  "Only don't talk to me as you did yesterday," she interrupted him.
"Please don't begin it. There is misery enough without that."
  She made haste to smile, afraid that he might not like the reproach.
  "I was silly to come away from there. What is happening there now? I
wanted to go back directly, but I kept thinking that... you would
  He told her that Amalia Ivanovna was turning them out of their
lodging and that Katerina Ivanovna had run off somewhere "to seek
  "My God!" cried Sonia, "let's go at once...."
  And she snatched up her cape.
  "It's everlastingly the same thing!" said Raskolnikov, irritably.
"You've no thought except for them! Stay a little with me."
  "But... Katerina Ivanovna?"
  "You won't lose Katerina Ivanovna, you may be sure, she'll come to
you herself since she has run out," he added peevishly. "If she
doesn't find you here, you'll be blamed for it...."
  Sonia sat down in painful suspense. Raskolnikov was silent, gazing
at the floor and deliberating.
  "This time Luzhin did not want to prosecute you," he began, not
looking at Sonia, "but if he had wanted to, if it had suited his
plans, he would have sent you to prison if it had not been for
Lebeziatnikov and me. Ah?"
  "Yes," she assented in a faint voice. "Yes," she repeated,
preoccupied and distressed.
  "But I might easily not have been there. And it was quite an
accident Lebeziatnikov's turning up."
  Sonia was silent.
  "And if you'd gone to prison, what then? Do you remember what I said
  Again she did not answer. He waited.
  "I thought you would cry out again 'don't speak of it, leave
off.'" Raskolnikov gave a laugh, but rather a forced one. "What,
silence again?" he asked a minute later. "We must talk about
something, you know. It would be interesting for me to know how you
would decide a certain 'problem' as Lebeziatnikov would say." (He
was beginning to lose the thread.) "No, really, I am serious. Imagine,
Sonia, that you had known all Luzhin's intentions beforehand. Known,
that is, for a fact, that they would be the ruin of Katerina
Ivanovna and the children and yourself thrown in- since you don't
count yourself for anything- Polenka too... for she'll go the same
way. Well, if suddenly it all depended on your decision whether he
or they should go on living, that is whether Luzhin should go on
living and doing wicked things, or Katerina Ivanovna should die? How
would you decide which of them was to die? I ask you?"
  Sonia looked uneasily at him. There was something peculiar in this
hesitating question, which seemed approaching something in a
roundabout way.
  "I felt that you were going to ask some question like that," she
said, looking inquisitively at him.
  "I dare say you did. But how is it to be answered?"
  "Why do you ask about what could not happen?" said Sonia
  "Then it would be better for Luzhin to go on living and doing wicked
things? You haven't dared to decide even that!"
  "But I can't know the Divine Providence.... And why do you ask
what can't be answered? What's the use of such foolish questions?
How could it happen that it should depend on my decision- who has made
me a judge to decide who is to live and who is not to live?"
  "Oh, if the Divine Providence is to be mixed up in it, there is no
doing anything," Raskolnikov grumbled morosely.
  "You'd better say straight out what you want!" Sonia cried in
distress. "You are leading up to something again.... Can you have come
simply to torture me?"
  She could not control herself and began crying bitterly. He looked
at her in gloomy misery. Five minutes passed.
  "Of course you're right, Sonia," he said softly at last. He was
suddenly changed. His tone of assumed arrogance and helpless
defiance was gone. Even his voice was suddenly weak. "I told you
yesterday that I was not coming to ask forgiveness and almost the
first thing I've said is to ask forgiveness.... I said that about
Luzhin and Providence for my own sake. I was asking forgiveness,
  He tried to smile, but there was something helpless and incomplete
in his pale smile. He bowed his head and hid his face in his hands.
  And suddenly a strange, surprising sensation of a sort of bitter
hatred for Sonia passed through his heart. As it were wondering and
frightened of this sensation, he raised his head and looked intently
at her; but he met her uneasy and painfully anxious eyes fixed on him;
there was love in them; his hatred vanished like a phantom. It was not
the real feeling; he had taken the one feeling for the other. It
only meant that that minute had come.
  He hid his face in his hands again and bowed his head. Suddenly he
turned pale, got up from his chair, looked at Sonia, and without
uttering a word sat down mechanically on her bed.
  His sensations that moment were terribly like the moment when he had
stood over the old woman with the axe in his hand and felt that "he
must not lose another minute."
  "What's the matter?" asked Sonia, dreadfully frightened.
  He could not utter a word. This was not at all, not at all the way
he had intended to "tell" and he did not understand what was happening
to him now. She went up to him, softly, sat down on the bed beside him
and waited, not taking her eyes off him. Her heart throbbed and
sank. It was unendurable; he turned his deadly pale face to her. His
lips worked, helplessly struggling to utter something. A pang of
terror passed through Sonia's heart.
  "What's the matter?" she repeated, drawing a little away from him.
  "Nothing, Sonia, don't be frightened.... It's nonsense. It really is
nonsense, if you think of it," he muttered, like a man in delirium.
"Why have I come to torture you?" he added suddenly, looking at her.
"Why, really? I keep asking myself that question, Sonia...."
  He had perhaps been asking himself that question a quarter of an
hour before, but now he spoke helplessly, hardly knowing what he
said and feeling a continual tremor all over.
  "Oh, how you are suffering!" she muttered in distress, looking
intently at him.
  "It's all nonsense.... Listen, Sonia." He suddenly smiled, a pale
helpless smile for two seconds. "You remember what I meant to tell you
  Sonia waited uneasily.
  "I said as I went away that perhaps I was saying good-bye for
ever, but that if I came to-day I would tell you who... who killed
  She began trembling all over.
  "Well, here I've come to tell you."
  "Then you really meant it yesterday?" she whispered with difficulty.
"How do you know?" she asked quickly, as though suddenly regaining her
  Sonia's face grew paler and paler, and she breathed painfully.
  "I know."
  She paused a minute.
  "Have they found him?" she asked timidly.
  "Then how do you know about it?" she asked again, hardly audibly and
again after a minute's pause.
  He turned to her and looked very intently at her.
  "Guess," he said, with the same distorted helpless smile.
  A shudder passed over her.
  "But you... why do you frighten me like this?" she said, smiling
like a child.
  "I must be a great friend of his... since I know," Raskolnikov
went on, still gazing into her face, as though he could not turn his
eyes away. "He... did not mean to kill that Lizaveta... he... killed
her accidentally.... He meant to kill the old woman when she was alone
and he went there... and then Lizaveta came in... he killed her too."
  Another awful moment passed. Both still gazed at one another.
  "You can't guess, then?" he asked suddenly, feeling as though he
were flinging himself down from a steeple.
  "N-no..." whispered Sonia.
  "Take a good look."
  As soon as he had said this again, the same familiar sensation froze
his heart. He looked at her and all at once seemed to see in her
face the face of Lizaveta. He remembered clearly the expression in
Lizaveta's face, when he approached her with the axe and she stepped
back to the wall, putting out her hand, with childish terror in her
face, looking as little children do when they begin to be frightened
of something, looking intently and uneasily at what frightens them,
shrinking back and holding out their little hands on the point of
crying. Almost the same thing happened now to Sonia. With the same
helplessness and the same terror, she looked at him for a while and,
suddenly putting out her left hand, pressed her fingers faintly
against his breast and slowly began to get up from the bed, moving
further from him and keeping her eyes fixed even more immovably on
him. Her terror infected him. The same fear showed itself on his face.
In the same way he stared at her and almost with the same childish
  "Have you guessed?" he whispered at last.
  "Good God!" broke in an awful wail from her bosom.
  She sank helplessly on the bed with her face in the pillows, but a
moment later she got up, moved quickly to him, seized both his hands
and, gripping them tight in her thin fingers, began looking into his
face again with the same intent stare. In this last desperate look she
tried to look into him and catch some last hope. But there was no
hope; there was no doubt remaining; it was all true! Later on, indeed,
when she recalled that moment, she thought it strange and wondered why
she had seen at once that there was no doubt. She could not have said,
for instance, that she had foreseen something of the sort- and yet
now, as soon as he told her, she suddenly fancied that she had
really foreseen this very thing.
  "Stop, Sonia, enough! don't torture me," he begged her miserably.
  It was not at all, not at all like this he had thought of telling
her, but this is how it happened.
  She jumped up, seeming not to know what she was doing, and, wringing
her hands, walked into the middle of the room; but, quickly went
back and sat down again beside him, her shoulder almost touching
his. All of a sudden she started as though she had been stabbed,
uttered a cry and fell on her knees before him, she did not know why.
  "What have you done- what have you done to yourself!" she said in
despair, and, jumping up, she flung herself on his neck, threw her
arms round him, and held him tight.
  Raskolnikov drew back and looked at her with a mournful smile.
  "You are a strange girl, Sonia- you kiss me and hug me when I tell
you about that.... You don't think what you are doing."
  "There is no one- no one in the whole world now so unhappy as
you!" she cried in a frenzy, not hearing what he said, and she
suddenly broke into violent hysterical weeping.
  A feeling long unfamiliar to him flooded his heart and softened it
at once. He did not struggle against it. Two tears started into his
eyes and hung on his eyelashes.
  "Then you won't leave me, Sonia?" he said, looking at her almost
with hope.
  "No, no, never, nowhere!" cried Sonia. "I will follow you, I will
follow you everywhere. Oh, my God! Oh, how miserable I am!... Why, why
didn't I know you before! Why didn't you come before? Oh, dear!"
  "Here I have come."
  "Yes, now! What's to be done now!... Together, together!" she
repeated as it were unconsciously, and she hugged him again. "I'll
follow you to Siberia!"
  He recoiled at this, and the same hostile, almost haughty smile came
to his lips.
  "Perhaps I don't want to go to Siberia yet, Sonia," he said.
  Sonia looked at him quickly.
  Again after her first passionate, agonising sympathy for the unhappy
man the terrible idea of the murder overwhelmed her. In his changed
tone she seemed to hear the murderer speaking. She looked at him
bewildered. She knew nothing as yet, why, how, with what object it had
been. Now all these questions rushed at once into her mind. And
again she could not believe it: "He, he is a murderer! Could it be
  "What's the meaning of it? Where am I?" she said in complete
bewilderment, as though still unable to recover herself. "How could
you, you, a man like you.... How could you bring yourself to it?...
What does it mean?"
  "Oh, well- to plunder. Leave off, Sonia," he answered wearily,
almost with vexation.
  Sonia stood as though struck dumb, but suddenly she cried:
  "You were hungry! It was... to help your mother? Yes?"
  "No, Sonia, no," he muttered, turning away and hanging his head.
"I was not so hungry.... I certainly did want to help my mother,
but... that's not the real thing either.... Don't torture me, Sonia."
  Sonia clasped her hands.
  "Could it, could it all be true? Good God, what a truth! Who could
believe it? And how could you give away your last farthing and yet rob
and murder! Ah," she cried suddenly, "that money you gave Katerina
Ivanovna... that money.... Can that money..."
  "No, Sonia," he broke in hurriedly, "that money was not it. Don't
worry yourself! That money my mother sent me and it came when I was
ill, the day I gave it to you.... Razumihin saw it... he received it
for me.... That money was mine- my own."
  Sonia listened to him in bewilderment and did her utmost to
  "And that money.... I don't even know really whether there was any
money," he added softly, as though reflecting. "I took a purse off her
neck, made of chamois leather... a purse stuffed full of
something... but I didn't look in it; I suppose I hadn't time....
And the things- chains and trinkets- I buried under a stone with the
purse next morning in a yard off the V__ Prospect. They are all
there now....."
  Sonia strained every nerve to listen.
  "Then why... why, you said you did it to rob, but you took nothing?"
she asked quickly, catching at a straw.
  "I don't know.... I haven't yet decided whether to take that money
or not," he said, musing again; and, seeming to wake up with a
start, he gave a brief ironical smile. "Ach, what silly stuff I am
talking, eh?"
