Crime and Punishment
Crime and Punishment
Crime and Punishment
https://books.google.com
THE PENNSYLVANIA STATE
IA
UNIVER
AN
UNIVERSITY LIBRARIES
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1856
THE HARVARD CLASSICS
SHELF OF FICTION
770
1 PAZ 羹
FIN
PY CHAN. ES W
AND PUNISHMENT
RY
R DOSTOEVS , Y
CONSTANCE GAND
DO2 LOEA2KA.2 21NDA '
2 L BELEK 2 BOB C
WITH NOTE
Will No A.
BY
FYODOR DOSTOEVSKY
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Extension
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THE
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MANUFACTURED IN U. S. A.
PG 3326
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1917
CONTENTS
PART IV
PAGE
CHAPTER I · 284
CHAPTER II · 298
CHAPTER III . 311
CHAPTER IV · 320
CHAPTER V • · 338
CHAPTER VI 357
PART V
CHAPTER I 366
CHAPTER II • • 383
CHAPTER III . • 396
CHAPTER IV • · 411
CHAPTER V 429
PART VI
CHAPTER I · 444
CHAPTER II • • 455
CHAPTER III . 470
CHAPTER IV • 481
CHAPTER V 492
CHAPTER VI 507
CHAPTER VII . • 521
CHAPTER VIII 531
EPILOGUE . · 543
BIOGRAPHICAL NOTE
II
BY KAZIMIERZ WALISZEWSKI
III
IV
BY MAURICE BARING
PART I
CHAPTER I
"A rouble and a half, and interest in advance, if you like !"
"A rouble and a half !" cried the young man.
"Please yourself”—and the old woman handed him back
the watch. The young man took it, and was so angry that
he was on the point of going away ; but checked himself at
once, remembering that there was nowhere else he could go,
and that he had had another object also in coming.
"Hand it over," he said roughly.
The old woman fumbled in her pocket for her keys, and
disappeared behind the curtain into the other room. The
young man, left standing alone in the middle of the room,
listened inquisitively, thinking . He could hear her unlocking
the chest of drawers.
"It must be the top drawer," he reflected. "So she carried
the keys in a pocket on the right. All in one bunch on a
steel ring. . . . And there's one key there, three times as
big as all the others, with deep notches ; that can't be the
key of the chest of drawers . . . then there must be some
other chest or strong box . that's worth knowing.
Strong-boxes always have keys like that ... but how de-
grading it all is."
The old woman came back.
"Here, sir : as we say ten copecks the rouble a month, so
I must take fifteen copecks from a rouble and a half for the
month in advance. But for the two roubles I lent you before
you owe me now twenty copecks on the same reckoning in
advance. That makes thirty-five copecks altogether. So I
must give you a rouble and fifteen copecks for the watch.
Here it is."
"What ! only a rouble and fifteen copecks now !"
"Just so."
The young man did not dispute it and took the money. He
looked at the old woman, and was in no hurry to get away,
as though there was still something he wanted to say or to
do, but he did not himself quite know what.
"I may be bringing you something else in a day or two,
Alyona Ivanovna-a valuable thing-silver-a cigarette box,
as soon as I get it back from a friend . . ." he broke off in
confusion.
“Well, we will talk about it then, sir.”
8 FYODOR DOSTOEVSKY
one moment the brain is stronger, the mind is clearer and the
will is firm ! Phew, how utterly petty it all is !"
But in spite of this scornful reflection, he was by now look-
ing cheerful as though he were suddenly set free from a ter-
rible burden : and he gazed round in a friendly way at the
people in the room. But even at that moment he had a dim
foreboding that this happier frame of mind was also not
normal.
There were few people at the time in the tavern. Besides
the two drunken men he had met on the steps, a group con-
sisting of about five men and a girl with a concertina had
gone out at the same time. Their departure left the room
quiet and rather empty. The persons still in the tavern were
a man who appeared to be an artisan, drunk, but not ex-
tremely so, sitting before a pot of beer, and his companion,
a huge, stout man with a grey beard, in a short full-skirted
coat. He was very drunk : and had dropped asleep on the
bench ; every now and then, he began as though in his sleep,
cracking his fingers, with his arms wide apart and the upper
part of his body bounding about on the bench, while he
hummed some meaningless refrain, trying to recall some
such lines as these :
too. And his wife, too , has a cleft palate. They all live in
one room , but Sonia has her own, partitioned off. • Hm
... yes ... very poor people and all with cleft palates . . .
yes. Then I got up in the morning, put on my rags, lifted up
my hands to heaven and set off to his excellency Ivan Afa-
nasyevitch. His excellency Ivan Afanasyevitch, do you know
him ? No ? Well, then, it's a man of God you don't know.
He is wax ... wax before the face of the Lord ; even as
wax melteth ! . . . His eyes were dim when he heard my
story. 'Marmeladov, once already you have deceived my
expectations . I'll take you once more on my own re-
sponsibility' that's what he said, ' remember,' he said, ' and
now you can go.' I kissed the dust at his feet-in thought
only, for in reality he would not have allowed me to do it,
being a statesman and a man of modern political and en-
lightened ideas. I returned home, and when I announced
that I'd been taken back into the service and should receive a
salary, heavens, what a to-do there was .. !"
Marmeladov stopped again in violent excitement. At that
moment a whole party of revellers already drunk came in
from the street, and the sounds of a hired concertina and the
cracked piping voice of a child of seven singing "The
Hamlet" were heard in the entry. The room was filled with
noise. The tavern-keeper and the boys were busy with the
new-comers. Marmeladov paying no attention to the new
arrivals continued his story. He appeared by now to be
extremely weak, but as he became more and more drunk, he
became more and more talkative. The recollection of his
recent success in getting the situation seemed to revive him,
and was positively reflected in a sort of radiance on his face.
Raskolnikov listened attentively.
"That was five weeks ago, sir. Yes. . . . As soon as
Katerina Ivanovna and Sonia heard of it, mercy on us, it was
as though I stepped into the kingdom of Heaven. It used to
be : you can lie like a beast, nothing but abuse. Now they
were walking on tiptoe, hushing the children. ' Semyon
Zaharovitch is tired with his work at the office, he is resting,
shh !' They made me coffee before I went to work and boiled
cream for me ! They began to get real cream for me, do
you hear that? And how they managed to get together the
SKY
20 FYODOR DOSTOEV
"You don't say she gave it to you ?" cried one of the new-
comers ; he shouted the words and went off into a guffaw.
"This very quart was bought with her money," Marmela-
dov declared, addressing himself exclusively to Raskolnikov.
"Thirty copecks she gave me with her own hands, her last,
all she had, as I saw. . . . She said nothing, she only looked
at me without a word. . . . Not on earth, but up yonder
. . . they grieve over men, they weep, but they don't blame
them, they don't blame them ! But it hurts more, it hurts
more when they don't blame ! Thirty copecks, yes ! And
maybe she needs them now, eh ? What do you think, my
dear sir ? For now she's got to keep up her appearance. It
costs money, that smartness, that special smartness, you
know ? Do you understand ? And there's pomatum too, you
see, she must have things ; petticoats, starched ones, shoes
too, real jaunty ones to show off her foot when she has to
step over a puddle. Do you understand, sir, do you under-
stand what all that smartness means ? And here I, her own
father, here I took thirty copecks of that money for a drink !
And I am drinking it ! And I have already drunk it ! Come,
who will have pity on a man like me, eh ? Are you sorry for
me, sir, or not ? Tell me, sir, are you sorry or not ? He-he-he !"
He would have filled his glass, but there was no drink left.
The pot was empty.
"What are you to be pitied for ?" shouted the tavern-
keeper, who was again near them.
Shouts of laughter and even oaths followed. The laughter
and the oaths came from those who were listening and also
from those who had heard nothing, but were simply looking
at the figure of the discharged government clerk.
"To be pitied ! Why am I to be pitied ?" Marmeladov
suddenly declaimed, standing up with his arm outstretched,
as though he had been only waiting for that question.
"Why am I to be pitied, you say? Yes ! There's nothing
to pity me for ! I ought to be crucified , crucified on a cross,
not pitied ! Crucify me, oh judge, crucify me, but pity me !
And then I will go off myself to be crucified, for it's not
merry-making I seek, but tears and tribulation ! ... Do
you suppose, you that sell, that this pint of yours has been
sweet to me ? It was tribulation I sought at the bottom of
CRIME AND PUNISHMENT 23
it, tears and tribulation, and have found it, and I have tasted
it ; but He will pity us Who has had pity on all men , Who
has understood all men and all things, He is the One, He
too is the judge. He will come in that day and He will ask :
'Where is the daughter who gave herself for her cross, con-
sumptive step-mother and for the little children of another ?
Where is the daughter who had pity upon the filthy drunk-
ard, her earthly father, undismayed by his beastliness ?' And
He will say, ' Come to me ! I have already forgiven thee
once. · • I have forgiven thee once. Thy sins
which are many are forgiven thee for thou hast loved
much. . . And he will forgive my Sonia, He will for-
give, I know it I felt it in my heart when I was with
her just now ! And He will judge and will forgive all, the
good and the evil, the wise and the meek. . . . And when
He has done with all of them, then He will summon us.
'You too come forth,' He will say, ' Come forth, ye drunkards,
come forth, ye weak ones, come forth, ye children of shame !'
And we shall all come forth, without shame and shall stand
before him . And He will say unto us, ' Ye are swine, made
in the Image of the Beast and with his mark ; but come ye
also !' And the wise ones and those of understanding will
say, 'Oh Lord, why dost Thou receive these men?' And He
will say, 'This is why I receive them, oh ye wise, this is why
I receive them, oh ye of understanding, that not one of them
believed himself to be worthy of this.' And He will hold
out His hands to us and we shall fall down before Him .
and we shall weep . . . and we shall understand all things !
Then we shall understand all ! and all will under-
stand, Katerina Ivanovna even . she will understand.
• Lord, Thy kingdom come !" And he sank down on
the bench exhausted , and helpless , looking at no one, appar-
ently oblivious of his surroundings and plunged in deep
thought. His words had created a certain impression ; there
was a moment of silence ; but soon laughter and oaths were
heard again .
"That's his notion !"
"Talked himself silly !"
"A fine clerk he is !"
And so on, and so on.
24 FYODOR DOSTOEVSKY
Marmeladov did not enter the door, but dropped on his knees
in the very doorway, pushing Raskolnikov in front of him.
The woman seeing a stranger stopped indifferently facing
him, coming to herself for a moment and apparently won-
dering what he had come for. But evidently she decided
that he was going into the next room, as he had to pass
through hers to get there. Taking no further notice of him,
she walked towards the outer door to close it and uttered a
sudden scream on seeing her husband on his knees in the
doorway.
"Ah !" she cried out in a frenzy, "he has come back ! The
criminal ! the monster !. . . And where is the money ? What's
in your pocket, show me ! And your clothes are all different !
Where are your clothes ? Where is the money ? speak !"
And she fell to searching him. Marmeladov submissively
and obediently held up both arms to facilitate the search.
Not a farthing was there.
"Where is the money ?" she cried-"Mercy on us, can he
have drunk it all ? There were twelve silver roubles left in
the chest !" and in a fury she seized him by the hair and
dragged him into the room. Marmeladov seconded her efforts
by meekly crawling along on his knees.
"And this is a consolation to me ! This does not hurt me,
but is a positive con-so-la-tion, ho-nou-red sir," he called out,
shaken to and fro by his hair and even once striking the
ground with his forehead. The child asleep on the floor
woke up, and began to cry. The boy in the corner losing
all control began trembling and screaming and rushed to his
sister in violent terror, almost in a fit. The eldest girl was
shaking like a leaf.
"He's drunk it ! he's drunk it all," the poor woman
screamed in despair-"and his clothes are gone ! And they
are hungry, hungry !"—and wringing her hands she pointed
to the children. "Oh, accursed life ! And you , are you not
ashamed"—she pounced all at once upon Raskolnikov—“ from
the tavern ! Have you been drinking with him ? You have
been drinking with him, too ! Go away!"
The young man was hastening away without uttering a
word. The inner door was thrown wide open and inquisitive
faces were peering in at it. Coarse laughing faces with pipes
CRIME AND PUNISHMENT 27
week or so she would stray into his room with a broom. She
waked him up that day.
"Get up, why are you asleep ! " she called to him : "It's
past nine, I have brought you some tea ; will you have a cup ?
I should think you're fairly starving?"
Raskolnikov opened his eyes, started and recognized Nas-
tasya.
"From the landlady, eh ?" he asked, slowly and with a sickly
face sitting up on the sofa.
"From the landlady, indeed !"
She set before him her own cracked teapot full of weak
and stale tea and laid two yellow lumps of sugar by the side
of it.
"Here, Nastasya, take it please," he said, fumbling in his
pocket ( for he had slept in his clothes ) and taking out a
handful of coppers- "run and buy me a loaf. And get me a
little sausage, the cheapest, at the pork-butcher's."
"The loaf I'll fetch you this very minute, but wouldn't you
rather have some cabbage soup instead of sausage ? It's
capital soup, yesterday's. I saved it for you yesterday, but
you came in late. It's fine soup."
When the soup had been brought, and he had begun upon
it, Nastasya sat down beside him on the sofa and began
chatting. She was a country peasant-woman, and a very
talkative one.
"Praskovya Pavlovna means to complain to the police
about you," she said.
He scowled.
"To the police ? What does she want?"
"You don't pay her money and you won't turn out of the
room . That's what she wants, to be sure."
"The devil, that's the last straw," he muttered, grinding his
teeth, "no, that would not suit me • just now. She is a
fool," he added aloud. "I'll go and talk to her to-day."
"Fool she is and no mistake, just as I am. But why, if
you are so clever, do you lie here like a sack and have nothing
to show for it ? One time you used to go out, you say, to
teach children. But why is it you do nothing now ?"
"I am doing ... Raskolnikov began sullenly and re-
luctantly.
30 FYODOR DOSTOEVSKY
savings, but that was not so, and now I tell you all about it, because,
thank God, things have suddenly changed for the better, and that you
may know how Dounia loves you and what a heart she has. At
first indeed Mr. Svidrigailov treated her very rudely and used to
make her disrespectful and jeering remarks at table. But
I don't want to go into all those painful details, so as not to worry
you for nothing when it is now all over. In short, in spite of the
kind and generous behaviour of Marfa Petrovna, Mr. Svidrigailov's
wife, and all the rest of the household, Dounia had a very hard
time, especially when Mr. Svidrigaïlov, relapsing into his old regi-
mental habits, was under the influence of Bacchus. And how do
you think it was all explained later on ? Would you believe that the
crazy fellow had conceived a passion for Dounia from the beginning,
but had concealed it under a show of rudeness and contempt. Pos-
sibly he was ashamed and horrified himself at his own flighty hopes,
considering his years and his being the father of a family ; and that
made him angry with Dounia. And possibly, too, he hoped by his
rude and sneering behaviour to hide the truth from others. But
at last he lost all control and had the face to make Dounia an open
and shameful proposal, promising her all sorts of inducements and
offering, besides, to throw up everything and take her to another
estate of his, or even abroad. You can imagine all she went through !
To leave her situation at once was impossible not only on account
of the money debt, but also to spare the feelings of Marfa Petrovna,
whose suspicions would have been aroused : and then Dounia would
have been the cause of a rupture in the family. And it would have
meant a terrible scandal for Dounia too ; that would have been
inevitable. There were various other reasons owing to which Dounia
could not hope to escape from that awful house for another six
weeks. You know Dounia, of course ; you know how clever she is
and what a strong will she has. Dounia can endure a great deal and
even in the most difficult cases she has the fortitude to maintain her
firmness. She did not even write to me about everything for fear
of upsetting me, although we were constantly in communication. It
all ended very unexpectedly. Marfa Petrovna accidentally overheard
her husband imploring Dounia in the garden, and, putting quite a
wrong interpretation on the position, threw the blame upon her,
believing her to be the cause of it all. An awful scene took place
between them on the spot in the garden ; Marfa Petrovna went so
far as to strike Dounia, refused to hear anything and was shouting
at her for a whole hour and then gave orders that Dounia should
be packed off at once to me in a plain peasant's cart, into which they
flung all her things, her linen and her clothes, all pell-mell, without
folding it up and packing it. And a heavy shower of rain came on,
too, and Dounia, insulted and put to shame, had to drive with a
peasant in an open cart all the seventeen versts into town. Only
think now what answer could I have sent to the letter I received
from you two months ago and what could I have written ? I was in
despair ; I dared not write to you the truth because you would have
been very unhappy, mortified and indignant, and yet what could you
36
CRIME AND PUNISHMENT 33
I have agreed that from this very day you could definitely enter upon
your career and might consider that your future is marked out and
assured for you. Oh, if only this comes to pass ! This would be
such a benefit that we could only look upon it as a providential bless-
ing. Dounia is dreaming of nothing else. We have even ventured
already to drop a few words on the subject to Pyotr Petrovitch.
He was cautious in his answer, and said that, of course, as he could
not get on without a secretary, it would be better to be paying a
salary to a relation than to a stranger, if only the former were fitted
for the duties (as though there could be doubt of your being fitted ! )
but then he expressed doubts whether your studies at the university
would leave you time for work at his office. The matter dropped for
the time, but Dounia is thinking of nothing else now. She has been
in a sort of fever for the last few days, and has already made a
regular plan for your becoming in the end an associate and even a
partner in Pyotr Petrovitch's legal business , which might well be,
seeing that you are a student of law. I am in complete agreement
with her, Rodya, and share all her plans and hopes, and think there
is every probability of realising them. And in spite of Pyotr Petro-
vitch's evasiveness, very natural at present, ( since he does not know
you) Dounia is firmly persuaded that she will gain everything by her
good influence over her future husband ; this she is reckoning upon.
Of course we are careful not to talk of any of these more remote
plans to Pyotr Petrovitch, especially of your becoming his partner.
He is a practical man and might take this very coldly, it might all
seem to him simply a day-dream. Nor has either Dounia or I
breathed a word to him of the great hopes we have of his helping us
to pay for your university studies ; we have not spoken of it in the
first place, because it will come to pass of itself, later on, and he will
no doubt without wasting words offer to do it of himself, (as though
he could refuse Dounia that) the more readily since you may by your
own efforts become his right hand in the office and receive this as-
sistance not as a charity, but as a salary earned by your own work.
Dounia wants to arrange it all like this and I quite agree with her.
And we have not spoken of our plans for another reason, that is,
because I particularly wanted you to feel on an equal footing when
you first meet him. When Dounia spoke to him with enthusiasm
about you, he answered that one could never judge of a man without
seeing him close, for oneself, and that he looked forward to forming
his own opinion when he makes your acquaintance. Do you know,
my precious Rodya, I think that perhaps for some reasons (nothing
to do with Pyotr Petrovitch though, simply for my own personal,
perhaps old-womanish, fancies) I should do better to go on living by
myself, apart, than with them, after the wedding. I am convinced
that he will be generous and delicate enough to invite me and to
urge me to remain with my daughter for the future, and if he has
said nothing about it hitherto, it is simply because it has been taken
for granted ; but I shall refuse. I have noticed more than once in
my life that husbands don't quite get on with their mothers-in-law,
and I don't want to be the least bit in any one's way, and for my
CRIME AND PUNISHMENT 37
If it is so, I pray for you. Remember, dear boy, how in your child-
hood, when your father was living, you used to lisp your prayers at
my knee, and how happy we all were in those days. Good-bye, till
we meet then- I embrace you warmly, warmly, with many kisses.
"Yours till death
"PULCHERIA RASKOLNIKOV."
it all put into words, or did both understand that they had
the same thing at heart and in their minds, so that there
was no need to speak of it aloud, and better not to speak
of it. Most likely it was partly like that, from mother's
letter it's evident : he struck her as rude a little, and mother
in her simplicity took her observations to Dounia. And she
was sure to be vexed and ‘ answered her angrily.' I should
think so ! Who would not be angered when it was quite
clear without any naive questions and when it was under-
stood that it was useless to discuss it. And why does she
write to me, 'love Dounia, Rodya, and she loves you more
than herself' ? Has she a secret conscience-prick at sacri-
ficing her daughter to her son? 'You are our one comfort,
you are everything to us.' Oh, mother !"
His bitterness grew more and more intense, and if he
had happened to meet Mr. Luzhin at the moment, he might
have murdered him.
"Hm ... yes, that's true," he continued, pursuing the
whirling ideas that chased each other in his brain, "it is
true that 'it needs time and care to get to know a man,' but
there is no mistake about Mr. Luzhin. The chief thing is
he is ' a man of business and seems kind,' that was some-
thing, wasn't it, to send the bags and big box for them ! A
kind man, no doubt after that ! But his bride and her
mother are to drive in a peasant's cart covered with sack-
ing ( I know, I have been driven in it ) . No matter ! It is
only ninety versts and then they can ' travel very comfort-
ably, third class,' for a thousand versts ! Quite right, too.
One must cut one's coat according to one's cloth, but what
about you, Mr. Luzhin ? She is your bride. . . . And you
must be aware that her mother has to raise money on her
pension for the journey. To be sure it's a matter of busi-
ness, a partnership for mutual benefit, with equal shares
and expenses :-food and drink provided, but pay for your
tobacco. The business man has got the better of them, too.
The luggage will cost less than their fares and very likely
go for nothing. How is it that they don't both see all that,
or is it that they don't want to see ? And they are pleased,
pleased ! And to think that this is only the first blossoming,
and that the real fruits are to come ! But what really
CRIME AND PUNISHMENT 41
thinking of just that, that ' Dounia can put up with a great
deal.' If she could put up with Mr. Svidrigaïlov and all the
rest of it, she certainly can put up with a great deal. And
now mother and she have taken it into their heads that she
can put up with Mr. Luzhin, who propounds the theory of
the superiority of wives raised from destitution and owing
everything to their husband's bounty-who propounds it,
too, almost at the first interview. Granted that he 'let it
slip,' though he is a sensible man, (yet maybe it was not a
slip at all, but he meant to make himself clear as soon
as possible) but Dounia, Dounia ? She understands the
man, of course, but she will have to live with the man.
Why ! she'd live on black bread and water, she would not
sell her soul, she would not barter her moral freedom for
comfort ; she would not barter it for all Schleswig- Holstein,
much less Mr. Luzhin's money. No, Dounia was not that
sort when I knew her and ... she is still the same, of
course ! Yes, there's no denying, the Svidrigaïlovs are a
bitter pill ! It's bitter thing to spend one's life a gover-
ness in the provinces for two hundred roubles, but I know
she would rather be a nigger on a plantation or a Lett with
a German master, than degrade her soul, and her moral
dignity, by binding herself for ever to a man whom she
does not respect and with whom she has nothing in com-
mon-for her own advantage. And if Mr. Luzhin had
been of unalloyed gold, or one huge diamond, she would
never have consented to become his legal concubine. Why
is she consenting then ? What's the point of it ? What's
the answer ? It's clear enough : for herself, for her com-
fort, to save her life she would not sell herself, but for
some one else she is doing it ! For one she loves, for one
she adores, she will sell herself ! That's what it all amounts
to ; for her brother, for her mother, she will sell herself !
She will sell everything ! In such cases, we ‘ overcome our
moral feeling if necessary,' freedom, peace, conscience even,
all, all are brought into the market. Let my life go, if only
my dear ones may be happy ! More than that, we become
casuists, we learn to be Jesuitical and for a time maybe
we can soothe ourselves, we can persuade ourselves that it
is one's duty for a good object. That's just like us, it's as
CRIME AND PUNISHMENT 43
I have agreed that from this very day you could definitely enter upon
your career and might consider that your future is marked out and
assured for you. Oh, if only this comes to pass ! This would be
such a benefit that we could only look upon it as a providential bless-
ing. Dounia is dreaming of nothing else. We have even ventured
already to drop a few words on the subject to Pyotr Petrovitch .
He was cautious in his answer, and said that, of course, as he could
not get on without a secretary, it would be better to be paying a
salary to a relation than to a stranger, if only the former were fitted
for the duties ( as though there could be doubt of your being fitted ! )
but then he expressed doubts whether your studies at the university
would leave you time for work at his office. The matter dropped for
the time, but Dounia is thinking of nothing else now. She has been
in a sort of fever for the last few days, and has already made a
regular plan for your becoming in the end an associate and even a
partner in Pyotr Petrovitch's legal business, which might well be,
seeing that you are a student of law. I am in complete agreement
with her, Rodya, and share all her plans and hopes, and think there
is every probability of realising them. And in spite of Pyotr Petro-
vitch's evasiveness, very natural at present, ( since he does not know
you) Dounia is firmly persuaded that she will gain everything by her
good influence over her future husband ; this she is reckoning upon.
Of course we are careful not to talk of any of these more remote
plans to Pyotr Petrovitch, especially of your becoming his partner.
He is a practical man and might take this very coldly, it might all
seem to him simply a day-dream. Nor has either Dounia or I
breathed a word to him of the great hopes we have of his helping us
to pay for your university studies ; we have not spoken of it in the
first place, because it will come to pass of itself, later on, and he will
no doubt without wasting words offer to do it of himself, (as though
he could refuse Dounia that ) the more readily since you may by your
own efforts become his right hand in the office and receive this as-
sistance not as a charity, but as a salary earned by your own work.
Dounia wants to arrange it all like this and I quite agree with her.
And we have not spoken of our plans for another reason, that is,
because I particularly wanted you to feel on an equal footing when
you first meet him. When Dounia spoke to him with enthusiasm
about you, he answered that one could never judge of a man without
seeing him close, for oneself, and that he looked forward to forming
his own opinion when he makes your acquaintance. Do you know,
my precious Rodya, I think that perhaps for some reasons (nothing
to do with Pyotr Petrovitch though, simply for my own personal,
perhaps old-womanish, fancies) I should do better to go on living by
myself, apart, than with them, after the wedding. I am convinced
that he will be generous and delicate enough to invite me and to
urge me to remain with my daughter for the future, and if he has
said nothing about it hitherto, it is simply because it has been taken
for granted ; but I shall refuse. I have noticed more than once in
my life that husbands don't quite get on with their mothers-in-law,
and I don't want to be the least bit in any one's way, and for my
CRIME AND PUNISHMENT 37
If it is so, I pray for you. Remember, dear boy, how in your child-
hood, when your father was living, you used to lisp your prayers at
my knee, and how happy we all were in those days. Good-bye, till
we meet then- I embrace you warmly, warmly, with many kisses.
"Yours till death
"PULCHERIA RASKOLNIKOV."
it all put into words, or did both understand that they had
the same thing at heart and in their minds, so that there
was no need to speak of it aloud, and better not to speak
of it. Most likely it was partly like that, from mother's
letter it's evident : he struck her as rude a little, and mother
in her simplicity took her observations to Dounia. And she
was sure to be vexed and ‘answered her angrily.' I should
think so ! Who would not be angered when it was quite
clear without any naive questions and when it was under-
stood that it was useless to discuss it. And why does she
write to me, ' love Dounia, Rodya, and she loves you more
than herself' ? Has she a secret conscience-prick at sacri-
ficing her daughter to her son ? 'You are our one comfort,
you are everything to us.' Oh, mother !"
His bitterness grew more and more intense, and if he
had happened to meet Mr. Luzhin at the moment, he might
have murdered him.
"Hm . . . yes, that's true," he continued, pursuing the
whirling ideas that chased each other in his brain, “it is
true that ' it needs time and care to get to know a man,' but
there is no mistake about Mr. Luzhin. The chief thing is
he is a man of business and seems kind,' that was some-
thing, wasn't it, to send the bags and big box for them ! A
kind man, no doubt after that ! But his bride and her
mother are to drive in a peasant's cart covered with sack-
ing ( I know, I have been driven in it ) . No matter ! It is
only ninety versts and then they can ' travel very comfort-
ably, third class,' for a thousand versts ! Quite right, too.
One must cut one's coat according to one's cloth, but what
about you, Mr. Luzhin ? She is your bride. . . . And you
must be aware that her mother has to raise money on her
pension for the journey. To be sure it's a matter of busi-
ness, a partnership for mutual benefit, with equal shares
and expenses :-food
:- and drink provided, but pay for your
tobacco. The business man has got the better of them, too.
The luggage will cost less than their fares and very likely
go for nothing. How is it that they don't both see all that,
or is it that they don't want to see? And they are pleased,
pleased ! And to think that this is only the first blossoming,
and that the real fruits are to come ! But what really
CRIME AND PUNISHMENT 41
thinking of just that, that ' Dounia can put up with a great
deal.' If she could put up with Mr. Svidrigaïlov and all the
rest of it, she certainly can put up with a great deal. And
now mother and she have taken it into their heads that she
can put up with Mr. Luzhin, who propounds the theory of
the superiority of wives raised from destitution and owing
everything to their husband's bounty- who propounds it,
too, almost at the first interview. Granted that he 'let it
slip,' though he is a sensible man, (yet maybe it was not a
slip at all, but he meant to make himself clear as soon
as possible ) but Dounia, Dounia ? She understands the
man, of course, but she will have to live with the man.
