Crime andPunishment

Fyodor Dostoevsky

Wor

k re

prod

uced

with

no

edito

rial

resp

onsi

bilit

y

Notice by Luarna Ediciones

This book is in the public domain becausethe copyrights have expired under Spanish law.

Luarna presents it here as a gift to its cus-tomers, while clarifying the following:

1) Because this edition has not been super-vised by our editorial deparment, wedisclaim responsibility for the fidelity ofits content.

2) Luarna has only adapted the work tomake it easily viewable on common six-inch readers.

3) To all effects, this book must not be con-sidered to have been published byLuarna.

www.luarna.com

PART I

CHAPTER I

On an exceptionally hot evening early in July ayoung man came out of the garret in which helodged in S. Place and walked slowly, asthough in hesitation, towards K. bridge.

He had successfully avoided meeting his land-lady on the staircase. His garret was under theroof of a high, five-storied house and was morelike a cupboard than a room. The landlady whoprovided him with garret, dinners, and atten-dance, lived on the floor below, and every timehe went out he was obliged to pass her kitchen,the door of which invariably stood open. And

each time he passed, the young man had a sick,frightened feeling, which made him scowl andfeel ashamed. He was hopelessly in debt to hislandlady, and was afraid of meeting her.

This was not because he was cowardly andabject, quite the contrary; but for some timepast he had been in an overstrained irritablecondition, verging on hypochondria. He hadbecome so completely absorbed in himself, andisolated from his fellows that he dreaded meet-ing, not only his landlady, but anyone at all. Hewas crushed by poverty, but the anxieties of hisposition had of late ceased to weigh upon him.He had given up attending to matters of practi-cal importance; he had lost all desire to do so.Nothing that any landlady could do had a realterror for him. But to be stopped on the stairs,to be forced to listen to her trivial, irrelevantgossip, to pestering demands for payment,threats and complaints, and to rack his brainsfor excuses, to prevaricate, to lie—no, rather

than that, he would creep down the stairs like acat and slip out unseen.

This evening, however, on coming out into thestreet, he became acutely aware of his fears.

"I want to attempt a thing like that and am frigh-tened by these trifles," he thought, with an oddsmile. "Hm... yes, all is in a man's hands and helets it all slip from cowardice, that's an axiom. Itwould be interesting to know what it is men aremost afraid of. Taking a new step, uttering anew word is what they fear most.... But I amtalking too much. It's because I chatter that I donothing. Or perhaps it is that I chatter because Ido nothing. I've learned to chatter this lastmonth, lying for days together in my den think-ing... of Jack the Giant-killer. Why am I goingthere now? Am I capable of that? Is that seri-ous? It is not serious at all. It's simply a fantasyto amuse myself; a plaything! Yes, maybe it is aplaything."

The heat in the street was terrible: and the air-lessness, the bustle and the plaster, scaffolding,bricks, and dust all about him, and that specialPetersburg stench, so familiar to all who areunable to get out of town in summer—all wor-ked painfully upon the young man's alreadyoverwrought nerves. The insufferable stenchfrom the pot-houses, which are particularlynumerous in that part of the town, and thedrunken men whom he met continually, al-though it was a working day, completed therevolting misery of the picture. An expressionof the profoundest disgust gleamed for a mo-ment in the young man's refined face. He was,by the way, exceptionally handsome, above theaverage in height, slim, well-built, with beauti-ful dark eyes and dark brown hair. Soon hesank into deep thought, or more accuratelyspeaking into a complete blankness of mind; hewalked along not observing what was abouthim and not caring to observe it. From time totime, he would mutter something, from the

habit of talking to himself, to which he had justconfessed. At these moments he would becomeconscious that his ideas were sometimes in atangle and that he was very weak; for two dayshe had scarcely tasted food.

He was so badly dressed that even a man ac-customed to shabbiness would have beenashamed to be seen in the street in such rags. Inthat quarter of the town, however, scarcely anyshortcoming in dress would have created sur-prise. Owing to the proximity of the Hay Mar-ket, the number of establishments of bad char-acter, the preponderance of the trading andworking class population crowded in thesestreets and alleys in the heart of Petersburg,types so various were to be seen in the streetsthat no figure, however queer, would havecaused surprise. But there was such accumu-lated bitterness and contempt in the youngman's heart, that, in spite of all the fastidious-ness of youth, he minded his rags least of all in

the street. It was a different matter when hemet with acquaintances or with former fellowstudents, whom, indeed, he disliked meeting atany time. And yet when a drunken man who,for some unknown reason, was being takensomewhere in a huge waggon dragged by aheavy dray horse, suddenly shouted at him ashe drove past: "Hey there, German hatter"bawling at the top of his voice and pointing athim—the young man stopped suddenly andclutched tremulously at his hat. It was a tallround hat from Zimmerman's, but completelyworn out, rusty with age, all torn and bespat-tered, brimless and bent on one side in a mostunseemly fashion. Not shame, however, butquite another feeling akin to terror had over-taken him.

"I knew it," he muttered in confusion, "Ithought so! That's the worst of all! Why, a stu-pid thing like this, the most trivial detail mightspoil the whole plan. Yes, my hat is too notice-

able.... It looks absurd and that makes it notice-able.... With my rags I ought to wear a cap, anysort of old pancake, but not this grotesquething. Nobody wears such a hat, it would benoticed a mile off, it would be remembered....What matters is that people would rememberit, and that would give them a clue. For thisbusiness one should be as little conspicuous aspossible.... Trifles, trifles are what matter! Why,it's just such trifles that always ruin every-thing...."

He had not far to go; he knew indeed howmany steps it was from the gate of his lodginghouse: exactly seven hundred and thirty. Hehad counted them once when he had been lostin dreams. At the time he had put no faith inthose dreams and was only tantalising himselfby their hideous but daring recklessness. Now,a month later, he had begun to look upon themdifferently, and, in spite of the monologues inwhich he jeered at his own impotence and in-

decision, he had involuntarily come to regardthis "hideous" dream as an exploit to be at-tempted, although he still did not realise thishimself. He was positively going now for a "re-hearsal" of his project, and at every step hisexcitement grew more and more violent.

With a sinking heart and a nervous tremor, hewent up to a huge house which on one sidelooked on to the canal, and on the other into thestreet. This house was let out in tiny tenementsand was inhabited by working people of allkinds—tailors, locksmiths, cooks, Germans ofsorts, girls picking up a living as best theycould, petty clerks, etc. There was a continualcoming and going through the two gates and inthe two courtyards of the house. Three or fourdoor-keepers were employed on the building.The young man was very glad to meet none ofthem, and at once slipped unnoticed throughthe door on the right, and up the staircase. Itwas a back staircase, dark and narrow, but he

was familiar with it already, and knew his way,and he liked all these surroundings: in suchdarkness even the most inquisitive eyes werenot to be dreaded.

"If I am so scared now, what would it be if itsomehow came to pass that I were really goingto do it?" he could not help asking himself as hereached the fourth storey. There his progresswas barred by some porters who were engagedin moving furniture out of a flat. He knew thatthe flat had been occupied by a German clerk inthe civil service, and his family. This Germanwas moving out then, and so the fourth flooron this staircase would be untenanted exceptby the old woman. "That's a good thing any-way," he thought to himself, as he rang the bellof the old woman's flat. The bell gave a fainttinkle as though it were made of tin and not ofcopper. The little flats in such houses alwayshave bells that ring like that. He had forgottenthe note of that bell, and now its peculiar tinkle

seemed to remind him of something and tobring it clearly before him.... He started, hisnerves were terribly overstrained by now. In alittle while, the door was opened a tiny crack:the old woman eyed her visitor with evidentdistrust through the crack, and nothing couldbe seen but her little eyes, glittering in thedarkness. But, seeing a number of people onthe landing, she grew bolder, and opened thedoor wide. The young man stepped into thedark entry, which was partitioned off from thetiny kitchen. The old woman stood facing himin silence and looking inquiringly at him. Shewas a diminutive, withered up old woman ofsixty, with sharp malignant eyes and a sharplittle nose. Her colourless, somewhat grizzledhair was thickly smeared with oil, and she woreno kerchief over it. Round her thin long neck,which looked like a hen's leg, was knottedsome sort of flannel rag, and, in spite of theheat, there hung flapping on her shoulders, amangy fur cape, yellow with age. The old

woman coughed and groaned at every instant.The young man must have looked at her with arather peculiar expression, for a gleam of mis-trust came into her eyes again.

"Raskolnikov, a student, I came here a monthago," the young man made haste to mutter,with a half bow, remembering that he ought tobe more polite.

"I remember, my good sir, I remember quitewell your coming here," the old woman saiddistinctly, still keeping her inquiring eyes onhis face.

"And here... I am again on the same errand,"Raskolnikov continued, a little disconcertedand surprised at the old woman's mistrust."Perhaps she is always like that though, only Idid not notice it the other time," he thoughtwith an uneasy feeling.

The old woman paused, as though hesitating;then stepped on one side, and pointing to thedoor of the room, she said, letting her visitorpass in front of her:

"Step in, my good sir."

The little room into which the young man wal-ked, with yellow paper on the walls, geraniumsand muslin curtains in the windows, was brigh-tly lighted up at that moment by the settingsun.

"So the sun will shine like this then too!" flashedas it were by chance through Raskolnikov'smind, and with a rapid glance he scanned eve-rything in the room, trying as far as possible tonotice and remember its arrangement. But therewas nothing special in the room. The furniture,all very old and of yellow wood, consisted of asofa with a huge bent wooden back, an ovaltable in front of the sofa, a dressing-table with alooking-glass fixed on it between the windows,

chairs along the walls and two or three half-penny prints in yellow frames, representingGerman damsels with birds in their hands—that was all. In the corner a light was burningbefore a small ikon. Everything was very clean;the floor and the furniture were brightly pol-ished; everything shone.

"Lizaveta's work," thought the young man.There was not a speck of dust to be seen in thewhole flat.

"It's in the houses of spiteful old widows thatone finds such cleanliness," Raskolnikovthought again, and he stole a curious glance atthe cotton curtain over the door leading intoanother tiny room, in which stood the old wo-man's bed and chest of drawers and into whichhe had never looked before. These two roomsmade up the whole flat.

"What do you want?" the old woman said se-verely, coming into the room and, as before,

standing in front of him so as to look himstraight in the face.

"I've brought something to pawn here," and hedrew out of his pocket an old-fashioned flatsilver watch, on the back of which was en-graved a globe; the chain was of steel.

"But the time is up for your last pledge. Themonth was up the day before yesterday."

"I will bring you the interest for another month;wait a little."

"But that's for me to do as I please, my good sir,to wait or to sell your pledge at once."

"How much will you give me for the watch,Alyona Ivanovna?"

"You come with such trifles, my good sir, it'sscarcely worth anything. I gave you two rou-bles last time for your ring and one could buy itquite new at a jeweler's for a rouble and a half."

"Give me four roubles for it, I shall redeem it, itwas my father's. I shall be getting some moneysoon."

"A rouble and a half, and interest in advance, ifyou like!"

"A rouble and a half!" cried the young man.

"Please yourself"—and the old woman handedhim back the watch. The young man took it,and was so angry that he was on the point ofgoing away; but checked himself at once, re-membering that there was nowhere else hecould go, and that he had had another objectalso in coming.

"Hand it over," he said roughly.

The old woman fumbled in her pocket for herkeys, and disappeared behind the curtain intothe other room. The young man, left standingalone in the middle of the room, listened inqui-

sitively, thinking. He could hear her unlockingthe chest of drawers.

"It must be the top drawer," he reflected. "Soshe carries the keys in a pocket on the right. Allin one bunch on a steel ring.... And there's onekey there, three times as big as all the others,with deep notches; that can't be the key of thechest of drawers... then there must be someother chest or strong-box... that's worth know-ing. Strong-boxes always have keys like that...but how degrading it all is."

The old woman came back.

"Here, sir: as we say ten copecks the rouble amonth, so I must take fifteen copecks from arouble and a half for the month in advance. Butfor the two roubles I lent you before, you oweme now twenty copecks on the same reckoningin advance. That makes thirty-five copecks al-together. So I must give you a rouble and fif-teen 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 themoney. He looked at the old woman, and wasin no hurry to get away, as though there wasstill something he wanted to say or to do, buthe did not himself quite know what.

"I may be bringing you something else in a dayor two, Alyona Ivanovna—a valuable thing—silver—a cigarette-box, as soon as I get it backfrom a friend..." he broke off in confusion.

"Well, we will talk about it then, sir."

"Good-bye—are you always at home alone,your sister is not here with you?" He asked heras casually as possible as he went out into thepassage.

"What business is she of yours, my good sir?"

"Oh, nothing particular, I simply asked. Youare too quick.... Good-day, Alyona Ivanovna."

Raskolnikov went out in complete confusion.This confusion became more and more intense.As he went down the stairs, he even stoppedshort, two or three times, as though suddenlystruck by some thought. When he was in thestreet he cried out, "Oh, God, how loathsome itall is! and can I, can I possibly.... No, it's non-sense, it's rubbish!" he added resolutely. "Andhow could such an atrocious thing come intomy head? What filthy things my heart is capa-ble of. Yes, filthy above all, disgusting, loath-some, loathsome!—and for a whole month I'vebeen...." But no words, no exclamations, couldexpress his agitation. The feeling of intenserepulsion, which had begun to oppress andtorture his heart while he was on his way to theold woman, had by now reached such a pitchand had taken such a definite form that he didnot know what to do with himself to escape

from his wretchedness. He walked along thepavement like a drunken man, regardless of thepassers-by, and jostling against them, and onlycame to his senses when he was in the nextstreet. Looking round, he noticed that he wasstanding close to a tavern which was enteredby steps leading from the pavement to the ba-sement. At that instant two drunken men cameout at the door, and abusing and supportingone another, they mounted the steps. Withoutstopping to think, Raskolnikov went down thesteps at once. Till that moment he had neverbeen into a tavern, but now he felt giddy andwas tormented by a burning thirst. He longedfor a drink of cold beer, and attributed his sud-den weakness to the want of food. He sat downat a sticky little table in a dark and dirty corner;ordered some beer, and eagerly drank off thefirst glassful. At once he felt easier; and histhoughts became clear.

"All that's nonsense," he said hopefully, "andthere is nothing in it all to worry about! It's sim-ply physical derangement. Just a glass of beer, apiece of dry bread—and in one moment thebrain is stronger, the mind is clearer and thewill is firm! Phew, how utterly petty it all is!"

But in spite of this scornful reflection, he wasby now looking cheerful as though he weresuddenly set free from a terrible burden: and hegazed round in a friendly way at the people inthe room. But even at that moment he had adim foreboding that this happier frame of mindwas also not normal.

There were few people at the time in the tavern.Besides the two drunken men he had met onthe steps, a group consisting of about five menand a girl with a concertina had gone out at thesame time. Their departure left the room quietand rather empty. The persons still in the tav-ern were a man who appeared to be an artisan,drunk, but not extremely so, sitting before a pot

of beer, and his companion, a huge, stout manwith a grey beard, in a short full-skirted coat.He was very drunk: and had dropped asleepon the bench; every now and then, he began asthough in his sleep, cracking his fingers, withhis arms wide apart and the upper part of hisbody bounding about on the bench, while hehummed some meaningless refrain, trying torecall some such lines as these:

"His wife a year he fondly loved His wife a—ayear he—fondly loved."

Or suddenly waking up again:

"Walking along the crowded row He met theone he used to know."

But no one shared his enjoyment: his silentcompanion looked with positive hostility andmistrust at all these manifestations. There wasanother man in the room who looked some-what like a retired government clerk. He was

sitting apart, now and then sipping from hispot and looking round at the company. He, too,appeared to be in some agitation.

CHAPTER II

Raskolnikov was not used to crowds, and, aswe said before, he avoided society of everysort, more especially of late. But now all at oncehe felt a desire to be with other people. Some-thing new seemed to be taking place withinhim, and with it he felt a sort of thirst for com-pany. He was so weary after a whole month ofconcentrated wretchedness and gloomy ex-citement that he longed to rest, if only for amoment, in some other world, whatever itmight be; and, in spite of the filthiness of thesurroundings, he was glad now to stay in thetavern.

The master of the establishment was in anotherroom, but he frequently came down some stepsinto the main room, his jaunty, tarred bootswith red turn-over tops coming into view eachtime before the rest of his person. He wore afull coat and a horribly greasy black satinwaistcoat, with no cravat, and his whole faceseemed smeared with oil like an iron lock. Atthe counter stood a boy of about fourteen, andthere was another boy somewhat younger whohanded whatever was wanted. On the counterlay some sliced cucumber, some pieces of driedblack bread, and some fish, chopped up small,all smelling very bad. It was insufferably close,and so heavy with the fumes of spirits that fiveminutes in such an atmosphere might well ma-ke a man drunk.

There are chance meetings with strangers thatinterest us from the first moment, before aword is spoken. Such was the impression madeon Raskolnikov by the person sitting a little

distance from him, who looked like a retiredclerk. The young man often recalled this im-pression afterwards, and even ascribed it topresentiment. He looked repeatedly at theclerk, partly no doubt because the latter wasstaring persistently at him, obviously anxiousto enter into conversation. At the other personsin the room, including the tavern-keeper, theclerk looked as though he were used to theircompany, and weary of it, showing a shade ofcondescending contempt for them as persons ofstation and culture inferior to his own, withwhom it would be useless for him to converse.He was a man over fifty, bald and grizzled, ofmedium height, and stoutly built. His face,bloated from continual drinking, was of a yel-low, even greenish, tinge, with swollen eyelidsout of which keen reddish eyes gleamed likelittle chinks. But there was something verystrange in him; there was a light in his eyes asthough of intense feeling—perhaps there wereeven thought and intelligence, but at the same

time there was a gleam of something like mad-ness. He was wearing an old and hopelesslyragged black dress coat, with all its buttonsmissing except one, and that one he had but-toned, evidently clinging to this last trace ofrespectability. A crumpled shirt front, coveredwith spots and stains, protruded from his can-vas waistcoat. Like a clerk, he wore no beard,nor moustache, but had been so long unshaventhat his chin looked like a stiff greyish brush.And there was something respectable and likean official about his manner too. But he wasrestless; he ruffled up his hair and from time totime let his head drop into his hands dejectedlyresting his ragged elbows on the stained andsticky table. At last he looked straight at Ras-kolnikov, and said loudly and resolutely:

"May I venture, honoured sir, to engage you inpolite conversation? Forasmuch as, thoughyour exterior would not command respect, myexperience admonishes me that you are a man

of education and not accustomed to drinking. Ihave always respected education when in con-junction with genuine sentiments, and I ambesides a titular counsellor in rank. Marme-ladov—such is my name; titular counsellor. Imake bold to inquire—have you been in theservice?"

"No, I am studying," answered the young man,somewhat surprised at the grandiloquent styleof the speaker and also at being so directly ad-dressed. In spite of the momentary desire hehad just been feeling for company of any sort,on being actually spoken to he felt immediatelyhis habitual irritable and uneasy aversion forany stranger who approached or attempted toapproach him.

"A student then, or formerly a student," criedthe clerk. "Just what I thought! I'm a man ofexperience, immense experience, sir," and hetapped his forehead with his fingers in self-approval. "You've been a student or have at-

tended some learned institution!... But allowme...." He got up, staggered, took up his jugand glass, and sat down beside the young man,facing him a little sideways. He was drunk, butspoke fluently and boldly, only occasionallylosing the thread of his sentences and drawlinghis words. He pounced upon Raskolnikov asgreedily as though he too had not spoken to asoul for a month.

"Honoured sir," he began almost with solem-nity, "poverty is not a vice, that's a true saying.Yet I know too that drunkenness is not a virtue,and that that's even truer. But beggary, hon-oured sir, beggary is a vice. In poverty you maystill retain your innate nobility of soul, but inbeggary—never—no one. For beggary a man isnot chased out of human society with a stick,he is swept out with a broom, so as to make itas humiliating as possible; and quite right, too,forasmuch as in beggary I am ready to be thefirst to humiliate myself. Hence the pot-house!

Honoured sir, a month ago Mr. Lebeziatnikovgave my wife a beating, and my wife is a verydifferent matter from me! Do you understand?Allow me to ask you another question out ofsimple curiosity: have you ever spent a nighton a hay barge, on the Neva?"

"No, I have not happened to," answered Ras-kolnikov. "What do you mean?"

"Well, I've just come from one and it's the fifthnight I've slept so...." He filled his glass, emp-tied it and paused. Bits of hay were in fact clin-ging to his clothes and sticking to his hair. Itseemed quite probable that he had not un-dressed or washed for the last five days. Hishands, particularly, were filthy. They were fatand red, with black nails.

His conversation seemed to excite a generalthough languid interest. The boys at the coun-ter fell to sniggering. The innkeeper came downfrom the upper room, apparently on purpose to

listen to the "funny fellow" and sat down at alittle distance, yawning lazily, but with dignity.Evidently Marmeladov was a familiar figurehere, and he had most likely acquired his weak-ness for high-flown speeches from the habit offrequently entering into conversation withstrangers of all sorts in the tavern. This habitdevelops into a necessity in some drunkards,and especially in those who are looked aftersharply and kept in order at home. Hence inthe company of other drinkers they try to jus-tify themselves and even if possible obtain con-sideration.

"Funny fellow!" pronounced the innkeeper."And why don't you work, why aren't you atyour duty, if you are in the service?"

"Why am I not at my duty, honoured sir," Mar-meladov went on, addressing himself exclu-sively to Raskolnikov, as though it had been hewho put that question to him. "Why am I not atmy duty? Does not my heart ache to think what

a useless worm I am? A month ago when Mr.Lebeziatnikov beat my wife with his ownhands, and I lay drunk, didn't I suffer? Excuseme, young man, has it ever happened to you...hm... well, to petition hopelessly for a loan?"

"Yes, it has. But what do you mean by hope-lessly?"

"Hopelessly in the fullest sense, when youknow beforehand that you will get nothing byit. You know, for instance, beforehand withpositive certainty that this man, this most repu-table and exemplary citizen, will on no consid-eration give you money; and indeed I ask youwhy should he? For he knows of course that Ishan't pay it back. From compassion? But Mr.Lebeziatnikov who keeps up with modernideas explained the other day that compassionis forbidden nowadays by science itself, andthat that's what is done now in England, wherethere is political economy. Why, I ask you,

should he give it to me? And yet though I knowbeforehand that he won't, I set off to him and..."

"Why do you go?" put in Raskolnikov.

"Well, when one has no one, nowhere else onecan go! For every man must have somewhere togo. Since there are times when one absolutelymust go somewhere! When my own daughterfirst went out with a yellow ticket, then I had togo... (for my daughter has a yellow passport),"he added in parenthesis, looking with a certainuneasiness at the young man. "No matter, sir,no matter!" he went on hurriedly and with ap-parent composure when both the boys at thecounter guffawed and even the innkeeper smi-led—"No matter, I am not confounded by thewagging of their heads; for everyone knowseverything about it already, and all that is se-cret is made open. And I accept it all, not withcontempt, but with humility. So be it! So be it!'Behold the man!' Excuse me, young man, canyou.... No, to put it more strongly and more

distinctly; not can you but dare you, lookingupon me, assert that I am not a pig?"