  The thought flashed through Sonia's mind, wasn't he mad? But she
dismissed it at once. "No, it was something else." She could make
nothing of it, nothing.
  "Do you know, Sonia," he said suddenly with conviction, "let me tell
you: if I'd simply killed because I was hungry," laying stress on
every word and looking enigmatically but sincerely at her, "I should
be happy now. You must believe that! What would it matter to you,"
he cried a moment later with a sort of despair, "what would it
matter to you if I were to confess that I did wrong! What do you
gain by such a stupid triumph over me? Ah, Sonia, was it for that I've
come to you to-day?"
  Again Sonia tried to say something, but did not speak.
  "I asked you to go with me yesterday because you are all I have
  "Go where?" asked Sonia timidly.
  "Not to steal and not to murder, don't be anxious," he smiled
bitterly. "We are so different.... And you know, Sonia, it's only now,
only this moment that I understand where I asked you to go with me
yesterday! Yesterday when I said it I did not know where. I asked
you for one thing, I came to you for one thing- not to leave me. You
won't leave me, Sonia?"
  She squeezed his hand.
  "And why, why did I tell her? Why did I let her know?" he cried a
minute later in despair, looking with infinite anguish at her. "Here
you expect an explanation from me, Sonia; you are sitting and
waiting for it, I see that. But what can I tell you? You won't
understand and will only suffer misery... on my account! Well, you are
crying and embracing me again. Why do you do it? Because I couldn't
bear my burden and have come to throw it on another: you suffer too,
and I shall feel better! And can you love such a mean wretch?"
  "But aren't you suffering, too?" cried Sonia.
  Again a wave of the same feeling surged into his heart, and again
for an instant softened it.
  "Sonia, I have a bad heart, take note of that. It may explain a
great deal. I have come because I am bad. There are men who wouldn't
have come. But I am a coward and... a mean wretch. But... never
mind! That's not the point. I must speak now, but I don't know how
to begin."
  He paused and sank into thought.
  "Ach, we are so different," he cried again, "we are not alike. And
why, why did I come? I shall never forgive myself that."
  "No, no, it was a good thing you came," cried Sonia. "It's better
I should know, far better!"
  He looked at her with anguish.
  "What if it were really that?" he said, as though reaching a
conclusion. "Yes, that's what it was! I wanted to become a Napoleon,
that is why I killed her.... Do you understand now?"
  "N-no," Sonia whispered naively and timidly. "Only speak, speak, I
shall understand, I shall understand in myself!" she kept begging him.
  "You'll understand? Very well, we shall see!" He paused and was
for some time lost in meditation.
  "It was like this: I asked myself one day this question- what if
Napoleon, for instance, had happened to be in my place, and if he
had not had Toulon nor Egypt nor the passage of Mont Blanc to begin
his career with, but instead of all those picturesque and monumental
things, there had simply been some ridiculous old hag, a pawnbroker,
who had to be murdered too to get money from her trunk (for his
career, you understand). Well, would he have brought himself to
that, if there had been no other means? Wouldn't he have felt a pang
at its being so far from monumental and... and sinful, too? Well, I
must tell you that I worried myself fearfully over that 'question'
so that I was awfully ashamed when I guessed at last (all of a sudden,
somehow) that it would not have given him the least pang, that it
would not even have struck him that it was not monumental... that he
would not have seen that there was anything in it to pause over, and
that, if he had had no other way, he would have strangled her in a
minute without thinking about it! Well, I too... left off thinking
about it... murdered her, following his example. And that's exactly
how it was! Do you think it funny? Yes, Sonia, the funniest thing of
all is that perhaps that's just how it was."
  Sonia did not think it at all funny.


Re: Достоевский Ф. М. - Преступление и наказание в переводе на английский

"You had better tell me straight out... without examples," she
begged, still more timidly and scarcely audibly.
  He turned to her, looked sadly at her and took her hands.
  "You are right again, Sonia. Of course that's all nonsense, it's
almost all talk! You see, you know of course that my mother has
scarcely anything, my sister happened to have a good education and was
condemned to drudge as a governess. All their hopes were centered on
me. I was a student, but I couldn't keep myself at the university
and was forced for a time to leave it. Even if I had lingered on
like that, in ten or twelve years I might (with luck) hope to be
some sort of teacher or clerk with a salary of a thousand roubles" (he
repeated it as though it were a lesson) "and by that time my mother
would be worn out with grief and anxiety and I could not succeed in
keeping her in comfort while my sister... well, my sister might well
have fared worse! And it's a hard thing to pass everything by all
one's life, to turn one's back upon everything, to forget one's mother
and decorously accept the insults inflicted on one's sister. Why
should one? When one has buried them to burden oneself with others-
wife and children- and to leave them again without a farthing? So I
resolved to gain possession of the old woman's money and to use it for
my first years without worrying my mother, to keep myself at the
university and for a little while after leaving it- and to do this all
on a broad, thorough scale, so as to build up a completely new
career and enter upon a new life of independence.... Well... that's
all.... Well, of course in killing the old woman I did wrong.... Well,
that's enough."
  He struggled to the end of his speech in exhaustion and let his head
  "Oh, that's not it, that's not it," Sonia cried in distress. "How
could one... no, that's not right, not right."
  "You see yourself that it's not right. But I've spoken truly, it's
the truth."
  "As though that could be the truth! Good God!"
  "I've only killed a louse, Sonia, a useless, loathsome, harmful
  "A human being- a louse!"
  "I too know it wasn't a louse," he answered, looking strangely at
her. "But I am talking nonsense, Sonia," he added. "I've been
talking nonsense a long time.... That's not it, you are right there.
There were quite, quite other causes for it! I haven't talked to
anyone for so long, Sonia.... My head aches dreadfully now."
  His eyes shone with feverish brilliance. He was almost delirious; an
uneasy smile strayed on his lips. His terrible exhaustion could be
seen through his excitement. Sonia saw how he was suffering. She too
was growing dizzy. And he talked so strangely; it seemed somehow
comprehensible, but yet... "But how, how! Good God!" And she wrung her
hands in despair.
  "No, Sonia, that's not it," he began again suddenly, raising his
head, as though a new and sudden train of thought had struck and as it
were roused him- "that's not it! Better... imagine- yes, it's
certainly better- imagine that I am vain, envious, malicious, base,
vindictive and... well, perhaps with a tendency to insanity. (Let's
have it all out at once! They've talked of madness already, I
noticed.) I told you just now I could not keep myself at the
university. But do you know that perhaps I might have done? My
mother would have sent me what I needed for the fees and I could
have earned enough for clothes, boots and food, no doubt. Lessons
had turned up at half a rouble. Razumihin works! But I turned sulky
and wouldn't. (Yes, sulkiness, that's the right word for it!) I sat in
my room like a spider. You've been in my den, you've seen it.... And
do you know, Sonia, that low ceilings and tiny rooms cramp the soul
and the mind? Ah, how I hated that garret! And yet I wouldn't go out
of it! I wouldn't on purpose! I didn't go out for days together, and I
wouldn't work, I wouldn't even eat, I just lay there doing nothing. If
Nastasya brought me anything, I ate it, if she didn't, I went all
day without; I wouldn't ask, on purpose, from sulkiness! At night I
had no light, I lay in the dark and I wouldn't earn money for candles.
I ought to have studied, but I sold my books; and the dust lies an
inch thick on the notebooks on my table. I preferred lying still and
thinking. And I kept thinking.... And I had dreams all the time,
strange dreams of all sorts, no need to describe! Only then I began to
fancy that... No, that's not it! Again I am telling you wrong! You see
I kept asking myself then: why am I so stupid that if others are
stupid- and I know they are- yet I won't be wiser? Then I saw,
Sonia, that if one waits for every one to get wiser it will take too
long.... Afterwards I understood that that would never come to pass,
that men won't change and that nobody can alter it and that it's not
worth wasting effort over it. Yes, that's so. That's the law of
their nature, Sonia,... that's so!... And I know now, Sonia, that
whoever is strong in mind and spirit will have power over them. Anyone
who is greatly daring is right in their eyes. He who despises most
things will be a lawgiver among them and he who dares most of all will
be most in the right! So it has been till now and so it will always
be. A man must be blind not to see it!"
  Though Raskolnikov looked at Sonia as he said this, he no longer
cared whether she understood or not. The fever had complete hold of
him; he was in a sort of gloomy ecstasy (he certainly had been too
long without talking to anyone). Sonia felt that his gloomy creed
had become his faith and code.
  "I divined then, Sonia," he went on eagerly, "that power is only
vouchsafed to the man who dares to stoop and pick it up. There is only
one thing, one thing needful: one has only to dare! Then for the first
time in my life an idea took shape in my mind which no one had ever
thought of before me, no one! I saw clear as daylight how strange it
is that not a single person living in this mad world has had the
daring to go straight for it all and send it flying to the devil! I...
I wanted to have the daring... and I killed her. I only wanted to have
the daring, Sonia! That was the whole cause of it!"
  "Oh hush, hush," cried Sonia, clasping her hands. "You turned away
from God and God has smitten you, has given you over to the devil!"
  "Then Sonia, when I used to lie there in the dark and all this
became clear to me, was it a temptation of the devil, eh?"
  "Hush, don't laugh, blasphemer! You don't understand, you don't
understand! Oh God! He won't understand!"
  "Hush, Sonia! I am not laughing. I know myself that it was the devil
leading me. Hush, Sonia, hush!" he repeated with gloomy insistence. "I
know it all, I have thought it all over and over and whispered it
all over to myself, lying there in the dark.... I've argued it all
over with myself, every point of it, and I know it all, all! And how
sick, how sick I was then of going over it all! I have kept wanting to
forget it and make a new beginning, Sonia, and leave off thinking. And
you don't suppose that I went into it headlong like a fool? I went
into it like a wise man, and that was just my destruction. And you
mustn't suppose that I didn't know, for instance, that if I began to
question myself whether I had the right to gain power- I certainly
hadn't the right- or that if I asked myself whether a human being is a
louse it proved that it wasn't so for me, though it might be for a man
who would go straight to his goal without asking questions.... If I
worried myself all those days, wondering whether Napoleon would have
done it or not, I felt clearly of course that I wasn't Napoleon. I had
to endure all the agony of that battle of ideas, Sonia, and I longed
to throw it off: I wanted to murder without casuistry, to murder for
my own sake, for myself alone! I didn't want to lie about it even to
myself. It wasn't to help my mother I did the murder- that's nonsense-
I didn't do the murder to gain wealth and power and to become a
benefactor of mankind. Nonsense! I simply did it; I did the murder for
myself, for myself alone, and whether I became a benefactor to others,
or spent my life like a spider catching men in my web and sucking
the life out of men, I couldn't have cared at that moment.... And it
was not the money I wanted, Sonia, when I did it. It was not so much
the money I wanted, but something else.... I know it all now....
Understand me! Perhaps I should never have committed a murder again. I
wanted to find out something else; it was something else led me on.
I wanted to find out then and quickly whether I was a louse like
everybody else or a man. Whether I can step over barriers or not,
whether I dare stoop to pick up or not, whether I am a trembling
creature or whether I have the right..."
  "To kill? Have the right to kill?" Sonia clasped her hands.
  "Ach, Sonia!" he cried irritably and seemed about to make some
retort, but was contemptuously silent. "Don't interrupt me, Sonia. I
want to prove one thing only, that the devil led me on then and he has
shown me since that I had not the right to take that path, because I
am just such a louse as all the rest. He was mocking me and here
I've come to you now! Welcome your guest! If I were not a louse,
should I have come to you? Listen: when I went then to the old woman's
I only went to try.... You may be sure of that!"
  "And you murdered her!"