Why! she'd live on black bread and water, she would not
sell her soul, she would not barter her moral freedom for
comfort ; she would not barter it for all Schleswig- Holstein,
much less Mr. Luzhin's money. No, Dounia was not that
sort when I knew her and . . . she is still the same, of
course ! Yes, there's no denying, the Svidrigaïlovs are a
bitter pill ! It's bitter thing to spend one's life a gover-
ness in the provinces for two hundred roubles, but I know
she would rather be a nigger on a plantation or a Lett with
a German master, than degrade her soul, and her moral
dignity, by binding herself for ever to a man whom she
does not respect and with whom she has nothing in com-
mon-for her own advantage. And if Mr. Luzhin had
been of unalloyed gold, or one huge diamond, she would
never have consented to become his legal concubine. Why
is she consenting then ? What's the point of it ? What's
the answer? It's clear enough : for herself, for her com-
fort, to save her life she would not sell herself, but for
some one else she is doing it ! For one she loves, for one
she adores, she will sell herself ! That's what it all amounts
to ; for her brother, for her mother, she will sell herself!
She will sell everything ! In such cases, we ' overcome our
moral feeling if necessary,' freedom, peace, conscience even,
all, all are brought into the market. Let my life go, if only
my dear ones may be happy ! More than that, we become
casuists, we learn to be Jesuitical and for a time maybe
we can soothe ourselves, we can persuade ourselves that it
is one's duty for a good object. That's just like us, it's as
CRIME AND PUNISHMENT 43
her mother will find out. . . . She will give her a beating,
a horrible, shameful beating and then maybe, turn her out
of doors. . . . And even if she does not, the Darya
Frantsovnas will get wind of it, and the girl will soon be
slipping out on the sly here and there. Then there will be
the hospital directly ( that's always the luck of those girls
with respectable mothers, who go wrong on the sly)
and then · again the hospital .. . drink ... . . . the
taverns . . • and more hospital, in two or three years- a
wreck, and her life over at eighteen or nineteen. ... Have
not I seen cases like that ? And how have they been brought
to it ? Why, they've all come to it like that. Ugh ! But
what does it matter ? That's as it should be, they tell us.
A certain percentage, they tell us, must every year go •
that way ... to the devil, I suppose, so that the rest may
remain chaste, and not be interfered with. A percentage !
What splendid words they have ; they are so scientific, so
consolatory.... Once you've said ' percentage,' there's
nothing more to worry about. If we had any other
word . . . maybe we might feel more uneasy. .. But
what if Dounia were one of the percentage ! Of another
one if not that one?
"But where am I going ?" he thought suddenly. "Strange.
I came out for something. As soon as I had read the letter
I came out. . . . I was going to Vassilyevsky Ostrov, to
Razumihin. That's what it was . . • now I remember.
What for, though ? And what put the idea of going to
Razumihin into my head just now ? That's curious."
He wondered at himself. Razumihin was one of his old
comrades at the university. It was remarkable that
Raskolnikov had hardly any friends at the university ; he
kept aloof from every one, went to see no one, and did
not welcome any one who came to see him, and indeed
every one soon gave him up. He took no part in the
students' gatherings, amusements or conversations. He
worked with great intensity without sparing himself, and
he was respected for this, but no one liked him. He was
very poor, and there was a sort of haughty pride and
reserve about him, as though he were keeping something
to himself. He seemed to some of his comrades to look
CRIME AND PUNISHMENT 51
pletely exhausted, turned off the road into the bushes, sank
down upon the grass and instantly fell asleep.
In a morbid condition of the brain, dreams often have a
singular actuality, vividness and extraordinary semblance
of reality. At times monstrous images are created, but the
setting and the whole picture are so truthlike and filled
with details so delicate, so unexpected, but so artistically
consistent, that the dreamer, were he an artist like Pushkin
or Turgenev even, could never have invented them in the
waking state. Such sick dreams always remain long in the
memory and make a powerful impression on the over-
wrought and deranged nervous system .
Raskolnikov had a fearful dream. He dreamt he was
back in his childhood in the little town of his birth. He
was a child about seven years old, walking into the country
with his father on the evening of a holiday. It was a
grey and heavy day, the country was exactly as he
remembered it ; indeed he recalled it far more vividly in
his dream than he had done in memory. The little town
stood on a level flat as bare as the hand, not even a willow
near it ; only in the far distance, a copse lay, a dark blur
on the very edge of the horizon. A few paces beyond the
last market garden stood a tavern, a big tavern, which had
always aroused in him a feeling of aversion, even of fear,
when he walked by it with his father. There was always
a crowd there, always shouting, laughter and abuse, hide-
ous hoarse singing and often fighting. Drunken and
horrible-looking figures were hanging about the tavern.
He used to cling close to his father, trembling all over when
he met them. Near the tavern the road became a dusty
track, the dust of which was always black. It was a
winding road, and about a hundred paces further on, it
turned to the right to the graveyard. In the middle of the
graveyard stood a stone church with a green cupola where
he used to go to mass two or three times a year with his
father and mother, when a service was held in memory
of his grandmother, who had long been dead, and whom
he had never seen. On these occasions they used to take
on a white dish tied up in a table napkin a special sort
of rice pudding with raisins stuck in it in the shape of
CRIME AND PUNISHMENT 55
pletely exhausted, turned off the road into the bushes, sank
down upon the grass and instantly fell asleep.
In a morbid condition of the brain, dreams often have a
singular actuality, vividness and extraordinary semblance
of reality. At times monstrous images are created, but the
setting and the whole picture are so truthlike and filled
with details so delicate, so unexpected, but so artistically
consistent, that the dreamer, were he an artist like Pushkin
or Turgenev even, could never have invented them in the
waking state. Such sick dreams always remain long in the
memory and make a powerful impression on the over-
wrought and deranged nervous system.
Raskolnikov had a fearful dream. He dreamt he was
back in his childhood in the little town of his birth. He
was a child about seven years old, walking into the country
with his father on the evening of a holiday. It was a
grey and heavy day, the country was exactly as he
remembered it ; indeed he recalled it far more vividly in
his dream than he had done in memory. The little town
stood on a level flat as bare as the hand, not even a willow
near it ; only in the far distance, a copse lay, a dark blur
on the very edge of the horizon. A few paces beyond the
last market garden stood a tavern, a big tavern, which had
always aroused in him a feeling of aversion, even of fear,
when he walked by it with his father. There was always
a crowd there, always shouting, laughter and abuse, hide-
ous hoarse singing and often fighting. Drunken and
horrible-looking figures were hanging about the tavern.
He used to cling close to his father, trembling all over when
he met them. Near the tavern the road became a dusty
track, the dust of which was always black. It was a
winding road, and about a hundred paces further on, it
turned to the right to the graveyard. In the middle of the
graveyard stood a stone church with a green cupola where
he used to go to mass two or three times a year with his
father and mother, when a service was held in memory
of his grandmother, who had long been dead, and whom
he had never seen. On these occasions they used to take
on a white dish tied up in a table napkin a special sort
of rice pudding with raisins stuck in it in the shape of
CRIME AND PUNISHMENT 55
tore himself from her and ran back to the mare. She was
almost at the last gasp, but began kicking once more.
"I'll teach you to kick," Mikolka shouted ferociously. He
threw down the whip, bent forward and picked up from the
bottom of the cart a long, thick shaft, he took hold of one
end with both hands and with an effort brandished it over
the mare.
"He'll crush her," was shouted round him. "He'll kill
her !"
"It's my property," shouted Mikolka and brought the shaft
down with a swinging blow. There was a sound of a heavy
thud.
"Thrash her, thrash her ! Why have you stopped?"
shouted voices in the crowd.
And Mikolka swung the shaft a second time and it fell a
second time on the spine of the luckless mare. She sank
back on her haunches, but lurched forward and tugged for-
ward with all her force, tugged first on one side and then
on the other, trying to move the cart. But the six whips
were attacking her in all directions, and the shaft was raised
again and fell upon her a third time, then a fourth, with
heavy measured blows. Mikolka was in a fury that he could
not kill her at one blow.
"She's a tough one," was shouted in the crowd.
"She'll fall in a minute, mates, there will soon be an end
of her," said an admiring spectator in the crowd.
"Fetch an axe to her ! Finish her off," shouted a third.
"I'll show you ! Stand off," Mikolka screamed frantically ;
he threw down the shaft, stooped down in the cart and picked
up an iron crowbar. "Look out," he shouted, and with all
his might he dealt a stunning blow at the poor mare. The
blow fell ; the mare staggered, sank back, tried to pull, but
the bar fell again with a swinging blow on her back and
she fell on the ground like a log.
"Finish her off," shouted Mikolka and he leapt, beside him-
self, out of the car. Several young men, also flushed with
drink, seized anything they could come across-whips , sticks,
poles, and ran to the dying mare. Mikolka stood on one side
and began dealing random blows with the crowbar. The
mare stretched out her head, drew a long breath and died.
CRIME AND PUNISHMENT 59
he had got ready long before and they lay on his table in a
piece of paper. As for the noose, it was a very ingenious
device of his own ; the noose was intended for the axe. It
was impossible for him to carry the axe through the street
in his hands. And if hidden under his coat he would still
have had to support it with his hand, which would have been
noticeable. Now he had only to put the head of the axe in
the noose, and it would hang quietly under his arm on the
inside. Putting his hand in his coat pocket, he could hold
the end of the handle all the way, so that it did not swing ;
and as the coat was very full, a regular sack in fact, it could
not be seen from outside that he was holding something with
the hand that was in the pocket. This noose, too, he had
designed a fortnight before.
When he had finished with this, he thrust his hand into a
little opening between his sofa and the floor, fumbled in the
left corner and drew out the pledge, which he had got ready
long before and hidden there. This pledge was, however,
only a smoothly planed piece of wood the size and thickness
of a silver cigarette case. He picked up this piece of wood
in one of his wanderings in a courtyard where there was
some sort of a workshop. Afterwards he had added to the
wood a thin smooth piece of iron, which he had also picked
up at the same time in the street. Putting the iron which
was a little the smaller on the piece of wood, he fastened
them very firmly, crossing and recrossing the thread round
them ; then wrapped them carefully and daintily in clean,
white paper and tied up the parcel so that it would be very
difficult to untie it. This was in order to divert the attention
of the old woman for a time, while she was trying to undo
the knot, and so to gain a moment. The iron strip was
added to give weight, so that the woman might not guess the
first minute that the "thing" was made of wood. All this
had been stored by him beforehand under the sofa. He had
only just got the pledge out when he heard some one sud-
denly shout in the yard.
"It struck six long ago."
"Long ago ! My God !"
He rushed to the door, listened, caught up his hat and
began to descend his thirteen steps cautiously, noiselessly,
70 FYODOR DOSTOEVSKY
one's will power and reason to deal with them, and they will
all be overcome at the time when once one has familiarised
oneself with the minutest details of the business . . . ."
But this preparation had never been begun. His final
decisions were what he came to trust least, and when the
hour struck, it all came to pass quite differently, as it were
accidentally and unexpectedly.
One trifling circumstance upset his calculations, before he
had even left the staircase. When he reached the landlady's
kitchen, the door, of which was open as usual, he glanced
cautiously in to see whether, in Nastasya's absence, the land-
lady herself was there, or if not, whether the door to her
own room was closed, so that she might not peep out when
he went in for the axe. But what was his amazement when
he suddenly saw that Nastasya was not only at home in the
kitchen, but was occupied there, taking linen out of a basket
and hanging it on a line. Seeing him, she left off hanging
the clothes, turned to him and stared at him all the time he
was passing. He turned away his eyes, and walked past as
though he noticed nothing. But it was the end of every-
thing ; he had not the axe ! He was overwhelmed.
“What made me think,” he reflected, as he went under the
gateway. "What made me think that she would be sure not
to be at home at that moment ! Why, why, why did I
assume this so certainly ?"
He was crushed and even humiliated. He could have
laughed at himself in his anger. .. A dull animal rage
boiled within him.
He stood hesitating in the gateway. To go into the street,
to go a walk for appearance' sake was revolting ; to go back
to his room , even more revolting. "And what a chance I have
lost for ever !" he muttered, standing aimlessly in the gate-
way, just opposite the porter's little dark room, which was
also open. Suddenly he started. From the porter's room , two
paces away from him, something shining under the bench to
the right caught his eye. . . . He looked about him- nobody.
He approached the room on tiptoe , went down two steps into
it and in a faint voice called the porter. "Yes, not at home !
Somewhere near though, in the yard, for the door is wide
open." He dashed to the axe ( it was an axe ) and pulled it
CRIME AND PUNISHMENT 73
out from under the bench, where it lay between two chunks
of wood ; at once before going out, he made it fast in the
noose, he thrust both hands into his pockets and went out of
the room ; no one had noticed him ! "When reason fails, the
devil helps !" he thought with a strange grin. This chance
raised his spirits extraordinarily.
He walked along quietly and sedately, without hurry, to
avoid awakening suspicion. He scarcely looked at the
passers-by, tried to escape looking at their faces at all, and
to be as little noticeable as possible. Suddenly he thought of
his hat. "Good heavens ! I had the money the day before
yesterday and did not get a cap to wear instead !" A curse
rose from the bottom of his soul.
Glancing out of the corner of his eye into a shop, he saw
by a clock on the wall that it was ten minutes past seven.
He had to make haste and at the same time to go some way
round, so as to approach the house from the other side. .... . .
When he had happened to imagine all this beforehand, he
had sometimes thought that he would be very much afraid.
But he was not very much afraid now, was not afraid at all,
indeed. His mind was even occupied by irrelevant matters,
but by nothing for long. As he passed the Yusupov garden,
he was deeply absorbed in considering the building of great
fountains, and of their refreshing effect on the atmosphere
in all the squares. By degrees he passed to the conviction
that if the summer garden were extended to the field of Mars,
and perhaps joined to the garden of the Mihailovsky Palace,
it would be a splendid thing and a great benefit to the town.
Then he was interested by the question why in all great towns
men are not simply driven by necessity, but in some peculiar
way inclined to live in those parts of the town where there
are no gardens nor fountains ; where there is most dirt and
smell and all sorts of nastiness. Then his own walks through
the Hay Market came back to his mind, and for a moment he
waked up to reality. "What nonsense !" he thought, "better
think of nothing at all !"
"So probably men led to execution clutch mentally at every
object that meets them on the way," flashed through his mind,
but simply flashed, like lightning ; he made haste to dismiss
this thought. ...
. . . And by now he was near ; here was the
74 FYODOR DOSTOEVSKY
about to feel it with his finger, but drew back his hand and
indeed it was evident without that. Meanwhile there was a
perfect pool of blood. All at once he noticed a string on her
neck ; he tugged at it, but the string was strong and did not
snap and besides, it was soaked with blood. He tried to pull
it out from the front of the dress, but something held it and
prevented its coming. In his impatience he raised the axe
again to cut the string from above on the body, but did not
dare, and with difficulty, smearing his hand and the axe in
the blood, after two minutes' hurried effort, he cut the string
and took it off without touching the body with the axe ; he
was not mistaken- it was a purse. On the string were two
crosses, one of Cyprus wood and one of copper, and an image
in silver filigree, and with them a small greasy chamois
leather purse with a steel rim and ring. The purse was
stuffed very full ; Raskolnikov thrust it in his pocket without
looking at it, flung the crosses on the old woman's body and
rushed back into the bedroom, this time taking the axe with
him.
He was in terrible haste, he snatched the keys, and began
trying them again. But he was unsuccessful. They would
not fit in the locks. It was not so much that his hands were
shaking, but that he kept making mistakes ; though he saw
for instance that a key was not the right one and would not
fit, still he tried to put it in. Suddenly he remembered and
realised that the big key with the deep notches, which was
hanging there with the small keys could not possibly belong
to the chest of drawers, ( on his last visit this had struck
him ) but to some strong box, and that everything perhaps
was hidden in that box. He left the chest of drawers, and
at once felt under the bedstead, knowing that old women
usually keep boxes under their beds. And so it was ; there
was a good-sized box under the bed, at least a yard in length,
with an arched lid covered with red leather and studded with
steel nails. The notched key fitted at once and unlocked it.
At the top, under a white sheet, was a coat of red brocade
lined with hareskin ; under it was a silk dress, then a shawl
and it seemed as though there was nothing below but clothes.
The first thing he did was to wipe his blood-stained hands on
the red brocade. “It's red, and on red blood will be less
80 FYODOR DOSTOEVSKY
on the skull and split at one blow all the top of her head. She
fell heavily at once. Raskolnikov completely lost his head,
snatched up her bundle, dropped it again and ran into the
entry.
Fear gained more and more mastery over him, especially
after this second, quite unexpected murder. He longed to
run away from the place as fast as possible . And if at that
moment he had been capable of seeing and reasoning more
correctly, if he had been able to realise all the difficulties of
his position, the hopelessness, the hideousness and the absurd-
ity of it, if he could have understood how many obstacles and,
perhaps, crimes he had still to overcome or to commit, to get
out of that place and to make his way home, it is very possible
that he would have flung up everything, and would have gone
to give himself up, and not from fear, but from simple hor-
ror and loathing of what he had done. The feeling of loath-
ing especially surged up within him and grew stronger every
minute. He would not now have gone to the box or even
into the room for anything in the world.
But a sort of blankness, even dreaminess had begun by
degrees to take possession of him ; at moments he forgot
himself, or rather forgot what was of importance and caught
at trifles. Glancing, however, into the kitchen and seeing a
bucket half full of water on a bench, he bethought him of
washing his hands and the axe. His hands were sticky with
blood. He dropped the axe with the blade in the water,
snatched a piece of soap that lay in a broken saucer on the
window, and began washing his hands in the bucket. When
they were clean, he took out the axe, washed the blade and
spent a long time, about three minutes, washing the wood
where there were spots of blood rubbing them with soap. Then
he wiped it all with some linen that was hanging to dry on a
line in the kitchen and then he was a long while attentively
examining the axe at the window. There was no trace left
on it, only the wood was still damp. He carefully hung the
axe in the noose under his coat. Then as far as was possible,
in the dim light in the kitchen, he looked over his overcoat,
his trousers and his boots. At the first glance there seemed
to be nothing but stains on the boots. He wetted the rag and
rubbed the boots. But he knew he was not looking thor-
82 FYODOR DOSTOEVSKY
door from outside with the key and not with the hook from
inside. There, do you hear how the hook is clanking ? To
fasten the hook on the inside they must be at home, don't
you see. So there they are sitting inside and don't open the
door !"
"Well ! And so they must be !” cried Koch, astonished.
"What are they about in there !" And he began furiously
shaking the door.
"Stay !" cried the young man again. "Don't pull at it !
There must be something wrong ... . . Here, you've been
ringing and pulling at the door and still
99 they don't open ! So
either they've both fainted or
"What?"
"I tell you what. Let's go and fetch the porter, let him
wake them up."
"All right."
Both were going down.
"Stay. You stop here while I run down for the porter."
"What for ?"
"Well, you'd better."
"All right."
"I'm studying the law you see ! It's evident, e- vi-dent
there's something wrong here !" the young man cried hotly,
and he ran downstairs.
Koch remained. Once more he softly touched the bell
which gave one tinkle, then gently, as though reflecting and
looking about him, began touching the door handle, pulling
it and letting it go to make sure once more that it was
only fastened by the hook. Then puffing and panting
he bent down and began looking at the keyhole : but the
key was in the lock on the inside and so nothing could be
seen.
Raskolnikov stood keeping tight hold of the axe. He was
in a sort of delirium. He was even making ready to fight
when they should come in. While they were knocking and
talking together, the idea several times occurred to him to
end it all at once and shout to them through the door. Now
and then he was tempted to swear at them, to jeer at them ,
while they could not open the door ! "Only make haste !"
was the thought that flashed through his mind.
86 FYODOR DOSTOEVSKY
""
"But what the devil is he about ? • Time was passing,
one minute, and another- no one came. Koch began to be
restless.
"What the devil ?" he cried suddenly and in impatience
deserting his sentry duty, he, too, went down, hurrying and
thumping with his heavy boots on the stairs. The steps died
away.
"Good heavens ! What am I to do ?"
Raskolnikov unfastened the hook, opened the door--there
was no sound. Abruptly, without any thought at all, he went
out, closing the door as thoroughly as he could, and went
downstairs.
He had gone down three flights when he suddenly heard a
loud noise below-where could he go ! There was nowhere
to hide. He was just going back to the flat.
"Hey there ! Catch the brute !"
Somebody dashed out of a flat below, shouting, and rather
fell than ran down the stairs, bawling at the top of his voice.
"Mitka ! Mitka ! Mitka ! Mitka ! Mitka ! Blast him !"
The shout ended in a shriek ; the last sounds came from the
yard ; all was still. But at the same instant several men
talking loud and fast began noisily mounting the stairs.
There were three or four of them. He distinguished the
ringing voice of the young man. “They !"
Filled with despair he went straight to meet them, feeling
"come what must !" If they stopped him-all was lost ; if
they let him pass-all was lost too ; they would remember
him. They were approaching ; they were only a flight from
him—and suddenly deliverance ! A few steps from him on
the right, there was an empty flat with the door wide open,
the flat on the second floor where the painters had been at
work, and which, as though for his benefit, they had just left.
It was they, no doubt, who had just run down, shouting. The
floor had only just been painted, in the middle of the room
stood a pail and a broken pot with paint and brushes. In
one instant he had whisked in at the open door and hidden
behind the wall and only in the nick of time ; they had already
reached the landing. Then they turned and went on up to
the fourth floor, talking loudly. He waited, went out on tip-
toe and ran down the stairs.
CRIME AND PUNISHMENT 87
was closed but not locked, so that it seemed most likely that
the porter was at home. But he had so completely lost all
power of reflection that he walked straight to the door and
opened it. If the porter had asked him “What do you want ?”
he would perhaps have simply handed him the axe. But
again the porter was not at home, and he succeeded in putting
the axe back under the bench and even covering it with the
chunk of wood as before. He met no one, not a soul, after-
wards on the way to his room ; the landlady's door was shut.
When he was in his room, he flung himself on the sofa just
as he was he did not sleep, but sank into blank forgetfulness.
If any one had come into his room then, he would have
jumped up at once and screamed. Scraps and shreds of
thoughts were simply swarming in his brain, but he could not
catch at one, he could not rest on one , in spite of all his
efforts • ..
PART II
CHAPTER I
foot, all his clothes ; were there no traces ? But there was
no doing it like that ; shivering with cold, he began taking
off everything and looking over again. He turned every-
thing over to the last threads and rags, and mistrusting him-
self, went through his search three times.
But there seemed to be nothing, no trace, except in one
place, where some thick drops of congealed blood were cling-
ing to the frayed edge of his trousers. He picked up a big
claspknife and cut off the frayed threads. There seemed to
be nothing more.
Suddenly he remembered that the purse and the things he
had taken out of the old woman's box were still in his
pockets ! He had not thought till then of taking them out
and hiding them ! He had not even thought of them while
he was examining his clothes ! What next ? Instantly he
rushed to take them out and fling them on the table. When
he had pulled out everything, and turned the pocket inside
out to be sure there was nothing left, he carried the whole
heap to the corner. The paper had come off the bottom
of the wall and hung there in tatters . He began stuffing all
the things into the hole under the paper : "They're in ! All
out of sight, and the purse too !" he thought gleefully, get-
ting up and gazing blankly at the hole which bulged out
more than ever. Suddenly he shuddered all over with hor-
ror ; "My God !" he whispered in despair ; "what's the matter
with me ? Is that hidden ? Is that the way to hide things ?"
He had not reckoned on having trinkets to hide. He had
only thought of money, and so had not prepared a hiding-
place.
"But now, now, what am I glad of ?" he thought. "Is that
hiding things ? My reason's deserting me-simply !"
He sat down on the sofa in exhaustion and was at once
shaken by another unbearable fit of shivering. Mechanically
he drew from a chair beside him his old student's winter
coat, which was still warm though almost in rags, covered
himself up with it and once more sank into drowsiness and
delirium. He lost consciousness .
Not more than five minutes had passed when he jumped
up a second time, and at once pounced in a frenzy on his
clothes again.
CRIME AND PUNISHMENT 91
I have warned you ten times over that I would not let you
off the eleventh ! And here you are again, again, you . .
you ... !"
The paper fell out of Raskolnikov's hands , and he looked
wildly at the smart lady who was so unceremoniously treated.
But he soon saw what it meant, and at once began to find
positive amusement in the scandal. He listened with pleasure,
so that he longed to laugh and laugh . · all his nerves were
on edge.
"Ilya Petrovitch !" the head clerk was beginning anxiously,
but stopped short, for he knew from experience that the en-
raged assistant could not be stopped except by force.
As for the smart lady, at first she positively trembled be-
fore the storm. But strange to say, the more numerous and
violent the terms of abuse became, the more amiable she
looked, and the more seductive the smiles she lavished on the
terrible assistant. She moved uneasily, and curtsied inces-
santly, waiting impatiently for a chance of putting in her
word ; and at last she found it.
"There was no sort of noise or fighting in my house, Mr.
Captain," she pattered all at once, like peas dropping, speak-
ing Russian confidently, though with a strong German accent,
"and no sort of scandal, and his honour came drunk, and it's
the whole truth I am telling, Mr. Captain, and I am not to
blame. . . . Mine is an honourable house, Mr. Captain, and
honourable behaviour, Mr. Captain, and I always, always dis-
like any scandal myself. But he came quite tipsy, and asked
for three bottles again, and then he lifted up one leg, and
began playing the pianoforte with one foot, and that is not
at all right in an honourable house, and he ganz broke the
piano, and it was very bad manners indeed and I said so.
And he took up a bottle and began hitting every one with it.
And then I called the porter, and Karl came, and he took
Karl and hit him in the eye ; and he hit Henriette in the eye,
too, and gave me five slaps on the cheek. And it was so
ungentlemanly in an honourable house, Mr. Captain, and
I screamed. And he opened the window over the canal, and
stood in the window, squealing like a little pig ; it was a
disgrace. The idea of squealing like a little pig at the win-
dow into the street ! Fie upon him ! And Karl pulled him
CRIME AND PUNISHMENT 101
away from the window by his coat, and it is true, Mr. Cap-
tain, he tore sein rock. And then he shouted that man muss
pay him fifteen roubles damages. And I did pay him, Mr.
Captain, five roubles for sein rock. And he is an ungentle-
manly visitor and caused all the scandal. 'I will show
you 999
up,' he said, ' for I can write to all the papers about
you.'
"Then he was an author ?"
"Yes, Mr. Captain, and what an ungentlemanly visitor in
""
an honourable house . . .
"Now then ! Enough ! I have told you already
"Ilya Petrovitch !" the head clerk repeated significantly.
The assistant glanced rapidly at him ; the head clerk slightly
shook his head.
66
... So I tell you this, most respectable Luise Ivanovna,
and I tell it you for the last time," the assistant went on.
"If there is a scandal in your honourable house once again, I
will put you yourself in the lock-up, as it is called in polite
society. Do you hear ? So a literary man, an author took
five roubles for his coat-tail in an 'honourable house' ? A
nice set, these authors !"
And he cast a contemptuous glance at Raskolnikov. "There
was a scandal the other day in a restaurant, too. An author
had eaten his dinner and would not pay ; 'I'll write a satire on
you,' says he. And there was another of them on a steamer
last week used the most disgraceful language to the respec-
table family of a civil councilor, his wife and daughter. And
there was one of them turned out of a confectioner's shop
the other day. They are like that, authors, literary men,
students, town-criers . . . Pfoo ! You get along ! I shall
look in upon you myself one day. Then you had better be
careful ! Do you hear?"
With hurried deference, Luise Ivanovna fell to curtsying
in all directions, and so curtsied herself to the door. But at
the door, she stumbled backwards against a good-looking
officer with a fresh, open face and splendid thick fair
whiskers. This was the superintendent of the district himself,
Nikodim Fomitch. Luise Ivanovna made haste to curtsy
almost to the ground, and with mincing little steps, she
fluttered out of the office.
102 FYODOR DOSTOEVSKY
"But that is not our business, you know," the head clerk
was observing.
"Yes, yes. I perfectly agree with you. But allow me to
explain . Raskolnikov put in again, still addressing
Nikodim Fomitch, but trying his best to address Ilya
Petrovitch also, though the latter persistently appeared to
be rummaging among his papers and to be contemptuously
oblivious of him. "Allow me to explain that I have been
living with her for nearly three years and at first . . . at
first ... for why should I not confess it at the very begin-
ning I promised to marry her daughter, it was a verbal
promise, freely given · · she was a girl . . . indeed, 1
liked her, though I was not in love with her a youth-
ful affair in fact . . . that is, I mean to say, that my land-
lady gave me credit freely in those days, and I led a life
of . . . I was very heedless. ·
"Nobody asks you for these personal details , sir, we've no
time to waste." Ilya Petrovitch interposed roughly and
with a note of triumph ; but Raskolnikov stopped him
hotly, though he suddenly found it exceedingly difficult to
speak.