The young man did not answer a word.

"Well," the orator began again stolidly and witheven increased dignity, after waiting for thelaughter in the room to subside. "Well, so be it,I am a pig, but she is a lady! I have the sem-blance of a beast, but Katerina Ivanovna, myspouse, is a person of education and an officer'sdaughter. Granted, granted, I am a scoundrel,but she is a woman of a noble heart, full of sen-timents, refined by education. And yet... oh, ifonly she felt for me! Honoured sir, honouredsir, you know every man ought to have at leastone place where people feel for him! But Kate-rina Ivanovna, though she is magnanimous, sheis unjust.... And yet, although I realise thatwhen she pulls my hair she only does it out ofpity—for I repeat without being ashamed, shepulls my hair, young man," he declared withredoubled dignity, hearing the sniggering

again—"but, my God, if she would but once....But no, no! It's all in vain and it's no use talk-ing! No use talking! For more than once, mywish did come true and more than once she hasfelt for me but... such is my fate and I am abeast by nature!"

"Rather!" assented the innkeeper yawning.Marmeladov struck his fist resolutely on thetable.

"Such is my fate! Do you know, sir, do youknow, I have sold her very stockings for drink?Not her shoes—that would be more or less inthe order of things, but her stockings, her stock-ings I have sold for drink! Her mohair shawl Isold for drink, a present to her long ago, herown property, not mine; and we live in a coldroom and she caught cold this winter and hasbegun coughing and spitting blood too. Wehave three little children and Katerina Ivanov-na is at work from morning till night; she isscrubbing and cleaning and washing the chil-

dren, for she's been used to cleanliness from achild. But her chest is weak and she has a ten-dency to consumption and I feel it! Do yousuppose I don't feel it? And the more I drinkthe more I feel it. That's why I drink too. I try tofind sympathy and feeling in drink.... I drink sothat I may suffer twice as much!" And asthough in despair he laid his head down on thetable.

"Young man," he went on, raising his headagain, "in your face I seem to read some troubleof mind. When you came in I read it, and thatwas why I addressed you at once. For in un-folding to you the story of my life, I do notwish to make myself a laughing-stock beforethese idle listeners, who indeed know all aboutit already, but I am looking for a man of feelingand education. Know then that my wife waseducated in a high-class school for the daugh-ters of noblemen, and on leaving she dancedthe shawl dance before the governor and other

personages for which she was presented with agold medal and a certificate of merit. Themedal... well, the medal of course was sold—long ago, hm... but the certificate of merit is inher trunk still and not long ago she showed itto our landlady. And although she is most con-tinually on bad terms with the landlady, yetshe wanted to tell someone or other of her pasthonours and of the happy days that are gone. Idon't condemn her for it, I don't blame her, forthe one thing left her is recollection of the past,and all the rest is dust and ashes. Yes, yes, sheis a lady of spirit, proud and determined. Shescrubs the floors herself and has nothing butblack bread to eat, but won't allow herself to betreated with disrespect. That's why she wouldnot overlook Mr. Lebeziatnikov's rudeness toher, and so when he gave her a beating for it,she took to her bed more from the hurt to herfeelings than from the blows. She was a widowwhen I married her, with three children, onesmaller than the other. She married her first

husband, an infantry officer, for love, and ranaway with him from her father's house. Shewas exceedingly fond of her husband; but hegave way to cards, got into trouble and withthat he died. He used to beat her at the end:and although she paid him back, of which Ihave authentic documentary evidence, to thisday she speaks of him with tears and shethrows him up to me; and I am glad, I am gladthat, though only in imagination, she shouldthink of herself as having once been happy....And she was left at his death with three chil-dren in a wild and remote district where I hap-pened to be at the time; and she was left in suchhopeless poverty that, although I have seenmany ups and downs of all sort, I don't feelequal to describing it even. Her relations hadall thrown her off. And she was proud, too,excessively proud.... And then, honoured sir,and then, I, being at the time a widower, with adaughter of fourteen left me by my first wife,offered her my hand, for I could not bear the

sight of such suffering. You can judge the ex-tremity of her calamities, that she, a woman ofeducation and culture and distinguished fam-ily, should have consented to be my wife. Butshe did! Weeping and sobbing and wringingher hands, she married me! For she had no-where to turn! Do you understand, sir, do youunderstand what it means when you have ab-solutely nowhere to turn? No, that you don'tunderstand yet.... And for a whole year, I per-formed my duties conscientiously and faith-fully, and did not touch this" (he tapped the jugwith his finger), "for I have feelings. But evenso, I could not please her; and then I lost myplace too, and that through no fault of mine butthrough changes in the office; and then I didtouch it!... It will be a year and a half ago soonsince we found ourselves at last after manywanderings and numerous calamities in thismagnificent capital, adorned with innumerablemonuments. Here I obtained a situation.... Iobtained it and I lost it again. Do you under-

stand? This time it was through my own fault Ilost it: for my weakness had come out.... Wehave now part of a room at Amalia FyodorovnaLippevechsel's; and what we live upon andwhat we pay our rent with, I could not say.There are a lot of people living there besidesourselves. Dirt and disorder, a perfect Bedlam...hm... yes... And meanwhile my daughter by myfirst wife has grown up; and what my daughterhas had to put up with from her step-motherwhilst she was growing up, I won't speak of.For, though Katerina Ivanovna is full of gener-ous feelings, she is a spirited lady, irritable andshort—tempered.... Yes. But it's no use goingover that! Sonia, as you may well fancy, hashad no education. I did make an effort fouryears ago to give her a course of geography anduniversal history, but as I was not very well upin those subjects myself and we had no suitablebooks, and what books we had... hm, anywaywe have not even those now, so all our instruc-tion came to an end. We stopped at Cyrus of

Persia. Since she has attained years of maturity,she has read other books of romantic tendencyand of late she had read with great interest abook she got through Mr. Lebeziatnikov,Lewes' Physiology—do you know it?—andeven recounted extracts from it to us: and that'sthe whole of her education. And now may Iventure to address you, honoured sir, on myown account with a private question. Do yousuppose that a respectable poor girl can earnmuch by honest work? Not fifteen farthings aday can she earn, if she is respectable and hasno special talent and that without putting herwork down for an instant! And what's more,Ivan Ivanitch Klopstock the civil counsellor—have you heard of him?—has not to this daypaid her for the half-dozen linen shirts shemade him and drove her roughly away, stamp-ing and reviling her, on the pretext that theshirt collars were not made like the pattern andwere put in askew. And there are the little oneshungry.... And Katerina Ivanovna walking up

and down and wringing her hands, her cheeksflushed red, as they always are in that disease:'Here you live with us,' says she, 'you eat anddrink and are kept warm and you do nothingto help.' And much she gets to eat and drinkwhen there is not a crust for the little ones forthree days! I was lying at the time... well, whatof it! I was lying drunk and I heard my Soniaspeaking (she is a gentle creature with a softlittle voice... fair hair and such a pale, thin littleface). She said: 'Katerina Ivanovna, am I reallyto do a thing like that?' And Darya Frantsovna,a woman of evil character and very well knownto the police, had two or three times tried to getat her through the landlady. 'And why not?'said Katerina Ivanovna with a jeer, 'you aresomething mighty precious to be so careful of!'But don't blame her, don't blame her, honouredsir, don't blame her! She was not herself whenshe spoke, but driven to distraction by her ill-ness and the crying of the hungry children; andit was said more to wound her than anything

else.... For that's Katerina Ivanovna's character,and when children cry, even from hunger, shefalls to beating them at once. At six o'clock Isaw Sonia get up, put on her kerchief and hercape, and go out of the room and about nineo'clock she came back. She walked straight upto Katerina Ivanovna and she laid thirty rou-bles on the table before her in silence. She didnot utter a word, she did not even look at her,she simply picked up our big green drap dedames shawl (we have a shawl, made of drap dedames), put it over her head and face and laydown on the bed with her face to the wall; onlyher little shoulders and her body kept shudder-ing.... And I went on lying there, just as be-fore.... And then I saw, young man, I sawKaterina Ivanovna, in the same silence go up toSonia's little bed; she was on her knees all theevening kissing Sonia's feet, and would not getup, and then they both fell asleep in eachother's arms... together, together... yes... and I...lay drunk."

Marmeladov stopped short, as though his voicehad failed him. Then he hurriedly filled hisglass, drank, and cleared his throat.

"Since then, sir," he went on after a brief pau-se—"Since then, owing to an unfortunate occur-rence and through information given by evil-intentioned persons—in all which Darya Frant-sovna took a leading part on the pretext thatshe had been treated with want of respect—since then my daughter Sofya Semyonovna hasbeen forced to take a yellow ticket, and owingto that she is unable to go on living with us. Forour landlady, Amalia Fyodorovna would nothear of it (though she had backed up DaryaFrantsovna before) and Mr. Lebeziatnikov too...hm.... All the trouble between him and KaterinaIvanovna was on Sonia's account. At first hewas for making up to Sonia himself and thenall of a sudden he stood on his dignity: 'how,'said he, 'can a highly educated man like me livein the same rooms with a girl like that?' And

Katerina Ivanovna would not let it pass, shestood up for her... and so that's how it hap-pened. And Sonia comes to us now, mostlyafter dark; she comforts Katerina Ivanovna andgives her all she can.... She has a room at theKapernaumovs' the tailors, she lodges withthem; Kapernaumov is a lame man with a cleftpalate and all of his numerous family have cleftpalates too. And his wife, too, has a cleft palate.They all live in one room, but Sonia has herown, partitioned off.... Hm... yes... very poorpeople and all with cleft palates... yes. Then Igot up in the morning, and put on my rags,lifted up my hands to heaven and set off to hisexcellency Ivan Afanasyvitch. His excellencyIvan Afanasyvitch, 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 dimwhen he heard my story. 'Marmeladov, oncealready you have deceived my expectations...I'll take you once more on my own responsibil-

ity'—that's what he said, 'remember,' he said,'and now you can go.' I kissed the dust at hisfeet—in thought only, for in reality he wouldnot have allowed me to do it, being a statesmanand a man of modern political and enlightenedideas. I returned home, and when I announcedthat I'd been taken back into the service andshould receive a salary, heavens, what a to-dothere was!..."

Marmeladov stopped again in violent excite-ment. At that moment a whole party of revel-lers already drunk came in from the street, andthe sounds of a hired concertina and the crac-ked piping voice of a child of seven singing"The Hamlet" were heard in the entry. Theroom was filled with noise. The tavern-keeperand the boys were busy with the new-comers.Marmeladov paying no attention to the newarrivals continued his story. He appeared bynow to be extremely weak, but as he becamemore and more drunk, he became more and

more talkative. The recollection of his recentsuccess in getting the situation seemed to re-vive him, and was positively reflected in a sortof radiance on his face. Raskolnikov listenedattentively.

"That was five weeks ago, sir. Yes.... As soon asKaterina Ivanovna and Sonia heard of it, mercyon us, it was as though I stepped into the king-dom of Heaven. It used to be: you can lie like abeast, nothing but abuse. Now they were walk-ing on tiptoe, hushing the children. 'SemyonZaharovitch is tired with his work at the office,he is resting, shh!' They made me coffee beforeI went to work and boiled cream for me! Theybegan to get real cream for me, do you hearthat? And how they managed to get togetherthe money for a decent outfit—eleven roubles,fifty copecks, I can't guess. Boots, cotton shirt-fronts—most magnificent, a uniform, they gotup all in splendid style, for eleven roubles anda half. The first morning I came back from the

office I found Katerina Ivanovna had cookedtwo courses for dinner—soup and salt meatwith horse radish—which we had never drea-med of till then. She had not any dresses... noneat all, but she got herself up as though she weregoing on a visit; and not that she'd anything todo it with, she smartened herself up with noth-ing at all, she'd done her hair nicely, put on aclean collar of some sort, cuffs, and there shewas, quite a different person, she was youngerand better looking. Sonia, my little darling, hadonly helped with money 'for the time,' she said,'it won't do for me to come and see you toooften. After dark maybe when no one can see.'Do you hear, do you hear? I lay down for a napafter dinner and what do you think: thoughKaterina Ivanovna had quarrelled to the lastdegree with our landlady Amalia Fyodorovnaonly a week before, she could not resist thenasking her in to coffee. For two hours they weresitting, whispering together. 'Semyon Za-harovitch is in the service again, now, and re-

ceiving a salary,' says she, 'and he went himselfto his excellency and his excellency himselfcame out to him, made all the others wait andled Semyon Zaharovitch by the hand beforeeverybody into his study.' Do you hear, do youhear? 'To be sure,' says he, 'Semyon Za-harovitch, remembering your past services,'says he, 'and in spite of your propensity to thatfoolish weakness, since you promise now andsince moreover we've got on badly withoutyou,' (do you hear, do you hear;) 'and so,' sayshe, 'I rely now on your word as a gentleman.'And all that, let me tell you, she has simplymade up for herself, and not simply out ofwantonness, for the sake of bragging; no, shebelieves it all herself, she amuses herself withher own fancies, upon my word she does! AndI don't blame her for it, no, I don't blame her!...Six days ago when I brought her my first earn-ings in full—twenty-three roubles forty copecksaltogether—she called me her poppet: 'poppet,'said she, 'my little poppet.' And when we were

by ourselves, you understand? You would notthink me a beauty, you would not think muchof me as a husband, would you?... Well, shepinched my cheek, 'my little poppet,' said she."

Marmeladov broke off, tried to smile, but sud-denly his chin began to twitch. He controlledhimself however. The tavern, the degradedappearance of the man, the five nights in thehay barge, and the pot of spirits, and yet thispoignant love for his wife and children bewil-dered his listener. Raskolnikov listened intentlybut with a sick sensation. He felt vexed that hehad come here.

"Honoured sir, honoured sir," cried Marme-ladov recovering himself—"Oh, sir, perhaps allthis seems a laughing matter to you, as it doesto others, and perhaps I am only worrying youwith the stupidity of all the trivial details of myhome life, but it is not a laughing matter to me.For I can feel it all.... And the whole of thatheavenly day of my life and the whole of that

evening I passed in fleeting dreams of how Iwould arrange it all, and how I would dress allthe children, and how I should give her rest,and how I should rescue my own daughterfrom dishonour and restore her to the bosom ofher family.... And a great deal more.... Quiteexcusable, sir. Well, then, sir" (Marmeladovsuddenly gave a sort of start, raised his headand gazed intently at his listener) "well, on thevery next day after all those dreams, that is tosay, exactly five days ago, in the evening, by acunning trick, like a thief in the night, I stolefrom Katerina Ivanovna the key of her box,took out what was left of my earnings, howmuch it was I have forgotten, and now look atme, all of you! It's the fifth day since I lefthome, and they are looking for me there andit's the end of my employment, and my uni-form is lying in a tavern on the Egyptian brid-ge. I exchanged it for the garments I have on...and it's the end of everything!"

Marmeladov struck his forehead with his fist,clenched his teeth, closed his eyes and leanedheavily with his elbow on the table. But a min-ute later his face suddenly changed and with acertain assumed slyness and affectation of bra-vado, he glanced at Raskolnikov, laughed andsaid:

"This morning I went to see Sonia, I went to askher for a pick-me-up! He-he-he!"

"You don't say she gave it to you?" cried one ofthe new-comers; he shouted the words andwent off into a guffaw.

"This very quart was bought with her money,"Marmeladov declared, addressing himself ex-clusively to Raskolnikov. "Thirty copecks shegave me with her own hands, her last, all shehad, as I saw.... She said nothing, she only loo-ked at me without a word.... Not on earth, butup 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 whenthey don't blame! Thirty copecks yes! Andmaybe she needs them now, eh? What do youthink, my dear sir? For now she's got to keepup her appearance. It costs money, that smart-ness, that special smartness, you know? Do youunderstand? And there's pomatum, too, yousee, she must have things; petticoats, starchedones, shoes, too, real jaunty ones to show offher foot when she has to step over a puddle. Doyou understand, sir, do you understand whatall that smartness means? And here I, her ownfather, here I took thirty copecks of that moneyfor a drink! And I am drinking it! And I havealready drunk it! Come, who will have pity ona man like me, eh? Are you sorry for me, sir, ornot? Tell me, sir, are you sorry or not? He-he-he!"

He would have filled his glass, but there wasno drink left. The pot was empty.

"What are you to be pitied for?" shouted thetavern-keeper who was again near them.

Shouts of laughter and even oaths followed.The laughter and the oaths came from thosewho were listening and also from those whohad heard nothing but were simply looking atthe figure of the discharged government clerk.

"To be pitied! Why am I to be pitied?" Marme-ladov suddenly declaimed, standing up withhis arm outstretched, as though he had beenonly waiting for that question.

"Why am I to be pitied, you say? Yes! there'snothing to pity me for! I ought to be crucified,crucified on a cross, not pitied! Crucify me, ohjudge, crucify me but pity me! And then I willgo of myself to be crucified, for it's not merry-making I seek but tears and tribulation!... Doyou suppose, you that sell, that this pint ofyours has been sweet to me? It was tribulation Isought at the bottom of it, tears and tribulation,

and have found it, and I have tasted it; but Hewill pity us Who has had pity on all men, Whohas understood all men and all things, He is theOne, He too is the judge. He will come in thatday and He will ask: 'Where is the daughterwho gave herself for her cross, consumptivestep-mother and for the little children of an-other? Where is the daughter who had pityupon the filthy drunkard, her earthly father,undismayed by his beastliness?' And He willsay, 'Come to me! I have already forgiven theeonce.... I have forgiven thee once.... Thy sinswhich are many are forgiven thee for thou hastloved much....' And he will forgive my Sonia,He will forgive, I know it... I felt it in my heartwhen I was with her just now! And He willjudge and will forgive all, the good and theevil, the wise and the meek.... And when Hehas done with all of them, then He will sum-mon us. 'You too come forth,' He will say, 'Co-me forth ye drunkards, come forth, ye weakones, come forth, ye children of shame!' And

we shall all come forth, without shame andshall stand before him. And He will say untous, 'Ye are swine, made in the Image of theBeast and with his mark; but come ye also!'And the wise ones and those of understandingwill say, 'Oh Lord, why dost Thou receive thesemen?' And He will say, 'This is why I receivethem, oh ye wise, this is why I receive them, ohye of understanding, that not one of them be-lieved himself to be worthy of this.' And Hewill hold out His hands to us and we shall falldown before him... and we shall weep... and weshall understand all things! Then we shall un-derstand all!... and all will understand, KaterinaIvanovna even... she will understand.... Lord,Thy kingdom come!" And he sank down on thebench exhausted, and helpless, looking at noone, apparently oblivious of his surroundingsand plunged in deep thought. His words hadcreated a certain impression; there was a mo-ment of silence; but soon laughter and oathswere heard again.

"That's his notion!"

"Talked himself silly!"

"A fine clerk he is!"

And so on, and so on.

"Let us go, sir," said Marmeladov all at once,raising his head and addressing Raskolnikov—"come along with me... Kozel's house, lookinginto the yard. I'm going to Katerina Ivanovna—time I did."

Raskolnikov had for some time been wantingto go and he had meant to help him. Marme-ladov was much unsteadier on his legs than inhis speech and leaned heavily on the youngman. They had two or three hundred paces togo. The drunken man was more and moreovercome by dismay and confusion as theydrew nearer the house.

"It's not Katerina Ivanovna I am afraid of now,"he muttered in agitation—"and that she willbegin pulling my hair. What does my hair mat-ter! Bother my hair! That's what I say! Indeed itwill be better if she does begin pulling it, that'snot what I am afraid of... it's her eyes I amafraid of... yes, her eyes... the red on her cheeks,too, frightens me... and her breathing too....Have you noticed how people in that diseasebreathe... when they are excited? I am fright-ened of the children's crying, too.... For if Soniahas not taken them food... I don't know what'shappened! I don't know! But blows I am notafraid of.... Know, sir, that such blows are not apain to me, but even an enjoyment. In fact Ican't get on without it.... It's better so. Let herstrike me, it relieves her heart... it's better so...There is the house. The house of Kozel, the ca-binet-maker... a German, well-to-do. Lead theway!"

They went in from the yard and up to thefourth storey. The staircase got darker and dar-ker as they went up. It was nearly eleven o'-clock and although in summer in Petersburgthere is no real night, yet it was quite dark atthe top of the stairs.

A grimy little door at the very top of the stairsstood ajar. A very poor-looking room about tenpaces long was lighted up by a candle-end; thewhole of it was visible from the entrance. It wasall in disorder, littered up with rags of all sorts,especially children's garments. Across the fur-thest corner was stretched a ragged sheet. Be-hind it probably was the bed. There was noth-ing in the room except two chairs and a sofacovered with American leather, full of holes,before which stood an old deal kitchen-table,unpainted and uncovered. At the edge of thetable stood a smoldering tallow-candle in aniron candlestick. It appeared that the familyhad a room to themselves, not part of a room,

but their room was practically a passage. Thedoor leading to the other rooms, or rather cup-boards, into which Amalia Lippevechsel's flatwas divided stood half open, and there wasshouting, uproar and laughter within. Peopleseemed to be playing cards and drinking teathere. Words of the most unceremonious kindflew out from time to time.

Raskolnikov recognised Katerina Ivanovna atonce. She was a rather tall, slim and gracefulwoman, terribly emaciated, with magnificentdark brown hair and with a hectic flush in hercheeks. She was pacing up and down in herlittle room, pressing her hands against herchest; her lips were parched and her breathingcame in nervous broken gasps. Her eyes glit-tered as in fever and looked about with a harshimmovable stare. And that consumptive andexcited face with the last flickering light of thecandle-end playing upon it made a sickeningimpression. She seemed to Raskolnikov about

thirty years old and was certainly a strangewife for Marmeladov.... She had not heardthem and did not notice them coming in. Sheseemed to be lost in thought, hearing and see-ing nothing. The room was close, but she hadnot opened the window; a stench rose from thestaircase, but the door on to the stairs was notclosed. From the inner rooms clouds of tobaccosmoke floated in, she kept coughing, but didnot close the door. The youngest child, a girl ofsix, was asleep, sitting curled up on the floorwith her head on the sofa. A boy a year olderstood crying and shaking in the corner, proba-bly he had just had a beating. Beside him stooda girl of nine years old, tall and thin, wearing athin and ragged chemise with an ancient cash-mere pelisse flung over her bare shoulders,long outgrown and barely reaching her knees.Her arm, as thin as a stick, was round herbrother's neck. She was trying to comfort him,whispering something to him, and doing all shecould to keep him from whimpering again. At

the same time her large dark eyes, whichlooked larger still from the thinness of herfrightened face, were watching her mother withalarm. Marmeladov did not enter the door, butdropped on his knees in the very doorway,pushing Raskolnikov in front of him. The wo-man seeing a stranger stopped indifferentlyfacing him, coming to herself for a moment andapparently wondering what he had come for.But evidently she decided that he was goinginto the next room, as he had to pass throughhers to get there. Taking no further notice ofhim, she walked towards the outer door toclose it and uttered a sudden scream on seeingher husband on his knees in the doorway.