  "But how did I murder her? Is that how men do murders? Do men go
to commit a murder as I went then? I will tell you some day how I
went! Did I murder the old woman? I murdered myself, not her! I
crushed myself once for all, for ever.... But it was the devil that
killed that old woman, not I. Enough, enough, Sonia, enough! Let me
be!" he cried in a sudden spasm of agony, "let me be!"
  He leaned his elbows on his knees and squeezed his head in his hands
as in a vise.
  "What suffering!" A wail of anguish broke from Sonia.
  "Well, what am I to do now?" he asked, suddenly raising his head and
looking at her with a face hideously distorted by despair.
  "What are you to do?" she cried, jumping up, and her eyes that had
been full of tears suddenly began to shine. "Stand up!" (She seized
him by the shoulder, he got up, looking at her almost bewildered.) "Go
at once, this very minute, stand at the cross-roads, bow down, first
kiss the earth which you have defiled and then bow down to all the
world and say to all men aloud, 'I am a murderer!' Then God will
send you life again. Will you go, will you go?" she asked him,
trembling all over, snatching his two hands, squeezing them tight in
hers and gazing at him with eyes full of fire.
  He was amazed at her sudden ecstasy.
  "You mean Siberia, Sonia? I must give myself up?" he asked gloomily.
  "Suffer and expiate your sin by it, that's what you must do."
  "No! I am not going to them, Sonia!"
  "But how will you go on living? What will you live for?" cried
Sonia, "how is it possible now? Why, how can you talk to your
mother? (Oh, what will become of them now!) But what am I saying?
You have abandoned your mother and your sister already. He has
abandoned them already! Oh, God!" she cried, "why, he knows it all
himself. How, how can he live by himself! What will become of you
  "Don't be a child, Sonia," he said softly. "What wrong have I done
them? Why should I go to them? What should I say to them? That's
only a phantom.... They destroy men by millions themselves and look on
it as a virtue. They are knaves and scoundrels, Sonia! I am not
going to them. And what should I say to them- that I murdered her, but
did not dare to take the money and hid it under a stone?" he added
with a bitter smile. "Why, they would laugh at me, and would call me a
fool for not getting it. A coward and a fool! They wouldn't understand
and they don't deserve to understand. Why should I go to them? I
won't. Don't be a child, Sonia...."
  "It will be too much for you to bear, too much!" she repeated,
holding out her hands in despairing supplication.
  "Perhaps I've been unfair to myself," he observed gloomily,
pondering, "perhaps after all I am a man and not a louse and I've been
in too great a hurry to condemn myself. I'll make another fight for
  A haughty smile appeared on his lips.
  "What a burden to bear! And your whole life, your whole life!"
  "I shall get used to it," he said grimly and thoughtfully. "Listen,"
he began a minute later, "stop crying, it's time to talk of the facts:
I've come to tell you that the police are after me, on my track...."
  "Ach!" Sonia cried in terror.
  "Well, why do you cry out? You want me to go to Siberia and now
you are frightened? But let me tell you: I shall not give myself up. I
shall make a struggle for it and they won't do anything to me. They've
no real evidence. Yesterday I was in great danger and believed I was
lost; but to-day things are going better. All the facts they know
can be explained two ways, that's to say I can turn their
accusations to my credit, do you understand? And I shall, for I've
learnt my lesson. But they will certainly arrest me. If it had not
been for something that happened, they would have done so to-day for
certain; perhaps even now they will arrest me to-day.... But that's no
matter, Sonia; they'll let me out again... for there isn't any real
proof against me, and there won't be, I give you my word for it. And
they can't convict a man on what they have against me. Enough.... I
only tell you that you may know.... I will try to manage somehow to
put it to my mother and sister so that they won't be frightened.... My
sister's future is secure, however, now, I believe... and my
mother's must be too.... Well, that's all. Be careful, though. Will
you come and see me in prison when I am there?"
  "Oh, I will, I will."
  They sat side by side, both mournful and dejected, as though they
had been cast up by the tempest alone on some deserted shore. He
looked at Sonia and felt how great was her love for him, and strange
to say he felt it suddenly burdensome and painful to be so loved. Yes,
it was a strange and awful sensation! On his way to see Sonia he had
felt that all his hopes rested on her; he expected to be rid of at
least part of his suffering, and now, when all her heart turned
towards him, he suddenly felt that he was immeasurably unhappier
than before.
  "Sonia," he said, "you'd better not come and see me when I am in
  Sonia did not answer, she was crying. Several minutes passed.
  "Have you a cross on you?" she asked, as though suddenly thinking of
  He did not at first understand the question.
  "No, of course not. Here, take this one, of cypress wood. I have
another, a copper one that belonged to Lizaveta. I changed with
Lizaveta: she gave me her cross and I gave her my little ikon. I
will wear Lizaveta's now and give you this. Take it... it's mine! It's
mine, you know," she begged him. "We will go to suffer together, and
together we will bear our cross!"
  "Give it me," said Raskolnikov.
  He did not want to hurt her feelings. But immediately he drew back
the hand he held out for the cross.
  "Not now, Sonia. Better later," he added to comfort her.
  "Yes, yes, better," she repeated with conviction, "when you go to
meet your suffering, then put it on. You will come to me, I'll put
it on you, we will pray and go together."
  At that moment some one knocked three times at the door.
  "Sofya Semyonovna, may I come in?" they heard in a very familiar and
polite voice.
  Sonia rushed to the door in a fright. The flaxen head of Mr.
Lebeziatnikov appeared at the door.

                             Chapter Five
  LEBEZIATNIKOV looked perturbed.
  "I've come to you, Sofya Semyonovna," he began. "Excuse me... I
thought I should find you," he said, addressing Raskolnikov
suddenly, "that is, I didn't mean anything... of that sort... But I
just thought... Katerina Ivanovna has gone out of her mind," he
blurted out suddenly, turning from Raskolnikov to Sonia.
  Sonia screamed.
  "At least it seems so. But... we don't know what to do, you see! She
came back- she seems to have been turned out somewhere, perhaps
beaten.... So it seems at least,... She had run to your father's
former chief, she didn't find him at home: he was dining at some other
general's.... Only fancy, she rushed off there, to the other
general's, and, imagine, she was so persistent that she managed to get
the chief to see her, had him fetched out from dinner, it seems. You
can imagine what happened. She was turned out, of course; but,
according to her own story, she abused him and threw something at him.
One may well believe it.... How it is she wasn't taken up, I can't
understand! Now she is telling every one, including Amalia Ivanovna;
but it's difficult to understand her, she is screaming and flinging
herself about.... Oh yes, she shouts that since every one has
abandoned her, she will take the children and go into the street
with a barrel-organ, and the children will sing and dance, and she
too, and collect money, and will go every day under the general's
window... 'to let every one see well-born children, whose father was
an official, begging in the street.' She keeps beating the children
and they are all crying. She is teaching Lida to sing 'My Village,'
the boy to dance, Polenka the same. She is tearing up all the clothes,
and making them little caps like actors; she means to carry a tin
basin and make it tinkle, instead of music.... She won't listen to
anything.... Imagine the state of things! It's beyond anything!"
  Lebeziatnikov would have gone on, but Sonia, who had heard him
almost breathless, snatched up her cloak and hat, and ran out of the
room, putting on her things as she went. Raskolnikov followed her
and Lebeziatnikov came after him.
  "She has certainly gone mad!" he said to Raskolnikov, as they went
out into the street. "I didn't want to frighten Sofya Semyonovna, so I
said 'it seemed like it,' but there isn't a doubt of it. They say that
in consumption, the tubercles sometimes occur in the brain; it's a
pity I know nothing of medicine. I did try to persuade her, but she
wouldn't listen."
  "Did you talk to her about the tubercles?"
  "Not precisely of the tubercles. Besides, she wouldn't have
understood! But what I say is, that if you convince a person logically
that he has nothing to cry about, he'll stop crying. That's clear.
Is it your conviction that he won't?"
  "Life would be too easy if it were so," answered Raskolnikov.
  "Excuse me, excuse me; of course it would be rather difficult for
Katerina Ivanovna to understand, but do you know that in Paris they
have been conducting serious experiments as to the possibility of
curing the insane, simply by logical argument? One professor there,
a scientific man of standing, lately dead, believed in the possibility
of such treatment. His idea was that there's nothing really wrong with
the physical organism of the insane, and that insanity is, so to
say, a logical mistake, an error of judgment, an incorrect view of
things. He gradually showed the madman his error and, would you
believe it, they say he was successful? But as he made use of
douches too, how far success was due to that treatment remains
uncertain.... So it seems at least."
  Raskolnikov had long ceased to listen. Reaching the house where he
lived, he nodded to Lebeziatnikov and went in at the gate.
Lebeziatnikov woke up with a start, looked about him and hurried on.
  Raskolnikov went into his little room and stood still in the
middle of it. Why had he come back here? He looked at the yellow and
tattered paper, at the dust, at his sofa.... From the yard came a loud
continuous knocking; some one seemed to be hammering... He went to the
window, rose on tiptoe and looked out into the yard for a long time
with an air of absorbed attention. But the yard was empty and he could
not see who was hammering. In the house on the left he saw some open
windows; on the window-sills were pots of sickly-looking geraniums.
Linen was hung out of the windows... He knew it all by heart. He
turned away and sat down on the sofa.
  Never, never had he felt himself so fearfully alone!
  Yes, he felt once more that he would perhaps come to hate Sonia, now
that he had made her more miserable.
  "Why had he gone to her to beg for her tears? What need had he to
poison her life? Oh, the meanness of it!"
  "I will remain alone," he said resolutely, "and she shall not come
to the prison!"
  Five minutes later he raised his head with a strange smile. That was
a strange thought.
  "Perhaps it really would be better in Siberia," he thought suddenly.
  He could not have said how long he sat there with vague thoughts
surging through his mind. All at once the door opened and Dounia
came in. At first she stood still and looked at him from the
doorway, just as he had done at Sonia; then she came in and sat down
in the same place as yesterday, on the chair facing him. He looked
silently and almost vacantly at her.
  "Don't be angry, brother; I've only come for one minute," said
  Her face looked thoughtful but not stern. Her eyes were bright and
soft. He saw that she too had come to him with love.
  "Brother, now I know all, all. Dmitri Prokofitch has explained and
told me everything. They are worrying and persecuting you through a
stupid and contemptible suspicion.... Dmitri Prokofitch told me that
there is no danger, and that you are wrong in looking upon it with
such horror. I don't think so, and I fully understand how indignant
you must be, and that that indignation may have a permanent effect
on you. That's what I am afraid of. As for your cutting yourself off
from us, I don't judge you, I don't venture to judge you, and
forgive me for having blamed you for it. I feel that I too, if I had
so great a trouble, should keep away from every one. I shall tell
mother nothing of this, but I shall talk about you continually and
shall tell her from you that you will come very soon. Don't worry
about her; I will set her mind at rest; but don't you try her too
much- come once at least; remember that she is your mother. And now
I have come simply to say" (Dounia began to get up) "that if you
should need me or should need... all my life or anything... call me,
and I'll come. Good-bye!"
  She turned abruptly and went towards the door.
  "Dounia!" Raskolnikov stopped her and went towards her. "That
Razumihin, Dmitri Prokofitch, is a very good fellow."
  Dounia flushed slightly.
  "Well?" she asked, waiting a moment.
  "He is competent, hardworking, honest and capable of real love....
Good-bye, Dounia."
  Dounia flushed crimson, then suddenly she took alarm.
  "But what does it mean, brother? Are we really parting for ever that
you... give me such a parting message?"
  "Never mind.... Good-bye."
  He turned away, and walked to the window. She stood a moment, looked
at him uneasily, and went out troubled.
  No, he was not cold to her. There was an instant (the very last one)
when he had longed to take her in his arms and say good-bye to her,
and even to tell her, but he had not dared even to touch her hand.
  "Afterwards she may shudder when she remembers that I embraced
her, and will feel that I stole her kiss."