"But excuse me, excuse me. It is for me to explain ... . .
how it all happened . . . In my turn . . . though I agree
with you . it is unnecessary. But a year ago, the girl
died of typhus. I remained lodging there as before, and
when my landlady moved into her present quarters, she said
to me ... and in a friendly way . . . that she had com-
plete trust in me, but still, would I not give her an 1. O. U.
for one hundred and fifteen roubles, all the debt I owed her.
She said if only I gave her that, she would trust me again,
as much as I liked, and that she would never, never-those
were her own words- make use of that 1. o. u. till I could
pay of myself . . . and now, when I have lost my lessons
and have nothing to eat, she takes action against me.
What am I to say to that ?”
"All these affecting details are no business of ours,"
Ilya Petrovitch interrupted rudely. "You must give a
written undertaking, but as for your love affairs and all
these tragic events, we have nothing to do with that."
"Come now . • you are harsh," muttered Nikodim
104 FYODOR DOSTOEVSKY
lash on the back with his whip, for having almost fallen
under his horses' hoofs. The lash so infuriated him that
he dashed away to the railing ( for some unknown reason
he had been walking in the very middle of the bridge in
the traffic ) . He angrily clenched and ground his teeth. He
heard laughter, of course.
"Serve him right !"
"A pickpocket I dare say."
"Pretending to be drunk, for sure, and getting under the
wheels on purpose ; and you have to answer for him."
"It's a regular profession, that's what it is."
But while he stood at the railing, still looking angry and
bewildered after the retreating carriage, and rubbing his
back, he suddenly felt some one thrust money into his hand.
He looked. It was an elderly woman in a kerchief and
goatskin shoes, with a girl, probably her daughter wearing
a hat, and carrying a green parasol.
"Take it, my good man, in Christ's name."
He took it and they passed on. It was a piece of twenty
copecks. From his dress and appearance they might well
have taken him for a beggar asking alms in the streets,
and the gift of the twenty copecks he doubtless owed to the
blow, which made them feel sorry for him.
He closed his hand on the twenty copecks, walked on for
ten paces, and turned facing the Neva, looking towards
the palace. The sky was without a cloud and the water
was almost bright blue, which is so rare in the Neva. The
cupola of the cathedral, which is seen at its best from the
bridge about twenty paces from the chapel, glittered in
the sunlight, and in the pure air every ornament on it
could be clearly distinguished. The pain from the lash
went off, and Raskolnikov forgot about it ; one uneasy and
not quite definite idea occupied him now completely. He
stood still, and gazed long and intently into the distance ;
this spot was especially familiar to him. When he was
attending the university, he had hundreds of times- generally
on his way home-stood still on this spot, gazed at this
truly magnificent spectacle and almost always marvelled
at a vague and mysterious emotion it roused in him. It
left him strangely cold ; this gorgeous picture was for him
96 FYODOR DOSTOEVSKY
I have warned you ten times over that I would not let you
off the eleventh ! And here you are again, again, you . .
you ... !"
The paper fell out of Raskolnikov's hands, and he looked
wildly at the smart lady who was so unceremoniously treated.
But he soon saw what it meant, and at once began to find
positive amusement in the scandal. He listened with pleasure,
so that he longed to laugh and laugh . . . all his nerves were
on edge.
"Ilya Petrovitch !" the head clerk was beginning anxiously,
but stopped short, for he knew from experience that the en-
raged assistant could not be stopped except by force.
As for the smart lady, at first she positively trembled be-
fore the storm . But strange to say, the more numerous and
violent the terms of abuse became, the more amiable she
looked, and the more seductive the smiles she lavished on the
terrible assistant. She moved uneasily, and curtsied inces-
santly, waiting impatiently for a chance of putting in her
word ; and at last she found it.
"There was no sort of noise or fighting in my house, Mr.
Captain," she pattered all at once, like peas dropping, speak-
ing Russian confidently, though with a strong German accent,
"and no sort of scandal, and his honour came drunk, and it's
the whole truth I am telling, Mr. Captain, and I am not to
blame. ...
. . . Mine is an honourable house, Mr. Captain, and
honourable behaviour, Mr. Captain, and I always, always dis-
like any scandal myself. But he came quite tipsy, and asked
for three bottles again, and then he lifted up one leg, and
began playing the pianoforte with one foot, and that is not
at all right in an honourable house, and he ganz broke the
piano, and it was very bad manners indeed and I said so.
And he took up a bottle and began hitting every one with it.
And then I called the porter, and Karl came, and he took
Karl and hit him in the eye ; and he hit Henriette in the eye,
too, and gave me five slaps on the cheek. And it was so
ungentlemanly in an honourable house, Mr. Captain, and
I screamed. And he opened the window over the canal, and
stood in the window, squealing like a little pig ; it was a
disgrace. The idea of squealing like a little pig at the win-
dow into the street ! Fie upon him ! And Karl pulled him
CRIME AND PUNISHMENT 101
away from the window by his coat, and it is true, Mr. Cap-
tain, he tore sein rock. And then he shouted that man muss
pay him fifteen roubles damages. And I did pay him, Mr.
Captain, five roubles for sein rock. And he is an ungentle-
manly visitor and caused all the scandal. 'I will show
you up,' he said, ' for I can write to all the papers about
you.'
"Then he was an author ?"
"Yes, Mr. Captain, and what an ungentlemanly visitor in
an honourable house . . .
"Now then ! Enough ! I have told you already
"Ilya Petrovitch !" the head clerk repeated significantly.
The assistant glanced rapidly at him ; the head clerk slightly
shook his head.
66
. . . So I tell you this, most respectable Luise Ivanovna,
and I tell it you for the last time," the assistant went on.
"If there is a scandal in your honourable house once again, I
will put you yourself in the lock-up, as it is called in polite
society. Do you hear ? So a literary man , an author took
five roubles for his coat-tail in an 'honourable house'? A
nice set, these authors !"
And he cast a contemptuous glance at Raskolnikov. "There
was a scandal the other day in a restaurant, too. An author
had eaten his dinner and would not pay ; 'I'll write a satire on
you,' says he. And there was another of them on a steamer
last week used the most disgraceful language to the respec-
table family of a civil councilor, his wife and daughter. And
there was one of them turned out of a confectioner's shop
the other day. They are like that, authors, literary men,
students, town-criers . . . Pfoo ! You get along ! I shall
look in upon you myself one day. Then you had better be
careful ! Do you hear?"
With hurried deference, Luise Ivanovna fell to curtsying
in all directions, and so curtsied herself to the door. But at
the door, she stumbled backwards against a good-looking
officer with a fresh, open face and splendid thick fair
whiskers. This was the superintendent of the district himself,
Nikodim Fomitch. Luise Ivanovna made haste to curtsy
almost to the ground, and with mincing little steps, she
fluttered out of the office.
102 FYODOR DOSTOEVSKY
"But that is not our business, you know," the head clerk
was observing.
"Yes, yes. I perfectly agree with you. But allow me to
99
explain . Raskolnikov put in again, still addressing
Nikodim Fomitch, but trying his best to address Ilya
Petrovitch also, though the latter persistently appeared to
be rummaging among his papers and to be contemptuously
oblivious of him. "Allow me to explain that I have been
living with her for nearly three years and at first . . . at
first . . . for why should I not confess it at the very begin-
ning I promised to marry her daughter, it was a verbal
promise, freely given . . . she was a girl . . . indeed, 1
liked her, though I was not in love with her • • a youth-
ful affair in fact . . . that is, I mean to say, that my land-
lady gave me credit freely in those days, and I led a life
of ....
. . I was very heedless. ...
"Nobody asks you for these personal details, sir, we've no
time to waste." Ilya Petrovitch interposed roughly and
with a note of triumph ; but Raskolnikov stopped him
hotly, though he suddenly found it exceedingly difficult to
speak.
"But excuse me, excuse me. It is for me to explain .
how it all happened . . . In my turn . . . though I agree
with you .... it is unnecessary . But a year ago, the girl
died of typhus. I remained lodging there as before, and
when my landlady moved into her present quarters, she said
to me ... and in a friendly way that she had com-
plete trust in me, but still, would I not give her an 1. o. U.
for one hundred and fifteen roubles, all the debt I owed her.
She said if only I gave her that, she would trust me again,
as much as I liked, and that she would never, never-those
were her own words-make use of that I. o. U. till I could
pay of myself . . . and now, when I have lost my lessons
and have nothing to eat, she takes action against me.
What am I to say to that ?"
"All these affecting details are no business of ours,"
Ilya Petrovitch interrupted rudely. "You must give a
written undertaking, but as for your love affairs and all
these tragic events, we have nothing to do with that."
"Come now • you are harsh," muttered Nikodim
104 FYODOR DOSTOEVSKY
lash on the back with his whip, for having almost fallen
under his horses' hoofs. The lash so infuriated him that
he dashed away to the railing ( for some unknown reason
he had been walking in the very middle of the bridge in
the traffic ) . He angrily clenched and ground his teeth. He
heard laughter, of course.
"Serve him right !"
"A pickpocket I dare say."
"Pretending to be drunk, for sure, and getting under the
wheels on purpose ; and you have to answer for him."
"It's a regular profession, that's what it is."
But while he stood at the railing, still looking angry and
bewildered after the retreating carriage, and rubbing his
back, he suddenly felt some one thrust money into his hand.
He looked. It was an elderly woman in a kerchief and
goatskin shoes, with a girl, probably her daughter wearing
a hat, and carrying a green parasol.
"Take it, my good man, in Christ's name."
He took it and they passed on. It was a piece of twenty
copecks. From his dress and appearance they might well
have taken him for a beggar asking alms in the streets,
and the gift of the twenty copecks he doubtless owed to the
blow, which made them feel sorry for him.
He closed his hand on the twenty copecks, walked on for
ten paces, and turned facing the Neva, looking towards
the palace. The sky was without a cloud and the water
was almost bright blue, which is so rare in the Neva. The
cupola of the cathedral, which is seen at its best from the
bridge about twenty paces from the chapel, glittered in
the sunlight, and in the pure air every ornament on it
could be clearly distinguished. The pain from the lash
went off, and Raskolnikov forgot about it ; one uneasy and
not quite definite idea occupied him now completely. He
stood still, and gazed long and intently into the distance ;
this spot was especially familiar to him. When he was
attending the university, he had hundreds of times-generally
on his way home-stood still on this spot, gazed at this
truly magnificent spectacle and almost always marvelled
at a vague and mysterious emotion it roused in him. It
left him strangely cold ; this gorgeous picture was for him
116 FYODOR DOSTOEVSKY
although he was able to sit up, and with his right hand gave
him a spoonful of soup, blowing on it that it might not burn
him. But the soup was only just warm. Raskolnikov swal-
lowed one spoonful greedily, then a second, then a third.
But after giving him a few more spoonfuls of soup, Razumi-
hin suddenly stopped, and said that he must ask Zossimov
whether he ought to have more.
Nastasya came in with two bottles of beer.
"And will you have tea ?"
"Yes."
"Cut along, Nastasya, and bring some tea , for tea we may
venture on without the faculty. But here is the beer !" He
moved back to his chair, pulled the soup and meat in front of
him, and began eating as though he had not touched food for
three days.
"I must tell you, Rodya, I dine like this here every day
now," he mumbled with his mouth full of beef, "and it's all
Pashenka, your dear little landlady, who sees to that ; she
loves to do anything for me. I don't ask for it, but, of course,
I don't object. And here's Nastasya with the tea. She is
a quick girl. Nastasya, my dear, won't you have some
beer ?"
"Get along with your nonsense !"
"A cup of tea, then ?"
"A cup of tea, maybe."
"Pour it out. Stay, I'll pour it out myself. Sit down."
He poured out two cups, left his dinner, and sat on the
sofa again. As before, he put his left arm round the sick
man's head, raised him up and gave him tea in spoonfuls,
again blowing each spoonful steadily and earnestly, as though
this process was the principal and most effective means
towards his friend's recovery. Raskolnikov said nothing and
made no resistance, though he felt quite strong enough to
sit upon the sofa without support and could not merely have
held a cup or a spoon, but even perhaps could have walked
about. But from some queer, almost animal, cunning he con-
ceived the idea of hiding his strength and lying low for a
time, pretending if necessary not to be yet in full possession
of his faculties, and meanwhile listening to find out what was
going on. Yet he could not overcome his sense of repug-
124 FYODOR DOSTOEVSKY
relations with her, she planned to get rid of you. And she's
been cherishing that design a long time, but was sorry to
lose the 1. o. u., for you assured her yourself that your
mother would pay."
"It was base of me to say that. . . . My mother herself is
almost a beggar . . . and I told a lie to keep my lodging
and be fed," Raskolnikov said loudly and distinctly.
"Yes, you did very sensibly. But the worst of it is that
at that point Mr. Tchebarov turns up, a business man.
Pashenka would never have thought of doing anything on her
own account, she is too retiring ; but the business man is
by no means retiring, and first thing he puts the question,
'Is there any hope of realising the 1. o. u.?' Answer : there
is, because he has a mother who would save her Rodya with
her hundred and twenty-five roubles pension, if she has to
starve herself ; and a sister, too, who would go into bondage
for his sake. That's what he was building upon. ... .. Why
do you start? I know all the ins and outs of your affairs
now, my dear boy-it's not for nothing that you were so
open with Pashenka when you were her prospective son-in-
law, and I say all this as a friend. ...
. . . But I tell you what
it is an honest and sensitive man is open ; and a business
man ' listens and goes on eating' you up. Well, then she
gave the 1. O. u. by way of payment to this Tchebarov, and
without hesitation he made a formal demand for payment.
When I heard of all this I wanted to blow him up, too, to
clear my conscience, but by that time harmony reigned
between me and Pashenka, and I insisted on stopping the
whole affair, engaging that you would pay. I went security
for you, brother. Do you understand ? We called Tchebarov,
flung him ten roubles and got the 1. 0. u. back from him,
and here I have the honour of presenting it to you. She
trusts your word now. Here, take it, you see I have
torn it."
Razumihin put the note on the table. Raskolnikov looked
at him and turned to the wall without uttering a word.
Even Razumihin felt a twinge.
"I see, brother," he said a moment later, "that I have been
playing the fool again. I thought I should amuse you with
my chatter, and I believe I have only made you cross."
CRIME AND PUNISHMENT 127
had been cut off. He did not attempt to move, but stared
obstinately at the flower.
"But what about the painter ?" Zossimov interrupted
Nastasya's chatter with marked displeasure. She sighed and
was silent.
"Why, he was accused of the murder," Razumihin went on
hotly.
"Was there evidence against him then ?"
"Evidence, indeed ! Evidence that was no evidence, and
that's what we had to prove. It was just as they pitched on
those fellows, Koch and Pestryakov, at first. Foo ! how
stupidly it's all done, it makes one sick, though it's not
one's business ! Pestryakov may be coming to-night.....
By the way, Rodya, you've heard about the business al-
ready ; it happened before you were ill, the day before
you fainted at the police office while they were talking
about it."
Zossimov looked curiously at Raskolnikov. He did not
stir.
"But I say, Razumihin, I wonder at you. What a busy-
body you are !" Zossimov observed.
"Maybe I am, but we will get him off anyway," shouted
Razumihin, bringing his fist down on the table. “What's
the most offensive is not their lying-one can always forgive
lying-lying is a delightful thing, for it leads to truth- what
is offensive is that they lie and worship their own lying. ...
. .
I respect Porfiry, but ...
. . . What threw them out at first ?
The door was locked, and when they came back with the
porter it was open. So it followed that Koch and Pestryakov
were the murderers- that was their logic !"
"But don't excite yourself ; they simply detained them, they
could not help that. . . . And, by the way, I've met that man
Koch. He used to buy unredeemed pledges from the old
woman ? Eh ?"
"Yes, he is a swindler. He buys up bad debts, too. He
makes a profession of it. But enough of him ! Do you know
what makes me angry? It's their sickening, rotten, petrified
routine. . . . And this case might be the means of introduc-
ing a new method. One can show from the psychological
data alone how to get on the track of the real man. 'We
138 FYODOR DOSTOEVSKY
have facts,' they say. But facts are not everything—at least
half the business lies in how you interpret them !"
"Can you interpret them, then ?"
'Anyway, one can't hold one's tongue when one has a
feeling, a tangible feeling, that one might be a help if only
Eh ! Do you know the details of the case ?"
"I am waiting to hear about the painter."
"Oh yes ! Well, here's the story. Early on the third day
after the murder, when they were still dandling Koch and
Pestryakov-though they accounted for every step they took
and it was as plain as a pikestaff-an unexpected fact turned
up. A peasant called Dushkin, who keeps a dram-shop facing
the house, brought to the police office a jeweller's case con-
taining some gold ear-rings, and told a long rigmarole. ‘The
day before yesterday, just after eight o'clock'- mark the
day and the hour ! -' a journeyman house-painter, Nikolay,
who had been in to see me already that day, brought me this
box of gold ear-rings and stones, and asked me to give him
two roubles for them. When I asked him where he got
them, he said that he picked them up in the street. I did
not ask him anything more.' I am telling you Dushkin's story.
'I gave him a note' -a rouble that is for I thought if he
did not pawn it with me he would with another. It would all
come to the same thing-he'd spend it on drink, so the thing
had better be with me. The further you hide it the quicker you
will find it, and if anything turns up, if I hear any rumours,
I'll take it to the police.' Of course, that's all taradiddle ; he
lies like a horse, for I know this Dushkin, he is a pawn-
broker and a receiver of stolen goods, and he did not cheat
Nikolay out of a thirty-rouble trinket in order to give it to
the police. He was simply afraid. But no matter, to return
to Dushkin's story. 'I've known this peasant, Nikolay De-
mentyev, from a child ; he comes from the same province
and district of Zaraïsk, we are both Ryazan men. And
though Nikolay is not a drunkard, he drinks, and I knew he
had a job in that house, painting, working with Dmitri, who
comes from the same village, too. As soon as he got the
rouble, he changed it, had a couple of glasses, took his change
and went out. But I did not see Dmitri with him then. And
the next day I heard that some one had murdered Alyona
CRIME AND PUNISHMENT 139
were turned inside out. And the day before yesterday they
arrested Nikolay in a tavern at the end of the town. He had
gone there, taken the silver cross off his neck and asked for
a dram for it. They gave it to him. A few minutes after-
wards the woman went to the cowshed, and through a crack
in the wall she saw in the stable adjoining he had made a
noose of his sash from the beam, stood on a block of wood,
and was trying to put his neck in the noose. The woman
screeched her hardest ; people ran in. 'So that's what you
are up to !' 'Take me,' he says, 'to such-and-such a police
office ; I'll confess everything.' Well, they took him to that
police station- that is here—with a suitable escort. So
they asked him this and that, how old he is, 'twenty-two,'
and so on. At the question, ' When you were working with
Dmitri, didn't you see any one on the staircase at such-and-
such a time ?'-answer : 'To be sure folks may have gone
up and down, but I did not notice them.' 'And didn't you
hear anything, any noise, and so on?' 'We heard nothing
special.' ' And did you hear, Nikolay, that on the same day
Widow So-and-so and her sister were murdered and robbed ?'
'I never knew a thing about it. The first I heard of it was
from Afanasy Pavlovitch the day before yesterday.' ' And
where did you find the ear-rings ?' 'I found them on the
pavement .' 'Why didn't you go to work with Dmitri the
other day?' ' Because I was drinking.' ' And where were
you drinking?' 'Oh, in such and such a place.' 'Why did
you run away from Dushkin's ?' 'Because I was awfully
frightened.' 'What were you frightened of ?' 'That I should
be accused.' 'How could you be frightened, if you felt free
from guilt ?' Now, Zossimov, you may not believe me, that
question was put literally in those words. I know it for a
fact, it was repeated to me exactly ! What do you say to
that?"
"Well, anyway, there's the evidence."
"I am not talking of the evidence now, I am talking about
that question, of their own idea of themselves. Well, so
they squeezed and squeezed him and he confessed : 'I did
not find it in the street, but in the flat where I was painting
with Dmitri.' 'And how was that?' 'Why, Dmitri and I
were painting there all day, and we were just getting ready
CRIME AND PUNISHMENT 141
on in it, but they took no special notice and could not re-
member whether there actually were men at work in it."
"Hm ! . . . So the only evidence for the defence is that
they were beating one another and laughing. That con-
stitutes a strong presumption, but . . . How do you explain
the facts yourself?"
"How do I explain them ? What is there to explain ? It's
clear. At any rate, the direction in which explanation is to
be sought is clear, and the jewel-case points to it. The real
murderer dropped these ear-rings. The murderer was up-
stairs, locked in, when Koch and Pestryakov knocked at the
door. Koch, like an ass, did not stay at the door ; so the
murderer popped out and ran down, too, for he had no
other way of escape. He hid from Koch, Pestryakov and
the porter in the flat when Nikolay and Dmitri had just run
out of it. He stopped there while the porter and others
were going upstairs, waited till they were out of hearing,
and then went calmly downstairs at the very minute when
Dmitri and Nikolay ran out into the street and there was
no one in the entry ; possibly he was seen, but not noticed.
There are lots of people going in and out. He must have
dropped the ear-rings out of his pocket when he stood be-
hind the door, and did not notice he dropped them, because
he had other things to think of. The jewel-case is a con-
clusive proof that he did stand there. . . . That's how I
explain it."
"Too clever ! No, my boy, you're too clever. That beats
everything !"
"But, why, why?"
"Why, because everything fits too well • • it's too melo-
dramatic."
"A-ach !" Razumihin was exclaiming, but at that moment
the door opened and a personage came in who was a
stranger to all present.
CHAPTER V
"Why don't you drink your tea? It's getting cold," said
Zametov .
"What ! Tea ? Oh, yes . · Raskolnikov sipped the
glass, put a morsel of bread in his mouth and, suddenly look-
ing at Zametov, seemed to remember everything and pulled
himself together. At the same moment his face resumed its
original mocking expression. He went on drinking tea.
"There have been a great many of these crimes lately,"
said Zametov. "Only the other day I read in the Moscow
News that a whole gang of false coiners had been caught in
Moscow. It was a regular society. They used to forge
tickets !"
"Oh, but it was a long time ago ! I read about it a month
ago," Raskolnikov answered calmly. "So you consider them
criminals ?" he added smiling.
"Of course they are criminals."
"They? They are children, simpletons, not criminals !
Why, half a hundred people meeting for such an object-
what an idea ! Three would be too many, and then they
want to have more faith in one other than in themselves !
One has only to blab in his cups and it all collapses. Simple-
tons ! They engaged untrustworthy people to change the
notes-what a thing to trust to a casual stranger ! Well, let
us suppose that these simpletons succeed and each makes a
million, and what follows for the rest of their lives ? Each
is dependent on the others for the rest of his life ! Better
hang oneself at once ! And they did not know how to
change the notes either ; the man who changed the notes
took five thousand roubles, and his hands trembled . He
counted the first four thousand, but did not count the fifth
thousand-he was in such a hurry to get the money into
his pocket and run away. Of course he roused suspicion.
And the whole thing came to a crash through one fool ! Is
it possible ?"
"That his hands trembled ?" observed Zametov, "yes,
that's quite possible. That I feel quite sure is possible.
Sometimes one can't stand things."
"Can't stand that ?"
"Why, could you stand it then ? No, I couldn't. For the
sake of a hundred roubles to face such a terrible experience !
166 FYODOR DOSTOEVSKY
Zametov, left alone, sat for a long time in the same place,
plunged in thought. Raskolnikov had unwittingly worked a
revolution in his brain on a certain point and had made up
his mind for him conclusively.
"Ilya Petrovitch is a blockhead," he decided.
Raskolnikov had hardly opened the door of the restaurant
when he stumbled against Razumihin on the steps. They
did not see each other till they almost knocked against each
other. For a moment they stood looking each other up and
down. Razumihin was greatly astounded, then anger, real
anger gleamed fiercely in his eyes.
"So here you are !" he shouted at the top of his voice-
"you ran away from your bed ! And here I've been looking
for you under the sofa ! We went up to the garret. I
almost beat Nastasya on your account. And here he is after
all. Rodya ! What is the meaning of it ? Tell me the whole
truth ! Confess ! Do you hear ?"
"It means that I'm sick to death of you all and I want to
be alone," Raskolnikov answered calmly.
"Alone ? When you are not able to walk, when your face
is as white as a sheet and you are gasping for breath ! Idiot !
What have you been doing in the Palais de Crystal ?
Own up at once !"
"Let me go !" said Raskolnikov and tried to pass him.
This was too much for Razumihin ; he gripped him firmly
by the shoulder.
"Let you go? You dare tell me to let you go ? Do you
know what I'll do with you directly ? I'll pick you up, tie
you up in a bundle, carry you home under my arm and lock
you up !"
"Listen, Razumihin," Raskolnikov began quietly, appar-
ently calm-"can't you see that I don't want your benevo-
lence ? A strange desire you have to shower benefits on a
man who . . . curses them, who feels them a burden in fact !
Why did you seek me out at the beginning of my illness ?
Maybe I was very glad to die. Didn't I tell you plainly
enough to-day that you were torturing me, that I was ...
sick of you ! You seem to want to torture people ! I assure
you that all that is seriously hindering my recovery, because
it's continually irritating me. You saw Zossimov went away
168 FYODOR DOSTOEVSKY
Zametov, left alone, sat for a long time in the same place,
plunged in thought. Kaskolnikov had unwittingly worked a
revolution in his brain on a certain point and had made up
his mind for him conclusively.
"Ilya Petrovitch is a blockhead," he decided.
Raskolnikov had hardly opened the door of the restaurant
when he stumbled against Razumihin on the steps. They
did not see each other till they almost knocked against each
other. For a moment they stood looking each other up and
down. Razumihin was greatly astounded, then anger, real
anger gleamed fiercely in his eyes.
"So here you are !" he shouted at the top of his voice-
"you ran away from your bed ! And here I've been looking
for you under the sofa ! We went up to the garret. I
almost beat Nastasya on your account. And here he is after
all. Rodya ! What is the meaning of it ? Tell me the whole
truth ! Confess ! Do you hear?"
"It means that I'm sick to death of you all and I want to
be alone," Raskolnikov answered calmly.
"Alone ? When you are not able to walk, when your face
is as white as a sheet and you are gasping for breath ! Idiot !
What have you been doing in the Palais de Crystal ?
Own up at once !"
"Let me go !" said Raskolnikov and tried to pass him.
This was too much for Razumihin ; he gripped him firmly
by the shoulder.
"Let you go ? You dare tell me to let you go ? Do you
know what I'll do with you directly ? I'll pick you up, tie
you up in a bundle, carry you home under my arm and lock
you up !"
"Listen, Razumihin," Raskolnikov began quietly, appar-
ently calm-"can't you see that I don't want your benevo-
lence ? A strange desire you have to shower benefits on a
man who . . . curses them, who feels them a burden in fact !
Why did you seek me out at the beginning of my illness ?
Maybe I was very glad to die. Didn't I tell you plainly
enough to-day that you were torturing me, that I was
sick of you ! You seem to want to torture people ! I assure
you that all that is seriously hindering my recovery, because
it's continually irritating me. You saw Zossimov went away
170 FYODOR DOSTOEVSKY
Just now to avoid irritating me. You leave me alone too , for
goodness' sake ! What right have you, indeed, to keep me by
force ? Don't you see that I am in possession of all my
faculties now ? How, how can I persuade you not to perse-
cute me with your kindness ? I may be ungrateful, I may
be mean, only let me be, for God's sake, let me be ! Let
me be, let me be !"
He began calmly, gloating beforehand over the venomous
phrases he was about to utter, but finished, panting for
breath, in a frenzy, as he had been with Luzhin .
Razumihin stood a moment, thought and let his hand drop.
"Well, go to hell then," he said gently and thoughtfully.
"Stay," he roared, as Raskolnikov was about to move. "Listen
to me. Let me tell you, that you are all a set of babbling,
posing idiots ! If you've any little trouble you brood over
it like a hen over an egg. And you are plagiarists even in
that ! There isn't a sign of independent life in you ! You
are made of spermaceti ointment and you've lymph in your
veins instead of blood. I don't believe in any one of you !
In any circumstances the first thing for all of you is to be
unlike a human being ! Stop !" he cried with redoubled fury,
noticing that Raskolnikov was again making a movement—
"hear me out ! You know I'm having a house-warming this
evening, I dare say they've arrived by now, but I left my
uncle there I just ran in—to receive the guests. And if you
weren't a fool, a common fool, a perfect fool, if you were
an original instead of a translation ....
. . you see, Rodya, I
recognise you're a clever fellow, but you're a fool !-and if
you weren't a fool you'd come round to me this evening
instead of wearing out your boots in the street ! Since you
have gone out, there's no help for it ! I'd give you a snug
easy chair, my landlady has one . . . a cup of tea, com-
pany. . . . Or you could lie on the sofa-any way you would
be with us. • Zossimov will be there too. Will you
come ?"
"No."