"Ah!" she cried out in a frenzy, "he has comeback! The criminal! the monster!... And whereis the money? What's in your pocket, show me!And your clothes are all different! Where areyour clothes? Where is the money! Speak!"

And she fell to searching him. Marmeladovsubmissively and obediently held up both armsto facilitate the search. Not a farthing was there.

"Where is the money?" she cried—"Mercy onus, can he have drunk it all? There were twelvesilver roubles left in the chest!" and in a furyshe seized him by the hair and dragged himinto the room. Marmeladov seconded her ef-forts by meekly crawling along on his knees.

"And this is a consolation to me! This does nothurt me, but is a positive con-so-la-tion, ho-nou-red sir," he called out, shaken to and fro byhis hair and even once striking the ground withhis forehead. The child asleep on the floor wokeup, and began to cry. The boy in the cornerlosing all control began trembling and scream-ing and rushed to his sister in violent terror,almost in a fit. The eldest girl was shaking likea leaf.

"He's drunk it! he's drunk it all," the poor wo-man screamed in despair—"and his clothes aregone! And they are hungry, hungry!"—andwringing her hands she pointed to the children."Oh, accursed life! And you, are you not as-hamed?"—she pounced all at once upon Ras-kolnikov—"from the tavern! Have you beendrinking with him? You have been drinkingwith him, too! Go away!"

The young man was hastening away withoututtering a word. The inner door was thrownwide open and inquisitive faces were peeringin at it. Coarse laughing faces with pipes andcigarettes and heads wearing caps thrust them-selves in at the doorway. Further in could beseen figures in dressing gowns flung open, incostumes of unseemly scantiness, some of themwith cards in their hands. They were particu-larly diverted, when Marmeladov, draggedabout by his hair, shouted that it was a consola-tion to him. They even began to come into the

room; at last a sinister shrill outcry was heard:this came from Amalia Lippevechsel herselfpushing her way amongst them and trying torestore order after her own fashion and for thehundredth time to frighten the poor woman byordering her with coarse abuse to clear out ofthe room next day. As he went out, Raskol-nikov had time to put his hand into his pocket,to snatch up the coppers he had received inexchange for his rouble in the tavern and to laythem unnoticed on the window. Afterwards onthe stairs, he changed his mind and would havegone back.

"What a stupid thing I've done," he thought tohimself, "they have Sonia and I want it myself."But reflecting that it would be impossible totake it back now and that in any case he wouldnot have taken it, he dismissed it with a waveof his hand and went back to his lodging. "So-nia wants pomatum too," he said as he walkedalong the street, and he laughed malignantly—

"such smartness costs money.... Hm! And may-be Sonia herself will be bankrupt to-day, forthere is always a risk, hunting big game... dig-ging for gold... then they would all be without acrust to-morrow except for my money. Hurrahfor Sonia! What a mine they've dug there! Andthey're making the most of it! Yes, they are ma-king the most of it! They've wept over it andgrown used to it. Man grows used to every-thing, the scoundrel!"

He sank into thought.

"And what if I am wrong," he cried suddenlyafter a moment's thought. "What if man is notreally a scoundrel, man in general, I mean, thewhole race of mankind—then all the rest is pre-judice, simply artificial terrors and there are nobarriers and it's all as it should be."

CHAPTER III

He waked up late next day after a broken sleep.But his sleep had not refreshed him; he wakedup bilious, irritable, ill-tempered, and lookedwith hatred at his room. It was a tiny cupboardof a room about six paces in length. It had apoverty-stricken appearance with its dusty yel-low paper peeling off the walls, and it was solow-pitched that a man of more than averageheight was ill at ease in it and felt every mo-ment that he would knock his head against theceiling. The furniture was in keeping with theroom: there were three old chairs, rather rick-ety; a painted table in the corner on which lay afew manuscripts and books; the dust that laythick upon them showed that they had beenlong untouched. A big clumsy sofa occupiedalmost the whole of one wall and half the floorspace of the room; it was once covered withchintz, but was now in rags and served Raskol-

nikov as a bed. Often he went to sleep on it, ashe was, without undressing, without sheets,wrapped in his old student's overcoat, with hishead on one little pillow, under which he hea-ped up all the linen he had, clean and dirty, byway of a bolster. A little table stood in front ofthe sofa.

It would have been difficult to sink to a lowerebb of disorder, but to Raskolnikov in his pre-sent state of mind this was positively agreeable.He had got completely away from everyone,like a tortoise in its shell, and even the sight of aservant girl who had to wait upon him andlooked sometimes into his room made himwrithe with nervous irritation. He was in thecondition that overtakes some monomaniacsentirely concentrated upon one thing. His land-lady had for the last fortnight given up sendinghim in meals, and he had not yet thought ofexpostulating with her, though he went with-out his dinner. Nastasya, the cook and only

servant, was rather pleased at the lodger'smood and had entirely given up sweeping anddoing his room, only once a week or so shewould stray into his room with a broom. Shewaked him up that day.

"Get up, why are you asleep?" she called tohim. "It's past nine, I have brought you sometea; will you have a cup? I should think you'refairly starving?"

Raskolnikov opened his eyes, started and rec-ognised Nastasya.

"From the landlady, eh?" he asked, slowly andwith a sickly face sitting up on the sofa.

"From the landlady, indeed!"

She set before him her own cracked teapot fullof weak and stale tea and laid two yellowlumps of sugar by the side of it.

"Here, Nastasya, take it please," he said, fum-bling in his pocket (for he had slept in his clot-hes) and taking out a handful of coppers—"runand 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, butwouldn't you rather have some cabbage soupinstead of sausage? It's capital soup, yester-day's. I saved it for you yesterday, but you ca-me in late. It's fine soup."

When the soup had been brought, and he hadbegun upon it, Nastasya sat down beside himon the sofa and began chatting. She was a coun-try peasant-woman and a very talkative one.

"Praskovya Pavlovna means to complain to thepolice about you," she said.

He scowled.

"To the police? What does she want?"

"You don't pay her money and you won't turnout of the room. That's what she wants, to besure."

"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 goand talk to her to-day."

"Fool she is and no mistake, just as I am. Butwhy, if you are so clever, do you lie here like asack and have nothing to show for it? One timeyou used to go out, you say, to teach children.But why is it you do nothing now?"

"I am doing..." Raskolnikov began sullenly andreluctantly.

"What are you doing?"

"Work..."

"What sort of work?"

"I am thinking," he answered seriously after apause.

Nastasya was overcome with a fit of laughter.She was given to laughter and when anythingamused her, she laughed inaudibly, quiveringand shaking all over till she felt ill.

"And have you made much money by yourthinking?" she managed to articulate at last.

"One can't go out to give lessons without boots.And I'm sick of it."

"Don't quarrel with your bread and butter."

"They pay so little for lessons. What's the use ofa few coppers?" he answered, reluctantly, asthough replying to his own thought.

"And you want to get a fortune all at once?"

He looked at her strangely.

"Yes, I want a fortune," he answered firmly,after a brief pause.

"Don't be in such a hurry, you quite frightenme! Shall I get you the loaf or not?"

"As you please."

"Ah, I forgot! A letter came for you yesterdaywhen you were out."

"A letter? for me! from whom?"

"I can't say. I gave three copecks of my own tothe postman for it. Will you pay me back?"

"Then bring it to me, for God's sake, bring it,"cried Raskolnikov greatly excited—"goodGod!"

A minute later the letter was brought him. Thatwas it: from his mother, from the province ofR——. He turned pale when he took it. It was a

long while since he had received a letter, butanother feeling also suddenly stabbed his heart.

"Nastasya, leave me alone, for goodness' sake;here are your three copecks, but for goodness'sake, make haste and go!"

The letter was quivering in his hand; he did notwant to open it in her presence; he wanted tobe left alone with this letter. When Nastasya hadgone out, he lifted it quickly to his lips and kis-sed it; then he gazed intently at the address, thesmall, sloping handwriting, so dear and famil-iar, of the mother who had once taught him toread and write. He delayed; he seemed almostafraid of something. At last he opened it; it wasa thick heavy letter, weighing over two ounces,two large sheets of note paper were coveredwith very small handwriting.

"My dear Rodya," wrote his mother—"it's twomonths since I last had a talk with you by letterwhich has distressed me and even kept me

awake at night, thinking. But I am sure you willnot blame me for my inevitable silence. Youknow how I love you; you are all we have tolook to, Dounia and I, you are our all, our onehope, our one stay. What a grief it was to mewhen I heard that you had given up the univer-sity some months ago, for want of means tokeep yourself and that you had lost your les-sons and your other work! How could I helpyou out of my hundred and twenty roubles ayear pension? The fifteen roubles I sent youfour months ago I borrowed, as you know, onsecurity of my pension, from Vassily Ivano-vitch Vahrushin a merchant of this town. He isa kind-hearted man and was a friend of yourfather's too. But having given him the right toreceive the pension, I had to wait till the debtwas paid off and that is only just done, so thatI've been unable to send you anything all thistime. But now, thank God, I believe I shall beable to send you something more and in factwe may congratulate ourselves on our good

fortune now, of which I hasten to inform you.In the first place, would you have guessed, dearRodya, that your sister has been living with mefor the last six weeks and we shall not be sepa-rated in the future. Thank God, her sufferingsare over, but I will tell you everything in order,so that you may know just how everything hashappened and all that we have hitherto con-cealed from you. When you wrote to me twomonths ago that you had heard that Douniahad a great deal to put up with in the Svidri-graïlovs' house, when you wrote that and askedme to tell you all about it—what could I writein answer to you? If I had written the wholetruth to you, I dare say you would have thrownup everything and have come to us, even if youhad to walk all the way, for I know your char-acter and your feelings, and you would not letyour sister be insulted. I was in despair myself,but what could I do? And, besides, I did notknow the whole truth myself then. What madeit all so difficult was that Dounia received a

hundred roubles in advance when she took theplace as governess in their family, on conditionof part of her salary being deducted everymonth, and so it was impossible to throw upthe situation without repaying the debt. Thissum (now I can explain it all to you, my pre-cious Rodya) she took chiefly in order to sendyou sixty roubles, which you needed so terriblythen and which you received from us last year.We deceived you then, writing that this moneycame from Dounia's savings, but that was notso, and now I tell you all about it, because,thank God, things have suddenly changed forthe better, and that you may know how Dounialoves you and what a heart she has. At firstindeed Mr. Svidrigaïlov treated her very rudelyand used to make disrespectful and jeeringremarks at table.... But I don't want to go intoall those painful details, so as not to worry youfor nothing when it is now all over. In short, inspite of the kind and generous behaviour ofMarfa Petrovna, Mr. Svidrigaïlov's wife, and all

the rest of the household, Dounia had a veryhard time, especially when Mr. Svidrigaïlov,relapsing into his old regimental habits, wasunder the influence of Bacchus. And how doyou think it was all explained later on? Wouldyou believe that the crazy fellow had conceiveda passion for Dounia from the beginning, buthad concealed it under a show of rudeness andcontempt. Possibly he was ashamed and horri-fied himself at his own flighty hopes, consider-ing his years and his being the father of a fam-ily; and that made him angry with Dounia. Andpossibly, too, he hoped by his rude and sneer-ing behaviour to hide the truth from others. Butat last he lost all control and had the face tomake Dounia an open and shameful proposal,promising her all sorts of inducements and of-fering, besides, to throw up everything andtake her to another estate of his, or evenabroad. You can imagine all she went through!To leave her situation at once was impossiblenot only on account of the money debt, but also

to spare the feelings of Marfa Petrovna, whosesuspicions would have been aroused: and thenDounia would have been the cause of a rupturein the family. And it would have meant a terri-ble scandal for Dounia too; that would havebeen inevitable. There were various other rea-sons owing to which Dounia could not hope toescape from that awful house for another sixweeks. You know Dounia, of course; you knowhow clever she is and what a strong will shehas. Dounia can endure a great deal and evenin the most difficult cases she has the fortitudeto maintain her firmness. She did not even wri-te to me about everything for fear of upsettingme, although we were constantly in communi-cation. It all ended very unexpectedly. MarfaPetrovna accidentally overheard her husbandimploring Dounia in the garden, and, puttingquite a wrong interpretation on the position,threw the blame upon her, believing her to bethe cause of it all. An awful scene took placebetween them on the spot in the garden; Marfa

Petrovna went so far as to strike Dounia, re-fused to hear anything and was shouting at herfor a whole hour and then gave orders thatDounia should be packed off at once to me in aplain peasant's cart, into which they flung allher things, her linen and her clothes, all pell-mell, without folding it up and packing it. Anda heavy shower of rain came on, too, and Dou-nia, insulted and put to shame, had to drivewith a peasant in an open cart all the seventeenversts into town. Only think now what answercould I have sent to the letter I received fromyou two months ago and what could I havewritten? I was in despair; I dared not write toyou the truth because you would have beenvery unhappy, mortified and indignant, andyet what could you do? You could only per-haps ruin yourself, and, besides, Dounia wouldnot allow it; and fill up my letter with trifleswhen my heart was so full of sorrow, I couldnot. For a whole month the town was full ofgossip about this scandal, and it came to such a

pass that Dounia and I dared not even go tochurch on account of the contemptuous looks,whispers, and even remarks made aloud aboutus. All our acquaintances avoided us, nobodyeven bowed to us in the street, and I learnt thatsome shopmen and clerks were intending toinsult us in a shameful way, smearing the gatesof our house with pitch, so that the landlordbegan to tell us we must leave. All this was setgoing by Marfa Petrovna who managed toslander Dounia and throw dirt at her in everyfamily. She knows everyone in the neighbour-hood, and that month she was continually com-ing into the town, and as she is rather talkativeand fond of gossiping about her family affairsand particularly of complaining to all and eachof her husband—which is not at all right—so ina short time she had spread her story not onlyin the town, but over the whole surroundingdistrict. It made me ill, but Dounia bore it betterthan I did, and if only you could have seen howshe endured it all and tried to comfort me and

cheer me up! She is an angel! But by God'smercy, our sufferings were cut short: Mr.Svidrigaïlov returned to his senses and re-pented and, probably feeling sorry for Dounia,he laid before Marfa Petrovna a complete andunmistakable proof of Dounia's innocence, inthe form of a letter Dounia had been forced towrite and give to him, before Marfa Petrovnacame upon them in the garden. This letter,which remained in Mr. Svidrigaïlov's handsafter her departure, she had written to refusepersonal explanations and secret interviews, forwhich he was entreating her. In that letter shereproached him with great heat and indigna-tion for the baseness of his behaviour in regardto Marfa Petrovna, reminding him that he wasthe father and head of a family and telling himhow infamous it was of him to torment andmake unhappy a defenceless girl, unhappyenough already. Indeed, dear Rodya, the letterwas so nobly and touchingly written that I sob-bed when I read it and to this day I cannot read

it without tears. Moreover, the evidence of theservants, too, cleared Dounia's reputation; theyhad seen and known a great deal more thanMr. Svidrigaïlov had himself supposed—asindeed is always the case with servants. MarfaPetrovna was completely taken aback, and 'a-gain crushed' as she said herself to us, but shewas completely convinced of Dounia's inno-cence. The very next day, being Sunday, shewent straight to the Cathedral, knelt down andprayed with tears to Our Lady to give herstrength to bear this new trial and to do herduty. Then she came straight from the Cathe-dral to us, told us the whole story, wept bitterlyand, fully penitent, she embraced Dounia andbesought her to forgive her. The same morningwithout any delay, she went round to all thehouses in the town and everywhere, sheddingtears, she asserted in the most flattering termsDounia's innocence and the nobility of her feel-ings and her behavior. What was more, sheshowed and read to everyone the letter in

Dounia's own handwriting to Mr. Svidrigaïlovand even allowed them to take copies of it—which I must say I think was superfluous. Inthis way she was busy for several days in driv-ing about the whole town, because some peoplehad taken offence through precedence havingbeen given to others. And therefore they had totake turns, so that in every house she was ex-pected before she arrived, and everyone knewthat on such and such a day Marfa Petrovnawould be reading the letter in such and such aplace and people assembled for every readingof it, even many who had heard it several timesalready both in their own houses and in otherpeople's. In my opinion a great deal, a verygreat deal of all this was unnecessary; but that'sMarfa Petrovna's character. Anyway she suc-ceeded in completely re-establishing Dounia'sreputation and the whole ignominy of this af-fair rested as an indelible disgrace upon herhusband, as the only person to blame, so that Ireally began to feel sorry for him; it was really

treating the crazy fellow too harshly. Douniawas at once asked to give lessons in severalfamilies, but she refused. All of a sudden eve-ryone began to treat her with marked respectand all this did much to bring about the eventby which, one may say, our whole fortunes arenow transformed. You must know, dear Rodya,that Dounia has a suitor and that she has al-ready consented to marry him. I hasten to tellyou all about the matter, and though it hasbeen arranged without asking your consent, Ithink you will not be aggrieved with me orwith your sister on that account, for you willsee that we could not wait and put off our deci-sion till we heard from you. And you could nothave judged all the facts without being on thespot. This was how it happened. He is alreadyof the rank of a counsellor, Pyotr PetrovitchLuzhin, and is distantly related to Marfa Pet-rovna, who has been very active in bringing thematch about. It began with his expressingthrough her his desire to make our acquaint-

ance. He was properly received, drank coffeewith us and the very next day he sent us a letterin which he very courteously made an offerand begged for a speedy and decided answer.He is a very busy man and is in a great hurry toget to Petersburg, so that every moment is pre-cious to him. At first, of course, we were greatlysurprised, as it had all happened so quicklyand unexpectedly. We thought and talked itover the whole day. He is a well-to-do man, tobe depended upon, he has two posts in thegovernment and has already made his fortune.It is true that he is forty-five years old, but he isof a fairly prepossessing appearance and mightstill be thought attractive by women, and he isaltogether a very respectable and presentableman, only he seems a little morose and some-what conceited. But possibly that may only bethe impression he makes at first sight. And be-ware, dear Rodya, when he comes to Peters-burg, as he shortly will do, beware of judginghim too hastily and severely, as your way is, if

there is anything you do not like in him at firstsight. I give you this warning, although I feelsure that he will make a favourable impressionupon you. Moreover, in order to understandany man one must be deliberate and careful toavoid forming prejudices and mistaken ideas,which are very difficult to correct and get overafterwards. And Pyotr Petrovitch, judging bymany indications, is a thoroughly estimableman. At his first visit, indeed, he told us that hewas a practical man, but still he shares, as heexpressed it, many of the convictions 'of ourmost rising generation' and he is an opponentof all prejudices. He said a good deal more, forhe seems a little conceited and likes to be lis-tened to, but this is scarcely a vice. I, of course,understood very little of it, but Dounia ex-plained to me that, though he is not a man ofgreat education, he is clever and seems to begood-natured. You know your sister's charac-ter, Rodya. She is a resolute, sensible, patientand generous girl, but she has a passionate

heart, as I know very well. Of course, there isno great love either on his side, or on hers, butDounia is a clever girl and has the heart of anangel, and will make it her duty to make herhusband happy who on his side will make herhappiness his care. Of that we have no goodreason to doubt, though it must be admitted thematter has been arranged in great haste. Be-sides he is a man of great prudence and he willsee, to be sure, of himself, that his own happi-ness will be the more secure, the happierDounia is with him. And as for some defects ofcharacter, for some habits and even certain dif-ferences of opinion—which indeed are inevita-ble even in the happiest marriages—Douniahas said that, as regards all that, she relies onherself, that there is nothing to be uneasyabout, and that she is ready to put up with agreat deal, if only their future relationship canbe an honourable and straightforward one. Hestruck me, for instance, at first, as ratherabrupt, but that may well come from his being

an outspoken man, and that is no doubt how itis. For instance, at his second visit, after he hadreceived Dounia's consent, in the course ofconversation, he declared that before makingDounia's acquaintance, he had made up hismind to marry a girl of good reputation, with-out dowry and, above all, one who had experi-enced poverty, because, as he explained, a manought not to be indebted to his wife, but that itis better for a wife to look upon her husband asher benefactor. I must add that he expressed itmore nicely and politely than I have done, for Ihave forgotten his actual phrases and only re-member the meaning. And, besides, it was ob-viously not said of design, but slipped out inthe heat of conversation, so that he tried after-wards to correct himself and smooth it over,but all the same it did strike me as somewhatrude, and I said so afterwards to Dounia. ButDounia was vexed, and answered that 'wordsare not deeds,' and that, of course, is perfectlytrue. Dounia did not sleep all night before she

made up her mind, and, thinking that I wasasleep, she got out of bed and was walking upand down the room all night; at last she kneltdown before the ikon and prayed long and fer-vently and in the morning she told me that shehad decided.