  "And would she stand that test?" he went on a few minutes later to
himself. "No, she wouldn't; girls like that can't stand things! They
never do."
  And he thought of Sonia.
  There was a breath of fresh air from the window. The daylight was
fading. He took up his cap and went out.
  He could not, of course, and would not consider how ill he was.
But all this continual anxiety and agony of mind could not but
affect him. And if he were not lying in high fever it was perhaps just
because this continual inner strain helped to keep him on his legs and
in possession of his faculties. But this artificial excitement could
not last long.
  He wandered aimlessly. The sun was setting. A special form of misery
had begun to oppress him of late. There was nothing poignant,
nothing acute about it; but there was a feeling of permanence, of
eternity about it; it brought a foretaste of hopeless years of this
cold leaden misery, a foretaste of an eternity "on a square yard of
space." Towards evening this sensation usually began to weigh on him
more heavily.
  "With this idiotic, purely physical weakness, depending on the
sunset or something, one can't help doing something stupid! You'll
go to Dounia, as well as to Sonia," he muttered bitterly.
  He heard his name called. He looked round. Lebeziatnikov rushed up
to him.
  "Only fancy, I've been to your room looking for you. Only fancy,
she's carried out her plan, and taken away the children. Sofya
Semyonovna and I have had a job to find them. She is rapping on a
frying-pan and making the children dance. The children are crying.
They keep stopping at the cross roads and in front of shops; there's a
crowd of fools running after them. Come along!"
  "And Sonia?" Raskolnikov asked anxiously, hurrying after
  "Simply frantic. That is, it's not Sofya Semyonovna's frantic, but
Katerina Ivanovna, though Sofya Semyonova's frantic too. But
Katerina Ivanovna is absolutely frantic. I tell you she is quite
mad. They'll be taken to the police. You can fancy what an effect that
will have.... They are on the canal bank, near the bridge now, not far
from Sofya Semyonovna's, quite close."
  On the canal bank near the bridge and not two houses away from the
one where Sonia lodged, there was a crowd of people, consisting
principally of gutter children. The hoarse broken voice of Katerina
Ivanovna could be heard from the bridge, and it certainly was a
strange spectacle likely to attract a street crowd. Katerina
Ivanovna in her old dress with the green shawl, wearing a torn straw
hat, crushed in a hideous way on one side, was really frantic. She was
exhausted and breathless. Her wasted consumptive face looked more
suffering than ever, and indeed out of doors in the sunshine a
consumptive always looks worse than at home. But her excitement did
not flag, and every moment her irritation grew more intense. She
rushed at the children, shouted at them, coaxed them, told them before
the crowd how to dance and what to sing, began explaining to them
why it was necessary, and driven to desperation by their not
understanding, beat them.... Then she would make a rush at the
crowd; if she noticed any decently dressed person stopping to look,
she immediately appealed to him to see what these children "from a
genteel, one may say aristocratic, house" had been brought to. If
she heard laughter or jeering in the crowd, she would rush at once
at the scoffers and begin squabbling with them. Some people laughed,
others shook their heads, but every one felt curious at the sight of
the madwoman with the frightened children. The frying-pan of which
Lebeziatnikov had spoken was not there, at least Raskolnikov did not
see it. But instead of rapping on the pan, Katerina Ivanovna began
clapping her wasted hands, when she made Lida and Kolya dance and
Polenka sing. She too joined in the singing, but broke down at the
second note with a fearful cough, which made her curse in despair
and even shed tears. What made her most furious was the weeping and
terror of Kolya and Lida. Some effort had been made to dress the
children up as street singers are dressed. The boy had on a turban
made of something red and white to look like a Turk. There had been no
costume for Lida; she simply had a red knitted cap, or rather a
night cap that had belonged to Marmeladov, decorated with a broken
piece of white ostrich feather, which had been Katerina Ivanovna's
grandmother's and had been preserved as a family possession. Polenka
was in her everyday dress; she looked in timid perplexity at her
mother, and kept at her side, hiding her tears. She dimly realised her
mother's condition, and looked uneasily about her. She was terribly
frightened of the street and the crowd. Sonia followed Katerina
Ivanovna, weeping and beseeching her to return home, but Katerina
Ivanovna was not to be persuaded.
  "Leave off, Sonia, leave off," she shouted, speaking fast, panting
and coughing. "You don't know what you ask; you are like a child! I've
told you before that I am not coming back to that drunken German.
Let every one, let all Petersburg see the children begging in the
streets, though their father was an honourable man who served all
his life in truth and fidelity, and one may say died in the
service." (Katerina Ivanovna had by now invented this fantastic
story and thoroughly believed it.) "Let that wretch of a general see
it! And you are silly, Sonia: what have we to eat? Tell me that. We
have worried you enough, I won't go on so! Ah, Rodion Romanovitch,
is that you?" she cried, seeing Raskolnikov and rushing up to him.
"Explain to this silly girl, please, that nothing better could be
done! Even organ-grinders earn their living, and every one will see at
once that we are different, that we are an honourable and bereaved
family reduced to beggary. And that general will lose his post, you'll
see! We shall perform under his windows every day, and if the Tsar
drives by, I'll fall on my knees, put the children before me, show
them to him, and say 'Defend us, father.' He is the father of the
fatherless, he is merciful, he'll protect us, you'll see, and that
wretch of a general.... Lida, tenez vous droite! Kolya, you'll dance
again. Why are you whimpering? Whimpering again! What are you afraid
of, stupid? Goodness, what am I to do with them, Rodion Romanovitch?
If you only knew how stupid they are! What's one to do with such
  And she, almost crying herself- which did not stop her
uninterrupted, rapid flow of talk- pointed to the crying children.
Raskolnikov tried to persuade her to go home, and even said, hoping to
work on her vanity, that it was unseemly for her to be wandering about
the streets like an organ-grinder, as she was intending to become
the principal of a boarding-school.
  "A boarding-school, ha-ha-ha! A castle in the air," cried Katerina
Ivanovna, her laugh ending in a cough. "No, Rodion Romanovitch, that
dream is over! All have forsaken us!... And that general.... You know,
Rodion Romanovitch, I threw an inkspot at him- it happened to be
standing in the waiting-room by the paper where you sign your name.
I wrote my name, threw it at him and ran away. Oh the scoundrels,
the scoundrels! But enough of them, now I'll provide for the
children myself, I won't bow down to anybody! She has had to bear
enough for us!" she pointed to Sonia. "Polenka, how much have you got?
Show me! What, only two farthings! Oh, the mean wretches! They give us
nothing, only run after us, putting their tongues out. There, what
is that blockhead laughing at?" (She pointed to a man in the crowd.)
"It's all because Kolya here is so stupid; I have such a bother with
him. What do you want, Polenka? Tell me in French, parlez moi
francais. Why, I've taught you, you know some phrases. Else how are
you to show that you are of good family, well brought-up children, and
not at all like other organ-grinders? We aren't going to have a
Punch and Judy show in the street, but to sing a genteel song....
Ah, yes,... What are we to sing? You keep putting me out, but we...
you see, we are standing here, Rodion Romanovitch, to find something
to sing and get money, something Kolya can dance to.... For, as you
can fancy, our performance is all impromptu.... We must talk it over
and rehearse it all thoroughly, and then we shall go to Nevsky,
where there are far more people of good society, and we shall be
noticed at once. Lida knows 'My Village' only, nothing but 'My
Village,' and every one sings that. We must sing something far more
genteel.... Well, have you thought of anything, Polenka? If only you'd
help your mother! My memory's quite gone, or I should have thought
of something. We really can't sing 'An Hussar.' Ah, let us sing in
French, 'Cinq sous,' I have taught it you, I have taught it you. And
as it is in French, people will see at once that you are children of
good family, and that will be much more touching.... You might sing
'Marlborough s'en va-t-en guerre,' for that's quite a child's song and
is sung as a lullaby in all the aristocratic houses.
                   Marlborough s'en va-t-en guerre
                   Ne sait quand reviendra...
  she began singing. "But no, better sing 'Cinq sous.' Now, Kolya,
your hands on your hips, make haste, and you, Lida, keep turning the
other way, and Polenka and I will sing and clap our hands!
                      Cinq sous, cinq sous
                      Pour monter notre menage.
  (Cough-cough-cough!) Set your dress straight, Polenka, it's
slipped down on your shoulders," she observed, panting from
coughing. "Now it's particularly necessary to behave nicely and
genteelly, that all may see that you are well-born children. I said at
the time that the bodice should be cut longer, and made of two widths.
It was your fault, Sonia, with your advice to make it shorter, and now
you see the child is quite deformed by it.... Why, you're all crying
again! What's the matter, stupids? Come, Kolya, begin. Make haste,
make haste! Oh, what an unbearable child!
                        Cinq sous, cinq sous.
  A policeman again! What do you want?"
  A policeman was indeed forcing his way through the crowd. But at
that moment a gentleman in civilian uniform and an overcoat- a
solid-looking official of about fifty with a decoration on his neck
(which delighted Katerina Ivanovna and had its effect on the
policeman)- approached and without a word handed her a green
three-rouble note. His face wore a look of genuine sympathy.
Katerina Ivanovna took it and gave him a polite, even ceremonious,
  "I thank you, honoured sir," she began loftily. "The causes that
have induced us (take the money, Polenka: you see there are generous
and honourable people who are ready to help a poor gentlewoman in
distress). You see, honoured sir, these orphans of good family- I
might even say of aristocratic connections- and that wretch of a
general sat eating grouse... and stamped at my disturbing him. 'Your
excellency,' I said, 'protect the orphans, for you knew my late
husband, Semyon Zaharovitch, and on the very day of his death the
basest of scoundrels slandered his only daughter.'... That policeman
again! Protect me," she cried to the official. "Why is that
policeman edging up to me? We have only just run away from one of
them. What do you want, fool?"
  "It's forbidden in the streets. You mustn't make a disturbance."
  "It's you're making a disturbance. It's just the same as if I were
grinding an organ. What business is it of yours?"
  "You have to get a licence for an organ, and you haven't got one,
and in that way you collect a crowd. Where do you lodge?"
  "What, a license?" wailed Katerina Ivanovna. "I buried my husband
to-day. What need of a license?"
  "Calm yourself, madam, calm yourself," began the official. "Come
along; I will escort you.... This is no place for you in the crowd.
You are ill."
  "Honoured sir, honoured sir, you don't know," screamed Katerina
Ivanovna. "We are going to the Nevsky.... Sonia, Sonia! Where is
she? She is crying too! What's the matter with you all? Kolya, Lida,
where are you going?" she cried suddenly in alarm. "Oh, silly
children! Kolya, Lida, where are they off to?..."
  Kolya and Lida, scared out of their wits by the crowd, and their
mother's mad pranks, suddenly seized each other by the hand, and ran
off at the sight of the policeman who wanted to take them away
somewhere. Weeping and wailing, poor Katerina Ivanovna ran after them.
She was a piteous and unseemly spectacle, as she ran, weeping and
panting for breath. Sonia and Polenka rushed after them.
  "Bring them back, bring them back, Sonia! Oh stupid, ungrateful
children!... Polenka! catch them.... It's for your sakes I..."
  She stumbled as she ran and fell down.
  "She's cut herself, she's bleeding! Oh, dear!" cried Sonia,
bending over her.
  All ran up and crowded round. Raskolnikov and Lebeziatnikov were the
first at her side, the official too hastened up, and behind him the
policeman who muttered, "Bother!" with a gesture of impatience,
feeling that the job was going to be a troublesome one.
  "Pass on! Pass on!" he said to the crowd that pressed forward.
  "She's dying," some one shouted.
  "She's gone out of her mind," said another.
  "Lord have mercy upon us," said a woman, crossing herself. "Have
they caught the little girl and the boy? They're being brought back,
the elder one's got them.... Ah, the naughty imps!"
  When they examined Katerina Ivanovna carefully, they saw that she
had not cut herself against a stone, as Sonia thought, but that the
blood that stained the pavement red was from her chest.