"R-rubbish !" Razumihin shouted, out of patience. "How
do you know? You can't answer for yourself ! You
don't know anything about it. . . . Thousands of times I've
fought tooth and nail with people and ran back to them
CRIME AND PUNISHMENT 171
we live close by, the second house from the end, see
yonder...."
The crowd broke up, the police still remained round the
woman, some one mentioned the police station. . . . Raskol-
nikov looked on with a strange sensation of indifference and
apathy. He felt disgusted. "No, that's loathsome . water
... it's not good enough," he muttered to himself. "Nothing
will come of it," he added, "no use to wait. What about the
police office ... ? And why isn't Zametov at the police
office ? The police office is open till ten o'clock. · .." He
turned his back to the railing and looked about him.
"Very well then !" he said resolutely ; he moved from the
bridge and walked in the direction of the police office. His
heart felt hollow and empty. He did not want to think.
Even his depression had passed, there was not a trace now
of the energy with which he had set out "to make an end of
it all." Complete apathy succeeded to it.
"Well, it's a way out of it," he thought, walking slowly
and listlessly along the canal bank. "Anyway I'll make an
end, for I want to. . . . But is it a way out ? What does
it matter ! There'll be the square yard of space- ha ! But
what an end ! Is it really the end ? Shall I tell them or not ?
Ah . . . damn ! How tired I am! If I could find some-
where to sit or lie down soon ! What I am most ashamed of
is its being so stupid . But I don't care about that either !
What idiotic ideas come into one's head."
To reach the police-office he had to go straight forward
and take the second turning to the left. It was only a few
paces away. But at the first turning he stopped and, after a
minute's thought, turned into a side street and went two
streets out of his way, possibly without any object, or pos-
sibly to delay a minute and gain time. He walked, looking
at the ground ; suddenly some one seemed to whisper in his
ear ; he lifted his head and saw that he was standing at the
very gate of the house. He had not passed it, he had not
been near it since that evening. An overwhelming, unac-
countable prompting drew him on. He went into the house,
passed through the gateway, then into the first entrance on
the right, and began mounting the familiar staircase to the
fourth storey. The narrow, steep staircase was very dark.
174 FYODOR DOSTOEVSKY
"But what do you want ?" the porter shouted again, be-
ginning to get angry in earnest-"Why are you hanging
about ?"
"You funk the police station then?" said Raskolnikov
jeeringly.
"How funk it? Why are you hanging about ?"
"He's a rogue !" shouted the peasant woman.
"Why waste time talking to him ?” cried the other porter,
a huge peasant in a full open coat and with keys on his belt.
"Get along ! He is a rogue and no mistake. Get along !"
And seizing Raskolnikov by the shoulder he flung him into
the street. He lurched forward, but recovered his footing,
looked at the spectators in silence and walked away.
"Strange man !" observed the workman.
"There are strange folks about nowadays," said the woman.
"You should have taken him to the police station all the
same," said the man in the long coat.
"Better have nothing to do with him," decided the big
porter. "A regular rogue ! Just what he wants, you may
be sure, but once take him up, you won't get rid of him. · •
We know the sort !"
"Shall I go there or not ?" thought Raskolnikov, standing
in the middle of the thoroughfare at the cross roads, and
he looked about him, as though expecting from some one a
decisive word. But no sound came, all was dead and silent
like the stones on which he walked, dead to him, to him
alone. . . . All at once at the end of the street, two hundred
yards away, in the gathering dusk he saw a crowd and
heard talk and shouts. In the middle of the crowd stood
a carriage. ... A light gleamed in the middle of the street.
"What is it ?" Raskolnikov turned to the right and went up
to the crowd. He seemed to clutch at everything and smiled
coldly when he recognised it, for he had fully made up his
mind to go to the police station and knew that it would
all soon be over.
CHAPTER VII
from window to stove and back again, with her arms folded
across her chest, talking to herself and coughing. Of late
she had begun to talk more than ever to her eldest girl,
Polenka, a child of ten, who, though there was much she did
not understand, understood very well that her mother needed
her, and so always watched her with her big clever eyes and
strove her utmost to appear to understand. This time
Polenka was undressing her little brother, who had been
unwell all day and was going to bed. The boy was waiting
for her to take off his shirt, which had to be washed at
night. He was sitting straight and motionless on a chair,
with a silent, serious face, with his legs stretched out straight
before him-heels together and toes turned out.
He was listening to what his mother was saying to his
sister, sitting perfectly still with pouting lips and wide-open
eyes, just as all good little boys have to sit when they are
undressed to go to bed. A little girl, still younger, dressed
literally in rags, stood at the screen, waiting for her turn.
The door on to the stairs was open to relieve them a little
from the clouds of tobacco smoke which floated in from the
other rooms and brought on long terrible fits of coughing
in the poor, consumptive woman. Katerina Ivanovna seemed
to have grown even thinner during that week and the heavy
flush on her face was brighter than ever.
"You wouldn't believe, you can't imagine, Polenka," she
said, walking about the room, "what a happy luxurious life
we had in my papa's house and how this drunkard has
brought me, and will bring you all, to ruin ! Papa was a
civil colonel and only a step from being a governor ; so that
every one who came to see him said 'We look upon you,
Ivan Mihailovitch, as our governor !' When I when
" she coughed violently, "Oh, cursed life," she cried,
clearing her throat and pressing her hands to her breast,
"when I . . . when at the last ball . • at the marshal's
... Princess Bezzemelny saw me-who gave me the bless-
ing when your father and I were married, Polenka-she
asked at once 'Isn't that the pretty girl who danced the shawl
dance at the breaking up.' ( You must mend that tear, you
must take your needle and darn it as I showed you, or tomor-
row-cough, cough, cough—he will make the hole bigger,"
CRIME AND PUNISHMENT 181
one, who remained for a time, trying to drive out the people
who came in from the stairs. Almost all Madame Lippevech-
sel's lodgers had streamed in from the inner rooms of the
flat ; at first they were squeezed together in the doorway,
but afterwards they overflowed into the room . Katerina
Ivanovna flew into a fury.
"You might let him die in peace, at least," she shouted at
the crowd, "is it a spectacle for you to gape at ? With
cigarettes ! (Cough, cough, cough ! ) You might as well
keep your hats on. And there is one in his hat ! . . .
Get away ! You should respect the dead, at least !"
Her cough choked her—but her reproaches were not with-
out result. They evidently stood in some awe of Katerina
Ivanovna. The lodgers, one after another, squeezed back
into the doorway with that strange inner feeling of satisfac-
tion which may be observed in the presence of a sudden acci-
dent, even in those nearest and dearest to the victim, from
which no living man is exempt, even in spite of the sincerest
sympathy and compassion.
Voices outside were heard, however, speaking of the
hospital and saying that they'd no business to make a dis-
turbance here.
"No business to die !" cried Katerina Ivanovna, and she
was rushing to the door to vent her wrath upon them, but
in the doorway came face to face with Madame Lippevech-
sel who had only just heard of the accident and ran in to
restore order. She was a particularly quarrelsome and irre-
sponsible German.
"Ah, my God !" she cried, clasping her hands, "your hus-
band drunken horses have trampled ! To the hospital with
him ! I am the landlady !"
"Amalia Ludwigovna, I beg you to recollect what you are
saying," Katerina Ivanovna began haughtily (she always
took a haughty tone with the landlady that she might "re-
member her place" and even now could not deny herself this
satisfaction ) . "Amalia Ludwigovna . . ."
"I have you once before told that you to call me Amalia
Ludwigovna may not dare ; I am Amalia Ivanovna."
"You are not Amalia Ivanovna, but Amalia Ludwigovna,
and as I am not one of your despicable flatterers like Mr.
184 FYODOR DOSTOEVSKY
and his only shirt dirty and in rags and he'd have fallen
asleep like a log, and I should have been sousing and rinsing
till daybreak, washing his rags and the children's and then
drying them by the window and as soon as it was daylight
I should have been darning them. That's how I spend my
nights ! ... What's the use of talking of forgiveness ! I
have forgiven as it is !"
A terrible hollow cough interrupted her words. She put
her handkerchief to her lips and showed it to the priest,
pressing her other hand to her aching chest. The handker-
chief was covered with blood. The priest bowed his head and
said nothing .
Marmeladov was in the last agony ; he did not take his
eyes off the face of Katerina Ivanovna, who was bending
over him again. He kept trying to say something to her ; he
began moving his tongue with difficulty and articulating
indistinctly, but Katerina Ivanovna, understanding that
he wanted to ask her forgiveness, called peremptorily to
him :
"Be silent ! No need ! I know what you want to say !"
And the sick man was silent, but at the same instant his
wandering eyes strayed to the doorway and he saw Sonia.
Till then he had not noticed her : she was standing in the
shadow in a corner.
"Who's that ? Who's that ?" he said suddenly in a thick
gasping voice, in agitation, turning his eyes in horror towards
the door where his daughter was standing, and trying to
sit up.
"Lie down ! Lie do-own !" cried Katerina Ivanovna.
With unnatural strength he had succeeded in propping
himself on his elbow. He looked wildly and fixedly for some
time on his daughter, as though not recognising her. He
had never seen her before in such attire. Suddenly he rec-
ognised her, crushed and ashamed in her humiliation and
gaudy finery, meekly awaiting her turn to say good-bye to
her dying father. His face showed intense suffering.
"Sonia ! Daughter ! Forgive !" he cried, and he tried to
hold out his hand to her, but, losing his balance, he fell off
the sofa, face downwards on the floor. They rushed to pick
him up, they put him on the sofa ; but he was dying. Sonia
CRIME AND PUNISHMENT 189
by .. · let him win his bet ! Let us give him some satisfac-
tion, too- no matter ! Strength, strength is what one wants,
you can get nothing without it, and strength must be won
by strength-that's what they don't know," he added proudly
and self-confidently and he walked with flagging footsteps
from the bridge. Pride and self-confidence grew continually
stronger in him ; he was becoming a different man every
moment. What was it had happened to work this revolution
in him ? He did not know himself ; like a man catching at
a straw, he suddenly felt that he, too, ' could live, that there
was still life for him, that his life had not died with the old
woman.' Perhaps he was in too great a hurry with his con-
clusions, but he did not think of that.
"But I did ask her to remember ' Thy servant Rodion' in her
prayers," the idea struck him. "Well, that was . . . in case
of emergency," he added and laughed himself at his boyish
sally. He was in the best of spirits.
He easily found Razumihin ; the new lodger was already
known at Potchinkov's and the porter at once showed him the
way. Half-way upstairs he could hear the noise and ani-
mated conversation of a big gathering of people. The door
was wide open on the stairs ; he could hear exclamations and
discussion. Raziumihin's room was fairly large ; the com-
pany consisted of fifteen people. Raskolnikov stopped in the
entry, where two of the landlady's servants were busy behind
a screen with two samovars, bottles, plates and dishes of pie
and savouries, brought up from the landlady's kitchen.
Raskolnikov sent in for Razumihin. He ran out delighted.
At the first glance it was apparent that he had had a great
Ideal to drink and, though no amount of liquor made Razu-
mihin quite drunk, this time he was perceptibly affected by it.
"Listen," Raskolnikov hastened to say, "I've only just
come to tell you you've won your bet and that no one really
knows what may not happen to him. I can't come in ; I am
so weak that I shall fall down directly. And so good eve-
ning and good-bye ! Come and see me to-morrow."
"Do you know what ? I'll see you home. If you say you're
""
weak yourself, you must . . .
"And your visitors ? Who is the curly-headed one who has
just peeped out?"
CRIME AND PUNISHMENT 193
CHAPTER I
take in here ? And you his betrothed ! You are his be-
trothed ? Yes ? Well, then, I tell you, your fiancé is a
scoundrel ."
"
"Excuse me, Mr. Razumihin, you are forgetting ··
Pulcheria Alexandrovna was beginning.
"Yes, yes, you are right, I did forget myself, I am ashamed
of it," Razumihin made haste to apologise. "But ... but
you can't be angry with me for speaking so ! For I speak
sincerely and not because . . . hm, hm ! That would be dis-
graceful ; in fact not because I'm in . . . hm ! Well, any-
way I won't say why, I daren't. . . . But all we saw to-day
when he came in that that man is not of our sort. Not
because he had his hair curled at the barber's, not because he
was in such a hurry to show his wit, but because he is a
spy, a speculator, because he is a skinflint and a buffoon.
That's evident. Do you think him clever ? No, he is a fool,
a fool. And is he a match for you ? Good heavens ! Do
you see, ladies ?" he stopped suddenly on the way upstairs
to their rooms, "though all my friends there are drunk, yet
they are all honest, and though we do talk a lot of trash,
and I do, too, yet we shall talk our way to the truth at last,
for we are on the right path, while Pyotr Petrovitch ... is
not on the right path . Though I've been calling them all
sorts of names just now, I do respect them all ...
. . . though I
don't respect Zametov, I like him, for he is a puppy, and that
bullock Zossimov, because he is an honest man and knows
his work. But enough, it's all said and forgiven. Is it for-
given ? Well, then, let's go on. I know this corridor, I've
been here, there was a scandal here at Number 3. ...
Where are you here ? Which number ? eight ? Well, lock
yourselves in for the night, then. Don't let anybody in.
In a quarter of an hour I'll come back with news, and half
an hour later I'll bring Zossimov, you'll see ! Good-bye, I'll
run."
"Good heavens, Dounia, what is going to happen ?" said
Pulcheria Alexandrovna, addressing her daughter with
anxiety and dismay.
"Don't worry yourself, mother," said Dounia, taking off
her hat and cape. "God has sent this gentleman to our aid,
though he has come from a drinking party. We can depend
CRIME AND PUNISHMENT 205
jokes he made every day at table ! And in this case his rags,
the insolent police-officer, the fever and this suspicion ! All
that working upon a man half frantic with hypochondria,
and with his morbid exceptional vanity ! That may well have
been the starting-point of illness. Well, bother it all ! .
And, by the way, that Zametov certainly is a nice fellow,
but hm ... he shouldn't have told all that last night. He
is an awful chatterbox !"
"But whom did he tell it to ? You and me?"
"And Porfiry."
"What does that matter ?"
"And, by the way, have you any influence on them, his
mother and sister ? Tell them to be more careful with him
""
to-day.
"They'll get on all right !" Razumihin answered reluctantly.
"Why is he so set against this Luzhin ? A man with
money and she doesn't seem to dislike him . . . and they
haven't a farthing I suppose ? eh ?"
"But what business is it of yours ?" Razumihin cried with
annoyance. "How can I tell whether they've a farthing ?
""
Ask them yourself and perhaps you'll find out. . . .'
"Foo, what an ass you are sometimes ! Last night's wine
has not gone off yet. .... . . Good-bye ; thank your Praskovya
Pavlovna from me for my night's lodging. She locked her-
self in, made no reply to my bonjour through the door ; she
was up at seven o'clock, the samovar was taken into her
from the "" kitchen. I was not vouchsafed a personal inter-
view. . . .'
At nine o'clock precisely Razumihin reached the lodgings
at Bakaleyev's house. Both ladies were waiting for him with
nervous impatience. They had risen at seven o'clock or
earlier. He entered looking as black as night, bowed awk-
wardly and was at once furious with himself for it. He had
reckoned without his host : Pulcheria Alexandrovna fairly
rushed at him, seized him by both hands and was almost kiss-
ing them. He glanced timidly at Avdotya Romanovna, but
her proud countenance wore at that moment an expression
of such gratitude and friendliness, such complete and un-
looked-for respect ( in place of the sneering looks and ill-
disguised contempt he had expected ) , that it threw him into
216 FYODOR DOSTOEVSKY
take in here ? And you his betrothed ! You are his be-
trothed ? Yes ? Well, then, I tell you, your fiancé is a
scoundrel."
"9
"Excuse me, Mr. Razumihin, you are forgetting · •
Pulcheria Alexandrovna was beginning.
"Yes, yes, you are right, I did forget myself, I am ashamed
of it," Razumihin made haste to apologise. "But ... . . . but
you can't be angry with me for speaking so ! For I speak
sincerely and not because ... hm, hm ! That would be dis-
graceful ; in fact not because I'm in .... . . hm ! Well, any-
way I won't say why, I daren't. . . . But all we saw to-day
when he came in that that man is not of our sort. Not
because he had his hair curled at the barber's, not because he
was in such a hurry to show his wit, but because he is a
spy, a speculator, because he is a skinflint and a buffoon.
That's evident. Do you think him clever ? No, he is a fool,
a fool. And is he a match for you ? Good heavens ! Do
you see, ladies ?" he stopped suddenly on the way upstairs
to their rooms, "though all my friends there are drunk, yet
they are all honest, and though we do talk a lot of trash,
and I do, too , yet we shall talk our way to the truth at last,
for we are on the right path, while Pyotr Petrovitch . . . is
not on the right path . Though I've been calling them all
sorts of names just now, I do respect them all . . . though I
don't respect Zametov, I like him, for he is a puppy, and that
bullock Zossimov, because he is an honest man and knows
his work. But enough, it's all said and forgiven. Is it for-
given ? Well, then, let's go on. I know this corridor, I've
been here, there was a scandal here at Number 3. • •
Where are you here ? Which number ? eight ? Well, lock
yourselves in for the night, then. Don't let anybody in.
In a quarter of an hour I'll come back with news, and half
an hour later I'll bring Zossimov, you'll see ! Good-bye, I'll
run."
"Good heavens, Dounia, what is going to happen ?" said
Pulcheria Alexandrovna, addressing her daughter with
anxiety and dismay.
"Don't worry yourself, mother," said Dounia, taking off
her hat and cape. "God has sent this gentleman to our aid,
though he has come from a drinking party. We can depend
CRIME AND PUNISHMENT 205
jokes he made every day at table ! And in this case his rags,
the insolent police-officer, the fever and this suspicion ! All
that working upon a man half frantic with hypochondria,
and with his morbid exceptional vanity ! That may well have
been the starting-point of illness. Well, bother it all ! . . .
And, by the way, that Zametov certainly is a nice fellow,
but hm . . . he shouldn't have told all that last night. He
is an awful chatterbox !"
"But whom did he tell it to ? You and me ?"
"And Porfiry."
"What does that matter ?"
"And, by the way, have you any influence on them , his
mother and sister ? Tell them to be more careful with him
to-day...."
"They'll get on all right !" Razumihin answered reluctantly.
"Why is he so set against this Luzhin ? A man with
money and she doesn't seem to dislike him . . . and they
haven't a farthing I suppose ? eh ?"
"But what business is it of yours ?” Razumihin cried with
annoyance. "How can I tell whether they've a farthing ?
Ask them yourself and perhaps you'll find out. . . ."
"Foo, what an ass you are sometimes ! Last night's wine
has not gone off yet . . . . Good-bye ; thank your Praskovya
Pavlovna from me for my night's lodging. She locked her-
self in, made no reply to my bonjour through the door ; she
was up at seven o'clock, the samovar was taken into her
from the kitchen. I was not vouchsafed a personal inter-
view. . . ."
At nine o'clock precisely Razumihin reached the lodgings
at Bakaleyev's house. Both ladies were waiting for him with
nervous impatience. They had risen at seven o'clock or
earlier. He entered looking as black as night, bowed awk-
wardly and was at once furious with himself for it. He had
reckoned without his host : Pulcheria Alexandrovna fairly
rushed at him, seized him by both hands and was almost kiss-
ing them. He glanced timidly at Avdotya Romanovna, but
her proud countenance wore at that moment an expression
of such gratitude and friendliness, such complete and un-
looked-for respect ( in place of the sneering looks and ill-
disguised contempt he had expected ) , that it threw him into
216 FYODOR DOSTOEVSKY
"And what did you hear ?" both the ladies asked at once.
"Well, nothing very special. I only learned that the mar-
riage, which only failed to take place through the girl's death,
was not at all to Praskovya Pavlovna's liking. They say,
too, the girl was not at all pretty, in fact I am told positively
ugly ... and such an invalid ... . . . and queer. But she seems
to have had some good qualities. She must have had some
good qualities or it's quite inexplicable. . . . She had no
money either and he wouldn't have considered her money.
... But it's always difficult to judge in such matters."
"I am sure she was a good girl," Avdotya Romanovna
observed briefly.
"God forgive me, I simply rejoiced at her death. Though
I don't know which of them would have caused most misery
to the other he to her or she to him," Pulcheria Alexan-
drovna concluded. Then she began tentatively questioning
him about the scene on the previous day with Luzhin, hesi-
tating and continually glancing at Dounia, obviously to the
latter's annoyance. This incident more than all the rest evi-
dently caused her uneasiness, even consternation. Razumihin
described it in detail again , but this time he added his own
conclusions : he openly blamed Raskolnikov for intentionally
insulting Pyotr Petrovitch, not seeking to excuse him on the
score of his illness.
"He had planned it before his illness," he added.
"I think so, too," Pulcheria Alexandrovna agreed with a
dejected air. But she was very much surprised at hearing
Razumihin express himself so carefully and even with a cer-
tain respect about Pyotr Petrovitch. Avdotya Romanovna,
too, was struck by it.
"So this is your opinion of Pyotr Petrovitch ?" Pulcheria
Alexandrovna could not resist asking.
"I can have no other opinion of your daughter's future
husband," Razumihin answered firmly, and with warmth,
"and I don't say it simply from vulgar politness, but be-
cause ..... simply because Avdotya Romanovna has of her
own free will deigned to accept this man. If I spoke so
rudely of him last night, it was because I was disgustingly
drunk and . . . mad besides ; yes, mad, crazy, I lost my head
completely . • and this morning I am ashamed of it."
220 FYODOR DOSTOEVSKY
very day I was sending you that letter ! Would you believe
it, that awful man seems to have been the cause of her death.
They say he beat her dreadfully."
"Why, were they on such bad terms ?" he asked, addressing
his sister.
"Not at all. Quite the contrary indeed. With her, he was
always very patient, considerate even. In fact, all those seven
years of their married life he gave way to her, too much so
indeed, in many cases. All of a sudden he seems to have lost
patience."
"Then he could not have been so awful if he controlled
himself for seven years ? You seem to be defending him,
Dounia ?"
"No, no, he's an awful man ! I can imagine nothing more
awful !" Dounia answered, almost with a shudder, knitting
her brows, and sinking into thought.
"That had happened in the morning," Pulcheria Alexan-
drovna went on hurriedly. "And directly afterwards she
ordered the horses to be harnessed to drive to the town
immediately after dinner. She always used to drive to the
town in such cases. She ate a very good dinner, I am
99
told. . . .
"After the beating ?"
"That was always her . . . habit ; and immediately after
dinner, so as not to be late in starting, she went to the
bath-house. . . . You see, she was undergoing some treat-
ment with baths. They have a cold spring there, and
she used to bathe in it regularly every day, and no
sooner had she got into the water when she suddenly had
a stroke !"
"I should think so, " said Zossimov.
"And did he beat her badly ?"
"What does that matter !" put in Dounia.
"H'm ! But I don't know why you want to tell us such
gossip, mother," said Raskolnikov irritably, as it were in spite
of himself.
"Ah, my dear, I don't know what to talk about," broke from
Pulcheria Alexandrovna.
"Why, are you all afraid of me ?" he asked, with a con-
strained smile.
CRIME AND PUNISHMENT 231
"I will tell you what I want with you," said Raskolnikov,
drawing Razumihin to the window.
"Then I will tell Katerina Ivanovna that you are coming,"
Sonia said hurriedly, preparing to depart.
"One minute, Sofya Semyonovna. We have no secrets.
CRIME AND PUNISHMENT 245
"I will tell you what I want with you," said Raskolnikov,
drawing Razumihin to the window.
"Then I will tell Katerina Ivanovna that you are coming,"
Sonia said hurriedly, preparing to depart.
"One minute, Sofya Semyonovna. We have no secrets.
CRIME AND PUNISHMENT 24.5
clean shaven. He wore his hair cut short and had a large
round head, particularly prominent at the back. His soft,
round, rather snub-nosed face was of a sickly yellowish
colour, but had a vigorous and rather ironical expression. It
would have been good-natured, except for a look in the eyes,
which shone with a watery, mawkish light under almost white
blinking eyelashes. The expression of those eyes was
strangely out of keeping with his somewhat womanish figure,
and gave it something far more serious than could be
guessed at first sight.
As soon as Porfiry Petrovitch heard that his visitor had a
little matter of business with him, he begged him to sit down
on the sofa and sat down himself on the other end, waiting
for him to explain his business, with that careful and over-
serious attention which is at once oppressive and embarrass-
ing, especially to a stranger, and especially if what you are
discussing is in your own opinion of far too little importance
for such exceptional solemnity. But in brief and coherent
phrases Raskolnikov explained his business clearly and
exactly, and was so well satisfied with himself that he even
succeeded in taking a good look at Porfiry. Porfiry Petro-
vitch did not once take his eyes off him. Razumihin, sitting
opposite at the same table, listened warmly and impatiently,
looking from one to the other every moment with rather
excessive interest.
"Fool," Raskolnikov swore to himself.
"You have to give information to the police," Porfiry
replied, with a most businesslike air, "that having learnt
of this incident, that is of the murder, you beg to inform
the lawyer in charge of the case that such and such
things belong to you, and that you desire to redeem
them . . . or . . . but they will write to you."
"That's just the point, that at the present moment,"
Raskolnikov tried his utmost to feign embarrassment, "I
am not quite in funds . . . and even this trifling sum is
beyond me . I only wanted, you see, for the present to
declare that the things are mine, and that when I have
29
money. . .
"That's no matter," answered Porfiry Petrovitch, receiv-
ing his explanation of his pecuniary position coldly, "but
CRIME AND PUNISHMENT 255
on, were all without exception criminals, from the very fact
that, making a new law they transgressed the ancient one,
handed down from their ancestors and held sacred by the
people, and they did not stop short at bloodshed either, if that
bloodshed-often of innocent persons fighting bravely in
defence of ancient law-were of use to their cause. It's
remarkable, in fact, that the majority, indeed, of these bene-
factors and leaders of humanity were guilty of terrible
carnage. In short, I maintain that all great men or even
men a little out of the common, that is to say capable of
giving some new word, must from their very nature be
criminals-more or less, of course. Otherwise it's hard for
them to get out of the common rut ; and to remain in the
common rut is what they can't submit to, from their very
nature again, and to my mind they ought not, indeed, to sub-
mit to it. You see that there is nothing particularly new in
all that. The same thing has been printed and read a thou-
sand times before. As for my division of people into
ordinary and extraordinary, I acknowledge that it's some-
what arbitrary, but I don't insist upon exact numbers. I only
believe in my leading idea that men are in general divided
by a law of nature into two categories, inferior ( ordinary ) ,
that is, so to say, material that serves only to reproduce its
kind, and men who have the gift or the talent to utter a new
word. There are, of course, innumerable sub-divisions, but
the distinguishing features of both categories are fairly well
marked. The first category, generally speaking, are men con-
servative in temperament and law-abiding ; they live under
control and love to be controlled . To my thinking it is their
duty to be controlled, because that's their vocation, and
there is nothing humiliating in it for them. The second
category all transgress the law ; they are destroyers or dis-
posed to destruction according to their capacities. The
crimes of these men are of course relative and varied ; for
the most part they seek in very varied ways the destruction
of the present for the sake of the better. But if such a one
is forced for the sake of his idea to step over a corpse or
wade through blood, he can, I maintain, find within himself,
in his conscience, a sanction for wading through blood-that
depends on the idea and its dimensions, note that. It's only in
CRIME AND PUNISHMENT 265
have seen nothing, even if you had seen it. Who would own
it against himself ?"
"If I had done that thing, I should certainly have said that
I had seen the workmen and the flat," Raskolnikov answered,
with reluctance and obvious disgust.
"But why speak against yourself ?"
"Because only peasants, or the most inexperienced novices
deny everything flatly at examinations. If a man is ever so
little developed and experienced , he will certainly try to ad-
mit all the external facts that can't be avoided, but will seek
other explanations of them, will introduce some special, un-
expected turn, that will give them another significance and
put them in another light. Porfiry might well reckon that
I should be sure to answer so, and say I had seen them to
give an air of truth, and then make some explanation."
"But he would have told you at once, that the workmen
could not have been there two days before, and that there-
fore you must have been there on the day of the murder at
eight o'clock. And so he would have caught you over a
detail."
"Yes, that is what he was reckoning on, that I should not
have time to reflect, and should be in a hurry to make the
most likely answer, and so would forget that the workmen
could not have been there two days before."
"But how could you forget it ?"
"Nothing easier. It is in just such stupid things clever
people are most easily caught. The more cunning a man is,
the less he suspects that he will be caught in a simple thing.
The more cunning a man is, the simpler the trap he must be
99
caught in. Porfiry is not such a fool as you think. · ·
"He is a knave then, if that is so !"
Raskolnikov could not help laughing. But at the very
moment, he was struck by the strangeness of his own frank-
ness, and the eagerness with which he had made this explana-
tion, though he had kept up all the preceding conversation
with gloomy repulsion, obviously with a motive, from
necessity.