"I have mentioned already that Pyotr Petrovitchis just setting off for Petersburg, where he has agreat deal of business, and he wants to open alegal bureau. He has been occupied for manyyears in conducting civil and commercial litiga-tion, and only the other day he won an impor-tant case. He has to be in Petersburg because hehas an important case before the Senate. So,Rodya dear, he may be of the greatest use toyou, in every way indeed, and Dounia and Ihave agreed that from this very day you coulddefinitely enter upon your career and mightconsider that your future is marked out andassured for you. Oh, if only this comes to pass!This would be such a benefit that we could on-

ly look upon it as a providential blessing. Dou-nia is dreaming of nothing else. We have evenventured already to drop a few words on thesubject to Pyotr Petrovitch. He was cautious inhis answer, and said that, of course, as he couldnot get on without a secretary, it would be bet-ter to be paying a salary to a relation than to astranger, if only the former were fitted for theduties (as though there could be doubt of yourbeing fitted!) but then he expressed doubtswhether your studies at the university wouldleave you time for work at his office. The mat-ter dropped for the time, but Dounia is think-ing of nothing else now. She has been in a sortof fever for the last few days, and has alreadymade a regular plan for your becoming in theend an associate and even a partner in PyotrPetrovitch's business, which might well be,seeing that you are a student of law. I am incomplete agreement with her, Rodya, and shareall her plans and hopes, and think there is eve-ry probability of realising them. And in spite of

Pyotr Petrovitch's evasiveness, very natural atpresent (since he does not know you), Douniais firmly persuaded that she will gain every-thing by her good influence over her futurehusband; this she is reckoning upon. Of coursewe are careful not to talk of any of these moreremote plans to Pyotr Petrovitch, especially ofyour becoming his partner. He is a practicalman and might take this very coldly, it mightall seem to him simply a day-dream. Nor haseither Dounia or I breathed a word to him ofthe great hopes we have of his helping us topay for your university studies; we have notspoken of it in the first place, because it willcome to pass of itself, later on, and he will nodoubt without wasting words offer to do it ofhimself, (as though he could refuse Douniathat) the more readily since you may by yourown efforts become his right hand in the office,and receive this assistance not as a charity, butas a salary earned by your own work. Douniawants to arrange it all like this and I quite agree

with her. And we have not spoken of our plansfor another reason, that is, because I particu-larly wanted you to feel on an equal footingwhen you first meet him. When Dounia spoketo him with enthusiasm about you, he an-swered that one could never judge of a manwithout seeing him close, for oneself, and thathe looked forward to forming his own opinionwhen he makes your acquaintance. Do youknow, my precious Rodya, I think that perhapsfor some reasons (nothing to do with Pyotr Pet-rovitch though, simply for my own personal,perhaps old-womanish, fancies) I should dobetter to go on living by myself, apart, thanwith them, after the wedding. I am convincedthat he will be generous and delicate enough toinvite me and to urge me to remain with mydaughter for the future, and if he has said noth-ing about it hitherto, it is simply because it hasbeen taken for granted; but I shall refuse. I havenoticed more than once in my life that hus-bands 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 own sake, too, wouldrather be quite independent, so long as I have acrust of bread of my own, and such children asyou and Dounia. If possible, I would settlesomewhere near you, for the most joyful pieceof news, dear Rodya, I have kept for the end ofmy letter: know then, my dear boy, that wemay, perhaps, be all together in a very shorttime and may embrace one another again aftera separation of almost three years! It is settledfor certain that Dounia and I are to set off forPetersburg, exactly when I don't know, butvery, very soon, possibly in a week. It all de-pends on Pyotr Petrovitch who will let us knowwhen he has had time to look round him inPetersburg. To suit his own arrangements he isanxious to have the ceremony as soon as possi-ble, even before the fast of Our Lady, if it couldbe managed, or if that is too soon to be ready,immediately after. Oh, with what happiness Ishall press you to my heart! Dounia is all ex-

citement at the joyful thought of seeing you,she said one day in joke that she would beready to marry Pyotr Petrovitch for that alone.She is an angel! She is not writing anything toyou now, and has only told me to write that shehas so much, so much to tell you that she is notgoing to take up her pen now, for a few lineswould tell you nothing, and it would onlymean upsetting herself; she bids me send youher love and innumerable kisses. But althoughwe shall be meeting so soon, perhaps I shallsend you as much money as I can in a day ortwo. Now that everyone has heard that Douniais to marry Pyotr Petrovitch, my credit hassuddenly improved and I know that AfanasyIvanovitch will trust me now even to seventy-five roubles on the security of my pension, sothat perhaps I shall be able to send you twenty-five or even thirty roubles. I would send youmore, but I am uneasy about our travelling ex-penses; for though Pyotr Petrovitch has been sokind as to undertake part of the expenses of the

journey, that is to say, he has taken upon him-self the conveyance of our bags and big trunk(which will be conveyed through some ac-quaintances of his), we must reckon upon someexpense on our arrival in Petersburg, where wecan't be left without a halfpenny, at least for thefirst few days. But we have calculated it all,Dounia and I, to the last penny, and we see thatthe journey will not cost very much. It is onlyninety versts from us to the railway and wehave come to an agreement with a driver weknow, so as to be in readiness; and from thereDounia and I can travel quite comfortably thirdclass. So that I may very likely be able to sendto you not twenty-five, but thirty roubles. Butenough; I have covered two sheets already andthere is no space left for more; our whole his-tory, but so many events have happened! Andnow, my precious Rodya, I embrace you andsend you a mother's blessing till we meet. LoveDounia your sister, Rodya; love her as she lovesyou and understand that she loves you beyond

everything, more than herself. She is an angeland you, Rodya, you are everything to us—ourone hope, our one consolation. If only you arehappy, we shall be happy. Do you still say yourprayers, Rodya, and believe in the mercy of ourCreator and our Redeemer? I am afraid in myheart that you may have been visited by thenew spirit of infidelity that is abroad to-day; Ifit is so, I pray for you. Remember, dear boy,how in your childhood, when your father wasliving, you used to lisp your prayers at myknee, and how happy we all were in thosedays. Good-bye, till we meet then—I embraceyou warmly, warmly, with many kisses.

"Yours till death,"PULCHERIA RASKOLNIKOV."

Almost from the first, while he read the letter,Raskolnikov's face was wet with tears; butwhen he finished it, his face was pale and dis-torted and a bitter, wrathful and malignantsmile was on his lips. He laid his head down on

his threadbare dirty pillow and pondered,pondered a long time. His heart was beatingviolently, and his brain was in a turmoil. At lasthe felt cramped and stifled in the little yellowroom that was like a cupboard or a box. Hiseyes and his mind craved for space. He took uphis hat and went out, this time without dread ofmeeting anyone; he had forgotten his dread. Heturned in the direction of the Vassilyevsky Os-trov, walking along Vassilyevsky Prospect, asthough hastening on some business, but hewalked, as his habit was, without noticing hisway, muttering and even speaking aloud tohimself, to the astonishment of the passers-by.Many of them took him to be drunk.

CHAPTER IV

His mother's letter had been a torture to him,but as regards the chief fact in it, he had felt notone moment's hesitation, even whilst he wasreading the letter. The essential question wassettled, and irrevocably settled, in his mind:"Never such a marriage while I am alive andMr. Luzhin be damned!" "The thing is perfectlyclear," he muttered to himself, with a malignantsmile anticipating the triumph of his decision."No, mother, no, Dounia, you won't deceiveme! and then they apologise for not asking myadvice and for taking the decision without me!I dare say! They imagine it is arranged now andcan't be broken off; but we will see whether itcan or not! A magnificent excuse: 'Pyotr Pet-rovitch is such a busy man that even his wed-ding has to be in post-haste, almost by express.'No, Dounia, I see it all and I know what youwant to say to me; and I know too what you

were thinking about, when you walked up anddown all night, and what your prayers werelike before the Holy Mother of Kazan whostands in mother's bedroom. Bitter is the ascentto Golgotha.... Hm... so it is finally settled; youhave determined to marry a sensible businessman, Avdotya Romanovna, one who has a for-tune (has already made his fortune, that is somuch more solid and impressive) a man whoholds two government posts and who sharesthe ideas of our most rising generation, as mot-her writes, and who seems to be kind, as Douniaherself observes. That seems beats everything!And that very Dounia for that very 'seems' ismarrying him! Splendid! splendid!

"... But I should like to know why mother haswritten to me about 'our most rising genera-tion'? Simply as a descriptive touch, or with theidea of prepossessing me in favour of Mr. Luz-hin? Oh, the cunning of them! I should like toknow one thing more: how far they were open

with one another that day and night and all thistime since? Was it all put into words, or didboth understand that they had the same thingat heart and in their minds, so that there was noneed to speak of it aloud, and better not tospeak of it. Most likely it was partly like that,from mother's letter it's evident: he struck heras rude a little, and mother in her simplicitytook her observations to Dounia. And she wassure to be vexed and 'answered her angrily.' Ishould think so! Who would not be angeredwhen it was quite clear without any naïve ques-tions and when it was understood that it wasuseless to discuss it. And why does she write tome, 'love Dounia, Rodya, and she loves youmore than herself'? Has she a secret conscience-prick at sacrificing her daughter to her son?'You are our one comfort, you are everything tous.' Oh, mother!"

His bitterness grew more and more intense,and if he had happened to meet Mr. Luzhin atthe moment, he might have murdered him.

"Hm... yes, that's true," he continued, pursuingthe whirling ideas that chased each other in hisbrain, "it is true that 'it needs time and care toget to know a man,' but there is no mistakeabout Mr. Luzhin. The chief thing is he is 'aman of business and seems kind,' that was so-mething, wasn't it, to send the bags and big boxfor them! A kind man, no doubt after that! Buthis bride and her mother are to drive in a peas-ant's cart covered with sacking (I know, I havebeen driven in it). No matter! It is only ninetyversts and then they can 'travel very comforta-bly, third class,' for a thousand versts! Quiteright, too. One must cut one's coat according toone's cloth, but what about you, Mr. Luzhin?She is your bride.... And you must be awarethat her mother has to raise money on her pen-sion for the journey. To be sure it's a matter of

business, a partnership for mutual benefit, withequal shares and expenses;—food and drinkprovided, but pay for your tobacco. The busi-ness man has got the better of them, too. Theluggage will cost less than their fares and verylikely go for nothing. How is it that they don'tboth see all that, or is it that they don't want tosee? And they are pleased, pleased! And tothink that this is only the first blossoming, andthat the real fruits are to come! But what reallymatters is not the stinginess, is not the mean-ness, but the tone of the whole thing. For thatwill be the tone after marriage, it's a foretaste ofit. And mother too, why should she be so lav-ish? What will she have by the time she gets toPetersburg? Three silver roubles or two 'paperones' as she says.... that old woman... hm. Whatdoes she expect to live upon in Petersburg af-terwards? She has her reasons already for gues-sing that she could not live with Dounia afterthe marriage, even for the first few months. Thegood man has no doubt let slip something on

that subject also, though mother would deny it:'I shall refuse,' says she. On whom is she reck-oning then? Is she counting on what is left ofher hundred and twenty roubles of pensionwhen Afanasy Ivanovitch's debt is paid? Sheknits woollen shawls and embroiders cuffs,ruining her old eyes. And all her shawls don'tadd more than twenty roubles a year to herhundred and twenty, I know that. So she isbuilding all her hopes all the time on Mr. Luz-hin's generosity; 'he will offer it of himself, hewill press it on me.' You may wait a long timefor that! That's how it always is with theseSchilleresque noble hearts; till the last momentevery goose is a swan with them, till the lastmoment, they hope for the best and will seenothing wrong, and although they have an ink-ling of the other side of the picture, yet theywon't face the truth till they are forced to; thevery thought of it makes them shiver; theythrust the truth away with both hands, until theman they deck out in false colours puts a fool's

cap on them with his own hands. I should liketo know whether Mr. Luzhin has any orders ofmerit; I bet he has the Anna in his buttonholeand that he puts it on when he goes to dinewith contractors or merchants. He will be sureto have it for his wedding, too! Enough of him,confound him!

"Well,... mother I don't wonder at, it's like her,God bless her, but how could Dounia? Douniadarling, as though I did not know you! Youwere nearly twenty when I saw you last: I un-derstood you then. Mother writes that 'Douniacan put up with a great deal.' I know that verywell. I knew that two years and a half ago, andfor the last two and a half years I have beenthinking about it, thinking of just that, that'Dounia can put up with a great deal.' If shecould put up with Mr. Svidrigaïlov and all therest of it, she certainly can put up with a greatdeal. And now mother and she have taken itinto their heads that she can put up with Mr.

Luzhin, who propounds the theory of the supe-riority of wives raised from destitution andowing everything to their husband's bounty—who propounds it, too, almost at the first inter-view. Granted that he 'let it slip,' though he is asensible man, (yet maybe it was not a slip at all,but he meant to make himself clear as soon aspossible) but Dounia, Dounia? She understandsthe man, of course, but she will have to livewith the man. Why! she'd live on black breadand water, she would not sell her soul, shewould not barter her moral freedom for com-fort; she would not barter it for all Schleswig-Holstein, much less Mr. Luzhin's money. No,Dounia was not that sort when I knew herand... she is still the same, of course! Yes, the-re's no denying, the Svidrigaïlovs are a bitterpill! It's a bitter thing to spend one's life a gov-erness in the provinces for two hundred rou-bles, but I know she would rather be a niggeron a plantation or a Lett with a German masterthan degrade her soul, and her moral dignity,

by binding herself for ever to a man whom shedoes not respect and with whom she has noth-ing in common—for her own advantage. And ifMr. Luzhin had been of unalloyed gold, or onehuge diamond, she would never have con-sented to become his legal concubine. Why isshe consenting then? What's the point of it?What's the answer? It's clear enough: for her-self, for her comfort, to save her life she wouldnot sell herself, but for someone else she is do-ing it! For one she loves, for one she adores, shewill sell herself! That's what it all amounts to;for her brother, for her mother, she will sellherself! She will sell everything! In such cases,'we overcome our moral feeling if necessary,'freedom, peace, conscience even, all, all arebrought into the market. Let my life go, if onlymy dear ones may be happy! More than that,we become casuists, we learn to be Jesuiticaland for a time maybe we can soothe ourselves,we can persuade ourselves that it is one's dutyfor a good object. That's just like us, it's as clear

as daylight. It's clear that Rodion RomanovitchRaskolnikov is the central figure in the busi-ness, and no one else. Oh, yes, she can ensurehis happiness, keep him in the university, makehim a partner in the office, make his whole fu-ture secure; perhaps he may even be a rich manlater on, prosperous, respected, and may evenend his life a famous man! But my mother? It'sall Rodya, precious Rodya, her first born! Forsuch a son who would not sacrifice such adaughter! Oh, loving, over-partial hearts! Why,for his sake we would not shrink even fromSonia's fate. Sonia, Sonia Marmeladov, theeternal victim so long as the world lasts. Haveyou taken the measure of your sacrifice, both ofyou? Is it right? Can you bear it? Is it any use?Is there sense in it? And let me tell you, Dounia,Sonia's life is no worse than life with Mr. Luz-hin. 'There can be no question of love,' motherwrites. And what if there can be no respect ei-ther, if on the contrary there is aversion, con-tempt, repulsion, what then? So you will have

to 'keep up your appearance,' too. Is not thatso? Do you understand what that smartnessmeans? Do you understand that the Luzhinsmartness is just the same thing as Sonia's andmay be worse, viler, baser, because in your ca-se, Dounia, it's a bargain for luxuries, after all,but with Sonia it's simply a question of starva-tion. It has to be paid for, it has to be paid for,Dounia, this smartness. And what if it's morethan you can bear afterwards, if you regret it?The bitterness, the misery, the curses, the tearshidden from all the world, for you are not aMarfa Petrovna. And how will your motherfeel then? Even now she is uneasy, she is wor-ried, but then, when she sees it all clearly? AndI? Yes, indeed, what have you taken me for? Iwon't have your sacrifice, Dounia, I won't haveit, mother! It shall not be, so long as I am alive,it shall not, it shall not! I won't accept it!"

He suddenly paused in his reflection and stoodstill.

"It shall not be? But what are you going to do toprevent it? You'll forbid it? And what righthave you? What can you promise them on yourside to give you such a right? Your whole life,your whole future, you will devote to themwhen you have finished your studies and obtained apost? Yes, we have heard all that before, andthat's all words, but now? Now something mustbe done, now, do you understand that? Andwhat are you doing now? You are living uponthem. They borrow on their hundred roublespension. They borrow from the Svidrigaïlovs.How are you going to save them from Svidri-gaïlovs, from Afanasy Ivanovitch Vahrushin,oh, future millionaire Zeus who would arrangetheir lives for them? In another ten years? Inanother ten years, mother will be blind withknitting shawls, maybe with weeping too. Shewill be worn to a shadow with fasting; and mysister? Imagine for a moment what may havebecome of your sister in ten years? What may

happen to her during those ten years? Can youfancy?"

So he tortured himself, fretting himself withsuch questions, and finding a kind of enjoy-ment in it. And yet all these questions were notnew ones suddenly confronting him, they wereold familiar aches. It was long since they hadfirst begun to grip and rend his heart. Long,long ago his present anguish had its first be-ginnings; it had waxed and gathered strength,it had matured and concentrated, until it hadtaken the form of a fearful, frenzied and fantas-tic question, which tortured his heart and mind,clamouring insistently for an answer. Now hismother's letter had burst on him like a thunder-clap. It was clear that he must not now sufferpassively, worrying himself over unsolvedquestions, but that he must do something, do itat once, and do it quickly. Anyway he mustdecide on something, or else...

"Or throw up life altogether!" he cried sud-denly, in a frenzy—"accept one's lot humbly asit is, once for all and stifle everything in oneself,giving up all claim to activity, life and love!"

"Do you understand, sir, do you understandwhat it means when you have absolutely no-where to turn?" Marmeladov's question camesuddenly into his mind, "for every man musthave somewhere to turn...."

He gave a sudden start; another thought, thathe had had yesterday, slipped back into hismind. But he did not start at the thought recur-ring to him, for he knew, he had felt beforehand,that it must come back, he was expecting it;besides it was not only yesterday's thought.The difference was that a month ago, yesterdayeven, the thought was a mere dream: but now...now it appeared not a dream at all, it had takena new menacing and quite unfamiliar shape,and he suddenly became aware of this him-

self.... He felt a hammering in his head, andthere was a darkness before his eyes.

He looked round hurriedly, he was searchingfor something. He wanted to sit down and waslooking for a seat; he was walking along theK—— Boulevard. There was a seat about ahundred paces in front of him. He walked to-wards it as fast he could; but on the way he metwith a little adventure which absorbed all hisattention. Looking for the seat, he had noticed awoman walking some twenty paces in front ofhim, but at first he took no more notice of herthan of other objects that crossed his path. Ithad happened to him many times going homenot to notice the road by which he was going,and he was accustomed to walk like that. Butthere was at first sight something so strangeabout the woman in front of him, that gradu-ally his attention was riveted upon her, at firstreluctantly and, as it were, resentfully, and thenmore and more intently. He felt a sudden de-

sire to find out what it was that was so strangeabout the woman. In the first place, she ap-peared to be a girl quite young, and she waswalking in the great heat bareheaded and withno parasol or gloves, waving her arms about inan absurd way. She had on a dress of somelight silky material, but put on strangely awry,not properly hooked up, and torn open at thetop of the skirt, close to the waist: a great piecewas rent and hanging loose. A little kerchiefwas flung about her bare throat, but lay slant-ing on one side. The girl was walking unstead-ily, too, stumbling and staggering from side toside. She drew Raskolnikov's whole attention atlast. He overtook the girl at the seat, but, onreaching it, she dropped down on it, in the cor-ner; she let her head sink on the back of the seatand closed her eyes, apparently in extreme ex-haustion. Looking at her closely, he saw at oncethat she was completely drunk. It was a strangeand shocking sight. He could hardly believethat he was not mistaken. He saw before him

the face of a quite young, fair-haired girl—sixteen, perhaps not more than fifteen, yearsold, pretty little face, but flushed and heavylooking and, as it were, swollen. The girlseemed hardly to know what she was doing;she crossed one leg over the other, lifting itindecorously, and showed every sign of beingunconscious that she was in the street.

Raskolnikov did not sit down, but he felt un-willing to leave her, and stood facing her inperplexity. This boulevard was never muchfrequented; and now, at two o'clock, in the sti-fling heat, it was quite deserted. And yet on thefurther side of the boulevard, about fifteenpaces away, a gentleman was standing on theedge of the pavement. He, too, would appar-ently have liked to approach the girl with someobject of his own. He, too, had probably seenher in the distance and had followed her, butfound Raskolnikov in his way. He looked an-grily at him, though he tried to escape his no-

tice, and stood impatiently biding his time, tillthe unwelcome man in rags should havemoved away. His intentions were unmistak-able. The gentleman was a plump, thickly-setman, about thirty, fashionably dressed, with ahigh colour, red lips and moustaches. Raskol-nikov felt furious; he had a sudden longing toinsult this fat dandy in some way. He left thegirl for a moment and walked towards the gen-tleman.

"Hey! You Svidrigaïlov! What do you wanthere?" he shouted, clenching his fists and laug-hing, spluttering with rage.

"What do you mean?" the gentleman askedsternly, scowling in haughty astonishment.

"Get away, that's what I mean."

"How dare you, you low fellow!"

He raised his cane. Raskolnikov rushed at himwith his fists, without reflecting that the stoutgentleman was a match for two men like him-self. But at that instant someone seized himfrom behind, and a police constable stood be-tween them.

"That's enough, gentlemen, no fighting, please,in a public place. What do you want? Who areyou?" he asked Raskolnikov sternly, noticinghis rags.

Raskolnikov looked at him intently. He had astraight-forward, sensible, soldierly face, withgrey moustaches and whiskers.

"You are just the man I want," Raskolnikovcried, catching at his arm. "I am a student, Ras-kolnikov.... You may as well know that too," headded, addressing the gentleman, "come along,I have something to show you."

And taking the policeman by the hand he drewhim towards the seat.

"Look here, hopelessly drunk, and she has justcome down the boulevard. There is no tellingwho and what she is, she does not look like aprofessional. It's more likely she has been givendrink and deceived somewhere... for the firsttime... you understand? and they've put her outinto the street like that. Look at the way herdress is torn, and the way it has been put on:she has been dressed by somebody, she has notdressed herself, and dressed by unpractisedhands, by a man's hands; that's evident. Andnow look there: I don't know that dandy withwhom I was going to fight, I see him for thefirst time, but he, too, has seen her on the road,just now, drunk, not knowing what she is do-ing, and now he is very eager to get hold of her,to get her away somewhere while she is in thisstate... that's certain, believe me, I am notwrong. I saw him myself watching her and fol-

lowing her, but I prevented him, and he is justwaiting for me to go away. Now he has walkedaway a little, and is standing still, pretending tomake a cigarette.... Think how can we keep herout of his hands, and how are we to get herhome?"

The policeman saw it all in a flash. The stoutgentleman was easy to understand, he turnedto consider the girl. The policeman bent over toexamine her more closely, and his face workedwith genuine compassion.

"Ah, what a pity!" he said, shaking his head—"why, she is quite a child! She has been de-ceived, you can see that at once. Listen, lady,"he began addressing her, "where do you live?"The girl opened her weary and sleepy-lookingeyes, gazed blankly at the speaker and wavedher hand.

"Here," said Raskolnikov feeling in his pocketand finding twenty copecks, "here, call a cab

and tell him to drive her to her address. Theonly thing is to find out her address!"

"Missy, missy!" the policeman began again,taking the money. "I'll fetch you a cab and takeyou home myself. Where shall I take you, eh?Where do you live?"

"Go away! They won't let me alone," the girlmuttered, and once more waved her hand.

"Ach, ach, how shocking! It's shameful, missy,it's a shame!" He shook his head again, shoc-ked, sympathetic and indignant.

"It's a difficult job," the policeman said to Ras-kolnikov, and as he did so, he looked him upand down in a rapid glance. He, too, must haveseemed a strange figure to him: dressed in ragsand handing him money!

"Did you meet her far from here?" he askedhim.

"I tell you she was walking in front of me, stag-gering, just here, in the boulevard. She only justreached the seat and sank down on it."

"Ah, the shameful things that are done in theworld nowadays, God have mercy on us! Aninnocent creature like that, drunk already! Shehas been deceived, that's a sure thing. See howher dress has been torn too.... Ah, the vice onesees nowadays! And as likely as not she be-longs to gentlefolk too, poor ones maybe....There are many like that nowadays. She looksrefined, too, as though she were a lady," and hebent over her once more.

Perhaps he had daughters growing up like that,"looking like ladies and refined" with preten-sions to gentility and smartness....

"The chief thing is," Raskolnikov persisted, "tokeep her out of this scoundrel's hands! Whyshould he outrage her! It's as clear as day whathe is after; ah, the brute, he is not moving off!"

Raskolnikov spoke aloud and pointed to him.The gentleman heard him, and seemed about tofly into a rage again, but thought better of it,and confined himself to a contemptuous look.He then walked slowly another ten paces awayand again halted.