  "I've seen that before," muttered the official to Raskolnikov and
Lebeziatnikov; "that's consumption; the blood flows and chokes the
patient. I saw the same thing with a relative of my own not long
ago... nearly a pint of blood, all in a minute.... What's to be done
though? She is dying."
  "This way, this way, to my room!" Sonia implored. "I live here!...
See, that house, the second from here.... Come to me, make haste," she
turned from one to the other. "Send for the doctor! Oh, dear!"
  Thanks to the official's efforts, this plan was adopted, the
policeman even helping to carry Katerina Ivanovna. She was carried
to Sonia's room, almost unconscious, and laid on the bed. The blood
was still flowing, but she seemed to be coming to herself.
Raskolnikov, Lebeziatnikov, and the official accompanied Sonia into
the room and were followed by the policeman, who first drove back
the crowd which followed to the very door. Polenka came in holding
Kolya and Lida, who were trembling and weeping. Several persons came
in too from the Kapernaumovs' room; the landlord, a lame one-eyed
man of strange appearance with whiskers and hair that stood up like
a brush, his wife, a woman with an everlastingly scared expression,
and several open-mouthed children with wonder-struck faces. Among
these, Svidrigailov suddenly made his appearance. Raskolnikov looked
at him with surprise, not understanding where he had come from and not
having noticed him in the crowd. A doctor and priest wore spoken of.
The official whispered to Raskolnikov that he thought it was too
late now for the doctor, but he ordered him to be sent for.
Kapernaumov ran himself.
  Meanwhile Katerina Ivanovna had regained her breath. The bleeding
ceased for a time. She looked with sick but intent and penetrating
eyes at Sonia, who stood pale and trembling, wiping the sweat from her
brow with a handkerchief. At last she asked to be raised. They sat her
up on the bed, supporting her on both sides.
  "Where are the children?" she said in a faint voice. "You've brought
them, Polenka? Oh the sillies! Why did you run away.... Och!"
  Once more her parched lips were covered with blood. She moved her
eyes, looking about her.
  "So that's how you live, Sonia! Never once have I been in your
  She looked at her with a face of suffering.
  "We have been your ruin, Sonia. Polenka, Lida, Kolya, come here!
Well, here they are, Sonia, take them all! I hand them over to you,
I've had enough! The ball is over. (Cough!) Lay me down, let me die in
  They laid her back on the pillow.
  "What, the priest? I don't want him. You haven't got a rouble to
spare. I have no sins. God must forgive me without that. He knows
how I have suffered.... And if He won't forgive me, I don't care!"
  She sank more and more into uneasy delirium. At times she shuddered,
turned her eyes from side to side, recognised every one for a
minute, but at once sank into delirium again. Her breathing was hoarse
and difficult, there was a sort of rattle in her throat.
  "I said to him, your excellency," she ejaculated, gasping after each
word. "That Amalia Ludwigovna, ah! Lida, Kolya, hands on your hips,
make haste! Glissez, glissez! pas de basque! Tap with your heels, be a
graceful child!
                     Du hast Diamanten und Perlen
  What next? That's the thing to sing.
                     Du hast die schonsten Augen
                     Madchen, was willst du mehr?
  "What an idea! Was willst du mehr. What things the fool invents! Ah,
            In the heat of midday in the vale of Dagestan.
  "Ah, how I loved it! I loved that song to distraction, Polenka! Your
father, you know, used to sing it when we were engaged.... Oh those
days! Oh that's the thing for us to sing! How does it go? I've
forgotten. Remind me! How was it?"
  She was violently excited and tried to sit up. At last, in a
horribly hoarse, broken voice, she began, shrieking and gasping at
every word, with a look of growing terror.
  "In the heat of midday!... in the vale!... of Dagestan!... With lead
in my breast!..."
  "Your excellency!" she wailed suddenly with a heartrending scream
and a flood of tears, "protect the orphans! You have been their
father's guest... one may say aristocratic...." She started, regaining
consciousness, and gazed at all with a sort of terror, but at once
recognised Sonia.
  "Sonia, Sonia!" she articulated softly and caressingly, as though
surprised to find her there. "Sonia darling, are you here, too?"
  They lifted her up again.
  "Enough! It's over! Farewell, poor thing! I am done for! I am
broken!" she cried with vindictive despair, and her head fell
heavily back on the pillow.
  She sank into unconsciousness again, but this time it did not last
long. Her pale, yellow, wasted face dropped back, her mouth fell open,
her leg moved convulsively, she gave a deep, deep sigh and died.
  Sonia fell upon her, flung her arms about her, and remained
motionless with her head pressed to the dead woman's wasted bosom.
Polenka threw herself at her mother's feet, kissing them and weeping
violently. Though Kolya and Lida did not understand what had happened,
they had a feeling that it was something terrible; they put their
hands on each other's little shoulders, stared straight at one another
and both at once opened their mouths and began screaming. They were
both still in their fancy dress; one in a turban, the other in the cap
with the ostrich feather.
  And how did "the certificate of merit" come to be on the bed
beside Katerina Ivanovna? It lay there by the pillow: Raskolnikov
saw it.
  He walked away to the window. Lebeziatnikov skipped up to him.
  "She is dead," he said.
  "Rodion Romanovitch, I must have two words with you," said
Svidrigailov, coming up to them.
  Lebeziatnikov at once made room for him and delicately withdrew.
Svidrigailov drew Raskolnikov further away.
  "I will undertake all the arrangements, the funeral and that. You
know it's a question of money and, as I told you, I have plenty to
spare. I will put those two little ones and Polenka into some good
orphan asylum, and I will settle fifteen hundred roubles to be paid to
each on coming of age, so that Sofya Semyonovna need have no anxiety
about them. And I will pull her out of the mud too, for she is a
good girl, isn't she? So tell Avdotya Romanovna that that is how I
am spending her ten thousand."
  "What is your motive for such benevolence?" asked Raskolnikov.
  "Ah! you sceptical person!" laughed Svidrigailov. "I told you I
had no need of that money. Won't you admit that it's simply done
from humanity? She wasn't 'a louse,' you know" (he pointed to the
corner where the dead woman lay), "was she, like some old pawnbroker
woman? Come, you'll agree, is Luzhin to go on living, and doing wicked
things or is she to die? And if I didn't help them, Polenka would go
the same way."
  He said this with an air of a sort of gay winking slyness, keeping
his eyes fixed on Raskolnikov, who turned white and cold, hearing
his own phrases, spoken to Sonia. He quickly stepped back and looked
wildly at Svidrigailov.
  "How do you know?" he whispered, hardly able to breathe.
  "Why, I lodge here at Madame Resslich's, the other side of the wall.
Here is Kapernaumov, and there lives Madame Resslich, an old and
devoted friend of mine. I am a neighbour."
  "Yes," continued Svidrigailov, shaking with laughter. "I assure
you on my honour, dear Rodion Romanovitch, that you have interested me
enormously. I told you we should become friends, I foretold it.
Well, here we have. And you will see what an accommodating person I
am. You'll see that you can get on with me!"


Re: Достоевский Ф. М. - Преступление и наказание в переводе на английский

                             Chapter One
  A STRANGE period began for Raskolnikov: it was as though a fog had
fallen upon him and wrapped him in a dreary solitude from which
there was no escape. Recalling that period long after, he believed
that his mind had been clouded at times, and that it had continued so,
with intervals, till the final catastrophe. He was convinced that he
had been mistaken about many things at that time, for instance as to
the date of certain events. Anyway, when he tried later on to piece
his recollections together, he learnt a great deal about himself
from what other people told him. He had mixed up incidents and had
explained events as due to circumstances which existed only in his
imagination. At times he was a prey to agonies of morbid uneasiness,
amounting sometimes to panic. But he remembered, too, moments,
hours, perhaps whole days, of complete apathy, which came upon him
as a reaction from his previous terror and might be compared with
the abnormal insensibility, sometimes seen in the dying. He seemed
to be trying in that latter stage to escape from a full and clear
understanding of his position. Certain essential facts which
required immediate consideration were particularly irksome to him. How
glad he would have been to be free from some cares, the neglect of
which would have threatened him with complete, inevitable ruin.
  He was particularly worried about Svidrigailov, he might be said
to be permanently thinking of Svidrigailov. From the time of
Svidrigailov's too menacing and unmistakable words in Sonia's room
at the moment of Katerina Ivanovna's death, the normal working of
his mind seemed to break down. But although this new fact caused him
extreme uneasiness, Raskolnikov was in no hurry for an explanation
of it. At times, finding himself in a solitary and remote part of
the town, in some wretched eating-house, sitting alone lost in
thought, hardly knowing how he had come there, he suddenly thought
of Svidrigailov. He recognised suddenly, clearly, and with dismay that
he ought at once to come to an understanding with that man and to make
what terms he could. Walking outside the city gates one day, he
positively fancied that they had fixed a meeting there, that he was
waiting for Svidrigailov. Another time he woke up before daybreak
lying on the ground under some bushes and could not at first
understand how he had come there.
  But during the two or three days after Katerina Ivanovna's death, he
had two or three times met Svidrigailov at Sonia's lodging, where he
had gone aimlessly for a moment. They exchanged a few words and made
no reference to the vital subject, as though they were tacitly
agreed not to speak of it for a time.
  Katerina Ivanovna's body was still lying in the coffin, Svidrigailov
was busy making arrangements for the funeral. Sonia too was very busy.
At their last meeting Svidrigailov informed Raskolnikov that he had
made an arrangement, and a very satisfactory one, for Katerina
Ivanovna's children; that he had, through certain connections,
succeeded in getting hold of certain personages by whose help the
three orphans could be at once placed in very suitable institutions;
that the money he had settled on them had been of great assistance, as
it is much easier to place orphans with some property than destitute
ones. He said something too about Sonia and promised to come himself
in a day or two to see Raskolnikov, mentioning that "he would like
to consult with him, that there were things they must talk over...."
  This conversation took place in the passage on the stairs.
Svidrigailov looked intently at Raskolnikov and suddenly, after a
brief pause, dropping his voice, asked: "But how is it, Rodion
Romanovitch; you don't seem yourself? You look and you listen, but you
don't seem to understand. Cheer up! We'll talk things over; I am
only sorry, I've so much to do of my own business and other
people's. Ah, Rodion Romanovitch," he added suddenly, "what all men
need is fresh air, fresh air... more than anything!"
  He moved to one side to make way for the priest and server, who were
coming up the stairs. They had come for the requiem service. By
Svidrigailov's orders it was sung twice a day punctually. Svidrigailov
went his way. Raskolnikov stood still a moment, thought, and
followed the priest into Sonia's room. He stood at the door. They
began quietly, slowly and mournfully singing the service. From his
childhood the thought of death and the presence of death had something
oppressive and mysteriously awful; and it was long since he had
heard the requiem service. And there was something else here as
well, too awful and disturbing. He looked at the children: they were
all kneeling by the coffin; Polenka was weeping. Behind them Sonia
prayed, softly, and, as it were, timidly weeping.
  "These last two days she hasn't said a word to me, she hasn't
glanced at me," Raskolnikov thought suddenly. The sunlight was
bright in the room; the incense rose in clouds; the priest read, "Give
rest, oh Lord...." Raskolnikov stayed all through the service. As he
blessed them and took his leave, the priest looked round strangely.
After the service, Raskolnikov went up to Sonia. She took both his
hands and let her head sink on his shoulder. This slight friendly
gesture bewildered Raskolnikov. It seemed strange to him that there
was no trace of repugnance, no trace of disgust, no tremor in her
hand. It was the furthest limit of self-abnegation, at least so he
interpreted it.