"I am getting a relish for certain aspects !" he thought to
himself. But almost at the same instant, he became suddenly
uneasy, as though an unexpected and alarming idea had
CRIME AND PUNISHMENT 275
tating, then he stepped softly into the room and went cau-
tiously to the sofa. Raskolnikov heard Nastasya's whisper :
"Don't disturb him ! Let him sleep. He can have his din-
ner later."
"Quite so," answered Razumihin. Both withdrew care-
fully and closed the door. Another half-hour passed. Ras-
kolnikov opened his eyes, turned on his back again, clasping
his hands behind his head.
"Who is he ? Who is that man who sprang out of the
earth ? Where was he, what did he see ? He has seen it all,
that's clear. Where was he then ? And from where did he
see ? Why has he only now sprung out of the earth ? And
how could he see ? Is it possible ? Hm ." continued
Raskolnikov, turning cold and shivering, "and the jewel
case Nikolay found behind the door-was that possible ? A
clue ? You miss an infinitesimal line and you can build it
into a pyramid of evidence ! A fly flew by and saw it ! Is it
possible ?" He felt with sudden loathing how weak, how
physically weak he had become. "I ought to have known
it," he thought with a bitter smile. "And how dared I,
knowing myself, knowing how I should be, take up an axe
and shed blood ! I ought to have known beforehand. • •
Ah, but I did know !" he whispered in despair. At times he
came to a standstill at some thought.
"No, those men are not made so. The real Master to
whom all is permitted storms Toulon, makes a massacre in
Paris, forgets an army in Egypt, wastes half a million men
in the Moscow expedition and gets off with a jest at Vilna.
And altars are set up to him after his death, and so all is
permitted. No, such people it seems are not of flesh but of
bronze !"
One sudden irrelevant idea almost made him laugh. Napo-
leon, the pyramids, Waterloo, and a wretched skinny old
woman, a pawnbroker with a red trunk under her bed—it's
a nice hash for Porfiry Petrovitch to digest ! How can they
digest it ! It's too inartistic . "A Napoleon creep under an
old woman's bed ! Ugh, how loathsome !"
At moments he felt he was raving. He sank into a state
of feverish excitement. "The old woman is of no conse-
quence," he thought, hotly and incoherently. "The old
CRIME AND PUNISHMENT 279
CHAPTER I
must say that there are sometimes such provoking ' Germans'
that I don't believe there is a progressive who could quite
answer for himself. No one looked at the subject from that
point of view then, but that's the truly humane point of view,
I assure you."
After saying this, Svidrigaïlov broke into a sudden laugh
again. Raskolnikov saw clearly that this was a man with a
firm purpose in his mind and able to keep it to himself.
"I expect you've not talked to any one for some days ?" he
asked.
"Scarcely any one. I suppose you are wondering at my
being such an adaptable man ?"
"No, I am only wondering at your being too adaptable a
man."
"Because I am not offended at the rudeness of your ques-
tions ? Is that it? But why take offense ? As you asked, so I
answered," he replied, with a surprising expression of sim-
plicity. "You know, there's hardly anything I take interest
in," he went on, as it were dreamily, "especially now, I've
nothing to do. . . . You are quite at liberty to imagine though
that I am making up to you with a motive, particularly as
I told you I want to see your sister about something. But
I'll confess frankly, I am very much bored. The last three
days especially, so am delighted to see you. . . . Don't be
angry, Rodion Romanovitch, but you seem to be somehow
awfully strange yourself. Say what you like, there's some-
thing wrong with you , and now, too . • not this very minute,
I mean, but now, generally. . . . Well, well, I won't, I
won't, don't scowl ! I am not such a bear, you know, as
you think."
Raskolnikov looked gloomily at him.
"You are not a bear, perhaps, at all," he said . “ I fancy
indeed that you are a man of very good breeding, or at least
know how on occasion to behave like one."
"I am not particularly interested in any one's opinion ,"
Svidrigaïlov answered, dryly and even with a shade of
haughtiness, "and therefore why not be vulgar at times when
vulgarity is such a convenient cloak for our climate . ...and
especially if one has a natural propensity that way," he added,
laughing again.
288 FYODOR DOSTOEVSKY
But I've heard you have many friends here. You are, as
they say, 'not without connections.' What can you want with
me, then, unless you've some special object ?"
"That's true that I have friends here," Svidrigaïlov ad-
mitted, not replying to the chief point. "I've met some al-
ready. I've been lounging about for the last three days, and
I've seen them, or they've seen me. That's a matter of
course. I am well dressed and reckoned not a poor man ; the
emancipation of the serfs hasn't affected me ; my property
consists chiefly of forests and water meadows. The revenue
. . . I am not going to see them, I
has not fallen off ; but ...
was sick of them long ago. I've been here three days and
have called on no one. ... What a town it is ! How has it
come into existence among us, tell me that ? A town of
officials and students of all sorts. Yes, there's a great deal
I didn't notice when I was here eight years ago, kicking up
my heels. . . . My only hope now is in anatomy, by Jove,
it is !"
"Anatomy ?"
"But as for these clubs, Dussauts, parades, or progress,
indeed, may be—well, all that can go on without me,” he went
on, again without noticing the question. “Besides, who wants
to be a card-sharper ?"
“Why, have you been a card-sharper then ?”
"How could I help being ? There was a regular set of us,
men of the best society, eight years ago ; we had a fine time.
And all men of breeding, you know, poets, men of property.
And indeed as a rule in our Russian society the best manners
are found among those who've been thrashed, have you
noticed that ? I've deteriorated in the country. But I did get
into prison for debt, through a low Greek who came from
Nezhin. Then Marfa Petrovna turned up ; she bargained
with him and bought me off for thirty thousand silver pieces
(I owed seventy thousand ) . We were united in lawful wed-
lock and she bore me off into the country like a treasure. You
know she was five years older than I. She was very fond of
me. For seven years I never left the country. And, take
note, that all my life she held a document over me, the I. O. U.
for thirty thousand roubles, so if I were to elect to be
restive about anything I should be trapped at once ! And
CRIME AND PUNISHMENT 289
"She ? Would you believe it, she talks of the silliest trifles
and-man is a strange creature-it makes me angry. The
first time she came in ( I was tired you know : the funeral
service, the funeral ceremony, the lunch afterwards. At
last I was left alone in my study. I lighted a cigar and began
to think) , she came in at the door. 'You've been so busy
to-day, Arkady Ivanovitch, you have forgotten to wind the
dining room clock,' she said . All those seven years I've
wound that clock every week, and if I forgot it she would al-
ways remind me. The next day I set off on my way here.
I got out at the station at daybreak ; I'd been asleep, tired
out, with my eyes half open, I was drinking some coffee. I
look up and there was suddenly Marfa Petrovna sitting be-
side me with a pack of cards in her hands. ' Shall I tell
your fortune for the journey, Arkady Ivanovitch ?' She
was a great hand at telling fortunes. I shall never forgive
myself for not asking her to. I ran away in a fright, and,
besides, the bell rang. I was sitting to-day, feeling very
heavy after a miserable dinner from a cookshop ; I was sit-
ting smoking, all of a sudden Marfa Petrovna again. She
came in very smart in a new green silk dress with a long
train. ' Good day, Arkady Ivanovitch ! How do you like
my dress ? Aniska can't make like this.' ( Aniska was a
dressmaker in the country, one of our former serf girls who
had been trained in Moscow, a pretty wench. ) She stood
turning round before me. I looked at the dress, and then I
looked carefully, very carefully, at her face. 'I wonder you
trouble to come to me about such trifles, Marfa Petrovna.'
'Good gracious, you won't let one disturb you about any-
thing !' To tease her I said, ' I want to get married, Marfa
Petrovna.' 'That's just like you, Arkady Ivanovitch ; it does
you very little credit to come looking for a bride when you've
hardly buried your wife. And if you could make a good
choice, at least, but I know it won't be for your happiness or
hers, you will only be a laughing-stock to all good people.'
Then she went out and her train seemed to rustle. Isn't it
nonsense, eh ?"
"But perhaps you are telling lies ?" Raskolnikov put in.
"I rarely lie," answered Svidrigaïlov thoughtfully, appar-
ently not noticing the rudeness of the question.
292' FYODOR DOSTOEVSKY
"And in the past, have you ever seen ghosts before ?"
"Y-yes, I have seen them, but only once in my life, six
years ago. I had a serf, Filka ; just after his burial I called
out forgetting ' Filka, my pipe !' He came in and went to
the cupboard where my pipes were. I sat still and thought
'he is doing it out of revenge' because we had a violent
quarrel just before his death. 'How dare you come in with
a hole in your elbow,' I said. ' Go away, you scamp !' He
turned and went out, and never came again. I didn't tell
Marfa Petrovna at the time. I wanted to have a service
sung for him, but I was ashamed."
"You should go to a doctor."
"I know I am not well, without your telling me, though
I don't know what's wrong ; I believe I am five times as
strong as you are. I didn't ask you whether you believe that
ghosts are seen, but whether you believe that they exist."
"No, I won't believe it !" Raskolnikov cried, with positive
anger.
"What do people generally say ?" muttered Svidrigaïlov,
as though speaking to himself, looking aside and bowing his
head. "They say, 'You are ill, so what appears to you is
only unreal fantasy.' But that's not strictly logical. I agree
that ghosts only appear to the sick, but that only proves that
they are unable to appear except to the sick, not that they
don't exist."
"Nothing of the sort," Raskolnikov insisted irritably.
"No ? You don't think so ?" Svidrigaïlov went on, look-
ing at him deliberately. "But what do you say to this argu-
ment (help me with it ) : ghosts are as it were shreds and
fragments of other worlds, the beginning of them. A man
in health has, of course, no reason to see them, because he
is above all a man of this earth and is bound for the sake
of completeness and order to live only in this life. But as
soon as one is ill, as soon as the normal earthly order of
the organism is broken, one begins to realise the possibility
of another world ; and the more seriously ill one is, the closer
becomes one's contact with that other world, so that as soon
as the man dies he steps straight into that world. I thought
of that long ago. If you believe in a future life, you could
believe in that, too."
CRIME AND PUNISHMENT 293
to the point. Before the journey which may come off, I want
to settle Mr. Luzhin, too . It's not that I detest him so much,
but it was through him I quarrelled with Marfa Petrovna
when I learned that she had dished up this marriage. I want
now to see Avdotya Romanovna through your mediation, and
if you like in your presence, to explain to her that in the
first place she will never gain anything but harm from Mr.
Luzhin. Then begging her pardon for all past unpleasant-
ness, to make her a present of ten thousand roubles and so
assist the rupture with Mr. Luzhin, a rupture to which I
believe she is herself not disinclined, if she could see the
way to it."
"You are certainly mad," cried Raskolnikov, not so much
angered as astonished. "How dare you talk like that !"
"I knew you would scream at me ; but in the first place,
though I am not rich, this ten thousand roubles is perfectly
free ; I have absolutely no need for it. If Avdotya Roman-
ovna does not accept it, I shall waste it in some more foolish
way. That's the first thing. Secondly, my conscience is
perfectly easy ; I make the offer with no ulterior motive.
You may not believe it, but in the end Avdotya Romanovna
and you will know. The point is, that I did actually cause
your sister, whom I greatly respect, some trouble and un-
pleasantness, and so, sincerely regretting it, I want- not to
compensate, not to repay her for the unpleasantness, but
simply to do something to her advantage, to show that I am
not, after all, privileged to do nothing but harm. If there
were a millionth fraction of self interest in my offer, I
should not have made it so openly ; and I should not have
offered her ten thousand only, when five weeks ago I offered
her more. Besides, I may, perhaps, very soon marry a
young lady, and that alone ought to prevent suspicion of
any design on Avdotya Romanovna. In conclusion, let me
say that in marrying Mr. Luzhin, she is taking money just
the same, only from another man. Don't be angry, Rodion
Romanovitch, think it over coolly and quietly."
Svidrigaïlov himself was exceedingly cool and quiet as he
was saying this .
"I beg you to say no more," said Raskolnikov. "In any
case this is unpardonable impertinence."
296 FYODOR DOSTOEVSKY
CHAPTER I
66
AN this be still a dream ?" Raskolnikov thought once
more. He looked carefully and suspiciously at the
C unexpected visitor.
"Svidrigaïlov ! What nonsense ! It can't be ! " he said at
last aloud in bewilderment.
His visitor did not seem at all surprised at this exclama-
tion.
"I've come to you for two reasons. In the first place, I
wanted to make your personal acquaintance, as have already
heard a great deal about you that is interesting and flattering ;
secondly, I cherish the hope that you may not refuse to assist
me in a matter directly concerning the welfare of your sister,
Avdotya Romanovna. For without your support she might
not let me come near her now, for she is prejudiced against
99
me, but with your assistance I reckon on .
"You reckon wrongly," interrupted Raskolnikov.
"They only arrived yesterday, may I ask you ?"
Raskolnikov made no reply.
"It was yesterday, I know. I only arrived myself the day
before. Well, let me tell you this, Rodion Romanovitch,
I don't consider it necessary to justify myself, but kindly tell
me what was there particularly criminal on my part in all this
business, speaking without prejudice, with common sense ?"
Raskolnikov continued to look at him in silence.
"That in my own house I persecuted a defenceless girl and
'insulted her with my infamous proposals'-is that it ? (I am
anticipating you. ) But you've only to assume that I, too, am
a man et nihil humanum . . . in a word, that I am capable
of being attracted and falling in love ( which does not depend
on our will) , then everything can be explained in the most
284
CRIME AND PUNISHMENT 285
must say that there are sometimes such provoking ' Germans'
that I don't believe there is a progressive who could quite
answer for himself. No one looked at the subject from that
point of view then, but that's the truly humane point of view,
I assure you."
After saying this, Svidrigaïlov broke into a sudden laugh
again. Raskolnikov saw clearly that this was a man with a
firm purpose in his mind and able to keep it to himself.
"I expect you've not talked to any one for some days ?" he
asked.
"Scarcely any one. I suppose you are wondering at my
being such an adaptable man ?"
"No, I am only wondering at your being too adaptable a
man."
"Because I am not offended at the rudeness of your ques-
tions ? Is that it? But why take offense ? As you asked , so I
answered," he replied, with a surprising expression of sim-
plicity. "You know, there's hardly anything I take interest
in,” he went on, as it were dreamily, "especially now, I've
nothing to do. . . . You are quite at liberty to imagine though
that I am making up to you with a motive, particularly as
I told you I want to see your sister about something. But
I'll confess frankly, I am very much bored. The last three
days especially, so am delighted to see you . . . . Don't be
angry, Rodion Romanovitch, but you seem to be somehow
awfully strange yourself. Say what you like, there's some-
thing wrong with you, and now, too . • not this very minute,
I mean, but now, generally. . . . Well, well, I won't, I
won't, don't scowl ! I am not such a bear, you know, as
you think."
Raskolnikov looked gloomily at him.
"You are not a bear, perhaps, at all," he said. "I fancy
indeed that you are a man of very good breeding, or at least
know how on occasion to behave like one."
"I am not particularly interested in any one's opinion ,"
Svidrigaïlov answered, dryly and even with a shade of
haughtiness, "and therefore why not be vulgar at times when
vulgarity is such a convenient cloak for our climate . . . and
especially if one has a natural propensity that way," he added,
laughing again.
288 FYODOR DOSTOEVSKY
But I've heard you have many friends here. You are, as
they say, 'not without connections.' What can you want with
me, then, unless you've some special object ?"
"That's true that I have friends here," Svidrigaïlov ad-
mitted, not replying to the chief point. "I've met some al-
ready. I've been lounging about for the last three days, and
I've seen them, or they've seen me. That's a matter of
course. I am well dressed and reckoned not a poor man ; the
emancipation of the serfs hasn't affected me ; my property
consists chiefly of forests and water meadows. The revenue
has not fallen off ; but . . . I am not going to see them, I
was sick of them long ago. I've been here three days and
have called on no one. · What a town it is ! How has it
come into existence among us, tell me that? A town of
officials and students of all sorts. Yes, there's a great deal
I didn't notice when I was here eight years ago, kicking up
my heels. . . . My only hope now is in anatomy, by Jove,
it is !"
"Anatomy ?"
"But as for these clubs, Dussauts, parades, or progress,
indeed, may be—well, all that can go on without me," he went
on, again without noticing the question. "Besides, who wants
to be a card-sharper ?"
"Why, have you been a card-sharper then ?"
"How could I help being? There was a regular set of us,
men of the best society, eight years ago ; we had a fine time.
And all men of breeding, you know, poets, men of property.
And indeed as a rule in our Russian society the best manners
are found among those who've been thrashed, have you
noticed that ? I've deteriorated in the country. But I did get
into prison for debt, through a low Greek who came from
Nezhin. Then Marfa Petrovna turned up ; she bargained
with him and bought me off for thirty thousand silver pieces
(I owed seventy thousand) . We were united in lawful wed-
lock and she bore me off into the country like a treasure. You
know she was five years older than I. She was very fond of
me. For seven years I never left the country. And, take
note, that all my life she held a document over me, the 1. O. U.
for thirty thousand roubles, so if I were to elect to be
restive about anything I should be trapped at once ! And
CRIME AND PUNISHMENT 289
"She? Would you believe it, she talks of the silliest trifles
and-man is a strange creature-it makes me angry. The
first time she came in ( I was tired you know : the funeral
service, the funeral ceremony, the lunch afterwards. At
last I was left alone in my study. I lighted a cigar and began
to think) , she came in at the door. 'You've been so busy
to-day, Arkady Ivanovitch, you have forgotten to wind the
dining room clock,' she said. All those seven years I've
wound that clock every week, and if I forgot it she would al-
ways remind me. The next day I set off on my way here.
I got out at the station at daybreak ; I'd been asleep, tired
out, with my eyes half open, I was drinking some coffee. I
look up and there was suddenly Marfa Petrovna sitting be-
side me with a pack of cards in her hands. ' Shall I tell
your fortune for the journey, Arkady Ivanovitch ?' She
was a great hand at telling fortunes. I shall never forgive
myself for not asking her to. I ran away in a fright, and,
besides, the bell rang. I was sitting to-day, feeling very
heavy after a miserable dinner from a cookshop ; I was sit-
ting smoking, all of a sudden Marfa Petrovna again. She
came in very smart in a new green silk dress with a long
train. ' Good day, Arkady Ivanovitch ! How do you like
my dress ? Aniska can't make like this.' (Aniska was a
dressmaker in the country, one of our former serf girls who
had been trained in Moscow, a pretty wench. ) She stood
turning round before me. I looked at the dress, and then I
looked carefully, very carefully, at her face. ' I wonder you
trouble to come to me about such trifles, Marfa Petrovna .'
'Good gracious, you won't let one disturb you about any-
thing !' To tease her I said, ' I want to get married, Marfa
Petrovna.' 'That's just like you, Arkady Ivanovitch ; it does
you very little credit to come looking for a bride when you've
hardly buried your wife. And if you could make a good
choice, at least, but I know it won't be for your happiness or
hers, you will only be a laughing-stock to all good people.'
Then she went out and her train seemed to rustle. Isn't it
nonsense, eh ?"
"But perhaps you are telling lies ?" Raskolnikov put in.
"I rarely lie," answered Svidrigaïlov thoughtfully, appar-
ently not noticing the rudeness of the question.
292 FYODOR DOSTOEVSKY
"And in the past, have you ever seen ghosts before ?"
"Y-yes, I have seen them, but only once in my life, six
years ago. I had a serf, Filka ; just after his burial I called
out forgetting ' Filka, my pipe !' He came in and went to
the cupboard where my pipes were. I sat still and thought
'he is doing it out of revenge' because we had a violent
quarrel just before his death. ' How dare you come in with
a hole in your elbow,' I said. ' Go away, you scamp !' He
turned and went out, and never came again. I didn't tell
Marfa Petrovna at the time. I wanted to have a service
sung for him, but I was ashamed."
"You should go to a doctor."
"I know I am not well, without your telling me, though
I don't know what's wrong ; I believe I am five times as
strong as you are. I didn't ask you whether you believe that
ghosts are seen, but whether you believe that they exist."
"No, I won't believe it !" Raskolnikov cried, with positive
anger.
"What do people generally say ?" muttered Svidrigaïlov,
as though speaking to himself, looking aside and bowing his
head. "They say, 'You are ill, so what appears to you is
only unreal fantasy.' But that's not strictly logical. I agree
that ghosts only appear to the sick, but that only proves that
they are unable to appear except to the sick, not that they
don't exist."
"Nothing of the sort," Raskolnikov insisted irritably.
"No? You don't think so ?" Svidrigaïlov went on, look-
ing at him deliberately. "But what do you say to this argu-
ment ( help me with it ) : ghosts are as it were shreds and
fragments of other worlds, the beginning of them. A man
in health has, of course, no reason to see them, because he
is above all a man of this earth and is bound for the sake
of completeness and order to live only in this life. But as
soon as one is ill, as soon as the normal earthly order of
the organism is broken, one begins to realise the possibility
of another world ; and the more seriously ill one is, the closer
becomes one's contact with that other world, so that as soon
as the man dies he steps straight into that world. I thought
of that long ago. If you believe in a future life, you could
believe in that, too."
CRIME AND PUNISHMENT 293
to the point. Before the journey which may come off, I want
to settle Mr. Luzhin, too. It's not that I detest him so much,
but it was through him I quarrelled with Marfa Petrovna
when I learned that she had dished up this marriage. I want
now to see Avdotya Romanovna through your mediation, and
if you like in your presence, to explain to her that in the
first place she will never gain anything but harm from Mr.
Luzhin. Then begging her pardon for all past unpleasant-
ness, to make her a present of ten thousand roubles and so
assist the rupture with Mr. Luzhin, a rupture to which I
believe she is herself not disinclined, if she could see the
way to it."
"You are certainly mad," cried Raskolnikov, not so much
angered as astonished. "How dare you talk like that !"
"I knew you would scream at me ; but in the first place,
though I am not rich, this ten thousand roubles is perfectly
free ; I have absolutely no need for it. If Avdotya Roman-
ovna does not accept it, I shall waste it in some more foolish
way. That's the first thing. Secondly, my conscience is
perfectly easy ; I make the offer with no ulterior motive.
You may not believe it, but in the end Avdotya Romanovna
and you will know. The point is, that I did actually cause
your sister, whom I greatly respect, some trouble and un-
pleasantness, and so, sincerely regretting it, I want-not to
compensate, not to repay her for the unpleasantness, but
simply to do something to her advantage, to show that I am
not, after all, privileged to do nothing but harm. If there
were a millionth fraction of self interest in my offer, I
should not have made it so openly ; and I should not have
offered her ten thousand only, when five weeks ago I offered
her more. Besides, I may, perhaps, very soon marry a
young lady, and that alone ought to prevent suspicion of
any design on Avdotya Romanovna. In conclusion, let me
say that in marrying Mr. Luzhin, she is taking money just
the same, only from another man. Don't be angry, Rodion
Romanovitch, think it over coolly and quietly."
Svidrigailov himself was exceedingly cool and quiet as he
was saying this.
"I beg you to say no more," said Raskolnikov. "In any
case this is unpardonable impertinence."
296 FYODOR DOSTOEVSKY
tageous from the conjugal point of view than with one who
has lived in luxury, since it is more profitable for the moral
character. Your son intentionally exaggerated the signifi-
cance of my words and made them ridiculous, accusing me
of malicious intentions, and, as far as I could see, relied
upon your correspondence with him. I shall consider myself
happy, Pulcheria Alexandrovna, if it is possible for you to
convince me of an opposite conclusion, and thereby consid-
erately reassure me. Kindly let me know in what terms
precisely you repeated my words in your letter to Rodion
Romanovitch."
"I don't remember," faltered Pulcheria Alexandrovna. "I
repeated them as I understood them. I don't know how
Rodya repeated them to you, perhaps he exaggerated."
"He could not have exaggerated them, except at your
instigation."
"Pyotr Petrovitch," Pulcheria Alexandrovna declared with
dignity, "the proof that Dounia and I did not take your
words in a very bad sense is the fact that we are here."
"Good, mother," said Dounia approvingly.
"Then this is my fault again," said Luzhin, aggrieved.
"Well, Pyotr Petrovitch you keep blaming Rodion, but
you yourself have just written what was false about him,"
Pulcheria Alexandrovna added, gaining courage.
"I don't remember writing anything false."
"You wrote," Raskolnikov said sharply, not turning to
Luzhin, “that I gave money yesterday not to the widow
of the man who was killed, as was the fact, but to his daugh-
ter (whom I had never seen till yesterday) . You wrote this
to make dissension between me and my family, and for that
object added coarse expressions about the conduct of a girl
whom you don't know. All that is mean slander."
"Excuse me, sir," said Luzhin, quivering with fury. "I
enlarged upon your qualities and conduct in my letter solely
in response to your sister's and mother's inquiries, how I
found you, and what impression you made on me. As for
what you've alluded to in my letter, be so good as to point
out one word of falsehood, show, that is, that you didn't
throw away your money, and that there are not worthless
persons in that family, however unfortunate."
308 FYODOR DOSTOEVSKY
"To my thinking, you with all your virtues are not worth
the little finger of that unfortunate girl at whom you throw
stones."
"Would you go so far then as to let her associate with
your mother and sister ?"
"I have done so already, if you care to know. I made her
sit down to-day with mother and Dounia."
"Rodya !" cried Pulcheria Alexandrovna. Dounia crim-
soned, Razumihin knitted his brows. Luzhin smiled with
lofty sarcasm .
"You may see for yourself, Avdotya Romanovna," he said,
"whether it is possible for us to agree. I hope now that this
question is at an end, once and for all. I will withdraw, that
I may not hinder the pleasures of family intimacy, and the
discussion of secrets." He got up from his chair and took
his hat. " But in withdrawing, I venture to request that for
the future I may be spared similar meetings, and, so to say,
compromises. I appeal particularly to you, honoured Pul-
cheria Alexandrovna, on this subject, the more as my letter
was addressed to you and to no one else ."
Pulcheria Alexandrovna was a little offended.
"You seem to think we are completely under your author-
ity, Pyotr Petrovitch. Dounia has told you the reason your
desire was disregarded, she had the best intentions. And
indeed you write as though you were laying commands upon
me. Are we to consider every desire of yours as a com-
mand? Let me tell you on the contrary that you ought to
show particular delicacy and consideration for us now, be-
cause we have thrown up everything, and have come here
relying on you, and so we are in any case in a sense in your
hands."
"That is not quite true, Pulcheria Alexandrovna, especially
at the present moment, when the news has come of Marfa
Petrovna's legacy, which seems indeed very apropos, judging
from the new tone you take to me," he added sarcastically.
“Judging from that remark, we may certainly presume that
you were reckoning on our helplessness," Dounia observed
irritably.
"But now in any case I cannot reckon on it, and I partic-
ularly desire not to hinder your discussion of the secret
CRIME AND PUNISHMENT 309
tageous from the conjugal point of view than with one who
has lived in luxury, since it is more profitable for the moral
character. Your son intentionally exaggerated the signifi-
cance of my words and made them ridiculous, accusing me
of malicious intentions, and, as far as I could see, relied
upon your correspondence with him. I shall consider myself
happy, Pulcheria Alexandrovna, if it is possible for you to
convince me of an opposite conclusion, and thereby consid-
erately reassure me. Kindly let me know in what terms
precisely you repeated my words in your letter to Rodion
Romanovitch."
"I don't remember," faltered Pulcheria Alexandrovna. "I
repeated them as I understood them. I don't know how
Rodya repeated them to you, perhaps he exaggerated."
"He could not have exaggerated them, except at your
instigation."
"Pyotr Petrovitch," Pulcheria Alexandrovna declared with
dignity, "the proof that Dounia and I did not take your
words in a very bad sense is the fact that we are here."
"Good, mother," said Dounia approvingly.
"Then this is my fault again," said Luzhin, aggrieved.
"Well, Pyotr Petrovitch you keep blaming Rodion, but
you yourself have just written what was false about him,"
Pulcheria Alexandrovna added, gaining courage.
"I don't remember writing anything false."
"You wrote," Raskolnikov said sharply, not turning to
Luzhin, "that I gave money yesterday not to the widow
of the man who was killed, as was the fact, but to his daugh-
ter (whom I had never seen till yesterday) . You wrote this
to make dissension between me and my family, and for that
object added coarse expressions about the conduct of a girl
whom you don't know. All that is mean slander."
"Excuse me, sir," said Luzhin, quivering with fury. "I
enlarged upon your qualities and conduct in my letter solely
in response to your sister's and mother's inquiries, how I
found you, and what impression you made on me. As for
what you've alluded to in my letter, be so good as to point
out one word of falsehood, show, that is, that you didn't
throw away your money, and that there are not worthless
persons in that family, however unfortunate."
308 FYODOR DOSTOEVSKY
"To my thinking, you with all your virtues are not worth
the little finger of that unfortunate girl at whom you throw
stones."
"Would you go so far then as to let her associate with
your mother and sister ?"