"Keep her out of his hands we can," said theconstable thoughtfully, "if only she'd tell uswhere to take her, but as it is.... Missy, hey,missy!" he bent over her once more.

She opened her eyes fully all of a sudden, loo-ked at him intently, as though realising some-thing, got up from the seat and walked away inthe direction from which she had come. "Ohshameful wretches, they won't let me alone!"she said, waving her hand again. She walkedquickly, though staggering as before. The dan-dy followed her, but along another avenue,keeping his eye on her.

"Don't be anxious, I won't let him have her," thepoliceman said resolutely, and he set off afterthem.

"Ah, the vice one sees nowadays!" he repeatedaloud, sighing.

At that moment something seemed to stingRaskolnikov; in an instant a complete revulsionof feeling came over him.

"Hey, here!" he shouted after the policeman.

The latter turned round.

"Let them be! What is it to do with you? Let hergo! Let him amuse himself." He pointed at thedandy, "What is it to do with you?"

The policeman was bewildered, and stared athim open-eyed. Raskolnikov laughed.

"Well!" ejaculated the policeman, with a gestureof contempt, and he walked after the dandy

and the girl, probably taking Raskolnikov for amadman or something even worse.

"He has carried off my twenty copecks," Ras-kolnikov murmured angrily when he was leftalone. "Well, let him take as much from theother fellow to allow him to have the girl andso let it end. And why did I want to interfere?Is it for me to help? Have I any right to help?Let them devour each other alive—what is tome? How did I dare to give him twenty co-pecks? Were they mine?"

In spite of those strange words he felt verywretched. He sat down on the deserted seat.His thoughts strayed aimlessly.... He found ithard to fix his mind on anything at that mo-ment. He longed to forget himself altogether, toforget everything, and then to wake up andbegin life anew....

"Poor girl!" he said, looking at the empty cornerwhere she had sat—"She will come to herself

and weep, and then her mother will find out....She will give her a beating, a horrible, shamefulbeating and then maybe, turn her out ofdoors.... And even if she does not, the DaryaFrantsovnas will get wind of it, and the girl willsoon be slipping out on the sly here and there.Then there will be the hospital directly (that'salways the luck of those girls with respectablemothers, who go wrong on the sly) and then...again the hospital... drink... the taverns... andmore 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 havethey been brought to it? Why, they've all cometo it like that. Ugh! But what does it matter?That's as it should be, they tell us. A certainpercentage, they tell us, must every year go...that way... to the devil, I suppose, so that therest may remain chaste, and not be interferedwith. A percentage! What splendid words theyhave; they are so scientific, so consolatory....Once you've said 'percentage' there's nothing

more to worry about. If we had any otherword... 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 Ihad read the letter I came out.... I was going toVassilyevsky Ostrov, to Razumihin. That'swhat it was... now I remember. What for,though? And what put the idea of going to Ra-zumihin into my head just now? That's curi-ous."

He wondered at himself. Razumihin was one ofhis old comrades at the university. It was re-markable that Raskolnikov had hardly anyfriends at the university; he kept aloof fromeveryone, went to see no one, and did not wel-come anyone who came to see him, and indeedeveryone soon gave him up. He took no part inthe students' gatherings, amusements or con-versations. He worked with great intensity

without sparing himself, and he was respectedfor this, but no one liked him. He was verypoor, and there was a sort of haughty pride andreserve about him, as though he were keepingsomething to himself. He seemed to some of hiscomrades to look down upon them all as chil-dren, as though he were superior in develop-ment, knowledge and convictions, as thoughtheir beliefs and interests were beneath him.

With Razumihin he had got on, or, at least, hewas more unreserved and communicative withhim. Indeed it was impossible to be on any ot-her terms with Razumihin. He was an excep-tionally good-humoured and candid youth,good-natured to the point of simplicity, thoughboth depth and dignity lay concealed underthat simplicity. The better of his comrades un-derstood this, and all were fond of him. He wasextremely intelligent, though he was certainlyrather a simpleton at times. He was of strikingappearance—tall, thin, blackhaired and always

badly shaved. He was sometimes uproariousand was reputed to be of great physicalstrength. One night, when out in a festive com-pany, he had with one blow laid a gigantic po-liceman on his back. There was no limit to hisdrinking powers, but he could abstain fromdrink altogether; he sometimes went too far inhis pranks; but he could do without pranksaltogether. Another thing striking about Razu-mihin, no failure distressed him, and it seemedas though no unfavourable circumstances couldcrush him. He could lodge anywhere, and bearthe extremes of cold and hunger. He was verypoor, and kept himself entirely on what hecould earn by work of one sort or another. Heknew of no end of resources by which to earnmoney. He spent one whole winter withoutlighting his stove, and used to declare that heliked it better, because one slept more soundlyin the cold. For the present he, too, had beenobliged to give up the university, but it wasonly for a time, and he was working with all his

might to save enough to return to his studiesagain. Raskolnikov had not been to see him forthe last four months, and Razumihin did noteven know his address. About two months be-fore, they had met in the street, but Raskol-nikov had turned away and even crossed to theother side that he might not be observed. Andthough Razumihin noticed him, he passed himby, as he did not want to annoy him.

CHAPTER V

"Of course, I've been meaning lately to go toRazumihin's to ask for work, to ask him to getme lessons or something..." Raskolnikovthought, "but what help can he be to me now?Suppose he gets me lessons, suppose he shareshis last farthing with me, if he has any far-

things, so that I could get some boots and makemyself tidy enough to give lessons... hm... Welland what then? What shall I do with the fewcoppers I earn? That's not what I want now. It'sreally absurd for me to go to Razumihin...."

The question why he was now going to Razu-mihin agitated him even more than he washimself aware; he kept uneasily seeking forsome sinister significance in this apparentlyordinary action.

"Could I have expected to set it all straight andto find a way out by means of Razumihin alo-ne?" he asked himself in perplexity.

He pondered and rubbed his forehead, and,strange to say, after long musing, suddenly, asif it were spontaneously and by chance, a fan-tastic thought came into his head.

"Hm... to Razumihin's," he said all at once,calmly, as though he had reached a final de-

termination. "I shall go to Razumihin's ofcourse, but... not now. I shall go to him... on thenext day after It, when It will be over and eve-rything will begin afresh...."

And suddenly he realised what he was think-ing.

"After It," he shouted, jumping up from theseat, "but is It really going to happen? Is it pos-sible it really will happen?" He left the seat, andwent off almost at a run; he meant to turn back,homewards, but the thought of going homesuddenly filled him with intense loathing; inthat hole, in that awful little cupboard of his, allthis had for a month past been growing up inhim; and he walked on at random.

His nervous shudder had passed into a feverthat made him feel shivering; in spite of theheat he felt cold. With a kind of effort he beganalmost unconsciously, from some inner crav-ing, to stare at all the objects before him, as

though looking for something to distract hisattention; but he did not succeed, and keptdropping every moment into brooding. Whenwith a start he lifted his head again and lookedround, he forgot at once what he had just beenthinking about and even where he was going.In this way he walked right across VassilyevskyOstrov, came out on to the Lesser Neva, cros-sed the bridge and turned towards the islands.The greenness and freshness were at first rest-ful to his weary eyes after the dust of the townand the huge houses that hemmed him in andweighed upon him. Here there were no tav-erns, no stifling closeness, no stench. But soonthese new pleasant sensations passed into mor-bid irritability. Sometimes he stood still beforea brightly painted summer villa standingamong green foliage, he gazed through the fen-ce, he saw in the distance smartly dressed wo-men on the verandahs and balconies, and chil-dren running in the gardens. The flowers espe-cially caught his attention; he gazed at them

longer than at anything. He was met, too, byluxurious carriages and by men and women onhorseback; he watched them with curious eyesand forgot about them before they had van-ished from his sight. Once he stood still andcounted his money; he found he had thirty co-pecks. "Twenty to the policeman, three to Nas-tasya for the letter, so I must have given forty-seven or fifty to the Marmeladovs yesterday,"he thought, reckoning it up for some unknownreason, but he soon forgot with what object hehad taken the money out of his pocket. He re-called it on passing an eating-house or tavern,and felt that he was hungry.... Going into thetavern he drank a glass of vodka and ate a pieof some sort. He finished eating it as he walkedaway. It was a long while since he had takenvodka and it had an effect upon him at once,though he only drank a wineglassful. His legsfelt suddenly heavy and a great drowsinesscame upon him. He turned homewards, butreaching Petrovsky Ostrov he stopped com-

pletely exhausted, turned off the road into thebushes, sank down upon the grass and in-stantly fell asleep.

In a morbid condition of the brain, dreams of-ten have a singular actuality, vividness, andextraordinary semblance of reality. At timesmonstrous images are created, but the settingand the whole picture are so truth-like and fi-lled with details so delicate, so unexpectedly,but so artistically consistent, that the dreamer,were he an artist like Pushkin or Turgeneveven, could never have invented them in thewaking state. Such sick dreams always remainlong in the memory and make a powerful im-pression on the overwrought and derangednervous system.

Raskolnikov had a fearful dream. He dreamt hewas back in his childhood in the little town ofhis birth. He was a child about seven years old,walking into the country with his father on theevening of a holiday. It was a grey and heavy

day, the country was exactly as he rememberedit; indeed he recalled it far more vividly in hisdream than he had done in memory. The littletown stood on a level flat as bare as the hand,not even a willow near it; only in the far dis-tance, a copse lay, a dark blur on the very edgeof the horizon. A few paces beyond the lastmarket garden stood a tavern, a big tavern,which had always aroused in him a feeling ofaversion, even of fear, when he walked by itwith his father. There was always a crowdthere, always shouting, laughter and abuse,hideous hoarse singing and often fighting.Drunken and horrible-looking figures werehanging about the tavern. He used to clingclose to his father, trembling all over when hemet them. Near the tavern the road became adusty track, the dust of which was alwaysblack. It was a winding road, and about a hun-dred paces further on, it turned to the right tothe graveyard. In the middle of the graveyardstood a stone church with a green cupola where

he used to go to mass two or three times a yearwith his father and mother, when a service washeld in memory of his grandmother, who hadlong been dead, and whom he had never seen.On these occasions they used to take on a whitedish tied up in a table napkin a special sort ofrice pudding with raisins stuck in it in theshape of a cross. He loved that church, the old-fashioned, unadorned ikons and the old priestwith the shaking head. Near his grandmother'sgrave, which was marked by a stone, was thelittle grave of his younger brother who haddied at six months old. He did not rememberhim at all, but he had been told about his littlebrother, and whenever he visited the graveyardhe used religiously and reverently to cross him-self and to bow down and kiss the little grave.And now he dreamt that he was walking withhis father past the tavern on the way to thegraveyard; he was holding his father's handand looking with dread at the tavern. A pecu-liar circumstance attracted his attention: there

seemed to be some kind of festivity going on,there were crowds of gaily dressed townspeo-ple, peasant women, their husbands, and riff-raff of all sorts, all singing and all more or lessdrunk. Near the entrance of the tavern stood acart, but a strange cart. It was one of those bigcarts usually drawn by heavy cart-horses andladen with casks of wine or other heavy goods.He always liked looking at those great cart-horses, with their long manes, thick legs, andslow even pace, drawing along a perfect moun-tain with no appearance of effort, as though itwere easier going with a load than without it.But now, strange to say, in the shafts of such acart he saw a thin little sorrel beast, one of thosepeasants' nags which he had often seen strain-ing their utmost under a heavy load of wood orhay, especially when the wheels were stuck inthe mud or in a rut. And the peasants wouldbeat them so cruelly, sometimes even about thenose and eyes, and he felt so sorry, so sorry forthem that he almost cried, and his mother al-

ways used to take him away from the window.All of a sudden there was a great uproar ofshouting, singing and the balalaïka, and fromthe tavern a number of big and very drunkenpeasants came out, wearing red and blue shirtsand coats thrown over their shoulders.

"Get in, get in!" shouted one of them, a youngthick-necked peasant with a fleshy face red as acarrot. "I'll take you all, get in!"

But at once there was an outbreak of laughterand exclamations in the crowd.

"Take us all with a beast like that!"

"Why, Mikolka, are you crazy to put a nag likethat in such a cart?"

"And this mare is twenty if she is a day, mates!"

"Get in, I'll take you all," Mikolka shoutedagain, leaping first into the cart, seizing thereins and standing straight up in front. "The

bay has gone with Matvey," he shouted fromthe cart—"and this brute, mates, is just breakingmy heart, I feel as if I could kill her. She's justeating her head off. Get in, I tell you! I'll makeher gallop! She'll gallop!" and he picked up thewhip, preparing himself with relish to flog thelittle mare.

"Get in! Come along!" The crowd laughed."D'you hear, she'll gallop!"

"Gallop indeed! She has not had a gallop in herfor the last ten years!"

"She'll jog along!"

"Don't you mind her, mates, bring a whip eachof you, get ready!"

"All right! Give it to her!"

They all clambered into Mikolka's cart, laugh-ing and making jokes. Six men got in and therewas still room for more. They hauled in a fat,

rosy-cheeked woman. She was dressed in redcotton, in a pointed, beaded headdress andthick leather shoes; she was cracking nuts andlaughing. The crowd round them was laughingtoo and indeed, how could they help laughing?That wretched nag was to drag all the cartloadof them at a gallop! Two young fellows in thecart were just getting whips ready to help Mi-kolka. With the cry of "now," the mare tuggedwith all her might, but far from galloping,could scarcely move forward; she struggledwith her legs, gasping and shrinking from theblows of the three whips which were showeredupon her like hail. The laughter in the cart andin the crowd was redoubled, but Mikolka flewinto a rage and furiously thrashed the mare, asthough he supposed she really could gallop.

"Let me get in, too, mates," shouted a youngman in the crowd whose appetite was aroused.

"Get in, all get in," cried Mikolka, "she willdraw you all. I'll beat her to death!" And he

thrashed and thrashed at the mare, beside him-self with fury.

"Father, father," he cried, "father, what are theydoing? Father, they are beating the poor horse!"

"Come along, come along!" said his father."They are drunken and foolish, they are in fun;come away, don't look!" and he tried to drawhim away, but he tore himself away from hishand, and, beside himself with horror, ran tothe horse. The poor beast was in a bad way. Shewas gasping, standing still, then tugging againand almost falling.

"Beat her to death," cried Mikolka, "it's come tothat. I'll do for her!"

"What are you about, are you a Christian, youdevil?" shouted an old man in the crowd.

"Did anyone ever see the like? A wretched naglike that pulling such a cartload," said another.

"You'll kill her," shouted the third.

"Don't meddle! It's my property, I'll do what Ichoose. Get in, more of you! Get in, all of you! Iwill have her go at a gallop!..."

All at once laughter broke into a roar and cov-ered everything: the mare, roused by theshower of blows, began feebly kicking. Eventhe old man could not help smiling. To think ofa wretched little beast like that trying to kick!

Two lads in the crowd snatched up whips andran to the mare to beat her about the ribs. Oneran each side.

"Hit her in the face, in the eyes, in the eyes,"cried Mikolka.

"Give us a song, mates," shouted someone inthe cart and everyone in the cart joined in ariotous song, jingling a tambourine and whis-

tling. The woman went on cracking nuts andlaughing.

... He ran beside the mare, ran in front of her,saw her being whipped across the eyes, right inthe eyes! He was crying, he felt choking, histears were streaming. One of the men gave hima cut with the whip across the face, he did notfeel it. Wringing his hands and screaming, herushed up to the grey-headed old man with thegrey beard, who was shaking his head in dis-approval. One woman seized him by the handand would have taken him away, but he torehimself from her and ran back to the mare. Shewas almost at the last gasp, but began kickingonce more.

"I'll teach you to kick," Mikolka shouted fero-ciously. He threw down the whip, bent forwardand picked up from the bottom of the cart along, thick shaft, he took hold of one end withboth hands and with an effort brandished itover the mare.

"He'll crush her," was shouted round him."He'll kill her!"

"It's my property," shouted Mikolka andbrought the shaft down with a swinging blow.There was a sound of a heavy thud.

"Thrash her, thrash her! Why have you stop-ped?" shouted voices in the crowd.

And Mikolka swung the shaft a second timeand it fell a second time on the spine of the luc-kless mare. She sank back on her haunches, butlurched forward and tugged forward with allher force, tugged first on one side and then onthe other, trying to move the cart. But the sixwhips were attacking her in all directions, andthe shaft was raised again and fell upon her athird time, then a fourth, with heavy measuredblows. Mikolka was in a fury that he could notkill her at one blow.

"She's a tough one," was shouted in the crowd.

"She'll fall in a minute, mates, there will soon bean end of her," said an admiring spectator inthe crowd.

"Fetch an axe to her! Finish her off," shouted athird.

"I'll show you! Stand off," Mikolka screamedfrantically; he threw down the shaft, stoopeddown in the cart and picked up an iron crow-bar. "Look out," he shouted, and with all hismight he dealt a stunning blow at the poor ma-re. The blow fell; the mare staggered, sankback, tried to pull, but the bar fell again with aswinging blow on her back and she fell on theground like a log.

"Finish her off," shouted Mikolka and he leaptbeside himself, out of the cart. Several youngmen, also flushed with drink, seized anythingthey could come across—whips, sticks, poles,and ran to the dying mare. Mikolka stood onone side and began dealing random blows with

the crowbar. The mare stretched out her head,drew a long breath and died.

"You butchered her," someone shouted in thecrowd.

"Why wouldn't she gallop then?"

"My property!" shouted Mikolka, with blood-shot eyes, brandishing the bar in his hands. Hestood as though regretting that he had nothingmore to beat.

"No mistake about it, you are not a Christian,"many voices were shouting in the crowd.

But the poor boy, beside himself, made hisway, screaming, through the crowd to the sor-rel nag, put his arms round her bleeding deadhead and kissed it, kissed the eyes and kissedthe lips.... Then he jumped up and flew in afrenzy with his little fists out at Mikolka. Atthat instant his father, who had been running

after him, snatched him up and carried him outof the crowd.

"Come along, come! Let us go home," he said tohim.

"Father! Why did they... kill... the poor horse!"he sobbed, but his voice broke and the wordscame in shrieks from his panting chest.

"They are drunk.... They are brutal... it's not ourbusiness!" said his father. He put his armsround his father but he felt choked, choked. Hetried to draw a breath, to cry out—and wokeup.

He waked up, gasping for breath, his hair soa-ked with perspiration, and stood up in terror.

"Thank God, that was only a dream," he said,sitting down under a tree and drawing deepbreaths. "But what is it? Is it some fever comingon? Such a hideous dream!"

He felt utterly broken: darkness and confusionwere in his soul. He rested his elbows on hisknees and leaned his head on his hands.

"Good God!" he cried, "can it be, can it be, that Ishall really take an axe, that I shall strike her onthe head, split her skull open... that I shall treadin the sticky warm blood, break the lock, stealand tremble; hide, all spattered in the blood...with the axe.... Good God, can it be?"

He was shaking like a leaf as he said this.

"But why am I going on like this?" he contin-ued, sitting up again, as it were in profoundamazement. "I knew that I could never bringmyself to it, so what have I been torturing my-self for till now? Yesterday, yesterday, when Iwent to make that... experiment, yesterday I real-ised completely that I could never bear to doit.... Why am I going over it again, then? Whyam I hesitating? As I came down the stairs yes-terday, I said myself that it was base, loath-

some, vile, vile... the very thought of it mademe feel sick and filled me with horror.

"No, I couldn't do it, I couldn't do it! Granted,granted that there is no flaw in all that reason-ing, that all that I have concluded this lastmonth is clear as day, true as arithmetic.... MyGod! Anyway I couldn't bring myself to it! Icouldn't do it, I couldn't do it! Why, why thenam I still...?"

He rose to his feet, looked round in wonder asthough surprised at finding himself in this pla-ce, and went towards the bridge. He was pale,his eyes glowed, he was exhausted in everylimb, but he seemed suddenly to breathe moreeasily. He felt he had cast off that fearful bur-den that had so long been weighing upon him,and all at once there was a sense of relief andpeace in his soul. "Lord," he prayed, "show memy path—I renounce that accursed... dream ofmine."

Crossing the bridge, he gazed quietly and calm-ly at the Neva, at the glowing red sun setting inthe glowing sky. In spite of his weakness hewas not conscious of fatigue. It was as thoughan abscess that had been forming for a monthpast in his heart had suddenly broken. Free-dom, freedom! He was free from that spell, thatsorcery, that obsession!

Later on, when he recalled that time and allthat happened to him during those days, min-ute by minute, point by point, he was supersti-tiously impressed by one circumstance, which,though in itself not very exceptional, alwaysseemed to him afterwards the predestined turn-ing-point of his fate. He could never under-stand and explain to himself why, when he wastired and worn out, when it would have beenmore convenient for him to go home by theshortest and most direct way, he had returnedby the Hay Market where he had no need to go.It was obviously and quite unnecessarily out of

his way, though not much so. It is true that ithappened to him dozens of times to returnhome without noticing what streets he passedthrough. But why, he was always asking him-self, why had such an important, such a deci-sive and at the same time such an absolutelychance meeting happened in the Hay Market(where he had moreover no reason to go) at thevery hour, the very minute of his life when hewas just in the very mood and in the very cir-cumstances in which that meeting was able toexert the gravest and most decisive influenceon his whole destiny? As though it had beenlying in wait for him on purpose!

It was about nine o'clock when he crossed theHay Market. At the tables and the barrows, atthe booths and the shops, all the market peoplewere closing their establishments or clearingaway and packing up their wares and, like theircustomers, were going home. Rag pickers andcostermongers of all kinds were crowding

round the taverns in the dirty and stinkingcourtyards of the Hay Market. Raskolnikovparticularly liked this place and the neighbour-ing alleys, when he wandered aimlessly in thestreets. Here his rags did not attract contemp-tuous attention, and one could walk about inany attire without scandalising people. At thecorner of an alley a huckster and his wife hadtwo tables set out with tapes, thread, cottonhandkerchiefs, etc. They, too, had got up to gohome, but were lingering in conversation witha friend, who had just come up to them. Thisfriend was Lizaveta Ivanovna, or, as everyonecalled her, Lizaveta, the younger sister of theold pawnbroker, Alyona Ivanovna, whom Ras-kolnikov had visited the previous day to pawnhis watch and make his experiment.... He al-ready knew all about Lizaveta and she knewhim a little too. She was a single woman ofabout thirty-five, tall, clumsy, timid, submis-sive and almost idiotic. She was a completeslave and went in fear and trembling of her

sister, who made her work day and night, andeven beat her. She was standing with a bundlebefore the huckster and his wife, listening ear-nestly and doubtfully. They were talking ofsomething with special warmth. The momentRaskolnikov caught sight of her, he was over-come by a strange sensation as it were of in-tense astonishment, though there was nothingastonishing about this meeting.

"You could make up your mind for yourself,Lizaveta Ivanovna," the huckster was sayingaloud. "Come round to-morrow about seven.They will be here too."