  Sonia said nothing. Raskolnikov pressed her hand and went out. He
felt very miserable. If it had been possible to escape to some
solitude, he would have thought himself lucky, even if he had to spend
his whole life there. But although he had almost always been by
himself of late, he had never been able to feel alone. Sometimes he
walked out of the town on to the high road, once he had even reached a
little wood, but the lonelier the place was, the more he seemed to
be aware of an uneasy presence near him. It did not frighten him,
but greatly annoyed him, so that he made haste to return to the
town, to mingle with the crowd, to enter restaurants and taverns, to
walk in busy thoroughfares. There he felt easier and even more
solitary. One day at dusk he sat for an hour listening to songs in a
tavern and he remembered that he positively enjoyed it. But at last he
had suddenly felt the same uneasiness again, as though his
conscience smote him. "Here I sit listening to singing, is that what I
ought to be doing?" he thought. Yet he felt at once that that was
not the only cause of his uneasiness; there was something requiring
immediate decision, but it was something he could not clearly
understand or put into words. It was a hopeless tangle. "No, better
the struggle again! Better Porfiry again... or Svidrigailov.... Better
some challenge again... some attack. Yes, yes!" he thought. He went
out of the tavern and rushed away almost at a run. The thought of
Dounia and his mother suddenly reduced him almost to a panic. That
night he woke up before morning among some bushes in Krestovsky
Island, trembling all over with fever; he walked home, and it was
early morning when he arrived. After some hours' sleep the fever
left him, but he woke up late, two o'clock in the afternoon.
  He remembered that Katerina Ivanovna's funeral had been fixed for
that day, and was glad that he was not present at it. Nastasya brought
him some food; he ate and drank with appetite, almost with greediness.
His head was fresher and he was calmer than he had been for the last
three days. He even felt a passing wonder at his previous attacks of
  The door opened and Razumihin came in.
  "Ah, he's eating, then he's not ill," said Razumihin. He took a
chair and sat down at the table opposite Raskolnikov.
  He was troubled and did not attempt to conceal it. He spoke with
evident annoyance, but without hurry or raising his voice. He looked
as though he had some special fixed determination.
  "Listen," he began resolutely. "As far as I am concerned, you may
all go to hell, but from what I see, it's clear to me that I can't
make head or tail of it; please don't think I've come to ask you
questions. I don't want to know, hang it! If you begin telling me your
secrets, I dare say I shouldn't stay to listen, I should go away
cursing. I have only come to find out once for all whether it's a fact
that you are mad? There is a conviction in the air that you are mad or
very nearly so. I admit I've been disposed to that opinion myself,
judging from your stupid, repulsive and quite inexplicable actions,
and from your recent behavior to your mother and sister. Only a
monster or a madman could treat them as you have; so you must be mad."
  "When did you see them last?"
  "Just now. Haven't you seen them since then? What have you been
doing with yourself? Tell me, please. I've been to you three times
already. Your mother has been seriously ill since yesterday. She had
made up her mind to come to you; Avdotya Romanovna tried to prevent
her; she wouldn't hear a word. 'If he is ill, if his mind is giving
way, who can look after him like his mother?' she said. We all came
here together, we couldn't let her come alone all the way. We kept
begging her to be calm. We came in, you weren't here; she sat down,
and stayed ten minutes, while we stood waiting in silence. She got
up and said: 'If he's gone out, that is, if he is well, and has
forgotten his mother, it's humiliating and unseemly for his mother
to stand at his door begging for kindness.' She returned home and took
to her bed; now she is in a fever. 'I see,' she said, 'that he has
time for his girl.' She means by your girl Sofya Semyonovna, your
betrothed or your mistress, I don't know. I went at once to Sofya
Semyonovna's, for I wanted to know what was going on. I looked
round, I saw the coffin, the children crying, and Sofya Semyonovna
trying on them mourning dresses. No sign of you. I apologised, came
away, and reported to Avdotya Romanovna. So that's all nonsense and
you haven't got a girl; the most likely thing is that you are mad. But
here you sit, guzzling boiled beef as though you'd not had a bite
for three days. Though as far as that goes, madmen eat too, but though
you have not said a word to me yet... you are not mad! That I'd swear!
Above all, you are not mad. So you may go to hell, all of you, for
there's some mystery, some secret about it, and I don't intend to
worry my brains over your secrets. So I've simply come to swear at
you," he finished, getting up, "to relieve my mind. And I know what to
do now."
  "What do you mean to do now?"
  "What business is it of yours what I mean to do?"
  "You are going in for a drinking bout."
  "How... how did you know?"
  "Why, it's pretty plain."
  Razumihin paused for a minute.
  "You always have been a very rational person and you've never been
mad, never," he observed suddenly with warmth. "You're right: I
shall drink. Good-bye!"
  And he moved to go out.
  "I was talking with my sister- the day before yesterday I think it
was- about you, Razumihin."
  "About me! But... where can you have seen her the day before
yesterday?" Razumihin stopped short and even turned a little pale.
  One could see that his heart was throbbing slowly and violently.
  "She came here by herself, sat there and talked to me."
  "She did!"
  "What did you say to her... I mean, about me?"
  "I told her you were a very good, honest, and industrious man. I
didn't tell her you love her, because she knows that herself."
  "She knows that herself?"
  "Well, it's pretty plain. Wherever I might go, whatever happened
to me, you would remain to look after them. I, so to speak, give
them into your keeping, Razumihin. I say this because I know quite
well how you love her, and am convinced of the purity of your heart. I
know that she too may love you and perhaps does love you already.
Now decide for yourself, as you know best, whether you need go in
for a drinking bout or not."
  "Rodya! You see... well.... Ach, damn it! But where do you mean to
go? Of course, if it's all a secret, never mind.... But I... I shall
find out the secret... and I am sure that it must be some ridiculous
nonsense and that you've made it all up. Anyway you are a capital
fellow, a capital fellow!"...
  "That was just what I wanted to add, only you interrupted, that that
was a very good decision of yours not to find out these secrets. Leave
it to time, don't worry about it. You'll know it all in time when it
must be. Yesterday a man said to me that what a man needs is fresh
air, fresh air, fresh air. I mean to go to him directly to find out
what he meant by that."
  Razumihin stood lost in thought and excitement, making a silent
  "He's a political conspirator! He must be. And he's on the eve of
some desperate step, that's certain. It can only be that! And... and
Dounia knows," he thought suddenly.
  "So Avdotya Romanovna comes to see you," he said, weighing each
syllable, "and you're going to see a man who says we need more air,
and so of course that letter... that too must have something to do
with it," he concluded to himself.
  "What letter?"
  "She got a letter to-day. It upset her very much- very much
indeed. Too much so. I began speaking of you, she begged me not to.
Then... then she said that perhaps we should very soon have to part...
then she began warmly thanking me for something; then she went to
her room and locked herself in."
  "She got a letter?" Raskolnikov asked thoughtfully.
  "Yes, and you didn't know? hm..."
  They were both silent.
  "Good-bye, Rodion. There was a time, brother, when I... Never
mind, good-bye. You see, there was a time.... Well, good-bye! I must
be off too. I am not going to drink. There's no need now.... That's
all stuff!"
  He hurried out; but when he had almost closed the door behind him,
he suddenly opened it again, and said, looking away:
  "Oh, by the way, do you remember that murder, you know Porfiry's,
that old woman? Do you know the murderer has been found, he has
confessed and given the proofs. It's one of those very workmen, the
painter, only fancy! Do you remember I defended them here? Would you
believe it, all that scene of fighting and laughing with his companion
on the stairs while the porter and the two witnesses were going up, he
got up on purpose to disarm suspicion. The cunning, the presence of
mind of the young dog! One can hardly credit it; but it's his own
explanation, he has confessed it all. And what a fool I was about
it! Well, he's simply a genius of hypocrisy and resourcefulness in
disarming the suspicions of the lawyers- so there's nothing much to
wonder at, I suppose! Of course people like that are always
possible. And the fact that he couldn't keep up the character, but
confessed, makes him easier to believe in. But what a fool I was! I
was frantic on their side!"
  "Tell me please from whom did you hear that, and why does it
interest you so?" Raskolnikov asked with unmistakable agitation.
  "What next? You ask me why it interests me!... Well, I heard it from
Porfiry, among others... It was from him I heard almost all about it."
  "From Porfiry?"
  "From Porfiry."
  "What... what did he say?" Raskolnikov asked in dismay.
  "He gave me a capital explanation of it. Psychologically, after
his fashion."
  "He explained it? Explained it himself?"
  "Yes, yes; good-bye. I'll tell you all about it another time, but
now I'm busy. There was a time when I fancied... But no matter,
another time!... What need is there for me to drink now? You have made
me drunk without wine. I am drunk, Rodya! Good-bye, I'm going. I'll
come again very soon."
  He went out.
  "He's a political conspirator, there's not a doubt about it,"
Razumihin decided, as he slowly descended the stairs. "And he's
drawn his sister in; that's quite, quite in keeping with Avdotya
Romanovna's character. There are interviews between them!... She
hinted at it too... So many of her words.... and hints... bear that
meaning! And how else can all this tangle be explained? Hm! And I
was almost thinking... Good heavens, what I thought! Yes, I took leave
of my senses and I wronged him! It was his doing, under the lamp in
the corridor that day. Pfoo! What a crude, nasty, vile idea on my
part! Nikolay is a brick, for confessing.... And how clear it all is
now! His illness then, all his strange actions... before this, in
the university, how morose he used to be, how gloomy.... But what's
the meaning now of that letter? There's something in that, too,
perhaps. Whom was it from? I suspect...! No, I must find out!"
  He thought of Dounia, realising all he had heard and his heart
throbbed, and he suddenly broke into a run.
  As soon as Razumihin went out, Raskolnikov got up, turned to the
window, walked into one corner and then into another, as though
forgetting the smallness of his room, and sat down again on the
sofa. He felt, so to speak, renewed; again the struggle, so a means of
escape had come.
  "Yes, a means of escape had come! It had been too stifling, too
cramping, the burden had been too agonising. A lethargy had come
upon him at times. From the moment of the scene with Nikolay at
Porfiry's he had been suffocating, penned in without hope of escape.
After Nikolay's confession, on that very day had come the scene with
Sonia; his behaviour and his last words had been utterly unlike
anything he could have imagined beforehand; he had grown feebler,
instantly and fundamentally! And he had agreed at the time with Sonia,
he had agreed in his heart he could not go on living alone with such a
thing on his mind!
  "And Svidrigailov was a riddle... He worried him, that was true, but
somehow not on the same point. He might still have a struggle to
come with Svidrigailov. Svidrigailov, too, might be a means of escape;
but Porfiry was a different matter.
  "And so Porfiry himself had explained it to Razumihin, had explained
it psychologically. He had begun bringing in his damned psychology
again! Porfiry? But to think that Porfiry should for one moment
believe that Nikolay was guilty, after what had passed between them
before Nikolay's appearance, after that tete-a-tete interview, which
could have only one explanation? (During those days Raskolnikov had
often recalled passages in that scene with Porfiry; he could not
bear to let his mind rest on it.) Such words, such gestures had passed
between them, they had exchanged such glances, things had been said in
such a tone and had reached such a pass, that Nikolay, whom Porfiry
had seen through at the first word, at the first gesture, could not
have shaken his conviction.
  "And to think that even Razumihin had begun to suspect! The scene in
the corridor under the lamp had produced its effect then. He had
rushed to Porfiry.... But what had induced the latter to receive him
like that? What had been his object in putting Razumihin off with
Nikolay? He must have some plan; there was some design, but what was
it? It was true that a long time had passed since that morning- too
long a time- and no sight nor sound of Porfiry. Well, that was a bad
  Raskolnikov took his cap and went out of the room, still
pondering. It was the first time for a long while that he had felt
clear in his mind, at least. "I must settle Svidrigailov," he thought,
"and as soon as possible; he, too, seems to be waiting for me to
come to him of my own accord." And at that moment there was such a
rush of hate in his weary heart that he might have killed either of
those two- Porfiry or Svidrigailov. At least he felt that he would
be capable of doing it later, if not now.