"I have done so already, if you care to know. I made her
sit down to-day with mother and Dounia."
"Rodya !" cried Pulcheria Alexandrovna. Dounia crim-
soned, Razumihin knitted his brows. Luzhin smiled with
lofty sarcasm .
"You may see for yourself, Avdotya Romanovna,” he said,
"whether it is possible for us to agree. I hope now that this
question is at an end, once and for all. I will withdraw, that
I may not hinder the pleasures of family intimacy, and the
discussion of secrets." He got up from his chair and took
his hat. "But in withdrawing, I venture to request that for
the future I may be spared similar meetings, and, so to say,
compromises. I appeal particularly to you , honoured Pul-
cheria Alexandrovna, on this subject, the more as my letter
was addressed to you and to no one else."
Pulcheria Alexandrovna was a little offended .
"You seem to think we are completely under your author-
ity, Pyotr Petrovitch. Dounia has told you the reason your
desire was disregarded, she had the best intentions. And
indeed you write as though you were laying commands upon
me. Are we to consider every desire of yours as a com-
mand? Let me tell you on the contrary that you ought to
show particular delicacy and consideration for us now, be-
cause we have thrown up everything, and have come here
relying on you, and so we are in any case in a sense in your
""
hands.'
"That is not quite true, Pulcheria Alexandrovna, especially
at the present moment, when the news has come of Marfa
Petrovna's legacy, which seems indeed very apropos, judging
from the new tone you take to me," he added sarcastically.
"Judging from that remark, we may certainly presume that
you were reckoning on our helplessness," Dounia observed
irritably.
"But now in any case I cannot reckon on it, and I partic-
ularly desire not to hinder your discussion of the secret
CRIME AND PUNISHMENT 309
about, Pyotr Petrovitch, it was you bound us, hand and foot,
not we !"
"Enough, mother, no more please," Avdotya Romanovna
implored. "Pyotr Petrovitch, do be kind and go !"
"I am going, but one last word," he said, quite unable to
control himself. "Your mamma seems to have entirely for-
gotten that I made up my mind to take you, so to speak, after
the gossip of the town had spread all over the district in
regard to your reputation. Disregarding public opinion for
your sake and reinstating your reputation, I certainly might
very well reckon on a fitting return, and might indeed look
for gratitude on your part. And my eyes have only now
been opened ! I see myself that I may have acted very, very
99
recklessly in disregarding the universal verdict.
"Does the fellow want his head smashed ?" cried Razu-
mihin, jumping up.
"You are a mean and spiteful man !" said Dounia.
"Not a word ! Not a movement !" cried Raskolnikov, hold-
ing Razumihin back ; then going close up to Luzhin, "kindly
leave the room !" he said quietly and distinctly, “and not a
word more or . . ."
Pyotr Petrovitch gazed at him for some seconds with a
pale face that worked with anger, then he turned, went out,
and rarely has any man carried away in his heart such vin-
dictive hatred as he felt against Raskolnikov. Him, and him
alone, he blamed for everything. It is noteworthy that as he
went downstairs he still imagined that his case was perhaps
not utterly lost, and that, so far as the ladies were concerned,
all might "very well indeed" be set right again.
CHAPTER III
"I don't know. . . . They are in debt for the lodging, but
the landlady, I hear, said to-day that she wanted to get rid
of them, and Katerina Ivanovna says that she won't stay
another minute."
"How is it she is so bold ? She relies upon you ?"
"Oh, no, don't talk like that. . . . We are one, we live like
one. Sonia was agitated again and even angry, as though a
canary or some other little bird were to be angry. "And
what could she do ? What, what could she do ?" she persisted,
getting hot and excited. "And how she cried to-day ! Her
mind is unhinged, haven't you noticed it ? At one minute
she is worrying like a child that everything should be right
to-morrow, the lunch and all that. . . . Then she is wringing
her hands, spitting blood, weeping, and all at once she will
begin knocking her head against the wall, in despair. Then
she will be comforted again. She builds all her hopes on
you ; she says that you will help her now and that she will
borrow a little money somewhere and go to her native town
with me and set up a boarding school for the daughters of
gentlemen and take me to superintend it, and we will begin
a new splendid life. And she kisses and hugs me, comforts
me, and you know she has such faith, such faith in her
fancies ! One can't contradict her. And all the day long she
has been washing, cleaning, mending. She dragged the wash
tub into the room with her feeble hands and sank on the bed,
gasping for breath. We went this morning to the shops to
buy shoes for Polenka and Lida for theirs are quite worn
out. Only the money we'd reckoned wasn't enough, not
nearly enough. And she picked out such dear little boots,
for she has taste, you don't know. And there in the shop she
burst out crying before the shopmen because she hadn't
enough. . . . Ah, it was sad to see her. . . .'""
"Well, after that I can understand your living like this,"
Raskolnikov said with a bitter smile.
"And aren't you sorry for them ? Aren't you sorry ?"
Sonia flew at him again. "Why, I know, you gave your
last penny yourself, though you'd seen nothing of it, and
if you'd seen everything, oh dear ! And how often, how
often I've brought her to tears ! Only last week ! Yes,
I ! Only a week before his death. I was cruel ! And
CRIME AND PUNISHMENT 325
"and your worst sin is that you have destroyed and betrayed
yourself for nothing. Isn't that fearful ? Isn't it fearful
that you are living in this filth which you loathe so, and at
the same time you know yourself (you've only to open your
eyes ) that you are not helping any one by it, not saving any
one from anything ! Tell me," he went on almost in a frenzy,
"how this shame and degradation can exist in you side by
side with other, opposite, holy feelings ? It would be better,
a thousand times better and wiser to leap into the water and
end it all !"
"But what would become of them ?" Sonia asked faintly,
gazing at him with eyes of anguish, but not seeming surprised
at his suggestion.
Raskolnikov looked strangely at her. He read it all in her
face ; so she must have had that thought already, perhaps
many times, and earnestly she had thought out in her despair
how to end it and so earnestly, that now she scarcely won-
dered at his suggestion. She had not even noticed the cruelty
of his words. (The significance of his reproaches and his pe-
culiar attitude to her shame she had, of course, not noticed
either, and that, too, was clear to him. ) But he saw how
monstrously the thought of her disgraceful, shameful position
was torturing her and had long tortured her. "What, what,”
he thought, "could hitherto have hindered her from putting
an end to it?" Only then he realized what those poor little
orphan children and that pitiful half-crazy Katerina Ivan-
ovna, knocking her head against the wall in her consumption,
meant for Sonia.
But, nevertheless, it was clear to him again that with her
character and the amount of education she had after all
received, she could not in any case remain so. He was still
confronted by the question how could she have remained so
long in that position without going out of her mind, since
she could not bring herself to jump into the water ? Of
course he knew that Sonia's position was an exceptional case,
though unhappily not unique and not infrequent, indeed ; but
that very exceptionalness, her tinge of education, her previ-
ous life might, one would have thought, have killed her at
the first step on that revolting path. What held her up-
surely not depravity ? All that infamy had obviously only
CRIME AND PUNISHMENT 329
"Yea, Lord: I believe that Thou art the Christ, the Son of
God Which should come into the world."
She stopped and looked up quickly at him, but controlling
herself went on reading. Raskolnikov sat without moving, his
elbows on the table and his eyes turned away. She read to
the thirty-second verse.
"Then when Mary was come where Jesus was and saw
Him, she fell down at His feet, saying unto Him, Lord, if
Thou hadst been here, my brother had not died.
When Jesus therefore saw her weeping, and the Jews also
weeping which came with her, He groaned in the spirit and
was troubled,
And said, Where have you laid him ? They said unto Him,
Lord, come and see.
Jesus wept.
Then said the Jews, behold how He loved him !
And some of them said, could not this Man Which opened
the eyes of the blind, have caused that even this man should
not have died ?"
Raskolnikov turned and looked at her with emotion. Yes,
he had known it ! She was trembling in a real physical fever.
He had expected it. She was getting near the story of the
greatest miracle and a feeling of immense triumph came over
her. Her voice rang out like a bell ; triumph and joy gave it
power. The lines danced before her eyes, but she knew
what she was reading by heart. At the last verse "Could not
this Man Which opened the eyes of the blind . . ." dropping
her voice she passionately reproduced the doubt, the reproach
and censure of the blind disbelieving Jews, who in another
moment would fall at His feet as though struck by thunder,
sobbing and believing. . . . “And he, he-too, is blinded and
unbelieving, he, too, will hear, he, too, will believe, yes, yes !
At once, now," was what she was dreaming, and she was
quivering with happy anticipation.
"Jesus therefore again groaning in Himself cometh to the
grave. It was a cave, and a stone lay upon it.
Jesus said, Take ye away the stone. Martha, the sister of
him that was dead, saith unto Him, Lord by this time he
stinketh: for he hath been dead four days."
She laid emphasis on the word four.
334 FYODOR DOSTOEVSKY
"Jesus saith unto her, Said I not unto thee that if thou
wouldest believe, thou shouldest see the glory of God ?
Then they took away the stone from the place where the
dead was laid. And Jesus lifted up His eyes and said, Father,
I thank Thee that Thou hast heard Me.
And I knew that Thou hearest Me always ; but because of
the people which stand by I said it, that they may believe that
Thou hast sent Me.
And when He thus had spoken, He cried with a loud voice,
Lazarus, come forth.
And he that was dead came forth."
( She read loudly, cold and trembling with ecstasy, as
though she were seeing it before her eyes. )
"Bound hand and foot with gravecloths ; and his face was
bound about with a napkin. Jesus saith unto them, Loose him
and let him go.
Then many of the Jews which came to Mary and had seen
the things which Jesus did believed on Him."
She could read no more, closed the book and got up from
her chair quickly.
"That is all about the raising of Lazarus," she whispered
severely and abruptly, and turning away she stood motionless,
not daring to raise her eyes to him. She still trembled fever-
ishly. The candle-end was flickering out in the battered
candlestick dimly lighting up in the poverty-stricken room
the murderer and the harlot who had so strangely been
reading together the eternal book. Five minutes or more
passed.
"I came to speak of something," Raskolnikov said aloud,
frowning. He got up and went to Sonia. She lifted her eyes
to him in silence. His face was particularly stern and there
was a sort of savage determination in it.
"I have abandoned my family to-day," he said, “my mother
and sister. I am not going to see them. I've broken with
them completely."
"What for?" asked Sonia amazed. Her recent meeting
with his mother and sister had left a great impression which
she could not analyse. She heard his news almost with
horror.
"I have only you now," he added. "Let us go together.
CRIME AND PUNISHMENT 335
his hatred might betray him. His indignation was such that
he ceased trembling at once ; he made ready to go in with
a cold and arrogant bearing and vowed to himself to keep
as silent as possible, to watch and listen and for once at least
to control his overstrained nerves. At that moment he was
summoned to Porfiry Petrovitch.
He found Porfiry Petrovitch alone in his study. His study
was a room neither large nor small, furnished with a large
writing-table, that stood before a sofa, upholstered in checked
material, a bureau, a bookcase in the corner and several
chairs all government furniture, of polished yellow wood.
In the further wall there was a closed door, beyond it there
were no doubt other rooms. On Raskolnikov's entrance Por-
firy Petrovitch had at once closed the door by which he had
come in and they remained alone. He met his visitor with
an apparently genial and good-tempered air, and it was only
after a few minutes that Raskolnikov saw signs of a certain
awkwardness in him, as though he had been thrown out of
his reckoning or caught in something very secret.
"Ah, my dear fellow ! Here you are . . . in our domain”
began Porfiry, holding out both hands to him. "Come,
sit down, old man • .. or perhaps you don't like to be called
'my dear fellow' and ' old man'-tout court? Please don't
think it too familiar. . . . Here, on the sofa.”
Raskolnikov sat down, keeping his eyes fixed on him. “In
our domain," the apologies for familiarity, the French phrase
tout court, were all characteristic signs.
"He held out both hands to me, but he did not give me one
-he drew it back in time," struck him suspiciously. Both
were watching each other, but when their eyes met, quick as
lightning they looked away.
"I brought you this paper · • about the watch. Here it
is. Is it all right or shall I copy it again ?"
"What? A paper ? Yes, yes, don't be uneasy, it's all
right," Porfiry Petrovitch said as though in haste, and after
he had said it he took the paper and looked at it. "Yes, it's
all right. Nothing more is needed," he declared with the same
rapidity and he laid the paper on the table.
A minute later when he was talking of something else he
took it from the table and put it on his bureau.
318 FYODOR DOSTOEVSKY
"I don't know. . . . They are in debt for the lodging, but
the landlady, I hear, said to-day that she wanted to get rid
of them, and Katerina Ivanovna says that she won't stay
another minute."
"How is it she is so bold ? She relies upon you ?"
"Oh, no, don't talk like that. . . . We are one, we live like
one." Sonia was agitated again and even angry, as though a
canary or some other little bird were to be angry. "And
what could she do ? What, what could she do ?" she persisted,
getting hot and excited. "And how she cried to-day ! Her
mind is unhinged, haven't you noticed it ? At one minute
she is worrying like a child that everything should be right
to-morrow, the lunch and all that. .... . . Then she is wringing
her hands, spitting blood, weeping, and all at once she will
begin knocking her head against the wall, in despair. Then
she will be comforted again. She builds all her hopes on
you ; she says that you will help her now and that she will
borrow a little money somewhere and go to her native town
with me and set up a boarding school for the daughters of
gentlemen and take me to superintend it, and we will begin
a new splendid life. And she kisses and hugs me, comforts
me, and you know she has such faith, such faith in her
fancies ! One can't contradict her. And all the day long she
has been washing, cleaning, mending. She dragged the wash
tub into the room with her feeble hands and sank on the bed,
gasping for breath. We went this morning to the shops to
buy shoes for Polenka and Lida for theirs are quite worn
out. Only the money we'd reckoned wasn't enough, not
nearly enough. And she picked out such dear little boots,
for she has taste, you don't know. And there in the shop she
burst out crying before the shopmen because she hadn't
enough. . . . Ah, it was sad to see her. . . ."
"Well, after that I can understand your living like this,"
Raskolnikov said with a bitter smile.
"And aren't you sorry for them ? Aren't you sorry ?"
Sonia flew at him again. "Why, I know, you gave your
last penny yourself, though you'd seen nothing of it, and
if you'd seen everything, oh dear! And how often, how
often I've brought her to tears ! Only last week ! Yes,
I ! Only a week before his death. I was cruel ! And
CRIME AND PUNISHMENT 325
"and your worst sin is that you have destroyed and betrayed
yourself for nothing. Isn't that fearful ? Isn't it fearful
that you are living in this filth which you loathe so, and at
the same time you know yourself ( you've only to open your
eyes ) that you are not helping any one by it, not saving any
one from anything ! Tell me," he went on almost in a frenzy,
"how this shame and degradation can exist in you side by
side with other, opposite, holy feelings ? It would be better,
a thousand times better and wiser to leap into the water and
end it all !"
"But what would become of them ?" Sonia asked faintly,
gazing at him with eyes of anguish, but not seeming surprised
at his suggestion.
Raskolnikov looked strangely at her. He read it all in her
face ; so she must have had that thought already, perhaps
many times, and earnestly she had thought out in her despair
how to end it and so earnestly, that now she scarcely won-
dered at his suggestion. She had not even noticed the cruelty
of his words. (The significance of his reproaches and his pe-
culiar attitude to her shame she had, of course, not noticed
either, and that, too, was clear to him. ) But he saw how
monstrously the thought of her disgraceful, shameful position
was torturing her and had long tortured her. "What, what,"
he thought, "could hitherto have hindered her from putting
an end to it ?" Only then he realized what those poor little
orphan children and that pitiful half-crazy Katerina Ivan-
ovna, knocking her head against the wall in her consumption,
meant for Sonia.
But, nevertheless, it was clear to him again that with her
character and the amount of education she had after all
received, she could not in any case remain so. He was still
confronted by the question how could she have remained so
long in that position without going out of her mind, since
she could not bring herself to jump into the water? Of
course he knew that Sonia's position was an exceptional case,
though unhappily not unique and not infrequent, indeed ; but
that very exceptionalness, her tinge of education, her previ-
ous life might, one would have thought, have killed her at
the first step on that revolting path. What held her up—
surely not depravity ? All that infamy had obviously only
CRIME AND PUNISHMENT 329
"Yea, Lord : I believe that Thou art the Christ, the Son of
God Which should come into the world."
She stopped and looked up quickly at him, but controlling
herself went on reading. Raskolnikov sat without moving, his
elbows on the table and his eyes turned away. She read to
the thirty-second verse.
"Then when Mary was come where Jesus was and saw
Him, she fell down at His feet, saying unto Him, Lord, if
Thou hadst been here, my brother had not died.
When Jesus therefore saw her weeping, and the Jews also
weeping which came with her, He groaned in the spirit and
was troubled,
And said, Where have you laid him ? They said unto Him,
Lord, come and see.
Jesus wept.
Then said the Jews, behold how He loved him !
And some of them said, could not this Man Which opened
the eyes of the blind, have caused that even this man should
not have died ?"
Raskolnikov turned and looked at her with emotion. Yes,
he had known it ! She was trembling in a real physical fever.
He had expected it. She was getting near the story of the
greatest miracle and a feeling of immense triumph came over
her. Her voice rang out like a bell ; triumph and joy gave it
power. The lines danced before her eyes, but she knew
what she was reading by heart. At the last verse "Could not
this Man Which opened the eyes of the blind . . ." dropping
her voice she passionately reproduced the doubt, the reproach
and censure of the blind disbelieving Jews, who in another
moment would fall at His feet as though struck by thunder,
sobbing and believing. . . . “And he, he- too, is blinded and
unbelieving, he, too, will hear, he, too, will believe, yes, yes !
At once, now," was what she was dreaming, and she was
quivering with happy anticipation.
"Jesus therefore again groaning in Himself cometh to the
grave. It was a cave, and a stone lay upon it.
Jesus said, Take ye away the stone. Martha, the sister of
him that was dead, saith unto Him, Lord by this time he
stinketh : for he hath been dead four days."
She laid emphasis on the word four.
334 FYODOR DOSTOEVSKY
"Jesus saith unto her, Said I not unto thee that if thou
wouldest believe, thou shouldest see the glory of God?
Then they took away the stone from the place where the
dead was laid. And Jesus lifted up His eyes and said, Father,
I thank Thee that Thou hast heard Me.
And I knew that Thou hearest Me always ; but because of
the people which stand by I said it, that they may believe that
Thou hast sent Me.
And when He thus had spoken, He cried with a loud voice,
Lazarus, come forth.
And he that was dead came forth."
( She read loudly, cold and trembling with ecstasy, as
though she were seeing it before her eyes. )
"Bound hand and foot with gravecloths ; and his face was
bound about with a napkin. Jesus saith unto them, Loose him
and let him go.
Then many of the Jews which came to Mary and had seen
the things which Jesus did believed on Him."
She could read no more, closed the book and got up from
her chair quickly.
"That is all about the raising of Lazarus," she whispered
severely and abruptly, and turning away she stood motionless,
not daring to raise her eyes to him. She still trembled fever-
ishly. The candle-end was flickering out in the battered
candlestick dimly lighting up in the poverty-stricken room
the murderer and the harlot who had so strangely been
reading together the eternal book. Five minutes or more
passed.
"I came to speak of something," Raskolnikov said aloud,
frowning. He got up and went to Sonia. She lifted her eyes
to him in silence. His face was particularly stern and there
was a sort of savage determination in it.
"I have abandoned my family to-day," he said, "my mother
and sister. I am not going to see them. I've broken with
them completely ."
"What for?" asked Sonia amazed. Her recent meeting
with his mother and sister had left a great impression which
she could not analyse. She heard his news almost with
horror.
"I have only you now," he added. "Let us go together.
CRIME AND PUNISHMENT 335
his hatred might betray him. His indignation was such that
he ceased trembling at once ; he made ready to go in with
a cold and arrogant bearing and vowed to himself to keep
as silent as possible, to watch and listen and for once at least
to control his overstrained nerves. At that moment he was
summoned to Porfiry Petrovitch.
He found Porfiry Petrovitch alone in his study. His study
was a room neither large nor small, furnished with a large
writing-table, that stood before a sofa, upholstered in checked
material, a bureau, a bookcase in the corner and several
chairs-all government furniture, of polished yellow wood.
In the further wall there was a closed door, beyond it there
were no doubt other rooms. On Raskolnikov's entrance Por-
firy Petrovitch had at once closed the door by which he had
come in and they remained alone. He met his visitor with
an apparently genial and good-tempered air, and it was only
after a few minutes that Raskolnikov saw signs of a certain
awkwardness in him, as though he had been thrown out of
his reckoning or caught in something very secret.
"Ah, my dear fellow ! Here you are . . . in our domain”
.. began Porfiry, holding out both hands to him. “Come,
sit down, old man ... or perhaps you don't like to be called
'my dear fellow' and ' old man' -tout court? Please don't
think it too familiar. ...
. . . Here, on the sofa."
Raskolnikov sat down, keeping his eyes fixed on him. "In
our domain," the apologies for familiarity, the French phrase
tout court, were all characteristic signs.
"He held out both hands to me, but he did not give me one
-he drew it back in time," struck him suspiciously. Both
were watching each other, but when their eyes met, quick as
lightning they looked away.
"I brought you this paper about the watch. Here it
is. Is it all right or shall I copy it again?"
"What? A paper ? Yes, yes, don't be uneasy, it's all
right," Porfiry Petrovitch said as though in haste, and after
he had said it he took the paper and looked at it. "Yes, it's
all right. Nothing more is needed," he declared with the same
rapidity and he laid the paper on the table.
A minute later when he was talking of something else he
took it from the table and put it on his bureau.
340 FYODOR DOSTOEVSKY
but people of the middle sort like us, thinking people that is,
are always tongue-tied and awkward. What is the reason
of it ? Whether it is the lack of public interest, or whether
it is we are so honest we don't want to deceive one another,
I don't know. What do you think ? Do put down your cap,
it looks as if you were just going, it makes me uncomfort-
able . . . I am so delighted . . .'
Raskolnikov put down his cap and continued listening in
silence with a serious frowning face to the vague and empty
chatter of Porfiry Petrovitch. "Does he really want to dis-
tract my attention with his silly babble ?”
"I can't offer you coffee here : but why not spend five
minutes with a friend," Porfiry pattered on, "and you know
all these official duties . . . please don't mind my running
up and down, excuse it, my dear fellow, I am very much
afraid of offending you, but exercise is absolutely indispensa-
ble for me. I'm always sitting and so glad to be moving
about for five minutes . . . I suffer from my sedentary life
... I always intend to join a gymnasium ; they say that
officials of all ranks, even Privy Councillors may be seen
skipping gaily there ; there you have it, modern science .....
yes, yes. . . . But as for my duties here, inquiries and all
such formalities . . . you mentioned inquiries yourself just
now . . . I assure you these interrogations are sometimes
more embarrassing for the interrogator than for the inter-
rogated. . . . You made the observation yourself just now
very aptly and wittily. ( Raskolnikov had made no observa-
tion of the kind. ) One gets into a muddle ! A regular
muddle ! One keeps harping on the same note, like a drum !
There is to be a reform and we shall be called by a different
name, at least, he-he-he ! And as for our legal tradition, as
you so wittily called it, I thoroughly agree with you . Every
prisoner on trial, even the rudest peasant knows, that they
begin by disarming him with irrelevant questions (as you so
happily put it ) and then deal him a knock-down blow, he-
he-he -your felicitous comparison, he-he ! So you really
imagined that I meant by government quarters ... . . . he-he !
You are an ironical person. Come, I won't go on! Ah, by
the way, yes ! One word leads to another. You spoke of
formality just now, apropos of the inquiry, you know. But
344 FYODOR DOSTOEVSKY
But you are wrong, you won't do it ! But why give me such
a hint ? Is he reckoning on my shattered nerves ? No, my
friend, you are wrong, you won't do it even though you have
some trap for me · · let us see what you have in store for
me."
And he braced himself to face a terrible and unknown or-
deal. At times he longed to fall on Porfiry and strangle him.
This anger was what he dreaded from the beginning. He
felt that his parched lips were flecked with foam, his heart
was throbbing. But he was still determined not to speak till
the right moment. He realised that this was the best policy
in his position, because instead of saying too much he would
be irritating his enemy by his silence and provoking him into
speaking too freely. Anyhow, this was what he hoped for.
"No, I see you don't believe me, you think I am playing a
harmless joke on you," Porfiry began again, getting more
and more lively, chuckling at every instant and again pacing
round the room . "And to be sure you're right : God has
given me a figure that can awaken none but comic ideas in
other people ; a buffoon ; but let me tell you and I repeat it,
excuse an old man, my dear Rodion Romanovitch, you are
a man still young, so to say, in your first youth and so you
put intellect above everything, like all young people . Playful
wit and abstract arguments fascinate you and that's for all
the world like the old Austrian Hof-kriegsrath, as far as I
can judge of military matters that is : on paper they'd beaten
Napoleon and taken him prisoner, and there in their study
they worked it all out in the cleverest fashion, but look you,
General Mack surrendered with all his army, he-he-he ! I
see, I see, Rodion Romanovitch, you are laughing at a civil-
ian like me, taking examples out of military history ! But
I can't help it, it's my weakness. I am fond of military
science. And I'm ever so fond of reading all military his-
tories. I've certainly missed my proper career. I ought to
have been in the army, upon my word I ought. I shouldn't
have been a Napoleon, but I might have been a major,
he-he-he ! Well, I will tell you the whole truth, my dear
fellow, about this special case, I mean : actual fact and a
man's temperament, my dear sir, are weighty matters and
it's astonishing how they sometimes deceive the sharpest cal-
348 FYODOR DOSTOEVSKY
of defence are not very reliable and cut both ways : illness,
delirium, I don't remember-that's all right, but why, my
good sir, in your illness and in your delirium were you
haunted by just those delusions and not by any others ?
There may have been others, eh? He-he-he !"
Raskolnikov looked haughtily and contemptuously at him.
"Briefly," he said loudly and imperiously, rising to his feet
and in so doing pushing Porfiry back a little, "briefly, I want
to know, do you acknowledge me perfectly free from suspi-
cion or not ? Tell me, Porfiry Petrovitch, tell me once for
all and make haste !"
"What a business I'm having with you !” cried Porfiry with
a perfectly good-humoured, sly and composed face. "And
why do you want to know, why do you want to know so
much, since they haven't begun to worry you ? Why, you
are like a child asking for matches ! And why are you so
uneasy? Why do you force yourself upon us, eh ? He-
he-he !"
"I repeat," Raskolnikov cried furiously, "that I can't put
up with it !"
"With what? Uncertainty?" interrupted Porfiry.
"Don't jeer at me ! I won't have it ! I tell you I won't
have it. I can't and I won't, do you hear, do you hear ?" he
shouted, bringing his fist down on the table again.
"Hush ! Hush ! They'll overhear ! I warn you seriously,
take care of yourself. I am not joking," Porfiry whispered,
but this time there was not the look of old womanish good-
nature and alarm in his face. Now he was peremptory ,
stern, frowning and for once laying aside all mystification.
But this was only for an instant. Raskolnikov, bewildered,
suddenly fell into actual frenzy, but, strange to say, he again
obeyed the command to speak quietly, though he was in a
perfect paroxysm of fury.
"I will not allow myself to be tortured," he whispered, in-
stantly recognising with hatred that he could not help obeying
the command and driven to even greater fury by the thought.
"Arrest me, search me, but kindly act in due form and don't
play with me ! Don't dare !"
"Don't worry about the form," Porfiry interrupted with the
same sly smile, as it were, gloating with enjoyment over
CRIME AND PUNISHMENT 355
of defence are not very reliable and cut both ways : illness,
delirium, I don't remember-that's all right, but why, my
good sir, in your illness and in your delirium were you
haunted by just those delusions and not by any others ?
There may have been others, eh ? He-he-he !”
Raskolnikov looked haughtily and contemptuously at him.
"Briefly," he said loudly and imperiously, rising to his feet
and in so doing pushing Porfiry back a little, "briefly, I want
to know, do you acknowledge me perfectly free from suspi-
cion or not ? Tell me, Porfiry Petrovitch, tell me once for
all and make haste !"
"What a business I'm having with you !" cried Porfiry with
a perfectly good-humoured, sly and composed face. "And
why do you want to know, why do you want to know so
much, since they haven't begun to worry you ? Why, you
are like a child asking for matches ! And why are you so
uneasy ? Why do you force yourself upon us, eh ? He-
he-he !"
"I repeat," Raskolnikov cried furiously, "that I can't put
up with it !"
"With what ? Uncertainty ?" interrupted Porfiry.
"Don't jeer at me ! I won't have it ! I tell you I won't
have it. I can't and I won't, do you hear, do you hear ?" he
shouted, bringing his fist down on the table again.
"Hush ! Hush ! They'll overhear ! I warn you seriously,
take care of yourself. I am not joking," Porfiry whispered,
but this time there was not the look of old womanish good-
nature and alarm in his face. Now he was peremptory,
stern, frowning and for once laying aside all mystification.