"To-morrow?" said Lizaveta slowly andthoughtfully, as though unable to make up hermind.

"Upon my word, what a fright you are in ofAlyona Ivanovna," gabbled the huckster's wife,a lively little woman. "I look at you, you arelike some little babe. And she is not your own

sister either-nothing but a step-sister and whata hand she keeps over you!"

"But this time don't say a word to Alyona Iva-novna," her husband interrupted; "that's myadvice, but come round to us without asking. Itwill be worth your while. Later on your sisterherself may have a notion."

"Am I to come?"

"About seven o'clock to-morrow. And they willbe here. You will be able to decide for yourself."

"And we'll have a cup of tea," added his wife.

"All right, I'll come," said Lizaveta, still ponder-ing, and she began slowly moving away.

Raskolnikov had just passed and heard no mo-re. He passed softly, unnoticed, trying not tomiss a word. His first amazement was followedby a thrill of horror, like a shiver running downhis spine. He had learnt, he had suddenly quite

unexpectedly learnt, that the next day at seveno'clock Lizaveta, the old woman's sister andonly companion, would be away from homeand that therefore at seven o'clock precisely theold woman would be left alone.

He was only a few steps from his lodging. Hewent in like a man condemned to death. Hethought of nothing and was incapable of think-ing; but he felt suddenly in his whole being thathe had no more freedom of thought, no will,and that everything was suddenly and irrevo-cably decided.

Certainly, if he had to wait whole years for asuitable opportunity, he could not reckon on amore certain step towards the success of theplan than that which had just presented itself.In any case, it would have been difficult to findout beforehand and with certainty, with greaterexactness and less risk, and without dangerousinquiries and investigations, that next day at acertain time an old woman, on whose life an

attempt was contemplated, would be at homeand entirely alone.

CHAPTER VI

Later on Raskolnikov happened to find outwhy the huckster and his wife had invited Li-zaveta. It was a very ordinary matter and therewas nothing exceptional about it. A family whohad come to the town and been reduced to po-verty were selling their household goods andclothes, all women's things. As the thingswould have fetched little in the market, theywere looking for a dealer. This was Lizaveta'sbusiness. She undertook such jobs and wasfrequently employed, as she was very honestand always fixed a fair price and stuck to it. She

spoke as a rule little and, as we have said al-ready, she was very submissive and timid.

But Raskolnikov had become superstitious oflate. The traces of superstition remained in himlong after, and were almost ineradicable. Andin all this he was always afterwards disposed tosee something strange and mysterious, as itwere, the presence of some peculiar influencesand coincidences. In the previous winter a stu-dent he knew called Pokorev, who had left forHarkov, had chanced in conversation to givehim the address of Alyona Ivanovna, the oldpawnbroker, in case he might want to pawnanything. For a long while he did not go to her,for he had lessons and managed to get alongsomehow. Six weeks ago he had rememberedthe address; he had two articles that could bepawned: his father's old silver watch and a littlegold ring with three red stones, a present fromhis sister at parting. He decided to take thering. When he found the old woman he had felt

an insurmountable repulsion for her at the firstglance, though he knew nothing special abouther. He got two roubles from her and went intoa miserable little tavern on his way home. Heasked for tea, sat down and sank into deepthought. A strange idea was pecking at hisbrain like a chicken in the egg, and very, verymuch absorbed him.

Almost beside him at the next table there wassitting a student, whom he did not know andhad never seen, and with him a young officer.They had played a game of billiards and begandrinking tea. All at once he heard the studentmention to the officer the pawnbroker AlyonaIvanovna and give him her address. This ofitself seemed strange to Raskolnikov; he hadjust come from her and here at once he heardher name. Of course it was a chance, but hecould not shake off a very extraordinary im-pression, and here someone seemed to be spea-king expressly for him; the student began tell-

ing his friend various details about AlyonaIvanovna.

"She is first-rate," he said. "You can always getmoney from her. She is as rich as a Jew, she cangive you five thousand roubles at a time andshe is not above taking a pledge for a rouble.Lots of our fellows have had dealings with her.But she is an awful old harpy...."

And he began describing how spiteful and un-certain she was, how if you were only a daylate with your interest the pledge was lost; howshe gave a quarter of the value of an article andtook five and even seven percent a month on itand so on. The student chattered on, sayingthat she had a sister Lizaveta, whom the wret-ched little creature was continually beating,and kept in complete bondage like a smallchild, though Lizaveta was at least six feet high.

"There's a phenomenon for you," cried the stu-dent and he laughed.

They began talking about Lizaveta. The studentspoke about her with a peculiar relish and wascontinually laughing and the officer listenedwith great interest and asked him to send Li-zaveta to do some mending for him. Raskol-nikov did not miss a word and learned every-thing about her. Lizaveta was younger than theold woman and was her half-sister, being thechild of a different mother. She was thirty-five.She worked day and night for her sister, andbesides doing the cooking and the washing, shedid sewing and worked as a charwoman andgave her sister all she earned. She did not dareto accept an order or job of any kind withouther sister's permission. The old woman hadalready made her will, and Lizaveta knew of it,and by this will she would not get a farthing;nothing but the movables, chairs and so on; allthe money was left to a monastery in the prov-ince of N——, that prayers might be said forher in perpetuity. Lizaveta was of lower rankthan her sister, unmarried and awfully uncouth

in appearance, remarkably tall with long feetthat looked as if they were bent outwards. Shealways wore battered goatskin shoes, and wasclean in her person. What the student ex-pressed most surprise and amusement aboutwas the fact that Lizaveta was continually withchild.

"But you say she is hideous?" observed the offi-cer.

"Yes, she is so dark-skinned and looks like asoldier dressed up, but you know she is not atall hideous. She has such a good-natured faceand eyes. Strikingly so. And the proof of it isthat lots of people are attracted by her. She issuch a soft, gentle creature, ready to put upwith anything, always willing, willing to doanything. And her smile is really very sweet."

"You seem to find her attractive yourself,"laughed the officer.

"From her queerness. No, I'll tell you what. Icould kill that damned old woman and makeoff with her money, I assure you, without thefaintest conscience-prick," the student addedwith warmth. The officer laughed again whileRaskolnikov shuddered. How strange it was!

"Listen, I want to ask you a serious question,"the student said hotly. "I was joking of course,but look here; on one side we have a stupid,senseless, worthless, spiteful, ailing, horrid oldwoman, not simply useless but doing actualmischief, who has not an idea what she is livingfor herself, and who will die in a day or two inany case. You understand? You understand?"

"Yes, yes, I understand," answered the officer,watching his excited companion attentively.

"Well, listen then. On the other side, freshyoung lives thrown away for want of help andby thousands, on every side! A hundred thou-sand good deeds could be done and helped, on

that old woman's money which will be buriedin a monastery! Hundreds, thousands perhaps,might be set on the right path; dozens of fami-lies saved from destitution, from ruin, fromvice, from the Lock hospitals—and all with hermoney. Kill her, take her money and with thehelp of it devote oneself to the service of hu-manity and the good of all. What do you think,would not one tiny crime be wiped out bythousands of good deeds? For one life thou-sands would be saved from corruption anddecay. One death, and a hundred lives in ex-change—it's simple arithmetic! Besides, whatvalue has the life of that sickly, stupid, ill-natured old woman in the balance of existence!No more than the life of a louse, of a black-beetle, less in fact because the old woman isdoing harm. She is wearing out the lives of oth-ers; the other day she bit Lizaveta's finger outof spite; it almost had to be amputated."

"Of course she does not deserve to live," re-marked the officer, "but there it is, it's nature."

"Oh, well, brother, but we have to correct anddirect nature, and, but for that, we shoulddrown in an ocean of prejudice. But for that,there would never have been a single greatman. They talk of duty, conscience—I don'twant to say anything against duty and con-science;—but the point is, what do we mean bythem. Stay, I have another question to ask you.Listen!"

"No, you stay, I'll ask you a question. Listen!"

"Well?"

"You are talking and speechifying away, buttell me, would you kill the old woman your-self?"

"Of course not! I was only arguing the justice ofit.... It's nothing to do with me...."

"But I think, if you would not do it yourself,there's no justice about it.... Let us have anothergame."

Raskolnikov was violently agitated. Of course,it was all ordinary youthful talk and thought,such as he had often heard before in differentforms and on different themes. But why had hehappened to hear such a discussion and suchideas at the very moment when his own brainwas just conceiving... the very same ideas? Andwhy, just at the moment when he had broughtaway the embryo of his idea from the old wo-man had he dropped at once upon a conversa-tion about her? This coincidence always see-med strange to him. This trivial talk in a tavernhad an immense influence on him in his lateraction; as though there had really been in itsomething preordained, some guiding hint....

On returning from the Hay Market he flunghimself on the sofa and sat for a whole hour

without stirring. Meanwhile it got dark; he hadno candle and, indeed, it did not occur to himto light up. He could never recollect whether hehad been thinking about anything at that time.At last he was conscious of his former fever andshivering, and he realised with relief that hecould lie down on the sofa. Soon heavy, leadensleep came over him, as it were crushing him.

He slept an extraordinarily long time and with-out dreaming. Nastasya, coming into his roomat ten o'clock the next morning, had difficultyin rousing him. She brought him in tea andbread. The tea was again the second brew andagain in her own tea-pot.

"My goodness, how he sleeps!" she cried indig-nantly. "And he is always asleep."

He got up with an effort. His head ached, hestood up, took a turn in his garret and sankback on the sofa again.

"Going to sleep again," cried Nastasya. "Areyou ill, eh?"

He made no reply.

"Do you want some tea?"

"Afterwards," he said with an effort, closing hiseyes again and turning to the wall.

Nastasya stood over him.

"Perhaps he really is ill," she said, turned andwent out. She came in again at two o'clock withsoup. He was lying as before. The tea stooduntouched. Nastasya felt positively offendedand began wrathfully rousing him.

"Why are you lying like a log?" she shouted,looking at him with repulsion.

He got up, and sat down again, but said noth-ing and stared at the floor.

"Are you ill or not?" asked Nastasya and againreceived no answer. "You'd better go out andget a breath of air," she said after a pause. "Willyou eat it or not?"

"Afterwards," he said weakly. "You can go."

And he motioned her out.

She remained a little longer, looked at him withcompassion and went out.

A few minutes afterwards, he raised his eyesand looked for a long while at the tea and thesoup. Then he took the bread, took up a spoonand began to eat.

He ate a little, three or four spoonfuls, withoutappetite, as it were mechanically. His headached less. After his meal he stretched himselfon the sofa again, but now he could not sleep;he lay without stirring, with his face in the pil-low. He was haunted by day-dreams and such

strange day-dreams; in one, that kept recurring,he fancied that he was in Africa, in Egypt, insome sort of oasis. The caravan was resting, thecamels were peacefully lying down; the palmsstood all around in a complete circle; all theparty were at dinner. But he was drinking wa-ter from a spring which flowed gurgling closeby. And it was so cool, it was wonderful, won-derful, blue, cold water running among theparti-coloured stones and over the clean sandwhich glistened here and there like gold....Suddenly he heard a clock strike. He started,roused himself, raised his head, looked out ofthe window, and seeing how late it was, sud-denly jumped up wide awake as though some-one had pulled him off the sofa. He crept ontiptoe to the door, stealthily opened it and be-gan listening on the staircase. His heart beatterribly. But all was quiet on the stairs as if eve-ryone was asleep.... It seemed to him strangeand monstrous that he could have slept in suchforgetfulness from the previous day and had

done nothing, had prepared nothing yet.... Andmeanwhile perhaps it had struck six. And hisdrowsiness and stupefaction were followed byan extraordinary, feverish, as it were distractedhaste. But the preparations to be made werefew. He concentrated all his energies on think-ing of everything and forgetting nothing; andhis heart kept beating and thumping so that hecould hardly breathe. First he had to make anoose and sew it into his overcoat—a work of amoment. He rummaged under his pillow andpicked out amongst the linen stuffed away un-der it, a worn out, old unwashed shirt. From itsrags he tore a long strip, a couple of inches wi-de and about sixteen inches long. He foldedthis strip in two, took off his wide, strongsummer overcoat of some stout cotton material(his only outer garment) and began sewing thetwo ends of the rag on the inside, under the leftarmhole. His hands shook as he sewed, but hedid it successfully so that nothing showed out-side when he put the coat on again. The needle

and thread he had got ready long before andthey lay on his table in a piece of paper. As forthe noose, it was a very ingenious device of hisown; the noose was intended for the axe. It wasimpossible for him to carry the axe through thestreet in his hands. And if hidden under hiscoat he would still have had to support it withhis hand, which would have been noticeable.Now he had only to put the head of the axe inthe noose, and it would hang quietly under hisarm on the inside. Putting his hand in his coatpocket, he could hold the end of the handle allthe way, so that it did not swing; and as thecoat was very full, a regular sack in fact, itcould not be seen from outside that he washolding something with the hand that was inthe pocket. This noose, too, he had designed afortnight before.

When he had finished with this, he thrust hishand into a little opening between his sofa andthe floor, fumbled in the left corner and drew

out the pledge, which he had got ready longbefore and hidden there. This pledge was,however, only a smoothly planed piece ofwood the size and thickness of a silver cigarettecase. He picked up this piece of wood in one ofhis wanderings in a courtyard where there wassome sort of a workshop. Afterwards he hadadded to the wood a thin smooth piece of iron,which he had also picked up at the same timein the street. Putting the iron which was a littlethe smaller on the piece of wood, he fastenedthem very firmly, crossing and re-crossing thethread round them; then wrapped them care-fully and daintily in clean white paper and tiedup the parcel so that it would be very difficultto untie it. This was in order to divert the atten-tion of the old woman for a time, while she wastrying to undo the knot, and so to gain a mo-ment. The iron strip was added to give weight,so that the woman might not guess the firstminute that the "thing" was made of wood. Allthis had been stored by him beforehand under

the sofa. He had only just got the pledge outwhen he heard someone suddenly about in theyard.

"It struck six long ago."

"Long ago! My God!"

He rushed to the door, listened, caught up hishat and began to descend his thirteen stepscautiously, noiselessly, like a cat. He had stillthe most important thing to do—to steal the axefrom the kitchen. That the deed must be donewith an axe he had decided long ago. He hadalso a pocket pruning-knife, but he could notrely on the knife and still less on his ownstrength, and so resolved finally on the axe. Wemay note in passing, one peculiarity in regardto all the final resolutions taken by him in thematter; they had one strange characteristic: themore final they were, the more hideous and themore absurd they at once became in his eyes. Inspite of all his agonising inward struggle, he

never for a single instant all that time couldbelieve in the carrying out of his plans.

And, indeed, if it had ever happened that eve-rything to the least point could have been con-sidered and finally settled, and no uncertaintyof any kind had remained, he would, it seems,have renounced it all as something absurd,monstrous and impossible. But a whole mass ofunsettled points and uncertainties remained.As for getting the axe, that trifling business costhim no anxiety, for nothing could be easier.Nastasya was continually out of the house, es-pecially in the evenings; she would run in tothe neighbours or to a shop, and always left thedoor ajar. It was the one thing the landlady wasalways scolding her about. And so, when thetime came, he would only have to go quietlyinto the kitchen and to take the axe, and anhour later (when everything was over) go inand put it back again. But these were doubtfulpoints. Supposing he returned an hour later to

put it back, and Nastasya had come back andwas on the spot. He would of course have to goby and wait till she went out again. But suppos-ing she were in the meantime to miss the axe,look for it, make an outcry—that would meansuspicion or at least grounds for suspicion.

But those were all trifles which he had not evenbegun to consider, and indeed he had no time.He was thinking of the chief point, and put offtrifling details, until he could believe in it all. Butthat seemed utterly unattainable. So it seemedto himself at least. He could not imagine, forinstance, that he would sometime leave offthinking, get up and simply go there.... Evenhis late experiment (i.e. his visit with the objectof a final survey of the place) was simply anattempt at an experiment, far from being thereal thing, as though one should say "come, letus go and try it—why dream about it!"—and atonce he had broken down and had run awaycursing, in a frenzy with himself. Meanwhile it

would seem, as regards the moral question,that his analysis was complete; his casuistryhad become keen as a razor, and he could notfind rational objections in himself. But in thelast resort he simply ceased to believe in him-self, and doggedly, slavishly sought argumentsin all directions, fumbling for them, as thoughsomeone were forcing and drawing him to it.

At first—long before indeed—he had beenmuch occupied with one question; why almostall crimes are so badly concealed and so easilydetected, and why almost all criminals leavesuch obvious traces? He had come gradually tomany different and curious conclusions, and inhis opinion the chief reason lay not so much inthe material impossibility of concealing thecrime, as in the criminal himself. Almost everycriminal is subject to a failure of will and rea-soning power by a childish and phenomenalheedlessness, at the very instant when pru-dence and caution are most essential. It was his

conviction that this eclipse of reason and failureof will power attacked a man like a disease,developed gradually and reached its highestpoint just before the perpetration of the crime,continued with equal violence at the moment ofthe crime and for longer or shorter time after,according to the individual case, and then pas-sed off like any other disease. The questionwhether the disease gives rise to the crime, orwhether the crime from its own peculiar natureis always accompanied by something of thenature of disease, he did not yet feel able todecide.

When he reached these conclusions, he decidedthat in his own case there could not be such amorbid reaction, that his reason and will wouldremain unimpaired at the time of carrying outhis design, for the simple reason that his designwas "not a crime...." We will omit all the proc-ess by means of which he arrived at this lastconclusion; we have run too far ahead al-

ready.... We may add only that the practical,purely material difficulties of the affair occu-pied a secondary position in his mind. "One hasbut to keep all one's will-power and reason todeal with them, and they will all be overcomeat the time when once one has familiarised one-self with the minutest details of the business...."But this preparation had never been begun. Hisfinal decisions were what he came to trust least,and when the hour struck, it all came to passquite differently, as it were accidentally andunexpectedly.

One trifling circumstance upset his calcula-tions, before he had even left the staircase.When he reached the landlady's kitchen, thedoor of which was open as usual, he glancedcautiously in to see whether, in Nastasya's ab-sence, the landlady 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 infor the axe. But what was his amazement when

he suddenly saw that Nastasya was not only athome in the kitchen, but was occupied there,taking linen out of a basket and hanging it on aline. Seeing him, she left off hanging the clot-hes, turned to him and stared at him all thetime he was passing. He turned away his eyes,and walked past as though he noticed nothing.But it was the end of everything; he had not theaxe! He was overwhelmed.

"What made me think," he reflected, as he wentunder the gateway, "what made me think thatshe would be sure not to be at home at thatmoment! Why, why, why did I assume this socertainly?"

He was crushed and even humiliated. He couldhave laughed at himself in his anger.... A dullanimal rage boiled within him.

He stood hesitating in the gateway. To go intothe street, to go a walk for appearance' sakewas revolting; to go back to his room, even mo-

re revolting. "And what a chance I have lost forever!" he muttered, standing aimlessly in thegateway, just opposite the porter's little darkroom, which was also open. Suddenly he star-ted. From the porter's room, two paces awayfrom him, something shining under the benchto the right caught his eye.... He looked abouthim—nobody. He approached the room ontiptoe, went down two steps into it and in afaint voice called the porter. "Yes, not at home!Somewhere near though, in the yard, for thedoor is wide open." He dashed to the axe (itwas an axe) and pulled it out from under thebench, where it lay between two chunks ofwood; at once, before going out, he made it fastin the noose, he thrust both hands into his poc-kets and went out of the room; no one had no-ticed him! "When reason fails, the devil helps!"he thought with a strange grin. This chanceraised his spirits extraordinarily.

He walked along quietly and sedately, withouthurry, to avoid awakening suspicion. He scar-cely looked at the passers-by, tried to escapelooking at their faces at all, and to be as littlenoticeable as possible. Suddenly he thought ofhis hat. "Good heavens! I had the money theday before yesterday and did not get a cap towear instead!" A curse rose from the bottom ofhis soul.

Glancing out of the corner of his eye into ashop, he saw by a clock on the wall that it wasten minutes past seven. He had to make hasteand at the same time to go someway round, soas to approach the house from the other side....

When he had happened to imagine all this be-forehand, he had sometimes thought that hewould be very much afraid. But he was notvery much afraid now, was not afraid at all,indeed. His mind was even occupied by irrele-vant matters, but by nothing for long. As hepassed the Yusupov garden, he was deeply

absorbed in considering the building of greatfountains, and of their refreshing effect on theatmosphere in all the squares. By degrees hepassed to the conviction that if the summergarden were extended to the field of Mars, andperhaps joined to the garden of the Mi-hailovsky Palace, it would be a splendid thingand a great benefit to the town. Then he wasinterested by the question why in all greattowns men are not simply driven by necessity,but in some peculiar way inclined to live inthose parts of the town where there are no gar-dens nor fountains; where there is most dirtand smell and all sorts of nastiness. Then hisown walks through the Hay Market came backto his mind, and for a moment he waked up toreality. "What nonsense!" he thought, "betterthink of nothing at all!"

"So probably men led to execution clutch men-tally at every object that meets them on theway," flashed through his mind, but simply

flashed, like lightning; he made haste to dis-miss this thought.... And by now he was near;here was the house, here was the gate. Sud-denly a clock somewhere struck once. "What!can it be half-past seven? Impossible, it must befast!"

Luckily for him, everything went well again atthe gates. At that very moment, as though ex-pressly for his benefit, a huge waggon of hayhad just driven in at the gate, completely scree-ning him as he passed under the gateway, andthe waggon had scarcely had time to drivethrough into the yard, before he had slipped ina flash to the right. On the other side of thewaggon he could hear shouting and quarrel-ling; but no one noticed him and no one methim. Many windows looking into that hugequadrangular yard were open at that moment,but he did not raise his head—he had not thestrength to. The staircase leading to the old

woman's room was close by, just on the right ofthe gateway. He was already on the stairs....

Drawing a breath, pressing his hand against histhrobbing heart, and once more feeling for theaxe and setting it straight, he began softly andcautiously ascending the stairs, listening everyminute. But the stairs, too, were quite deserted;all the doors were shut; he met no one. One flatindeed on the first floor was wide open andpainters were at work in it, but they did notglance at him. He stood still, thought a minuteand went on. "Of course it would be better ifthey had not been here, but... it's two storeysabove them."

And there was the fourth storey, here was thedoor, here was the flat opposite, the empty one.The flat underneath the old woman's was ap-parently empty also; the visiting card nailed onthe door had been torn off—they had goneaway!... He was out of breath. For one instantthe thought floated through his mind "Shall I

go back?" But he made no answer and beganlistening at the old woman's door, a dead si-lence. Then he listened again on the staircase,listened long and intently... then looked abouthim for the last time, pulled himself together,drew himself up, and once more tried the axein the noose. "Am I very pale?" he wondered."Am I not evidently agitated? She is mistrust-ful.... Had I better wait a little longer... till myheart leaves off thumping?"

But his heart did not leave off. On the contrary,as though to spite him, it throbbed more andmore violently. He could stand it no longer, heslowly put out his hand to the bell and rang.Half a minute later he rang again, more loudly.