  "We shall see, we shall see," he repeated to himself.
  But no sooner had he opened the door than he stumbled upon Porfiry
himself in the passage. He was coming in to see him. Raskolnikov was
dumbfounded for a minute, but only for one minute. Strange to say,
he was not very much astonished at seeing Porfiry and scarcely
afraid of him. He was simply startled, but was quickly, instantly,
on his guard. "Perhaps this will mean the end? But how could Porfiry
have approached so quietly, like a cat, so that he had heard
nothing? Could he have been listening at the door?"
  "You didn't expect a visitor, Rodion Romanovitch," Porfiry
explained, laughing. "I've been meaning to look in a long time; I
was passing by and thought why not go in for five minutes. Are you
going out? I won't keep you long. Just let me have one cigarette."
  "Sit down, Porfiry Petrovitch, sit down." Raskolnikov gave his
visitor a seat with so pleased and friendly an expression that he
would have marvelled at himself, if he could have seen it.
  The last moment had come, the last drops had to be drained! So a man
will sometimes go through half an hour of mortal terror with a
brigand, yet when the knife is at his throat at last, he feels no
  Raskolnikov seated himself directly facing Porfiry, and looked at
him without flinching. Porfiry screwed up his eyes and began
lighting a cigarette.
  "Speak, speak," seemed as though it would burst from Raskolnikov's
heart. "Come, why don't you speak?"

                             Chapter Two
  "AH THESE cigarettes!" Porfiry Petrovitch ejaculated at last, having
lighted one. "They are pernicious, positively pernicious, and yet I
can't give them up! I cough, I begin to have tickling in my throat and
a difficulty in breathing. You know I am a coward, I went lately to
Dr. B__n; he always gives at least half an hour to each patient. He
positively laughed looking at me; he sounded me: 'Tobacco's bad for
you,' he said, 'your lungs are affected.' But how am I to give it
up? What is there to take its place? I don't drink, that's the
mischief, he-he-he, that I don't. Everything is relative, Rodion
Romanovitch, everything is relative!"
  "Why, he's playing his professional tricks again," Raskolnikov
thought with disgust. All the circumstances of their last interview
suddenly came back to him, and he felt a rush of the feeling that
had come upon him then.
  "I came to see you the day before yesterday, in the evening; you
didn't know?" Porfiry Petrovitch went on, looking round the room. "I
came into this very room. I was passing by, just as I did to-day,
and I thought I'd return your call. I walked in as your door was
wide open, I looked round, waited and went out without leaving my name
with your servant. Don't you lock your door?"
  Raskolnikov's face grew more and more gloomy. Porfiry seemed to
guess his state of mind.
  "I've come to have it out with you, Rodion Romanovitch, my dear
fellow! I owe you an explanation and must give it to you," he
continued with a slight smile, just patting Raskolnikov's knee.
  But almost at the same instant a serious and careworn look came into
his face; to his surprise Raskolnikov saw a touch of sadness in it. He
had never seen and never suspected such an expression in his face.
  "A strange scene passed between us last time we met, Rodion
Romanovitch. Our first interview, too, was a strange one; but
then... and one thing after another! This is the point: I have perhaps
acted unfairly to you; I feel it. Do you remember how we parted?
Your nerves were unhinged and your knees were shaking and so were
mine. And, you know, our behaviour was unseemly, even ungentlemanly.
And yet we are gentlemen, above all, in any case, gentlemen; that must
be understood. Do you remember what we came to?... it was quite
  "What is he up to, what does he take me for?" Raskolnikov asked
himself in amazement, raising his head and looking with open eyes on
  "I've decided openness is better between us," Porfiry Petrovitch
went on, turning his head away and dropping his eyes, as though
unwilling to disconcert his former victim and as though disdaining his
former wiles. "Yes, such suspicions and such scenes cannot continue
for long. Nikolay put a stop to it, or I don't know what we might
not have come to. That damned workman was sitting at the time in the
next room- can you realise that? You know that, of course; and I am
aware that he came to you afterwards. But what you supposed then was
not true: I had not sent for any one, I had made no kind of
arrangements. You ask why I hadn't? What shall I say to you: it had
all come upon me so suddenly. I had scarcely sent for the porters (you
noticed them as you went out, I dare say). An idea flashed upon me;
I was firmly convinced at the time, you see, Rodion Romanovitch. Come,
I thought- even if I let one thing slip for a time, I shall get hold
of something else- I shan't lose what I want, anyway. You are
nervously irritable, Rodion Romanovitch, by temperament; it's out of
proportion with other qualities of your heart and character, which I
flatter myself I have to some extent divined. Of course I did
reflect even then that it does not always happen that a man gets up
and blurts out his whole story. It does happen sometimes, if you
make a man lose all patience, though even then it's rare. I was
capable of realising that. If I only had a fact, I thought, the
least little fact to go upon, something I could lay hold of, something
tangible, not merely psychological. For if a man is guilty, you must
be able to get something substantial out of him; one may reckon upon
most surprising results indeed. I was reckoning on your temperament,
Rodion Romanovitch, on your temperament above all things! I had
great hopes of you at that time."
  "But what are you driving at now?" Raskolnikov muttered at last,
asking the question without thinking.
  "What is he talking about?" he wondered distractedly, "does he
really take me to be innocent?"
  "What am I driving at? I've come to explain myself, I consider it my
duty, so to speak. I want to make clear to you how the whole business,
the whole misunderstanding arose. I've caused you a great deal of
suffering, Rodion Romanovitch. I am not a monster. I understand what
it must mean for a man who has been unfortunate, but who is proud,
imperious and above all, impatient, to have to bear such treatment!
I regard you in any case as a man of noble character and not without
elements of magnanimity, though I don't agree with all your
convictions. I wanted to tell you this first, frankly and quite
sincerely, for above all I don't want to deceive you. When I made your
acquaintance, I felt attracted by you. Perhaps you will laugh at my
saying so. You have a right to. I know you disliked me from the
first and indeed you've no reason to like me. You may think what you
like, but I desire now to do all I can to efface that impression and
to show that I am a man of heart and conscience. I speak sincerely."
  Porfiry Petrovitch made a dignified pause. Raskolnikov felt a rush
of renewed alarm. The thought that Porfiry believed him to be innocent
began to make him uneasy.
  "It's scarcely necessary to go over everything in detail," Porfiry
Petrovitch went on. "Indeed I could scarcely attempt it. To begin with
there were rumours. Through whom, how, and when those rumours came
to me... and how they affected you, I need not go into. My
suspicions were aroused by a complete accident, which might just as
easily not have happened. What was it? Hm! I believe there is no
need to go into that either. Those rumours and that accident led to
one idea in my mind. I admit it openly- for one may as well make a
clean breast of it- I was the first to pitch on you. The old woman's
notes on the pledges and the rest of it- that all came to nothing.
Yours was one of a hundred. I happened, too, to hear of the scene at
the office, from a man who described it capitally, unconsciously
reproducing the scene with great vividness. It was just one thing
after another, Rodion Romanovitch, my dear fellow! How could I avoid
being brought to certain ideas? From a hundred rabbits you can't
make a horse, a hundred suspicions don't make a proof, as the
English proverb says, but that's only from the rational point of view-
you can't help being partial, for after all a lawyer is only human.
I thought, too, of your article in that journal, do you remember, on
your first visit we talked of it? I jeered at you at the time, but
that was only to lead you on. I repeat, Rodion Romanovitch, you are
ill and impatient. That you were bold, headstrong, in earnest and...
had felt a great deal I recognised long before. I, too, have felt
the same, so that your article seemed familiar to me. It was conceived
on sleepless nights, with a throbbing heart, in ecstasy and suppressed
enthusiasm. And that proud suppressed enthusiasm in young people is
dangerous! I jeered at you then, but let me tell you that, as a
literary amateur, I am awfully fond of such first essays, full of
the heat of youth. There is a mistiness and a chord vibrating in the
mist. Your article is absurd and fantastic, but there's a
transparent sincerity, a youthful incorruptible pride and the daring
of despair in it. It's a gloomy article, but that's what's fine in it.
I read your article and put it aside, thinking as I did so 'that man
won't go the common way.' Well, I ask you, after that as a
preliminary, how could I help being carried away by what followed? Oh,
dear, I am not saying anything, I am not making any statement now. I
simply noted it at the time. What is there in it? I reflected. There's
nothing in it, that is really nothing and perhaps absolutely
nothing. And it's not at all the thing for the prosecutor to let
himself be carried away by notions: here I have Nikolay on my hands
with actual evidence against him- you may think what you like of it,
but it's evidence. He brings in his psychology, too; one has to
consider him, too, for it's a matter of life and death. Why am I
explaining this to you? That you may understand, and not blame my
malicious behaviour on that occasion. It was not malicious, I assure
you, he-he! Do you suppose I didn't come to search your room at the
time? I did, I did, he-he! I was here when you were lying ill in
bed, not officially, not in my own person, but I was here. Your room
was searched to the last thread at the first suspicion; but umsonst! I
thought to myself, now that man will come, will come of himself and
quickly, too; if he's guilty, he's sure to come. Another man
wouldn't but he will. And you remember how Mr. Razumihin began
discussing the subject with you? We arranged that to excite you, so we
purposely spread rumours, that he might discuss the case with you, and
Razumihin is not a man to restrain his indignation. Mr. Zametov was
tremendously struck by your anger and your open daring. Think of
blurting out in a restaurant 'I killed her.' It was too daring, too
reckless. I thought so myself, if he is guilty he will be a formidable
opponent. That was what I thought at the time. I was expecting you.
But you simply bowled Zametov over and... well, you see, it all lies
in this- that this damnable psychology can be taken two ways! Well,
I kept expecting you, and so it was, you came! My heart was fairly
throbbing. Ach!
  "Now, why need you have come? Your laughter, too, as you came in, do
you remember? I saw it all plain as daylight, but if I hadn't expected
you so specially, I should not have noticed anything in your laughter.
You see what influence a mood has! Mr. Razumihin then- ah, that stone,
that stone under which the things were hidden! I seem to see it
somewhere in a kitchen garden. It was in a kitchen garden, you told
Zametov and afterwards you repeated that in my office? And when we
began picking your article to pieces, how you explained it! One
could take every word of yours in two senses, as though there were
another meaning hidden.
  "So in this way, Rodion Romanovitch, I reached the furthest limit,
and knocking my head against a post, I pulled myself up, asking myself
what I was about. After all, I said, you can take it all in another
sense if you like, and it's more natural so, indeed. I couldn't help
admitting it was more natural. I was bothered! 'No, I'd better get
hold of some little fact' I said. So when I heard of the bell-ringing,
I held my breath and was all in a tremor. 'Here is my little fact,'
thought I, and I didn't think it over, I simply wouldn't. I would have
given a thousand roubles at that minute to have seen you with my own
eyes, when you walked a hundred paces beside that workman, after he
had called you murderer to your face, and you did not dare to ask
him a question all the way. And then what about your trembling, what
about your bell-ringing in your illness, in semi-delirium?
  "And so, Rodion Romanovitch, can you wonder that I played such
pranks on you? And what made you come at that very minute? Some one
seemed to have sent you, by Jove! And if Nikolay had not parted
us... and do you remember Nikolay at the time? Do you remember him
clearly? It was a thunderbolt, a regular thunderbolt! And how I met
him! I didn't believe in the thunderbolt, not for a minute. You
could see it for yourself; and how could I? Even afterwards, when
you had gone and he began making very, very plausible answers on
certain points, so that I was surprised at him myself, even then I
didn't believe his story! You see what it is to be as firm as a
rock! No, thought I, morgen fruh. What has Nikolay got to do with it!"
  "Razumihin told me just now that you think Nikolay guilty and had
yourself assured him of it...."