But this was only for an instant. Raskolnikov, bewildered,
suddenly fell into actual frenzy, but, strange to say, he again
obeyed the command to speak quietly, though he was in a
perfect paroxysm of fury.
"I will not allow myself to be tortured," he whispered, in-
stantly recognising with hatred that he could not help obeying
the command and driven to even greater fury by the thought.
"Arrest me, search me, but kindly act in due form and don't
play with me ! Don't dare !"
"Don't worry about the form,” Porfiry interrupted with the
same sly smile, as it were, gloating with enjoyment over
CRIME AND PUNISHMENT 355
Why have you brought him too soon ?" Porfiry Petrovitch
muttered, extremely annoyed, and as it were thrown out of
his reckoning .
But Nikolay suddenly knelt down.
"What's the matter ?" cried Porfiry, surprised.
"I am guilty ! Mine is the sin ! I am the murderer,"
Nikolay articulated suddenly, rather breathless, but speaking
fairly loudly.
For ten seconds there was silence as though all had been
struck dumb ; even the warder stepped back, mechanically
retreated to the door, and stood immovable.
"What is it ?" cried Porfiry Petrovitch, recovering from his
momentary stupefaction.
"I . . . am the murderer," repeated Nikolay, after a brief
pause.
"What . • you · what · · whom did you kill ?"
Porfiry Petrovitch was obviously bewildered.
Nikolay again was silent for a moment.
"Alyona Ivanovna and her sister Lizaveta Ivanovna, I •
killed ... with an axe. Darkness came over me," he added
suddenly, and was again silent.
He still remained on his knees. Porfiry Petrovitch stood
for some moments as though meditating, but suddenly roused
himself and waved back the uninvited spectators. They
instantly vanished and closed the door. Then he looked
towards Raskolnikov, who was standing in the corner, staring
wildly at Nikolay and moved towards him, but stopped short,
looked from Nikolay to Raskolnikov and then again at
Nikolay, and seeming unable to restrain himself darted at
the latter.
"You're in too great a hurry," he shouted at him, almost
angrily. "I didn't ask you what came over you ... .. Speak,
did you kill them ?"
"I am the murderer. I want to give evidence," Nikolay
pronounced.
"Ach ! What did you kill them with?"
"An axe. I had it ready."
"Ach, he is in a hurry ! Alone ?”
Nikolay did not understand the question.
"Did you do it alone ?"
CRIME AND PUNISHMENT 359
It's not your own tale you are telling !' You must admit it's
a comical business !"
"He-he-he ! You noticed then that I said to Nikolay just
now that it was not his own tale he was telling ?"
"How could I help noticing it !"
"He-he ! You are quick-witted. You notice everything !
You've really a playful mind ! And you always fasten on the
comic side . . . he-he ! They say that was the marked char-
acteristic of Gogol, among the writers."
"Yes, of Gogol."
"Yes, of Gogol. I shall look forward to meeting you."
"So shall I."
Raskolnikov walked straight home. He was so muddled
and bewildered that on getting home he sat for a quarter of
an hour on the sofa, trying to collect his thoughts . He did
not attempt to think about Nikolay ; he was stupefied ; he
felt that his confession was something inexplicable, amazing
-something beyond his understanding. But Nikolay's con-
fession was an actual fact. The consequences of this fact
were clear to him at once, its falsehood could not fail to be
discovered, and then they would be after him again. Till
then, at least, he was free and must do something for himself,
for the danger was imminent.
But how imminent ? His position gradually became clear
to him . Remembering, sketchily, the main outlines of his
recent scene with Porfiry, he could not help shuddering again
with horror. Of course, he did not yet know all Porfiry's
aims, he could not see into all his calculations. But he had
already partly shown his hand, and no one knew better than
Raskolnikov how terribe Porfiry's " lead" had been for him.
A little more and he might have given himself away com-
pletely, circumstantially. Knowing his nervous temperament
and from the first glance seeing through him, Porfiry, though
playing a bold game, was bound to win. There's no denying
that Raskolnikov had compromised himself seriously, but no
facts had come to light as yet ; there was nothing positive.
But was he taking a true view of the position ? Wasn't he
mistaken ? What had Porfiry been trying to get at ? Had he
really some surprise prepared for him ? And what was it ?
Had he really been expecting something or not ? How
362 FYODOR DOSTOEVSKY
would they have parted if it had not been for the unexpected
appearance of Nikolay ?
Porfiry had shown almost all his cards-of course, he had
risked something in showing them-and if he had really
had anything up his sleeve ( Raskolnikov reflected ) , he would
have shown that, too. What was that "surprise" ? Was it a
joke ? Had it meant anything ? Could it have concealed
anything like a fact, a piece of positive evidence ? His yes-
terday's visitor ? What had become of him? Where was he
to-day ? If Porfiry really had any evidence, it must be con-
nected with him. . . .
He sat on the sofa with his elbows on his knees and his
face hidden in his hands. He was still shivering nervously.
At last he got up, took his cap, thought a minute, and went to
the door.
He had a sort of presentiment that for to-day, at least, he
might consider himself out of danger. He had a sudden sense
almost of joy ; he wanted to make haste to Katerina Iva-
novna's. He would be too late for the funeral, of course, but
he would be in time for the memorial dinner, and there at
once he would see Sonia.
He stood still, thought a moment, and a suffering smile
came for a moment on to his lips.
"To-day ! To-day," he repeated to himself. "Yes, to-day !
99
So it must be. •
But as he was about to open the door, it began opening of
itself. He started and moved back. The door opened gently
and slowly, and there suddenly appeared a figure—yester-
day's visitor from underground.
The man stood in the doorway, looked at Raskolnikov with-
out speaking, and took a step forward into the room. He
was exactly the same as yesterday ; the same figure, the same
dress, but there was a great change in his face ; he looked
dejected and sighed deeply. If he had only put his hand up
to his cheek and leaned his head on one side he would have
looked exactly like a peasant woman.
"What do you want ?" asked Raskolnikov, numb with
terror.
The man was still silent, but suddenly he bowed down
almost to the ground, touching it with his finger.
CRIME AND PUNISHMENT 363
"What Porfiry?"
"The head of the detective department ?"
"Yes. The porters did not go there, but I went."
"To-day?"
"I got there two minutes before you. And I heard, I
heard it all, how he worried you."
"Where ? What ? When ?"
"Why, in the next room. I was sitting there all the time."
"What? Why then, you were the surprise ? But how
could it happen ? Upon my word !"
"I saw that the porters did not want to do what I said,"
began the man ; "for it's too late, said they, and maybe he'll
be angry that we did not come at the time. I was vexed and
I lost my sleep, and I began making inquiries. And finding
out yesterday where to go, I went to-day. The first time
I went he wasn't there, when I came an hour later he couldn't
see me. I went the third time, and they showed me in.
I informed him of everything, just as it happened, and he
began skipping about the room and punching himself on the
chest. 'What do you scoundrels mean by it ? If I'd known
about it I should have arrested him !' Then he ran out, called
somebody and began talking to him in the corner, then he
turned to me, scolding and questioning me. He scolded me
a great deal ; and I told him everything, and I told him that
you didn't dare to say a word in answer to me yesterday and
that you didn't recognise me. And he fell to running about
again and kept hitting himself on the chest, and getting
angry and running about, and when you were announced he
told me to go into the next room, ' sit there a bit,' he said.
'Don't move, whatever you may hear.' And he set a chair
there for me and locked me in. ' Perhaps,' he said, 'I may
call you.' And when Nikolay'd been brought he let me out as
soon as you were gone. 'I shall send for you again and
question you,' he said."
"And did he question Nikolay while you were there ?"
"He got rid of me as he did of you , before he spoke to
Nikolay."
The man stood still, and again suddenly bowed down,
touching the ground with his finger.
"Forgive me for my evil thoughts, and my slander."
CRIME AND PUNISHMENT 365
CHAPTER I
that all the lodgers had been invited, among them some who
had not known the dead man, that even Andrey Semyono-
vitch Lebeziatnikov was invited in spite of his previous
quarrel with Katerina Ivanovna, that he, Pyotr Petrovitch,
was not only invited, but was eagerly expected as he was the
most important of the lodgers. Amalia Ivanovna herself
had been invited with great ceremony in spite of the recent
unpleasantness, and so she was very busy with preparations
and was taking a positive pleasure in them ; she was more-
over dressed up to the nines, all in new black silk, and she
was proud of it. All this suggested an idea to Pyotr Petro-
vitch and he went into his room, or rather Lebeziatnikov's,
somewhat thoughtful. He had learnt that Raskolnikov was
to be one of the guests.
Andrey Semyonovitch had been at home all the morning.
The attitude of Pyotr Petrovitch to this gentleman was
strange, though perhaps natural. Pyotr Petrovitch had de-
spised and hated him from the day he came to stay with
him and at the same time he seemed somewhat afraid of him.
He had not come to stay with him on his arrival in Peters-
burg simply from parsimony, though that had been perhaps
his chief object. He had heard of Andrey Semyonovitch,
who had once been his ward, as a leading young progressive
who was taking an important part in certain interesting cir-
cles, the doings of which were a legend in the provinces. It
had impressed Pyotr Petrovitch. These powerful omniscient
circles who despised every one and showed every one up had
long inspired in him a peculiar but quite vague alarm. He
had not, of course, been able to form even an approximate
notion of what they meant. He, like every one, had heard
that there were, especially in Petersburg, progressives of
some sort, nihilists and so on, and, like many people, he
exaggerated and distorted the significance of those words to
an absurd degree. What for many years past he had feared
more than anything was being shown up and this was the
chief ground for his continual uneasiness at the thought of
transferring his business to Petersburg. He was afraid of
this as little children are sometimes panic- stricken. Some
years before, when he was just entering on his own career,
he had come upon two cases in which rather important per-
CRIME AND PUNISHMENT 369
was said that that was too harsh, that she might have spared
them and have written more kindly. I think that's all non-
sense and there's no need of softness , on the contrary, what's
wanted is protest. Varents had been married seven years,
she abandoned her two children, she told her husband straight
out in a letter : 'I have realised that I cannot be happy with
you. I can never forgive you that you have deceived me by
concealing from me that there is another organisation of
society by means of the communities. I have only lately
learned it from a great-hearted man to whom I have given
myself and with whom I am establishing a community. I
speak plainly because I consider it dishonest to deceive you.
Do as you think best. Do not hope to get me back, you are
too late. I hope you will be happy.' That's how letters like
that ought to be written !"
"Is that Terebyeva the one you said had made a third free
marriage ?"
"No, it's only the second, really ! But what if it were the
fourth, what if it were the fifteenth, that's all nonsense ! And
if ever I regretted the death of my father and mother, it is
now, and I sometimes think if my parents were living what
a protest I would have aimed at them! I would have done
something on purpose . . . I would have shown them ! I
would have astonished them ! I am really sorry there is no
one !"
"To surprise ! He-he ! Well, be that as you will," Pyotr
Petrovitch interrupted, "but tell me this : do you know the
dead man's daughter, the delicate-looking little thing ? It's
true what they say about her, isn't it ?"
"What of it? I think, that is, it is my own personal con-
viction, that this is the normal condition of women. Why
not? I mean, distinguons. In our present society, it is not
altogether normal, because it is compulsory, but in the future
society, it will be perfectly normal, because it will be volun-
tary. Even as it is, she was quite right : she was suffering
and that was her asset, so to speak, her capital which she
had a perfect right to dispose of. Of course, in the future
society, there will be no need of assets, but her part will
have another significance, rational and in harmony with her
environment. As to Sofya Semyonovna personally, I regard
370 FYODOR DOSTOEVSKY
was said that that was too harsh, that she might have spared
them and have written more kindly. I think that's all non-
sense and there's no need of softness, on the contrary, what's
wanted is protest. Varents had been married seven years,
she abandoned her two children, she told her husband straight
out in a letter : 'I have realised that I cannot be happy with
you. I can never forgive you that you have deceived me by
concealing from me that there is another organisation of
society by means of the communities. I have only lately
learned it from a great-hearted man to whom I have given
myself and with whom I am establishing a community. I
speak plainly because I consider it dishonest to deceive you.
Do as you think best. Do not hope to get me back, you are
too late. I hope you will be happy.' That's how letters like
that ought to be written !"
"Is that Terebyeva the one you said had made a third free
marriage?"
"No, it's only the second, really ! But what if it were the
fourth, what if it were the fifteenth , that's all nonsense ! And
if ever I regretted the death of my father and mother, it is
now, and I sometimes think if my parents were living what
a protest I would have aimed at them ! I would have done
something on purpose .. I would have shown them ! I
would have astonished them ! I am really sorry there is no
one !"
"To surprise ! He-he ! Well, be that as you will," Pyotr
Petrovitch interrupted, "but tell me this : do you know the
dead man's daughter, the delicate-looking little thing ? It's
true what they say about her, isn't it ?"
"What of it? I think, that is, it is my own personal con-
viction, that this is the normal condition of women. Why
not ? I mean, distinguons. In our present society, it is not
altogether normal, because it is compulsory, but in the future
society, it will be perfectly normal, because it will be volun-
tary. Even as it is, she was quite right : she was suffering
and that was her asset, so to speak, her capital which she
had a perfect right to dispose of. Of course, in the future
society, there will be no need of assets, but her part will
have another significance, rational and in harmony with her
environment. As to Sofya Semyonovna personally, I regard
374 FYODOR DOSTOEVSKY
it, yet I must admit that I saw your action with pleasure—
yes, yes, I like it."
"That's all nonsense," muttered Pyotr Petrovitch, some-
what disconcerted, looking carefully at Lebeziatnikov.
"No, it's not nonsense ! A man who has suffered distress
and annoyance as you did yesterday and who yet can sym-
pathise with the misery of others, such a man . even
though he is making a social mistake-is still deserving of
respect ! I did not expect it indeed of you , Pyotr Petrovitch,
especially as according to your ideas . . . oh, what a draw-
back your ideas are to you ! How distressed you are for
instance by your ill luck yesterday," cried the simple-hearted
Lebeziatnikov, who felt a return of affection for Pyotr
Petrovitch. "And what do you want with marriage, with
legal marriage, my dear, noble Pyotr Petrovitch ? Why do
you cling to this legality of marriage ? Well, you may beat
me if you like, but I am glad, positively glad it hasn't come
off, that you are free, that you are not quite lost for hu-
manity. . . . You see, I've spoken my mind !"
"Because I don't want in your free marriage to be made a
fool of and to bring up another man's children, that's why I
want legal marriage,” Luzhin replied in order to make some
answer.
He seemed preoccupied by something.
"Children ? You referred to children," Lebeziatnikov
started off like a warhorse at the trumpet call. "Children are
a social question and a question of first importance, I agree ;
but the question of children has another solution. Some
refuse to have children altogether, because they suggest the
institution of the family. We'll speak of children later, but
now as to the question of honour, I confess that's my weak
point. That horrid, military, Pushkin expression is unthink-
able in the dictionary of the future. What does it mean
indeed ? It's nonsense, there will be no deception in a free
marriage ! That is only the natural consequence of a legal
marriage, so to say, its corrective, a protest. So that indeed
it's not humiliating ...
. and if I ever, to suppose an ab-
surdity, were to be legally married, I should be positively
glad of it. I should say to my wife : 'My dear, hitherto I
have loved you, now I respect you, for you've shown you can
382 FYODOR DOSTOEVSKY
not think fit to come, and has not even answered the in-
vitation, which the most ordinary good manners required !
I can't understand why Pyotr Petrovitch has not come ?
But where's Sonia ? Where has she gone ? Ah, there she
is at last ! what is it, Sonia, where have you been ? It's odd
that even at your father's funeral you should be so un-
punctual. Rodion Romanovitch, make room for her beside
you. That's your place, Sonia . . . take what you like.
Have some of the cold entrée with jelly, that's the best.
They'll bring the pancakes directly. Have they given the
children scme ? Polenka, have you got everything?
(Cough-cough-cough. ) That's all right. Be a good girl,
Lida, and Kolya don't fidget with your feet ; sit like a gentle-
man. What are you saying, Sonia ?"
Sonia hastened to give her Pyotr Petrovitch's apologies,
trying to speak loud enough for every one to hear and care-
fully choosing the most respectful phrases which she attri-
buted to Pyotr Petrovitch. She added that Pyotr Petro-
vitch had particularly told her to say that, as soon as he
possibly could, he would come immediately to discuss busi-
ness alone with her and to consider what could be done for
her, &c., &c.
Sonia knew that this would comfort Katerina Ivanovna,
would flatter her and gratify her pride. She sat down
beside Raskolnikov ; she made him a hurried bow, glancing
curiously at him. But for the rest of the time she seemed
to avoid looking at him or speaking to him. She seemed
absent-minded, though she kept looking at Katerina Iva-
novna, trying to please her. Neither she nor Katerina
Ivanovna had been able to get mourning ; Sonia was wear-
ing dark brown, and Katerina Ivanovna had on her only
dress, a dark striped cotton one.
The message from Pyotr Petrovitch was very successful.
Listening to Sonia with dignity, Katerina Ivanovna in-
quired with equal dignity how Pyotr Petrovitch was, then
at once whispered almost aloud to Raskolnikov that it cer-
tainly would have been strange for a man of Pyotr Petro-
vitch's position and standing to find himself in such “ex-
traordinary company," in spite of his devotion to her family
and his old friendship with her father.
390 FYODOR DOSTOEVSKY
But this was too much for Katerina Ivanovna, and she at
once declared, so that all could hear, that Amalia Ivanovna
probably never had a father, but was simply a drunken
Petersburg Finn, and had certainly once been a cook and
probably something worse. Amalia Ivanovna turned as red
as a lobster and squealed that perhaps Katerina Ivanovna
never had a father, "but she had a vater aus Berlin and
that he wore a long coat and always said poof- poof- poof !"
Katerina Ivanovna observed contemptuously that all knew
what her family was and that on that very certificate of
honour it was stated in print that her father was a colonel,
while Amalia Ivanovna's father-if she really had one-
was probably some Finnish milkman, but that probably she
never had a father at all, since it was still uncertain
whether her name was Amalia Ivanovna or Amalia Lud-
wigovna.
At this Amalia Ivanovna, lashed to fury, struck the table
with her fist, and shrieked that she was Amalia Ivanovna,
and not Ludwigovna, "that her vater was named Johann
and that he was a burgomeister, and that Katerina Iva-
novna's vater was quite never a burgomeister. " Katerina
Ivanovna rose from her chair, and with a stern and ap-
parently calm voice ( though she was pale and her chest was
heaving ) observed that "if she dared for one moment to
set her contemptible wretch of a father on a level with her
papa, she, Katerina Ivanovna, would tear her cap off her
head and trample it under foot." Amalia Ivanovna ran
about the room, shouting at the top of her voice , that she
was mistress of the house and that Katerina Ivanovna
should leave the lodgings that minute ; then she rushed for
some reason to collect the silver spoons from the table.
There was a great outcry and uproar, the children began
crying. Sonia ran to restrain Katerina Ivanovna, but when
Amalia Ivanovna shouted something about "the yellow
ticket," Katerina Ivanovna pushed Sonia away, and rushed
at the landlady to carry out her threat.
At that minute the door opened , and Pyotr Petrovitch
Luzhin appeared on the threshold . He stood scanning the
party with severe and vigilant eyes. Katerina Ivanovna
rushed to him.
CHAPTER III
hit him in the eye and fell on the ground. Amalia Iva-
novna hastened to pick it up. Pyotr Petrovitch lost his
temper.
"Hold that mad woman !" he shouted.
At that moment several other persons, besides Lebe-
ziatnikov appeared in the doorway, among them the two
ladies.
"What! Mad ? Am I mad ? Idiot !" shrieked Katerina
Ivanovna. "You are an idiot yourself, pettifogging lawyer,
base man ! Sonia, Sonia take his money ! Sonia a thief !
Why, she'd give away her last penny !" and Katerina Iva-
novna broke into hysterical laughter. "Did you ever see
such an idiot ?" she turned from side to side. "And you
too ?" she suddenly saw the landlady, "and you too, sausage
eater, you declare that she is a thief, you trashy Prussian
hen's leg in a crinoline ! She hasn't been out of this room :
she came straight from you, you wretch, and sat down
beside me, every one saw her. She sat here, by Rodion
Romanovitch. Search her ! Since she's not left the room ,
the money would have to be on her ! Search her, search
her ! But if you don't find it, then excuse me, my dear
fellow, you'll answer for it ! I'll go to our Sovereign, to our
Sovereign, to our gracious Tsar himself, and throw myself
at his feet, to-day, this minute ! I'm alone in the world !
They would let me in! Do you think they wouldn't ?
You're wrong, I will get in ! I will get in ! You reckoned
on her meekness ! You relied upon that ! But I am not so
submissive, let me tell you ! You're gone too far yourself !
Search her, search her !"
And Katerina Ivanovna in a frenzy shook Luzhin and
dragged him towards Sonia.
"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 ?"
CRIME AND PUNISHMENT 40.1
"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 handker-
chief ! 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 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 not 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 uncon-
scious. 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 con-
tinually, 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 stand-
ing still? Rodion Romanovitch, why don't you stand up for
her ? Do you believe it, too ? You are not worth her little
402 FYODOR DOSTOEVSKY
Amalia Ivanovna. But the battle was too unequal : the land-
lady 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 lodging ! After
eating my bread and salt she turns me into the street, with
my orphans ! Where am I to go ?" wailed the poor woman,
sobbing 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 Iva-
novna 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 quarrelled 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 IV
"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 inter-
rupted 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 come."
He told her that Amalia Ivanovna was turning them out
of their lodging and that Katerina Ivanovna had run off
somewhere "to seek justice."
99
"My God !" cried Sonia, " let's go at once •
And she snatched up her cape.
"It's everlastingly the same thing !" cried 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 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 re-
member what I said yesterday ?"
Again she did not answer. He waited.
CRIME AND PUNISHMENT 413
"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 Ivanovno should die ? How would you decide
which of them was to die ? I ask you ?"
Sonia looked uneasily at him. There was something pe-
culiar 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 reluctantly.
“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 de-
pend 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 bit-
terly. He looked at her in gloomy misery. Five minutes
passed.
414 FYODOR DOSTOEVSKY
"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 her because I was
hungry," laying stress on every word and looking enigmati-
cally 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 left."
"Go where ?" asked Sonia, timidly.
"Not to steal and not to murder, don't be anxious," he
smiled bitterly. "We are so different. . . . And you know,
Sonia, it's only now, only 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 an-
other : you suffer too, and I shall feel better ! And can you
love such a mean wretch ?"
420 FYODOR DOSTOEVSKY
"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 him-
self. How, how can he live by himself ! What will become
of you now?"
"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 under-
stand 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
CRIME AND PUNISHMENT 427
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 come 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 Dounia.
Her face looked thoughtful but not stern. Her eyes were
bright and soft. He saw that she too had come to him
with love.
"Brother, now I know all, all. Dmitri Prokofitch has
explained 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.
432 FYODOR DOSTOEVSKY
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 come 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 Dounia.
Her face looked thoughtful but not stern. Her eyes were
bright and soft. He saw that she too had come to him
with love.
"Brother, now I know all, all. Dmitri Prokofitch has
explained 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.
432 FYODOR DOSTOEVSKY
she began singing. "But no, better sing ' Cinq sous.' Now,
Kolya, your hands on your hips, make haste, and you , Lida,
CRIME AND PUNISHMENT 437
keep turning the other way, and Polenka and I will sing and
clap our hands !
Cinq sous, cinq sous
Pour monter notre ménage.
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 handker-
chief. 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 room .”
She looked at her with a face of suffering.
"We have been your ruin, Sonia. Polenka, Lida, Kolya,
come here ! Well, here they are, Sonia , take them all ! I
hand them over to you, I've had enough ! The ball is over.
(Cough ! ) Lay me down, let me die in peace."
They laid her back on the pillow.
"What, the priest ? I don't want him. You haven't got a
rouble to spare. I have no sins. God must forgive me with-
out 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
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 handker-
chief. 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 room."
She looked at her with a face of suffering.
"We have been your ruin, Sonia. Polenka, Lida, Kolya,
come here ! Well, here they are, Sonia, take them all ! I
hand them over to you, I've had enough ! The ball is over.
(Cough ! ) Lay me down, let me die in peace."
They laid her back on the pillow.
"What, the priest ? I don't want him. You haven't got a
rouble to spare. I have no sins. God must forgive me with-
out 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 schönsten Augen
Mädchen, was willst du mehr?
CHAPTER I
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 fel-
low ! 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 remem-
ber, 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 con-
ceived 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 mistiness and a chord vibrating in the midst. 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 him-
self 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 mat-
ter of life and death. Why am I explaining this to you?
That you may understand, and not blame my malicious
CRIME AND PUNISHMENT 459
All that had been said before had sounded so like a recan-
tation 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 the sofa, stood up for a few
seconds and sat down again without uttering a word. His
face twitched convulsively.
"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 Petro-
vitch 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 irri-
tably. "I ask you the same question again : if you consider
me guilty, why don't you take me to prison ?"
464 FYODOR DOSTOEVSKY
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.
"But who are you ? what prophet are you ? From the
height of what majestic calm do you proclaim these words
of wisdom ?"
"Who am I ? I am a man with nothing to hope for, that's
all. A man perhaps of feeling and sympathy, maybe of
some knowledge, too, but my day is over. But you are a
different matter, there is life waiting for you. Though who
knows, maybe your life, too, will pass off in smoke and
come to nothing. Come, what does it matter, that you will
pass into another class of men ? It's not comfort you regret,
with your heart ! What of it that perhaps no one will see
you for so long ? It's not time, but yourself that will decide
that. Be the sun and all will see you. The sun has before
all to be the sun. Why are you smiling again ? At my being
such a Schiller ? I bet you're imagining that I am trying to
get round you by flattery. Well, perhaps I am, he-he-he !
Perhaps you'd better not believe my word, perhaps you'd bet-
ter never believe it altogether,—I'm made that way, I confess
it. But let me add, you can judge for yourself, I think, how
far I am a base sort of man and how far I am honest."
"When do you mean to arrest me ?"
"Well, I can let you walk about another day or two. Think
it over, my dear fellow and pray to God. It's more in your
interest, believe me."
"And what if I run away ?" asked Raskolnikov with a
strange smile.
"No, you won't run away. A peasant would run away, a
fashionable dissenter would run away, the flunkey of an-
other man's thought, for you've only to show him the end
of your little finger and he'll be ready to believe in anything
for the rest of his life. But you've ceased to believe in your
theory already, what will you run away with ? And what
468 FYODOR DOSTOEVSKY
like a mask ; white and red, with bright red lips, with a
flaxen beard, and still thick flaxen hair. His eyes were
somehow too blue and their expression somehow too heavy
and fixed. There was something awfully unpleasant in
that handsome face, which looked so wonderfully young
for his age . Svidrigailov was smartly dressed in light
summer clothes and was particularly dainty in his linen.
He wore a huge ring with a precious stone in it.
"Have I got to bother myself about you too now ?" said
Raskolnikov suddenly, coming with nervous impatience
straight to the point. "Even though perhaps you are the
most dangerous man if you care to injure me, I don't
want to put myself out any more. I will show you at
once that I don't prize myself as you probably think I do.
I've come to tell you at once that if you keep to your former
intentions with regard to my sister and if you think to
derive any benefit in that direction from what has been
discovered of late, I will kill you before you get me locked
up. You can reckon on my word. You know that I can
keep it. And in the second place if you want to tell me
anything—for I keep fancying all this time that you have
something to tell me-make haste and tell it, for time is
precious and very likely it will soon be too late."
"Why in such haste ?" asked Svidrigailov, looking at him
curiously.
"Every one has his plans," Raskolnikov answered
gloomily and impatiently.
"You urged me yourself to frankness just now, and at
the first question you refuse to answer," Svidrigailov
observed with a smile. "You keep fancying that I have
aims of my own and so you look at me with suspicion.
Of course it's perfectly natural in your position. But
though I should like to be friends with you, I shan't
trouble myself to convince you of the contrary. The game
isn't worth the candle and I wasn't intending to talk to
you about anything special."
"What did you want me for, then ? It was you who
came hanging about me."
"Why, simply as an interesting subject for observation.
I liked the fantastic nature of your position-that's what
CRIME AND PUNISHMENT 477
know about all that idiocy, I will tell you one day, but
""
now ...
"I was told too about some footman of yours in the
country whom you treated badly."
"I beg you to drop the subject," Svidrigaïlov interrupted
again with obvious impatience.
"Was that the footman who came to you after death to fill
your pipe ? . . . you told me about it yourself," Raskolnikov
felt more and more irritated.
Svidrigailov looked at him attentively and Raskolnikov
fancied he caught a flash of spiteful mockery in that look.
But Svidrigailov restrained himself and answered very
civilly.