No answer. To go on ringing was useless andout of place. The old woman was, of course, athome, but she was suspicious and alone. Hehad some knowledge of her habits... and oncemore he put his ear to the door. Either his sen-ses were peculiarly keen (which it is difficult to

suppose), or the sound was really very distinct.Anyway, he suddenly heard something like thecautious touch of a hand on the lock and therustle of a skirt at the very door. Someone wasstanding stealthily close to the lock and just ashe was doing on the outside was secretly listen-ing within, and seemed to have her ear to thedoor.... He moved a little on purpose and mut-tered something aloud that he might not havethe appearance of hiding, then rang a third ti-me, but quietly, soberly, and without impa-tience, Recalling it afterwards, that momentstood out in his mind vividly, distinctly, forever; he could not make out how he had hadsuch cunning, for his mind was as it wereclouded at moments and he was almost uncon-scious of his body.... An instant later he heardthe latch unfastened.

CHAPTER VII

The door was as before opened a tiny crack,and again two sharp and suspicious eyes staredat him out of the darkness. Then Raskolnikovlost his head and nearly made a great mistake.

Fearing the old woman would be frightened bytheir being alone, and not hoping that the sightof him would disarm her suspicions, he tookhold of the door and drew it towards him toprevent the old woman from attempting toshut it again. Seeing this she did not pull thedoor back, but she did not let go the handle sothat he almost dragged her out with it on to thestairs. Seeing that she was standing in thedoorway not allowing him to pass, he ad-vanced straight upon her. She stepped back inalarm, tried to say something, but seemed un-able to speak and stared with open eyes at him.

"Good evening, Alyona Ivanovna," he began,trying to speak easily, but his voice would notobey him, it broke and shook. "I have come... Ihave brought something... but we'd better comein... to the light...."

And leaving her, he passed straight into theroom uninvited. The old woman ran after him;her tongue was unloosed.

"Good heavens! What it is? Who is it? What doyou want?"

"Why, Alyona Ivanovna, you know me... Ras-kolnikov... here, I brought you the pledge Ipromised the other day..." And he held out thepledge.

The old woman glanced for a moment at thepledge, but at once stared in the eyes of heruninvited visitor. She looked intently, mali-ciously and mistrustfully. A minute passed; heeven fancied something like a sneer in her eyes,

as though she had already guessed everything.He felt that he was losing his head, that he wasalmost frightened, so frightened that if she we-re to look like that and not say a word for an-other half minute, he thought he would haverun away from her.

"Why do you look at me as though you did notknow me?" he said suddenly, also with malice."Take it if you like, if not I'll go elsewhere, I amin a hurry."

He had not even thought of saying this, but itwas suddenly said of itself. The old womanrecovered herself, and her visitor's resolutetone evidently restored her confidence.

"But why, my good sir, all of a minute.... Whatis it?" she asked, looking at the pledge.

"The silver cigarette case; I spoke of it last time,you know."

She held out her hand.

"But how pale you are, to be sure... and yourhands are trembling too? Have you been bath-ing, or what?"

"Fever," he answered abruptly. "You can't helpgetting pale... if you've nothing to eat," he ad-ded, with difficulty articulating the words.

His strength was failing him again. But his an-swer sounded like the truth; the old womantook the pledge.

"What is it?" she asked once more, scanningRaskolnikov intently, and weighing the pledgein her hand.

"A thing... cigarette case.... Silver.... Look at it."

"It does not seem somehow like silver.... Howhe has wrapped it up!"

Trying to untie the string and turning to thewindow, to the light (all her windows wereshut, in spite of the stifling heat), she left himaltogether for some seconds and stood with herback to him. He unbuttoned his coat and freedthe axe from the noose, but did not yet take itout altogether, simply holding it in his righthand under the coat. His hands were fearfullyweak, he felt them every moment growing mo-re numb and more wooden. He was afraid hewould let the axe slip and fall.... A sudden gid-diness came over him.

"But what has he tied it up like this for?" the oldwoman cried with vexation and moved to-wards him.

He had not a minute more to lose. He pulledthe axe quite out, swung it with both arms,scarcely conscious of himself, and almost with-out effort, almost mechanically, brought theblunt side down on her head. He seemed not touse his own strength in this. But as soon as he

had once brought the axe down, his strengthreturned to him.

The old woman was as always bareheaded. Herthin, light hair, streaked with grey, thicklysmeared with grease, was plaited in a rat's tailand fastened by a broken horn comb whichstood out on the nape of her neck. As she wasso short, the blow fell on the very top of herskull. She cried out, but very faintly, and sud-denly sank all of a heap on the floor, raising herhands to her head. In one hand she still held"the pledge." Then he dealt her another andanother blow with the blunt side and on thesame spot. The blood gushed as from an over-turned glass, the body fell back. He steppedback, let it fall, and at once bent over her face;she was dead. Her eyes seemed to be startingout of their sockets, the brow and the wholeface were drawn and contorted convulsively.

He laid the axe on the ground near the deadbody and felt at once in her pocket (trying to

avoid the streaming body)—the same right-hand pocket from which she had taken the keyon his last visit. He was in full possession of hisfaculties, free from confusion or giddiness, buthis hands were still trembling. He rememberedafterwards that he had been particularly col-lected and careful, trying all the time not to getsmeared with blood.... He pulled out the keysat once, they were all, as before, in one bunchon a steel ring. He ran at once into the bedroomwith them. It was a very small room with awhole shrine of holy images. Against the otherwall stood a big bed, very clean and coveredwith a silk patchwork wadded quilt. Against athird wall was a chest of drawers. Strange tosay, so soon as he began to fit the keys into thechest, so soon as he heard their jingling, a con-vulsive shudder passed over him. He suddenlyfelt tempted again to give it all up and go away.But that was only for an instant; it was too lateto go back. He positively smiled at himself,when suddenly another terrifying idea oc-

curred to his mind. He suddenly fancied thatthe old woman might be still alive and mightrecover her senses. Leaving the keys in thechest, he ran back to the body, snatched up theaxe and lifted it once more over the old woman,but did not bring it down. There was no doubtthat she was dead. Bending down and examin-ing her again more closely, he saw clearly thatthe skull was broken and even battered in onone side. He was about to feel it with his finger,but drew back his hand and indeed it was evi-dent without that. Meanwhile there was a per-fect pool of blood. All at once he noticed astring on her neck; he tugged at it, but thestring was strong and did not snap and besides,it was soaked with blood. He tried to pull it outfrom the front of the dress, but something heldit and prevented its coming. In his impatiencehe raised the axe again to cut the string fromabove on the body, but did not dare, and withdifficulty, smearing his hand and the axe in theblood, after two minutes' hurried effort, he cut

the string and took it off without touching thebody with the axe; he was not mistaken—it wasa purse. On the string were two crosses, one ofCyprus wood and one of copper, and an imagein silver filigree, and with them a small greasychamois leather purse with a steel rim and ring.The purse was stuffed very full; Raskolnikovthrust it in his pocket without looking at it,flung the crosses on the old woman's body andrushed back into the bedroom, this time takingthe axe with him.

He was in terrible haste, he snatched the keys,and began trying them again. But he was un-successful. They would not fit in the locks. Itwas not so much that his hands were shaking,but that he kept making mistakes; though hesaw for instance that a key was not the rightone and would not fit, still he tried to put it in.Suddenly he remembered and realised that thebig key with the deep notches, which was han-ging there with the small keys could not possi-

bly belong to the chest of drawers (on his lastvisit this had struck him), but to some strongbox, and that everything perhaps was hiddenin that box. He left the chest of drawers, and atonce felt under the bedstead, knowing that oldwomen usually keep boxes under their beds.And so it was; there was a good-sized box un-der the bed, at least a yard in length, with anarched lid covered with red leather and stud-ded with steel nails. The notched key fitted atonce and unlocked it. At the top, under a whitesheet, was a coat of red brocade lined withhareskin; under it was a silk dress, then a shawland it seemed as though there was nothingbelow but clothes. The first thing he did was towipe his blood-stained hands on the red bro-cade. "It's red, and on red blood will be lessnoticeable," the thought passed through hismind; then he suddenly came to himself. "GoodGod, am I going out of my senses?" he thoughtwith terror.

But no sooner did he touch the clothes than agold watch slipped from under the fur coat. Hemade haste to turn them all over. There turnedout to be various articles made of gold amongthe clothes—probably all pledges, unredeemedor waiting to be redeemed—bracelets, chains,ear-rings, pins and such things. Some were incases, others simply wrapped in newspaper,carefully and exactly folded, and tied roundwith tape. Without any delay, he began fillingup the pockets of his trousers and overcoat wit-hout examining or undoing the parcels andcases; but he had not time to take many....

He suddenly heard steps in the room where theold woman lay. He stopped short and was stillas death. But all was quiet, so it must have beenhis fancy. All at once he heard distinctly a faintcry, as though someone had uttered a low bro-ken moan. Then again dead silence for a min-ute or two. He sat squatting on his heels by thebox and waited holding his breath. Suddenly

he jumped up, seized the axe and ran out of thebedroom.

In the middle of the room stood Lizaveta with abig bundle in her arms. She was gazing in stu-pefaction at her murdered sister, white as asheet and seeming not to have the strength tocry out. Seeing him run out of the bedroom, shebegan faintly quivering all over, like a leaf, ashudder ran down her face; she lifted her hand,opened her mouth, but still did not scream. Shebegan slowly backing away from him into thecorner, staring intently, persistently at him, butstill uttered no sound, as though she could notget breath to scream. He rushed at her with theaxe; her mouth twitched piteously, as one seesbabies' mouths, when they begin to be fright-ened, stare intently at what frightens them andare on the point of screaming. And this haplessLizaveta was so simple and had been so thor-oughly crushed and scared that she did noteven raise a hand to guard her face, though that

was the most necessary and natural action atthe moment, for the axe was raised over herface. She only put up her empty left hand, butnot to her face, slowly holding it out before heras though motioning him away. The axe fellwith the sharp edge just on the skull and splitat one blow all the top of the head. She fell hea-vily at once. Raskolnikov completely lost hishead, snatching up her bundle, dropped itagain and ran into the entry.

Fear gained more and more mastery over him,especially after this second, quite unexpectedmurder. He longed to run away from the placeas fast as possible. And if at that moment hehad been capable of seeing and reasoning morecorrectly, if he had been able to realise all thedifficulties of his position, the hopelessness, thehideousness and the absurdity of it, if he couldhave understood how many obstacles and, per-haps, crimes he had still to overcome or tocommit, to get out of that place and to make his

way home, it is very possible that he wouldhave flung up everything, and would have go-ne to give himself up, and not from fear, butfrom simple horror and loathing of what hehad done. The feeling of loathing especiallysurged up within him and grew stronger everyminute. He would not now have gone to thebox or even into the room for anything in theworld.

But a sort of blankness, even dreaminess, hadbegun by degrees to take possession of him; atmoments he forgot himself, or rather, forgotwhat was of importance, and caught at trifles.Glancing, however, into the kitchen and seeinga bucket half full of water on a bench, he be-thought him of washing his hands and the axe.His hands were sticky with blood. He droppedthe axe with the blade in the water, snatched apiece of soap that lay in a broken saucer on thewindow, and began washing his hands in thebucket. When they were clean, he took out the

axe, washed the blade and spent a long time,about three minutes, washing the wood wherethere were spots of blood rubbing them withsoap. Then he wiped it all with some linen thatwas hanging to dry on a line in the kitchen andthen he was a long while attentively examiningthe axe at the window. There was no trace lefton it, only the wood was still damp. He care-fully hung the axe in the noose under his coat.Then as far as was possible, in the dim light inthe kitchen, he looked over his overcoat, histrousers and his boots. At the first glance thereseemed to be nothing but stains on the boots.He wetted the rag and rubbed the boots. But heknew he was not looking thoroughly, that theremight be something quite noticeable that hewas overlooking. He stood in the middle of theroom, lost in thought. Dark agonising ideasrose in his mind—the idea that he was mad andthat at that moment he was incapable of rea-soning, of protecting himself, that he oughtperhaps to be doing something utterly different

from what he was now doing. "Good God!" hemuttered "I must fly, fly," and he rushed intothe entry. But here a shock of terror awaitedhim such as he had never known before.

He stood and gazed and could not believe hiseyes: the door, the outer door from the stairs, atwhich he had not long before waited and rung,was standing unfastened and at least six inchesopen. No lock, no bolt, all the time, all that ti-me! The old woman had not shut it after himperhaps as a precaution. But, good God! Why,he had seen Lizaveta afterwards! And howcould he, how could he have failed to reflectthat she must have come in somehow! Shecould not have come through the wall!

He dashed to the door and fastened the latch.

"But no, the wrong thing again! I must getaway, get away...."

He unfastened the latch, opened the door andbegan listening on the staircase.

He listened a long time. Somewhere far away, itmight be in the gateway, two voices were loud-ly and shrilly shouting, quarrelling and scold-ing. "What are they about?" He waited pa-tiently. At last all was still, as though suddenlycut off; they had separated. He was meaning togo out, but suddenly, on the floor below, a doorwas noisily opened and someone began goingdownstairs humming a tune. "How is it they allmake such a noise?" flashed through his mind.Once more he closed the door and waited. Atlast all was still, not a soul stirring. He was justtaking a step towards the stairs when he heardfresh footsteps.

The steps sounded very far off, at the very bot-tom of the stairs, but he remembered quiteclearly and distinctly that from the first soundhe began for some reason to suspect that thiswas someone coming there, to the fourth floor,

to the old woman. Why? Were the sounds so-mehow peculiar, significant? The steps wereheavy, even and unhurried. Now he had passedthe first floor, now he was mounting higher, itwas growing more and more distinct! He couldhear his heavy breathing. And now the thirdstorey had been reached. Coming here! And itseemed to him all at once that he was turned tostone, that it was like a dream in which one isbeing pursued, nearly caught and will be ki-lled, and is rooted to the spot and cannot evenmove one's arms.

At last when the unknown was mounting to thefourth floor, he suddenly started, and suc-ceeded in slipping neatly and quickly back intothe flat and closing the door behind him. Thenhe took the hook and softly, noiselessly, fixed itin the catch. Instinct helped him. When he haddone this, he crouched holding his breath, bythe door. The unknown visitor was by now alsoat the door. They were now standing opposite

one another, as he had just before been stand-ing with the old woman, when the door di-vided them and he was listening.

The visitor panted several times. "He must be abig, fat man," thought Raskolnikov, squeezingthe axe in his hand. It seemed like a dream in-deed. The visitor took hold of the bell and rangit loudly.

As soon as the tin bell tinkled, Raskolnikovseemed to be aware of something moving inthe room. For some seconds he listened quiteseriously. The unknown rang again, waited andsuddenly tugged violently and impatiently atthe handle of the door. Raskolnikov gazed inhorror at the hook shaking in its fastening, andin blank terror expected every minute that thefastening would be pulled out. It certainly didseem possible, so violently was he shaking it.He was tempted to hold the fastening, but hemight be aware of it. A giddiness came overhim again. "I shall fall down!" flashed through

his mind, but the unknown began to speak andhe recovered himself at once.

"What's up? Are they asleep or murdered? D-damn them!" he bawled in a thick voice, "Hey,Alyona Ivanovna, old witch! Lizaveta Ivanov-na, hey, my beauty! open the door! Oh, damnthem! Are they asleep or what?"

And again, enraged, he tugged with all hismight a dozen times at the bell. He must cer-tainly be a man of authority and an intimateacquaintance.

At this moment light hurried steps were heardnot far off, on the stairs. Someone else was ap-proaching. Raskolnikov had not heard them atfirst.

"You don't say there's no one at home," thenew-comer cried in a cheerful, ringing voice,addressing the first visitor, who still went onpulling the bell. "Good evening, Koch."

"From his voice he must be quite young,"thought Raskolnikov.

"Who the devil can tell? I've almost broken thelock," answered Koch. "But how do you cometo know me?

"Why! The day before yesterday I beat youthree times running at billiards at Gambrinus'."

"Oh!"

"So they are not at home? That's queer. It's aw-fully stupid though. Where could the old wo-man have gone? I've come on business."

"Yes; and I have business with her, too."

"Well, what can we do? Go back, I suppose,Aie—aie! And I was hoping to get some mo-ney!" cried the young man.

"We must give it up, of course, but what didshe fix this time for? The old witch fixed the

time for me to come herself. It's out of my way.And where the devil she can have got to, I can'tmake out. She sits here from year's end toyear's end, the old hag; her legs are bad and yethere all of a sudden she is out for a walk!"

"Hadn't we better ask the porter?"

"What?"

"Where she's gone and when she'll be back."

"Hm.... Damn it all!... We might ask.... But youknow she never does go anywhere."

And he once more tugged at the door-handle.

"Damn it all. There's nothing to be done, wemust go!"

"Stay!" cried the young man suddenly. "Do yousee how the door shakes if you pull it?"

"Well?"

"That shows it's not locked, but fastened withthe hook! Do you hear how the hook clanks?"

"Well?"

"Why, don't you see? That proves that one ofthem is at home. If they were all out, theywould have locked the door from the outsidewith 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 athome, don't you see. So there they are sittinginside and don't open the door!"

"Well! And so they must be!" cried Koch, aston-ished. "What are they about in there?" And hebegan furiously shaking the door.

"Stay!" cried the young man again. "Don't pullat it! There must be something wrong.... Here,you've been ringing and pulling at the doorand still they don't open! So either they've bothfainted or..."

"What?"

"I tell you what. Let's go fetch the porter, lethim wake them up."

"All right."

Both were going down.

"Stay. You stop here while I run down for theporter."

"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 youngman cried hotly, and he ran downstairs.

Koch remained. Once more he softly touchedthe bell which gave one tinkle, then gently, as

though reflecting and looking about him, begantouching the door-handle pulling it and lettingit go to make sure once more that it was onlyfastened by the hook. Then puffing and pantinghe bent down and began looking at the key-hole: but the key was in the lock on the insideand so nothing could be seen.

Raskolnikov stood keeping tight hold of theaxe. He was in a sort of delirium. He was evenmaking ready to fight when they should comein. While they were knocking and talking to-gether, the idea several times occurred to himto end it all at once and shout to them throughthe door. Now and then he was tempted toswear at them, to jeer at them, while they couldnot open the door! "Only make haste!" was thethought that flashed through his mind.

"But what the devil is he about?..." Time waspassing, one minute, and another—no one ca-me. Koch began to be restless.

"What the devil?" he cried suddenly and in im-patience deserting his sentry duty, he, too,went down, hurrying and thumping with hisheavy boots on the stairs. The steps died away.

"Good heavens! What am I to do?"

Raskolnikov unfastened the hook, opened thedoor—there was no sound. Abruptly, withoutany thought at all, he went out, closing thedoor as thoroughly as he could, and wentdownstairs.

He had gone down three flights when he sud-denly heard a loud voice below—where couldhe go! There was nowhere to hide. He was justgoing 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, bawl-ing at the top of his voice.

"Mitka! Mitka! Mitka! Mitka! Mitka! Blast him!"

The shout ended in a shriek; the last soundscame from the yard; all was still. But at the sa-me instant several men talking loud and fastbegan noisily mounting the stairs. There werethree or four of them. He distinguished the rin-ging voice of the young man. "They!"

Filled with despair he went straight to meetthem, feeling "come what must!" If they stop-ped him—all was lost; if they let him pass—allwas lost too; they would remember him. Theywere approaching; they were only a flight fromhim—and suddenly deliverance! A few stepsfrom him on the right, there was an empty flatwith the door wide open, the flat on the secondfloor where the painters had been at work, andwhich, as though for his benefit, they had justleft. It was they, no doubt, who had just rundown, shouting. The floor had only just beenpainted, in the middle of the room stood a pailand a broken pot with paint and brushes. In

one instant he had whisked in at the open doorand hidden behind the wall and only in thenick of time; they had already reached the land-ing. Then they turned and went on up to thefourth floor, talking loudly. He waited, wentout on tiptoe and ran down the stairs.

No one was on the stairs, nor in the gateway.He passed quickly through the gateway andturned to the left in the street.

He knew, he knew perfectly well that at thatmoment they were at the flat, that they weregreatly astonished at finding it unlocked, as thedoor had just been fastened, that by now theywere looking at the bodies, that before anotherminute had passed they would guess and com-pletely realise that the murderer had just beenthere, and had succeeded in hiding somewhere,slipping by them and escaping. They wouldguess most likely that he had been in the emptyflat, while they were going upstairs. Andmeanwhile he dared not quicken his pace

much, though the next turning was still nearlya hundred yards away. "Should he slip throughsome gateway and wait somewhere in an un-known street? No, hopeless! Should he flingaway the axe? Should he take a cab? Hopeless,hopeless!"

At last he reached the turning. He turned downit more dead than alive. Here he was half wayto safety, and he understood it; it was less riskybecause there was a great crowd of people, andhe was lost in it like a grain of sand. But all hehad suffered had so weakened him that hecould scarcely move. Perspiration ran downhim in drops, his neck was all wet. "My word,he has been going it!" someone shouted at himwhen he came out on the canal bank.

He was only dimly conscious of himself now,and the farther he went the worse it was. Heremembered however, that on coming out on tothe canal bank, he was alarmed at finding fewpeople there and so being more conspicuous,

and he had thought of turning back. Though hewas almost falling from fatigue, he went a longway round so as to get home from quite a dif-ferent direction.

He was not fully conscious when he passedthrough the gateway of his house! he was al-ready on the staircase before he recollected theaxe. And yet he had a very grave problem befo-re him, to put it back and to escape observationas far as possible in doing so. He was of courseincapable of reflecting that it might perhaps befar better not to restore the axe at all, but todrop it later on in somebody's yard. But it allhappened fortunately, the door of the porter'sroom was closed but not locked, so that it see-med most likely that the porter was at home.But he had so completely lost all power of re-flection that he walked straight to the door andopened it. If the porter had asked him, "Whatdo you want?" he would perhaps have simplyhanded him the axe. But again the porter was

not at home, and he succeeded in putting theaxe back under the bench, and even covering itwith the chunk of wood as before. He met noone, not a soul, afterwards on the way to hisroom; the landlady's door was shut. When hewas in his room, he flung himself on the sofajust as he was—he did not sleep, but sank intoblank forgetfulness. If anyone had come intohis room then, he would have jumped up atonce and screamed. Scraps and shreds ofthoughts were simply swarming in his brain,but he could not catch at one, he could not reston one, in spite of all his efforts....

PART II

CHAPTER I

So he lay a very long while. Now and then heseemed to wake up, and at such moments henoticed that it was far into the night, but it didnot occur to him to get up. At last he noticedthat it was beginning to get light. He was lyingon his back, still dazed from his recent oblivion.Fearful, despairing cries rose shrilly from thestreet, sounds which he heard every night, in-deed, under his window after two o'clock. Theywoke him up now.

"Ah! the drunken men are coming out of thetaverns," he thought, "it's past two o'clock," and

at once he leaped up, as though someone hadpulled him from the sofa.