  His voice failed him, and he broke off. He had been listening in
indescribable agitation, as this man who had seen through and
through him went back upon himself. He was afraid of believing it
and did not believe it. In those still ambiguous words he kept eagerly
looking for something more definite and conclusive.
  "Mr. Razumihin!" cried Porfiry Petrovitch, seeming glad of a
question from Raskolnikov, who had till then, been silent.
"He-he-he! But I had to put Mr. Razumihin off; two is company, three
is none. Mr. Razumihin is not the right man, besides he is an
outsider. He came running to me with a pale face.... But never mind
him, why bring him in! To return to Nikolay, would you like to know
what sort of a type he is, how I understand him, that is? To begin
with, he is still a child and not exactly a coward, but something by
way of an artist. Really, don't laugh at my describing him so. He is
innocent and responsive to influence. He has a heart, and is a
fantastic fellow. He sings and dances, he tells stories, they say,
so that people come from other villages to hear him. He attends school
too, and laughs till he cries if you hold up a finger to him; he
will drink himself senseless- not as a regular vice, but at times,
when people treat him, like a child. And he stole, too, then,
without knowing it himself, for 'How can it be stealing, if one
picks it up?' And do you know he is an Old Believer, or rather a
dissenter? There have been Wanderers* in his family, and he was for
two years in his village under the spiritual guidance of a certain
elder. I learnt all this from Nikolay and from his fellow villagers.
And what's more, he wanted to run into the wilderness! He was full
of fervour, prayed at night, read the old books, 'the true' ones,
and read himself crazy.
  * A religious sect.- TRANSLATOR'S NOTE.
  "Petersburg had a great effect upon him, especially the women and
the wine. He responds to everything and he forgot the elder and all
that. I learnt that an artist here took a fancy to him, and used to go
and see him, and now this business came upon him.
  "Well, he was frightened, he tried to hang himself! He ran away! How
can one get over the idea the people have of Russian legal
proceedings! The very word 'trial' frightens some of them. Whose fault
is it? We shall see what the new juries will do. God grant they do
good! Well, in prison, it seems, he remembered the venerable elder,
the Bible, too, made its appearance again. Do you know, Rodion
Romanovitch, the force of the word 'suffering' among some of these
people! It's not a question of suffering for some one's benefit, but
simply, 'one must suffer.' If they suffer at the hands of the
authorities, so much the better. In my time there was a very meek
and mild prisoner who spent a whole year in prison always reading
his Bible on the stove at night and he read himself crazy, and so
crazy, do you know, that one day, apropos of nothing, he seized a
brick and flung it at the governor, though he had done him no harm.
And the way he threw it too: aimed it a yard on one side on purpose,
for fear of hurting him. Well, we know what happens to a prisoner
who assaults an officer with a weapon. So 'he took his suffering.'
  "So I suspect now that Nikolay wants to take his suffering or
something of the sort. I know it for certain from facts, indeed.
Only he doesn't know that I know. What, you don't admit that there are
such fantastic people among the peasants? Lots of them. The elder
now has begun influencing him, especially since he tried to hang
himself. But he'll come and tell me all himself. You think he'll
hold out? Wait a bit, he'll take his words back. I am waiting from
hour to hour for him to come and abjure his evidence. I have come to
like that Nikolay and am studying him in detail. And what do you
think? He-he! He answered me very plausibly on some points, he
obviously had collected some evidence and prepared himself cleverly.
But on other points he is simply at sea, knows nothing and doesn't
even suspect that he doesn't know!
  "No, Rodion Romanovitch, Nikolay doesn't come in! This is a
fantastic, gloomy business, a modern case, an incident of to-day
when the heart of man is troubled, when the phrase is quoted that
blood 'renews,' when comfort is preached as the aim of life. Here we
have bookish dreams, a heart unhinged by theories. Here we see
resolution in the first stage, but resolution of a special kind: he
resolved to do it like jumping over a precipice or from a bell tower
and his legs shook as he went to the crime. He forgot to shut the door
after him, and murdered two people for a theory. He committed the
murder and couldn't take the money, and what he did manage to snatch
up he hid under a stone. It wasn't enough for him to suffer agony
behind the door while they battered at the door and rung the bell, no,
he had to go to the empty lodging, half delirious, to recall the
bell-ringing, he wanted to feel the cold shiver over again.... Well,
that we grant, was through illness, but consider this: he is a
murderer, but looks upon himself as an honest man, despises others,
poses as injured innocence. No, that's not the work of a Nikolay, my
dear Rodion Romanovitch!"
  All that had been said before had sounded so like a recantation that
these words were too great a shock. Raskolnikov shuddered as though he
had been stabbed.
  "Then... who then... is the murderer?" he asked in a breathless
voice, unable to restrain himself.
  Porfiry Petrovitch sank back in his chair, as though he were
amazed at the question.
  "Who is the murderer?" he repeated, as though unable to believe
his ears. "Why you, Rodion Romanovitch! You are the murderer," he
added almost in a whisper, in a voice of genuine conviction.
  Raskolnikov leapt from the sofa, stood up for a few seconds and
sat down again without uttering a word. His face twitched
  "Your lip is twitching just as it did before," Porfiry Petrovitch
observed almost sympathetically. "You've been misunderstanding me, I
think, Rodion Romanovitch," he added after a brief pause, "that's
why you are so surprised. I came on purpose to tell you everything and
deal openly with you."
  "It was not I murdered her," Raskolnikov whispered like a frightened
child caught in the act.
  "No, it was you, you Rodion Romanovitch, and no one else," Porfiry
whispered sternly, with conviction.
  They were both silent and the silence lasted strangely long, about
ten minutes. Raskolnikov put his elbow on the table and passed his
fingers through his hair. Porfiry Petrovitch sat quietly waiting.
Suddenly Raskolnikov looked scornfully at Porfiry.
  "You are at your old tricks again, Porfiry Petrovitch! Your old
method again. I wonder you don't get sick of it!"
  "Oh, stop that, what does that matter now? It would be a different
matter if there were witnesses present, but we are whispering alone.
You see yourself that I have not come to chase and capture you like
a hare. Whether you confess it or not is nothing to me now; for
myself, I am convinced without it."
  "If so, what did you come for?" Raskolnikov asked irritably. "I
ask you the same question again: if you consider me guilty, why
don't you take me to prison?"
  "Oh, that's your question! I will answer you, point for point. In
the first place, to arrest you so directly is not to my interest."
  "How so? If you are convinced you ought...."
  "Ach, what if I am convinced? That's only my dream for the time. Why
should I put you in safety? You know that's it, since you ask me to do
it. If I confront you with that workman for instance and you say to
him 'were you drunk or not? Who saw me with you? I simply took you
to be drunk, and you were drunk, too.' Well, what could I answer,
especially as your story is a more likely one than his, for there's
nothing but psychology to support his evidence- that's almost unseemly
with his ugly mug, while you hit the mark exactly, for the rascal is
an inveterate drunkard and notoriously so. And I have myself
admitted candidly several times already that that psychology can be
taken in two ways and that the second way is stronger and looks far
more probable, and that apart from that I have as yet nothing
against you. And though I shall put you in prison and indeed have
come- quite contrary to etiquette- to inform you of it beforehand, yet
I tell you frankly, also contrary to etiquette, that it won't be to my
advantage. Well, secondly, I've come to you because..."
  "Yes, yes, secondly?" Raskolnikov was listening breathless.
  "Because, as I told you just now, I consider I owe you an
explanation. I don't want you to look upon me as a monster, as I
have a genuine liking for you, you may believe me or not. And in the
third place I've come to you with a direct and open proposition-
that you should surrender and confess. It will be infinitely more to
your advantage and to my advantage too, for my task will be done.
Well, is this open on my part or not?"
  Raskolnikov thought a minute.
"Listen, Porfiry Petrovitch. You said just now you have nothing but
psychology to go on, yet now you've gone on mathematics. Well, what if
you are mistaken yourself, now?"
  "No, Rodion Romanovitch, I am not mistaken. I have a little fact
even then, providence sent it me."
  "What little fact?"
  "I won't tell you what, Rodion Romanovitch. And in any case, I
haven't the right to put it off any longer, I must arrest you. So
think it over: it makes no difference to me now and so I speak only
for your sake. Believe me, it will be better, Rodion Romanovitch."
  Raskolnikov smiled malignantly.
  "That's not simply ridiculous, it's positively shameless. Why,
even if I were guilty, which I don't admit, what reason should I
have to confess, when you tell me yourself that I shall be in
greater safety in prison?"
  "Ah, Rodion Romanovitch, don't put too much faith in words,
perhaps prison will not be altogether a restful place. That's only
theory and my theory, and what authority am I for you? Perhaps, too,
even now I am hiding something from you? I can't lay bare
everything, he-he! And how can you ask what advantage? Don't you
know how it would lessen your sentence? You would be confessing at a
moment when another man has taken the crime on himself and so has
muddled the whole case. Consider that! I swear before God that I
will so arrange that your confession shall come as a complete
surprise. We will make a clean sweep of all these psychological
points, of an suspicion against you, so that your crime will appear to
have been something like an aberration, for in truth it was an
aberration. I am an honest man, Rodion Romanovitch, and will keep my
  Raskolnikov maintained a mournful silence and let his head sink
dejectedly. He pondered a long while and at last smiled again, but his
smile was sad and gentle.
  "No!" he said, apparently abandoning all attempt to keep up
appearances with Porfiry, "it's not worth it, I don't care about
lessening the sentence!"
  "That's just what I was afraid of!" Porfiry cried warmly and, as
it seemed, involuntarily. "That's just what I feared, that you
wouldn't care about the mitigation of sentence."
  Raskolnikov looked sadly and expressively at him.
  "Ah, don't disdain life!" Porfiry went on. "You have a great deal of
it still before you. How can you say you don't want a mitigation of
sentence? You are an impatient fellow!"
  "A great deal of what lies before me?"
  "Of life. What sort of prophet are you, do you know much about it?
Seek and ye shall find. This may be God's means for bringing you to
Him. And it's not for ever, the bondage...."
  "The time will be shortened," laughed Raskolnikov.
  "Why, is it the bourgeois disgrace you are afraid of? It may be that
you are afraid of it without knowing it, because you are young! But
anyway you shouldn't be afraid of giving yourself up and confessing."
  "Ach, hang it!" Raskolnikov whispered with loathing and contempt, as
though he did not want to speak aloud.
  He got up again as though he meant to go away, but sat down again in
evident despair.
  "Hang it, if you like! You've lost faith and you think that I am
grossly flattering you; but how long has your life been? How much do
you understand? You made up a theory and then were ashamed that it
broke down and turned out to be not at all original! It turned out
something base, that's true, but you are not hopelessly base. By no
means so base! At least you didn't deceive yourself for long, you went
straight to the furthest point at one bound. How do I regard you? I
regard you as one of those men who would stand and smile at their
torturer while he cuts their entrails out, if only they have found
faith or God. Find it and you will live. You have long needed a change
of air. Suffering, too, is a good thing. Suffer! Maybe Nikolay is
right in wanting to suffer. I know you don't believe in it- but
don't be over-wise; fling yourself straight into life, without
deliberation; don't be afraid- the flood will bear you to the bank and
set you safe on your feet again. What bank? How can I tell? I only
believe that you have long life before you. I know that you take all
my words now for a set speech prepared beforehand, but maybe you
will remember them after. They may be of use some time. That's why I
speak. It's as well that you only killed the old woman. If you'd
invented another theory you might perhaps have done something a
thousand times more hideous. You ought to thank God, perhaps. How do
you know? Perhaps God is saving you for something. But keep a good
heart and have less fear! Are you afraid of the great expiation before
you? No, it would be shameful to be afraid of it. Since you have taken
such a step, you must harden your heart. There is justice in it. You
must fulfil the demands of justice. I know that you don't believe
it, but indeed, life will bring you through. You will live it down
in time. What you need now is fresh air, fresh air, fresh air!"
  Raskolnikov positively started.