"Yes, it was. I see that you, too, are extremely interested
and shall feel it my duty to satisfy your curiosity at the first
opportunity. Upon my soul ! I see that I really might pass
for a romantic figure with some people. Judge how grateful
I must be to Marfa Petrovna for having repeated to Avdotya
Romanovna such mysterious and interesting gossip about me.
I dare not guess what impression it made on her, but in any
case it worked in my interests. With all Avdotya Roma-
novna's natural aversion and in spite of my invariably gloomy
and repellent aspect-she did at last feel pity for me, pity
for a lost soul. And if once a girl's heart is moved to pity,
it's more dangerous than anything. She is bound to want
to ' save him,' to bring him to his senses, and lift him up and
draw him to nobler aims, and restore him to new life and
usefulness, — well, we all know how far such dreams can go.
I saw at once that the bird was flying into the cage of her-
self. And I too made ready. I think you are frowning,
Rodion Romanovitch ? There's no need. As you know, it
all ended in smoke . ( Hang it all, what a lot I am drinking ! )
Do you know, I always, from the very beginning, regretted
that it wasn't your sister's fate to be born in the second or
third century A.D., as the daughter of a reigning prince or
some governor or pro-consul in Asia Minor. She would
undoubtedly have been one of those who would endure mar-
tyrdom and would have smiled when they branded her bosom
with hot pincers. And she would have gone to it of herself.
And in the fourth or fifth century she would have walked
484 FYODOR DOSTOEVSKY
away into the Egyptian desert and would have stayed there
thirty years living on roots and ecstasies and visions. She
is simply thirsting to face some torture for some one, and
if she can't get her torture, she'll throw herself out of
window. I've heard something of a Mr. Razumihin— he's
said to be a sensible fellow ; his surname suggests it, indeed.
He's probably a divinity student. Well, he'd better look
after your sister ! I believe I understand her, and I am
proud of it. But at the beginning of an acquaintance, as
you know, one is apt to be more heedless and stupid. One
doesn't see clearly. Hang it all, why is she so handsome ?
It's not my fault. In fact, it began on my side with a most
irresistible physical desire. Avdotya Romanovna is awfully
chaste, incredibly and phenomenally so. Take note, I tell you
this about your sister as a fact. She is almost morbidly
chaste, in spite of her broad intelligence, and it will stand
in her way. There happened to be a girl in the house then,
Parasha, a black-eyed wench, whom I had never seen before
-she had just come from another village-very pretty, but
incredibly stupid : she burst into tears, wailed so that she
could be heard all over the place and caused scandal. One
day after dinner Avdotya Romanovna followed me into an
avenue in the garden and with flashing eyes insisted on my
leaving poor Parasha alone. It was almost our first con-
versation by ourselves. I , of course, was only too pleased
to obey her wishes, tried to appear disconcerted , embarrassed,
in fact played my part not badly. Then came interviews,
mysterious conversations, exhortations, entreaties, supplica-
tions, even tears- would you believe it, even tears ? Think
what the passion for propaganda will bring some girls to!
I, of course, threw it all on my destiny, posed as hungering
and thirsting for light, and finally resorted to the most
powerful weapon in the subjection of the female heart, a
weapon which never fails one. It's the well-known resource
-flattery. Nothing in the world is harder than speaking
the truth and nothing easier than flattery. If there's the
hundredth part of a false note in speaking the truth, it leads
to a discord, and that leads to trouble. But if all, to the last
note, is false in flattery, it is just as agreeable, and is heard
not without satisfaction. It may be a coarse satisfaction,
CRIME AND PUNISHMENT 485
ing the truth. I assure you that this glance has haunted my
dreams ; the very rustle of her dress was more than I could
stand at last. I really began to think that I might become
epileptic. I could never have believed that I could be moved
to such a frenzy. It was essential, indeed, to be reconciled,
but by then it was impossible. And imagine what I did then !
To what a pitch of stupidity a man can be brought by frenzy !
Never undertake anything in a frenzy, Rodion Romanovitch.
I reflected that Avdotya Romanovna was after all a beggar
(ach, excuse me, that's not the word . . . but does it matter
if it expresses the meaning? ) , that she lived by her work,
that she had her mother and you to keep ( ach, hang it, you
are frowning again) , and I resolved to offer her all my
money-thirty thousand roubles I could have realised then-
if she would run away with me here, to Petersburg. Of
course I should have vowed eternal love, rapture, and so on.
Do you know, I was so wild about her at that time that if she
had told me to poison Marfa Petrovna or to cut her throat
and to marry herself, it would have been done at once ! But
it ended in the catastrophe of which you know already.
You can fancy how frantic I was when I heard that
Marfa Petrovna had got hold of that scoundrelly attorney,
Luzhin, and had almost made a match between them-which
would really have been just the same thing as I was pro-
posing. Wouldn't it ? Wouldn't it ? I notice that you've
begun to be very attentive . • you interesting young
man. 99
Svidrigaïlov struck the table with his fist impatiently. He
was flushed. Raskolnikov saw clearly that the glass or glass
and a half of champagne that he had sipped almost uncon-
sciously was affecting him-and he resolved to take advan-
tage of the opportunity. He felt very suspicious of Svidri-
gaïlov.
"Well, after what you have said, I am fully convinced that
you have come to Petersburg with designs on my sister," he
said directly to Svidrigailov in order to irritate him further.
"Oh, nonsense," said Svidrigaïlov, seeming to rouse him-
self. "Why, I told you . . . besides your sister can't endure
me."
"Yes, I am certain that she can't, but that's not the point."
CRIME AND PUNISHMENT 487
does not come back in ten minutes, I will send her to you,
to-day if you like. This is is my flat. These are my two
rooms. Madame Resslich, my landlady, has the next room.
Now, look this way. I will show you my chief piece of
evidence : this door from my bedroom leads into two perfectly
empty rooms, which are to let. Here they are . • you must
look into them with some attention."
Svidrigailov occupied two fairly large furnished rooms.
Dounia was looking about her mistrustfully, but saw nothing
special in the furniture or position of the rooms. Yet there
was something to observe, for instance, that Svidrigaïlov's
flat was exactly between two sets of almost uninhabited
apartments. His rooms were not entered directly from
the passage, but through the landlady's two almost empty
rooms. Unlocking a door leading out of his bedroom,
Svidrigaïlov showed Dounia the two empty rooms that were
to let. Dounia stopped in the doorway, not knowing what
she was called to look upon, but Svidrigaïlov hastened to
explain.
"Look here, at this second large room . Notice that door,
it's locked. By the door stands a chair, the only one in the
two rooms. I brought it from my rooms so as to listen more
conveniently. Just the other side of the door is Sofya Sem-
yonovna's table ; she sat there talking to Rodion Romanovitch.
And I sat here listening on two successive evenings, for two
hours each time-and of course I was able to learn some-
thing, what do you think ?"
"You listened ?"
"Yes, I did. Now come back to my room ; we can't sit
down here."
He brought Avdotya Romanovna back into his sitting-
room and offered her a chair. He sat down at the opposite
side of the table, at least seven feet from her, but probably
there was the same glow in his eyes which had once fright-
ened Dounia so much. She shuddered and once more looked
about her distrustfully. It was an involuntary gesture ; she
evidently did not wish to betray her uneasiness. But the
secluded position of Svidrigaïlov's lodging had suddenly
struck her. She wanted to ask whether his landlady at least
were at home, but pride kept her from asking. Moreover,
498 FYODOR DOSTOEVSKY
Park just now. This reminded him of the bridge over the
Little Neva and he felt cold again as he had when standing
there. "I never have liked water," he thought, “even in a
landscape," and he suddenly smiled again at a strange idea :
"Surely now all these questions of taste and comfort ought
not to matter, but I've become more particular, like an ani-
mal that picks out a special place ...
. . . for such an occasion.
I ought to have gone into the Petrovsky Park ! I suppose it
seemed dark, cold, ha-ha ! As though I were seeking pleas-
ant sensations ! . . By the way, why haven't I put out the
candle ?" he blew it out. "They've gone to bed next door,"
he thought, not seeing the light at the crack. "Well, now,
Marfa Petrovna, now is the time for you to turn up ; it's
dark, and the very time and place for you. But now you
won't come !"
He suddenly recalled how, an hour before carrying out
his design on Dounia, he had recommended Raskolnikov to
trust her to Razumihin's keeping. "I suppose I really did
say it, as Raskolnikov guessed, to tease myself. But what a
rogue that Raskolnikov is ! He's gone through a good deal.
He may be a successful rogue in time when he's got over
his nonsense. But now he's too eager for life. These young
men are contemptible on that point. But, hang the fellow !
Let him please himself, it's nothing to do with me."
He could not get to sleep. By degrees Dounia's image
rose before him, and a shudder ran over him. “No, I must
give up all that now," he thought, rousing himself. "I must
think of something else. It's queer and funny. I never had
a great hatred for any one, I never particularly desired to
revenge myself even, and that's a bad sign, a bad sign. I
never liked quarrelling either, and never lost my temper-
that's a bad sign too . And the promises I made her just now
too ! Damnation ! But-who knows ?-perhaps she would
have made a new man of me somehow. . . .
He ground his teeth and sank into silence again. Again
Dounia's image rose before him, just as she was when, after
shooting the first time, she had lowered the revolver in terror
and gazed blankly at him, so that he might have seized her
twice over and she would not have lifted a hand to defend
herself if he had not reminded her. He recalled how at that
CRIME AND PUNISHMENT 515
instant he felt almost sorry for her, how he had felt a pang
at his heart ....
"Aïe ! Damnation, these thoughts again ! I must put it
away !"
He was dozing off ; the feverish shiver had ceased, when
suddenly something seemed to run over his arm and leg
under the bedclothes. He started. "Ugh ! hang it ! I believe
it's a mouse," he thought, "that's the veal I left on the table."
He felt fearfully disinclined to pull off the blanket, get up, get
cold, but all at once something unpleasant ran over his leg
again. He pulled off the blanket and lighted the candle.
Shaking with feverish chill he bent down to examine the bed :
there was nothing. He shook the blanket and suddenly a
mouse jumped out on the sheet. He tried to catch it, but
the mouse ran to and fro in zigzags without leaving the bed,
slipped between his fingers, ran over his hand and suddenly
darted under the pillow. He threw down the pillow, but in
one instant felt something leap on his chest and dart over
his body and down his back under his shirt. He trembled
nervously and woke up.
The room was dark. He was lying on the bed wrapped
up in the blanket as before. The wind was howling under
the window. "How disgusting," he thought with annoyance.
He got up and sat on the edge of the bedstead with his back
to the window. "It's better not to sleep at all," he decided.
There was a cold damp draught from the window however ;
without getting up he drew the blanket over him and
wrapped himself in it. He was not thinking of anything
and did not want to think. But one image rose after another,
incoherent scraps of thought without beginning or end passed
through his mind. He sank into drowsiness. Perhaps the
cold, or the dampness, or the dark, or the wind that howled
under the window and tossed the trees roused a sort of per-
sistent craving for the fantastic. He kept dwelling on
images of flowers, he fancied a charming flower garden, a
bright, warm, almost hot day, a holiday- Trinity day. A
fine, sumptuous country cottage in the English taste over-
grown with fragrant flowers, with flower beds going round
the house ; the porch, wreathed in climbers, was surrounded
with beds of roses. A light, cool staircase, carpeted with
516 FYODOR DOSTOEVSKY
shivering dog crossed his path with its tail between its legs.
A man in a great coat lay face downwards, dead drunk,
across the pavement. He looked at him and went on. A
high tower stood up on the left. "Bah !" he thought, “here
is a place. Why should it be Petrovsky ? It "" will be in the
presence of an official witness anyway. . .
He almost smiled at this new thought and turned into the
street where there was the big house with the tower. At the
great closed gates of the house, a little man stood with his
shoulder leaning against them, wrapped in a grey soldier's
coat, with a copper Achilles helmet on his head. He cast a
drowsy and indifferent glance at Svidrigaïlov. His face
wore that perpetual look of peevish dejection, which is so
sourly printed on all faces of Jewish race without exception.
They both, Svidrigaïlov and Achilles, stared at each other
for a few minutes without speaking. At last it struck
Achilles as irregular for a man not drunk to be standing
three steps from him, staring and not saying a word.
"What do you want here ?" he said, without moving or
changing his position.
"Nothing, brother, good morning," answered Svidrigaïlov.
"This isn't the place."
"I am going to foreign parts, brother."
"To foreign parts ?"
"To America."
"America ?"
Svidrigaïlov took out the revolver and cocked it. Achilles
raised his eyebrows.
"I say, this is not the place for such jokes ! "
"Why shouldn't it be the place ?"
"Because it isn't."
"Well, brother, I don't mind that. It's a good place. When
you are asked, you just say he was going, he said, to
America."
He put the revolver to his right temple.
"You can't do it here, it's not the place," cried Achilles,
rousing himself, his eyes growing bigger and bigger.
Svidrigaïlov pulled the trigger.
CHAPTER VII
mind once for all : how could I understand your plans and
expect you to give an account of them? God knows what
concerns and plans you may have, or what ideas you are
hatching ; so it's not for me to keep nudging your elbow,
asking you what you are thinking about ? But, my goodness !
why am I running to and fro as though I were crazy. ?
I am reading your article in the magazine for the third time,
Rodya. Dmitri Prokofitch brought it to me. Directly I
saw it I cried out to myself, there, foolish one, I thought,
that's what he is busy about ; that's the solution of the mys-
tery ! Learned people are always like that. He may have
some new ideas in his head just now ; he is thinking them
over and I worry him and upset him. I read it, my dear,
and of course there was a great deal I did not understand ;
but that's only natural-how should I ?"
"Show me, mother."
Raskolnikov took the magazine and glanced at his article.
Incongruous as it was with his mood and his circumstances,
he felt that strange and bitter sweet sensation that every
author experiences the first time he sees himself in print ;
besides, he was only twenty-three. It lasted only a moment.
After reading a few lines he frowned and his heart throbbed
with anguish. He recalled all the inward conflict of the pre-
ceding months. He flung the article on the table with disgust
and anger.
"But however foolish I may be, Rodya, I can see for
myself that you will very soon be one of the leading-if not
the leading man- in the world of Russian thought. And
they dared to think you were mad ! You don't know, but
they really thought that. Ah, the despicable creatures, how
could they understand genius ! And Dounia, Dounia was
all but believing it—what do you say to that ! Your father
sent twice to magazines—the first time poems ( I've got the
manuscript and will show you ) and the second time a whole
novel ( I begged him to let me copy it out ) and how we
prayed that they should be taken-they weren't!
breaking my heart, Rodya, six or seven days ago over your
food and your clothes and the way you are living. But now
I see again how foolish I was, for you can attain any posi-
tion you like by your intellect and talent. No doubt you
CRIME AND PUNISHMENT 523
don't care about that for the present and you are occupied
with much more important matters. •
"Dounia's not at home, mother ?"
"No, Rodya. I often don't see her ; she leaves me alone.
Dmitri Prokofitch comes to see me, it's so good of him, and
he always talks about you. He loves and respects you, my
dear. I don't say that Dounia is very wanting in considera-
tion. I am not complaining. She has her ways and I have
mine, she seems to have got some secrets of late and I never
have any secrets from you two. Of course, I am sure that
Dounia has far too much sense, and besides she loves you
and me ... but I don't know what it will all lead to.
You've made me so happy by coming now, Rodya, but she
has missed you by going out ; when she comes in I'll tell
her: your brother came in while you were out. Where have
you been all this time ? You mustn't spoil me, Rodya, you
know ; come when you can, but if you can't, it doesn't
matter, I can wait. I shall know, any way, that you are
fond of me, that will be enough for me. I shall read what
you write, I shall hear about you from every one, and
sometimes you'll come yourself to see me. What could be
better? Here you've come now to comfort your mother,
I see that."
Here Pulcheria Alexandrovna began to cry.
"Here I am again ! Don't mind my foolishness . My
goodness, why am I sitting here ?" she cried, jumping up.
"There is coffee and I don't offer you any. Ah, that's the
selfishness of old age. I'll get it at once !"
"Mother, don't trouble, I am going at once. I haven't come
""
for that. Please listen to me.'
Pulcheria Alexandrovna went up to him timidly.
"Mother, whatever happens, whatever you hear about me,
whatever you are told about me, will you always love me
as you do now ?" he asked suddenly from the fulness of his
heart, as though not thinking of his words and not weighing
them.
"Rodya, Rodya, what is the matter ? How can you ask
me such a question ? Why, who will tell me anything about
you? Besides, I shouldn't believe any one, I should refuse
to listen."
524 FYODOR DOSTOEVSKY
"I've come to assure you that I've always loved you and
I am glad that we are alone, even glad Dounia is out," he
went on with the same impulse. "I have come to tell you
that though you will be unhappy, you must believe that your
son loves you now more than himself, and that all you
thought about me, that I was cruel and didn't care about you,
was all a mistake. I shall never cease to love you..
Well, that's enough : I thought I must do this and begin
with this. . . .”
Pulcheria Alexandrovna embraced him in silence, press-
ing him to her bosom and weeping gently.
"I don't know what is wrong with you, Rodya," she said
at last. "I've been thinking all this time that we were
simply boring you and now I see that there is a great sorrow
in store for you, and that's why you are miserable. I've
foreseen it a long time, Rodya. Forgive me for speaking
about it. I keep thinking about it and lie awake at nights.
Your sister lay talking in her sleep all last night, talking of
nothing but you . I caught something, but I couldn't make it
out. I felt all the morning as though I were going to be
hanged, waiting for something, expecting something, and
now it has come ! Rodya, Rodya, where are you going ?
You are going away somewhere ?"
"Yes."
"That's what I thought ! I can come with you, you know,
if you need me. And Dounia, too ; she loves you, she loves
you dearly-and Sofya Semyonovna may come with us if
you like. You see, I am glad to look upon her as a daughter
even. ... Dmitri Prokofitch will help us to go together.
But where . . . are you going?"
"Good-bye, mother."
"What, to-day ?" she cried, as though losing him for ever.
99
"I can't stay, I must go now. ·
"And can't I come with you ?"
"No, but kneel down and pray to God for me. Your
prayer perhaps will reach Him.”
"Let me bless you and sign you with the cross. That's
right, that's right. Oh God, what are we doing ?"
Yes, he was glad, he was very glad that there was no one
there, that he was alone with his mother. For the first time
CRIME AND PUNISHMENT 525
after all those awful months his heart was softened. He fell
down before her, he kissed her feet and both wept, embrac-
ing. And she was not surprised and did not question him
this time. For some days she had realised that something
awful was happening to her son and that now some terrible
minute had come for him.
"Rodya, my darling, my first born," she said sobbing ,
"now you are just as when you were little. You would run
like this to me and hug me and kiss me. When your father
was living and we were poor, you comforted us simply by
being with us and when I buried your father, how often we
wept together at his grave and embraced, as now. And if
I've been crying lately, it's that my mother's heart had a
foreboding of trouble. The first time I saw you , that eve-
ning you remember, as soon as we arrived here, I guessed
simply from your eyes. My heart sank at once, and to-day
when I opened the door and looked at you , I thought the
fatal hour had come. Rodya, Rodya, you are not going
away to-day ?"
"No !"
"You'll come again ?"
"Yes . . . I'll come."
“Rodya, don't be angry, I don't dare to question you. I
know I mustn't. Only say two words to me- is it far where
you are going ?"
"Very far."
"What is awaiting you there ? Some post or career for
you ?"
"What God sends . . . only pray for me." Raskolnikov
went to the door, but she clutched him and gazed despair-
ingly into his eyes. Her face worked with terror.
"Enough, mother," said Raskolnikov, deeply regretting
that he had come.
"Not for ever, it's not yet for ever ? You'll come, you'll
come to-morrow ?"
"I will, I will, good-bye. " He tore himself away at last.
It was a warm, fresh, bright evening ; it had cleared up in
the morning. Raskolnikov went to his lodgings ; he made
haste. He wanted to finish all before sunset. He did not
want to meet any one till then. Going up the stairs he
526 FYODOR DOSTOEVSKY
if only I were alone and no one loved me and I too had never
loved any one ! Nothing of all this would have happened.
But I wonder shall I in those fifteen or twenty years grow so
meek that I shall humble myself before people and whimper
at every word that I am a criminal. Yes, that's it, that's it,
that's what they are sending me there for, that's what they
want. Look at them running to and fro about the streets,
every one of them a scoundrel and a criminal at heart and,
worse still, an idiot. But try to get me off and they'd be
wild with righteous indignation. Oh, how I hate them all !"
He fell to musing by what process it could come to pass,
that he could be humbled before all of them, indiscriminately
-humbled by conviction. And yet why not ? It must be so.
Would not twenty years of continual bondage crush him
utterly? Water wears out a stone. And why, why should
he live after that? Why should he go now when he knew
that it would be so ? It was the hundredth time perhaps that
he had asked himself that question since the previous evening,
but still he went.
CHAPTER VIII
is to blame for his death . He had money, they say. How did
you come to know him ?"
"I . . . was acquainted · · my sister was governess in
his family."
"Bah-bah-bah ! Then no doubt you can tell us something
about him. You had no suspicion?"
"I saw him yesterday • • he · . . was drinking wine ; I
knew nothing ."
Raskolnikov felt as though something had fallen on him
and was stifling him. 99
"You've turned pale again. It's so stuffy here. . . .
"Yes, I must go," muttered Raskolnikov. " Exc use my
وو
troubling you. . . .
"Oh, not at all, as often as you like. It's a pleasure to see
you and I am glad to say so."
Ilya Petrovitch held out his hand.
"I only wanted . . . I came to see Zametov."
"I understand, I understand, and it's a pleasure to see
you."
“I .. am very glad . . . good-bye," Raskolnikov smiled.
He went out ; he reeled, he was overtaken with giddiness
and did not know what he was doing. He began going
down the stairs, supporting himself with his right hand
against the wall. He fancied that a porter pushed past him
on his way upstairs to the police office, that a dog in the
lower storey kept up a shrill barking and that a woman flung
a rolling-pin at it and shouted. He went down and out into
the yard. There, not far from the entrance, stood Sonia,
pale and horror-stricken. She looked wildly at him. He
stood still before her. There was a look of poignant agony,
of despair, in her face. She clasped her hands. His lips
worked in an ugly, meaningless smile. He stood still a
minute, grinned and went back to the police office.
Ilya Petrovitch had sat down and was rummaging among
some papers. Before him stood the same peasant who had
pushed by on the stairs.
"Hulloa ! Back again ! have you left something behind ?
What's the matter ?"
Raskolnikov , with white lips and staring eyes, came slowly
nearer. He walked right to the table, leaned his hand on
CRIME AND PUNISHMENT 541
her most for. They even came to her for help in their
illnesses.
He was in the hospital from the middle of Lent till after
Easter. When he was better, he remembered the dreams he
had had while he was feverish and delirious. He dreamt that
the whole world was condemned to a terrible new strange
plague that had come to Europe from the depths of Asia.
All were to be destroyed except a very few chosen. Some
new sorts of microbes were attacking the bodies of men, but
these microbes were endowed with intelligence and will. Men
attacked by them became at once mad and furious. But
never had men considered themselves so intellectual and so
completely in possession of the truth as these sufferers, never
had they considered their decisions, their scientific conclu-
sions, their moral convictions so infallible. Whole villages,
whole towns and peoples went mad from the infection. All
were excited and did not understand one another. Each
thought that he alone had the truth and was wretched looking
at the others, beat himself on the breast, wept, and wrung
his hands. They did not know how to judge and could not
agree what to consider evil and what good ; they did not
know whom to blame, whom to justify. Men killed each other
in a sort of senseless spite. They gathered together in armies
against one another, but even on the march the armies would
begin attacking each other, the ranks would be broken and
the soldiers would fall on each other, stabbing and cutting,
biting and devouring each other. The alarm bell was ringing
all day long in the towns ; men rushed together, but why they
were summoned and who was summoning them no one knew.
The most ordinary trades were abandoned, because every one
proposed his own ideas, his own improvements, and they
could not agree. The land too was abandoned . Men met in
groups, agreed on something, swore to keep together, but
at once began on something quite different from what they
had proposed. They accused one another, fought and killed
each other. There were conflagrations and famine . All men
and all things were involved in destruction. The plague
spread and moved further and further. Only a few men
could be saved in the whole world. They were a pure chosen
people, destined to found a new race and a new life, to
556 FYODOR DOSTOEVSKY
renew and purify the earth, but no one had seen these men,
no one had heard their words and their voices.
Raskolnikov was worried that this senseless dream haunted
his memory so miserably, the impression of this feverish
delirium persisted so long. The second week after Easter
had come . There were warm bright spring days ; in the
prison ward the grating windows under which the sentinel
paced were opened. Sonia had only been able to visit him
twice during his illness ; each time she had to obtain per-
mission, and it was difficult. But she often used to come
to the hospital yard, especially in the evening, sometimes
only to stand a minute and look up at the windows of the
ward.
One evening when he was almost well again, Raskolnikov
fell asleep. On waking up he chanced to go to the window,
and at once saw Sonia in the distance at the hospital gate.
She seemed to be waiting for some one. Something stabbed
him to the heart at that minute. He shuddered and moved
away from the window. Next day Sonia did not come, nor
the day after ; he noticed that he was expecting her uneasily.
At last he was discharged. On reaching the prison he learnt
from the convicts that Sofya Semyonovna was lying ill at
home and was unable to go out.
He was very uneasy and sent to inquire after her ; he soon
learnt that her illness was not dangerous. Hearing that he
was anxious about her, Sonia sent him a penciled note,
telling him that she was much better, that she had a slight
cold and that she would soon, very soon come and see him
at his work. His heart throbbed painfully as he read it.
Again it was a warm bright day. Early in the morning,
at six o'clock, he went off to work on the river bank, where
they used to pound alabaster and where there was a kiln for
baking it in a shed. There were only three of them sent.
One of the convicts went with the guard to the fortress to
fetch a tool ; the other began getting the wood ready and
laying it in the kiln. Raskolnikov came out of the shed on
to the river bank, sat down on a heap of logs by the shed and
began gazing at the wide deserted river. From the high
bank a broad landscape opened before him, the sound of
singing floated faintly audible from the other bank. In the
CRIME AND PUNISHMENT 557
knew it and felt it in all his being, while she-she only lived
in his life.
On the evening of the same day, when the barracks were
locked, Raskolnikov lay on his plank bed and thought of her.
He had even fancied that day that all the convicts who had
been his enemies looked at him differently ; he had even en-
tered into talk with them and they answered him in a friendly
way. He remembered that now, and thought it was bound
to be so. Wasn't everything now bound to be changed ?
He thought of her. He remembered how continually he
had tormented her and wounded her heart. He remembered
her pale and thin little face. But these recollections scarcely
troubled him now ; he knew with what infinite love he would
now repay all her sufferings. And what were all, all the
1
agonies of the past ! Everything, even his crime, his sentence
and imprisonment, seemed to him now in the first rush of
feeling an external, strange fact with which he had no con-
cern. But he could not think for long together of anything
that evening, and he could not have analysed anything con-
sciously ; he was simply feeling. Life had stepped into the
place of theory and something quite different would work
itself out in his mind.
Under his pillow lay the New Testament. He took it up
mechanically. The book belonged to Sonia ; it was the one
from which she had read the raising of Lazarus to him. At
first he was afraid that she would worry him about religion,
would talk about the gospel and pester him with books. But
to his great surprise she had not once approached the subject
and had not even offered him the Testament. He had asked
her for it himself not long before his illness and she brought
him the book without a word. Till now he had not opened it.
He did not open it now, but one thought passed through his
mind : "Can her convictions not be mine ? Her feelings, her
99
inspirations at least. . . .'
She too had been greatly agitated that day, and at night
she was taken ill again. But she was so happy-and so unex-
pectedly happy-that she was almost frightened of her happi-
ness. Seven years, only seven years ! At the beginning of
their happiness at some moments they were both ready to
look on those seven years as though they were seven days.
CRIME AND PUNISHMENT 559
He did not know that the new life would not be given him for
nothing, that he would have to pay dearly for it, that it would
cost him great striving, great suffering.
But that is the beginning of a new story-the story of the
gradual renewal of a man, the story of his gradual regenera-
tion, of his passing from one world into another, of his initia-
tion into a new unknown life. That might be the subject of
a new story, but our present story is ended.
Date Due
12-7-65
12-7-65
MY 360-
70 1
#
OCT 1 5 1973
PR 18 1980
Demco- 293
PG3326
.P7
1917
Dostoevsky, F. "
12-7-65
12-7-65
MY 30-70
OCT 15 1973
PR 18 1960
Demco - 293
PG3326
.P7
1917
Dostoevsky, F.
12-7-65
12-7-65
MY 30 70
AG 187
0
OCT 15 1973
PR 18 1980
Demco- 293
PG3326
.P7
1917
Dostoevsky , F.
12-7-65
12-7-65
MY 30 70
AG 187
0
OCT 15 1973
PR 18 1980
Demco- 293
PG3326
.P7
1917
Dostoevsky , F.
9351