"What! Past two o'clock!"

He sat down on the sofa—and instantly reco-llected everything! All at once, in one flash, herecollected everything.

For the first moment he thought he was goingmad. A dreadful chill came over him; but thechill was from the fever that had begun longbefore in his sleep. Now he was suddenly takenwith violent shivering, so that his teeth chatte-red and all his limbs were shaking. He openedthe door and began listening—everything inthe house was asleep. With amazement he ga-zed at himself and everything in the roomaround him, wondering how he could havecome in the night before without fastening thedoor, and have flung himself on the sofa wit-hout undressing, without even taking his hat

off. It had fallen off and was lying on the floornear his pillow.

"If anyone had come in, what would he havethought? That I'm drunk but..."

He rushed to the window. There was lightenough, and he began hurriedly looking him-self all over from head to foot, all his clothes;were there no traces? But there was no doing itlike that; shivering with cold, he began takingoff everything and looking over again. He tur-ned everything over to the last threads andrags, and mistrusting himself, went through hissearch three times.

But there seemed to be nothing, no trace, exceptin one place, where some thick drops of con-gealed blood were clinging to the frayed edgeof his trousers. He picked up a big claspknifeand cut off the frayed threads. There seemed tobe nothing more.

Suddenly he remembered that the purse andthe things he had taken out of the old woman'sbox were still in his pockets! He had notthought till then of taking them out and hidingthem! He had not even thought of them whilehe was examining his clothes! What next? Ins-tantly he rushed to take them out and flingthem on the table. When he had pulled out eve-rything, and turned the pocket inside out to besure there was nothing left, he carried the who-le heap to the corner. The paper had come offthe bottom of the wall and hung there in tatters.He began stuffing all the things into the holeunder 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 whichbulged out more than ever. Suddenly he shud-dered all over with horror; "My God!" he whis-pered in despair: "what's the matter with me? Isthat hidden? Is that the way to hide things?"

He had not reckoned on having trinkets tohide. He had only thought of money, and sohad not prepared a hiding-place.

"But now, now, what am I glad of?" he thought,"Is that hiding things? My reason's desertingme—simply!"

He sat down on the sofa in exhaustion and wasat once shaken by another unbearable fit ofshivering. Mechanically he drew from a chairbeside him his old student's winter coat, whichwas still warm though almost in rags, coveredhimself up with it and once more sank intodrowsiness and delirium. He lost conscious-ness.

Not more than five minutes had passed whenhe jumped up a second time, and at once poun-ced in a frenzy on his clothes again.

"How could I go to sleep again with nothingdone? Yes, yes; I have not taken the loop off the

armhole! I forgot it, forgot a thing like that!Such a piece of evidence!"

He pulled off the noose, hurriedly cut it to pie-ces and threw the bits among his linen underthe pillow.

"Pieces of torn linen couldn't rouse suspicion,whatever happened; I think not, I think not,any way!" he repeated, standing in the middleof the room, and with painful concentration hefell to gazing about him again, at the floor andeverywhere, trying to make sure he had notforgotten anything. The conviction that all hisfaculties, even memory, and the simplest po-wer of reflection were failing him, began to bean insufferable torture.

"Surely it isn't beginning already! Surely it isn'tmy punishment coming upon me? It is!"

The frayed rags he had cut off his trousers wereactually lying on the floor in the middle of the

room, where anyone coming in would seethem!

"What is the matter with me!" he cried again,like one distraught.

Then a strange idea entered his head; that, per-haps, all his clothes were covered with blood,that, perhaps, there were a great many stains,but that he did not see them, did not noticethem because his perceptions were failing, weregoing to pieces... his reason was clouded....Suddenly he remembered that there had beenblood on the purse too. "Ah! Then there mustbe blood on the pocket too, for I put the wetpurse in my pocket!"

In a flash he had turned the pocket inside outand, yes!—there were traces, stains on the li-ning of the pocket!

"So my reason has not quite deserted me, so Istill have some sense and memory, since I gues-

sed it of myself," he thought triumphantly, witha deep sigh of relief; "it's simply the weaknessof fever, a moment's delirium," and he tore thewhole lining out of the left pocket of his trou-sers. At that instant the sunlight fell on his leftboot; on the sock which poked out from theboot, he fancied there were traces! He flung offhis boots; "traces indeed! The tip of the sockwas soaked with blood;" he must have unwari-ly stepped into that pool.... "But what am I todo with this now? Where am I to put the sockand rags and pocket?"

He gathered them all up in his hands and stoodin the middle of the room.

"In the stove? But they would ransack the stovefirst of all. Burn them? But what can I burnthem with? There are no matches even. No,better go out and throw it all away somewhere.Yes, better throw it away," he repeated, sittingdown on the sofa again, "and at once, this mi-nute, without lingering..."

But his head sank on the pillow instead. Againthe unbearable icy shivering came over him;again he drew his coat over him.

And for a long while, for some hours, he washaunted by the impulse to "go off somewhereat once, this moment, and fling it all away, sothat it may be out of sight and done with, atonce, at once!" Several times he tried to risefrom the sofa, but could not.

He was thoroughly waked up at last by a vio-lent knocking at his door.

"Open, do, are you dead or alive? He keepssleeping here!" shouted Nastasya, banging withher fist on the door. "For whole days togetherhe's snoring here like a dog! A dog he is too.Open I tell you. It's past ten."

"Maybe he's not at home," said a man's voice.

"Ha! that's the porter's voice.... What does hewant?"

He jumped up and sat on the sofa. The beatingof his heart was a positive pain.

"Then who can have latched the door?" retortedNastasya. "He's taken to bolting himself in! Asif he were worth stealing! Open, you stupid,wake up!"

"What do they want? Why the porter? All'sdiscovered. Resist or open? Come what may!..."

He half rose, stooped forward and unlatchedthe door.

His room was so small that he could undo thelatch without leaving the bed. Yes; the porterand Nastasya were standing there.

Nastasya stared at him in a strange way. Heglanced with a defiant and desperate air at the

porter, who without a word held out a greyfolded paper sealed with bottle-wax.

"A notice from the office," he announced, as hegave him the paper.

"From what office?"

"A summons to the police office, of course. Youknow which office."

"To the police?... What for?..."

"How can I tell? You're sent for, so you go."

The man looked at him attentively, lookedround the room and turned to go away.

"He's downright ill!" observed Nastasya, nottaking her eyes off him. The porter turned hishead for a moment. "He's been in a fever sinceyesterday," she added.

Raskolnikov made no response and held thepaper in his hands, without opening it. "Don'tyou get up then," Nastasya went on compas-sionately, seeing that he was letting his feetdown from the sofa. "You're ill, and so don't go;there's no such hurry. What have you got the-re?"

He looked; in his right hand he held the shredshe had cut from his trousers, the sock, and therags of the pocket. So he had been asleep withthem in his hand. Afterwards reflecting upon it,he remembered that half waking up in his fe-ver, he had grasped all this tightly in his handand so fallen asleep again.

"Look at the rags he's collected and sleeps withthem, as though he has got hold of a treasure..."

And Nastasya went off into her hysterical gig-gle.

Instantly he thrust them all under his great coatand fixed his eyes intently upon her. Far as hewas from being capable of rational reflection atthat moment, he felt that no one would behavelike that with a person who was going to bearrested. "But... the police?"

"You'd better have some tea! Yes? I'll bring it,there's some left."

"No... I'm going; I'll go at once," he muttered,getting on to his feet.

"Why, you'll never get downstairs!"

"Yes, I'll go."

"As you please."

She followed the porter out.

At once he rushed to the light to examine thesock and the rags.

"There are stains, but not very noticeable; allcovered with dirt, and rubbed and already dis-coloured. No one who had no suspicion coulddistinguish anything. Nastasya from a distancecould not have noticed, thank God!" Then witha tremor he broke the seal of the notice andbegan reading; he was a long while reading,before he understood. It was an ordinary sum-mons from the district police-station to appearthat day at half-past nine at the office of thedistrict superintendent.

"But when has such a thing happened? I neverhave anything to do with the police! And whyjust to-day?" he thought in agonising bewil-derment. "Good God, only get it over soon!"

He was flinging himself on his knees to pray,but broke into laughter—not at the idea of pra-yer, but at himself.

He began, hurriedly dressing. "If I'm lost, I amlost, I don't care! Shall I put the sock on?" he

suddenly wondered, "it will get dustier stilland the traces will be gone."

But no sooner had he put it on than he pulled itoff again in loathing and horror. He pulled itoff, but reflecting that he had no other socks, hepicked it up and put it on again—and again helaughed.

"That's all conventional, that's all relative, mere-ly a way of looking at it," he thought in a flash,but only on the top surface of his mind, whilehe was shuddering all over, "there, I've got iton! I have finished by getting it on!"

But his laughter was quickly followed by des-pair.

"No, it's too much for me..." he thought. Hislegs shook. "From fear," he muttered. His headswam and ached with fever. "It's a trick! Theywant to decoy me there and confound me overeverything," he mused, as he went out on to the

stairs—"the worst of it is I'm almost light-headed... I may blurt out something stupid..."

On the stairs he remembered that he was lea-ving all the things just as they were in the holein the wall, "and very likely, it's on purpose tosearch when I'm out," he thought, and stoppedshort. But he was possessed by such despair,such cynicism of misery, if one may so call it,that with a wave of his hand he went on. "Onlyto get it over!"

In the street the heat was insufferable again; nota drop of rain had fallen all those days. Againdust, bricks and mortar, again the stench fromthe shops and pot-houses, again the drunkenmen, the Finnish pedlars and half-broken-down cabs. The sun shone straight in his eyes,so that it hurt him to look out of them, and hefelt his head going round—as a man in a feveris apt to feel when he comes out into the streeton a bright sunny day.

When he reached the turning into the street, inan agony of trepidation he looked down it... atthe house... and at once averted his eyes.

"If they question me, perhaps I'll simply tell,"he thought, as he drew near the police-station.

The police-station was about a quarter of a mileoff. It had lately been moved to new rooms onthe fourth floor of a new house. He had beenonce for a moment in the old office but longago. Turning in at the gateway, he saw on theright a flight of stairs which a peasant wasmounting with a book in his hand. "A house-porter, no doubt; so then, the office is here,"and he began ascending the stairs on the chan-ce. He did not want to ask questions of anyone.

"I'll go in, fall on my knees, and confess everyt-hing..." he thought, as he reached the fourthfloor.

The staircase was steep, narrow and all sloppywith dirty water. The kitchens of the flats ope-ned on to the stairs and stood open almost thewhole day. So there was a fearful smell andheat. The staircase was crowded with portersgoing up and down with their books undertheir arms, policemen, and persons of all sortsand both sexes. The door of the office, too,stood wide open. Peasants stood waiting wit-hin. There, too, the heat was stifling and therewas a sickening smell of fresh paint and staleoil from the newly decorated rooms.

After waiting a little, he decided to move for-ward into the next room. All the rooms weresmall and low-pitched. A fearful impatiencedrew him on and on. No one paid attention tohim. In the second room some clerks sat wri-ting, dressed hardly better than he was, andrather a queer-looking set. He went up to oneof them.

"What is it?"

He showed the notice he had received.

"You are a student?" the man asked, glancing atthe notice.

"Yes, formerly a student."

The clerk looked at him, but without the sligh-test interest. He was a particularly unkemptperson with the look of a fixed idea in his eye.

"There would be no getting anything out ofhim, because he has no interest in anything,"thought Raskolnikov.

"Go in there to the head clerk," said the clerk,pointing towards the furthest room.

He went into that room—the fourth in order; itwas a small room and packed full of people,rather better dressed than in the outer rooms.Among them were two ladies. One, poorlydressed in mourning, sat at the table oppositethe chief clerk, writing something at his dicta-

tion. The other, a very stout, buxom womanwith a purplish-red, blotchy face, excessivelysmartly dressed with a brooch on her bosom asbig as a saucer, was standing on one side, appa-rently waiting for something. Raskolnikovthrust his notice upon the head clerk. The latterglanced at it, said: "Wait a minute," and wenton attending to the lady in mourning.

He breathed more freely. "It can't be that!"

By degrees he began to regain confidence, hekept urging himself to have courage and becalm.

"Some foolishness, some trifling carelessness,and I may betray myself! Hm... it's a pity there'sno air here," he added, "it's stifling.... It makesone's head dizzier than ever... and one's mindtoo..."

He was conscious of a terrible inner turmoil. Hewas afraid of losing his self-control; he tried to

catch at something and fix his mind on it, so-mething quite irrelevant, but he could not suc-ceed in this at all. Yet the head clerk greatlyinterested him, he kept hoping to see throughhim and guess something from his face.

He was a very young man, about two andtwenty, with a dark mobile face that lookedolder than his years. He was fashionably dres-sed and foppish, with his hair parted in themiddle, well combed and pomaded, and worea number of rings on his well-scrubbed fingersand a gold chain on his waistcoat. He said acouple of words in French to a foreigner whowas in the room, and said them fairly correctly.

"Luise Ivanovna, you can sit down," he saidcasually to the gaily-dressed, purple-faced la-dy, who was still standing as though not ventu-ring to sit down, though there was a chair besi-de her.

"Ich danke," said the latter, and softly, with arustle of silk she sank into the chair. Her lightblue dress trimmed with white lace floatedabout the table like an air-balloon and filledalmost half the room. She smelt of scent. Butshe was obviously embarrassed at filling halfthe room and smelling so strongly of scent; andthough her smile was impudent as well as crin-ging, it betrayed evident uneasiness.

The lady in mourning had done at last, and gotup. All at once, with some noise, an officerwalked in very jauntily, with a peculiar swingof his shoulders at each step. He tossed his coc-kaded cap on the table and sat down in an ea-sy-chair. The small lady positively skippedfrom her seat on seeing him, and fell to curts-ying in a sort of ecstasy; but the officer took notthe smallest notice of her, and she did not ven-ture to sit down again in his presence. He wasthe assistant superintendent. He had a reddishmoustache that stood out horizontally on each

side of his face, and extremely small features,expressive of nothing much except a certaininsolence. He looked askance and rather indig-nantly at Raskolnikov; he was so very badlydressed, and in spite of his humiliating posi-tion, his bearing was by no means in keepingwith his clothes. Raskolnikov had unwarilyfixed a very long and direct look on him, sothat he felt positively affronted.

"What do you want?" he shouted, apparentlyastonished that such a ragged fellow was notannihilated by the majesty of his glance.

"I was summoned... by a notice..." Raskolnikovfaltered.

"For the recovery of money due, from the stu-dent," the head clerk interfered hurriedly, tea-ring himself from his papers. "Here!" and heflung Raskolnikov a document and pointed outthe place. "Read that!"

"Money? What money?" thought Raskolnikov,"but... then... it's certainly not that."

And he trembled with joy. He felt sudden in-tense indescribable relief. A load was liftedfrom his back.

"And pray, what time were you directed toappear, sir?" shouted the assistant superinten-dent, seeming for some unknown reason moreand more aggrieved. "You are told to come atnine, and now it's twelve!"

"The notice was only brought me a quarter ofan hour ago," Raskolnikov answered loudlyover his shoulder. To his own surprise he, too,grew suddenly angry and found a certain plea-sure in it. "And it's enough that I have comehere ill with fever."

"Kindly refrain from shouting!"

"I'm not shouting, I'm speaking very quietly, it'syou who are shouting at me. I'm a student, andallow no one to shout at me."

The assistant superintendent was so furiousthat for the first minute he could only splutterinarticulately. He leaped up from his seat.

"Be silent! You are in a government office.Don't be impudent, sir!"

"You're in a government office, too," cried Ras-kolnikov, "and you're smoking a cigarette aswell as shouting, so you are showing disrespectto all of us."

He felt an indescribable satisfaction at havingsaid this.

The head clerk looked at him with a smile. Theangry assistant superintendent was obviouslydisconcerted.

"That's not your business!" he shouted at lastwith unnatural loudness. "Kindly make thedeclaration demanded of you. Show him.Alexandr Grigorievitch. There is a complaintagainst you! You don't pay your debts! You're afine bird!"

But Raskolnikov was not listening now; he hadeagerly clutched at the paper, in haste to findan explanation. He read it once, and a secondtime, and still did not understand.

"What is this?" he asked the head clerk.

"It is for the recovery of money on an I O U, awrit. You must either pay it, with all expenses,costs and so on, or give a written declarationwhen you can pay it, and at the same time anundertaking not to leave the capital withoutpayment, and nor to sell or conceal your pro-perty. The creditor is at liberty to sell your pro-perty, and proceed against you according to thelaw."

"But I... am not in debt to anyone!"

"That's not our business. Here, an I O U for ahundred and fifteen roubles, legally attested,and due for payment, has been brought us forrecovery, given by you to the widow of theassessor Zarnitsyn, nine months ago, and paidover by the widow Zarnitsyn to one Mr. Tche-barov. We therefore summon you, hereupon."

"But she is my landlady!"

"And what if she is your landlady?"

The head clerk looked at him with a condes-cending smile of compassion, and at the sametime with a certain triumph, as at a novice un-der fire for the first time—as though he wouldsay: "Well, how do you feel now?" But what didhe care now for an I O U, for a writ of recovery!Was that worth worrying about now, was itworth attention even! He stood, he read, helistened, he answered, he even asked questions

himself, but all mechanically. The triumphantsense of security, of deliverance from overw-helming danger, that was what filled his wholesoul that moment without thought for the futu-re, without analysis, without suppositions orsurmises, without doubts and without questio-ning. It was an instant of full, direct, purelyinstinctive joy. But at that very moment somet-hing like a thunderstorm took place in the offi-ce. The assistant superintendent, still shaken byRaskolnikov's disrespect, still fuming and ob-viously anxious to keep up his wounded digni-ty, pounced on the unfortunate smart lady,who had been gazing at him ever since he camein with an exceedingly silly smile.

"You shameful hussy!" he shouted suddenly atthe top of his voice. (The lady in mourning hadleft the office.) "What was going on at yourhouse last night? Eh! A disgrace again, you're ascandal to the whole street. Fighting and drin-king again. Do you want the house of correc-

tion? Why, I have warned you ten times overthat I would not let you off the eleventh! Andhere you are again, again, you... you...!"

The paper fell out of Raskolnikov's hands, andhe looked wildly at the smart lady who was sounceremoniously treated. But he soon sawwhat it meant, and at once began to find positi-ve amusement in the scandal. He listened withpleasure, so that he longed to laugh andlaugh... all his nerves were on edge.

"Ilya Petrovitch!" the head clerk was beginninganxiously, but stopped short, for he knew fromexperience that the enraged assistant could notbe stopped except by force.

As for the smart lady, at first she positivelytrembled before the storm. But, strange to say,the more numerous and violent the terms ofabuse became, the more amiable she looked,and the more seductive the smiles she lavishedon the terrible assistant. She moved uneasily,

and curtsied incessantly, waiting impatientlyfor a chance of putting in her word: and at lastshe found it.

"There was no sort of noise or fighting in myhouse, Mr. Captain," she pattered all at once,like peas dropping, speaking Russian confiden-tly, though with a strong German accent, "andno sort of scandal, and his honour came drunk,and it's the whole truth I am telling, Mr. Cap-tain, and I am not to blame.... Mine is an honou-rable house, Mr. Captain, and honourable be-haviour, Mr. Captain, and I always, alwaysdislike any scandal myself. But he came quitetipsy, and asked for three bottles again, andthen he lifted up one leg, and began playing thepianoforte with one foot, and that is not at allright in an honourable house, and he ganz bro-ke the piano, and it was very bad manners in-deed and I said so. And he took up a bottle andbegan hitting everyone with it. And then I ca-lled the porter, and Karl came, and he took Karl

and hit him in the eye; and he hit Henriette inthe eye, too, and gave me five slaps on thecheek. And it was so ungentlemanly in anhonourable house, Mr. Captain, and I screa-med. And he opened the window over the ca-nal, and stood in the window, squealing like alittle pig; it was a disgrace. The idea of squea-ling like a little pig at the window into thestreet! Fie upon him! And Karl pulled himaway from the window by his coat, and it istrue, Mr. Captain, he tore sein rock. And then heshouted that man muss pay him fifteen roublesdamages. And I did pay him, Mr. Captain, fiveroubles for sein rock. And he is an ungentleman-ly visitor and caused all the scandal. 'I willshow you up,' he said, 'for I can write to all thepapers about you.'"

"Then he was an author?"

"Yes, Mr. Captain, and what an ungentlemanlyvisitor in an honourable house...."

"Now then! Enough! I have told you already..."

"Ilya Petrovitch!" the head clerk repeated signi-ficantly.

The assistant glanced rapidly at him; the headclerk slightly shook his head.

"... So I tell you this, most respectable LuiseIvanovna, and I tell it you for the last time," theassistant went on. "If there is a scandal in yourhonourable house once again, I will put youyourself in the lock-up, as it is called in politesociety. Do you hear? So a literary man, an aut-hor took five roubles for his coat-tail in an 'ho-nourable house'? A nice set, these authors!"

And he cast a contemptuous glance at Raskol-nikov. "There was a scandal the other day in arestaurant, too. An author had eaten his dinnerand would not pay; 'I'll write a satire on you,'says he. And there was another of them on asteamer last week used the most disgraceful

language to the respectable family of a civilcouncillor, his wife and daughter. And therewas one of them turned out of a confectioner'sshop the other day. They are like that, authors,literary men, students, town-criers.... Pfoo! Youget along! I shall look in upon you myself oneday. Then you had better be careful! Do youhear?"

With hurried deference, Luise Ivanovna fell tocurtsying in all directions, and so curtsied her-self to the door. But at the door, she stumbledbackwards against a good-looking officer witha fresh, open face and splendid thick fair whis-kers. This was the superintendent of the districthimself, Nikodim Fomitch. Luise Ivanovnamade haste to curtsy almost to the ground, andwith mincing little steps, she fluttered out ofthe office.

"Again thunder and lightning—a hurricane!"said Nikodim Fomitch to Ilya Petrovitch in a

civil and friendly tone. "You are aroused again,you are fuming again! I heard it on the stairs!"

"Well, what then!" Ilya Petrovitch drawled withgentlemanly nonchalance; and he walked withsome papers to another table, with a jauntyswing of his shoulders at each step. "Here, ifyou will kindly look: an author, or a student,has been one at least, does not pay his debts,has given an I O U, won't clear out of his room,and complaints are constantly being lodgedagainst him, and here he has been pleased tomake a protest against my smoking in his pre-sence! He behaves like a cad himself, and justlook at him, please. Here's the gentleman, andvery attractive he is!"

"Poverty is not a vice, my friend, but we knowyou go off like powder, you can't bear a slight, Idaresay you took offence at something andwent too far yourself," continued Nikodim Fo-mitch, turning affably to Raskolnikov. "But youwere wrong there; he is a capital fellow, I assu-

re you, but explosive, explosive! He gets hot,fires up, boils over, and no stopping him! Andthen it's all over! And at the bottom he's a heartof gold! His nickname in the regiment was theExplosive Lieutenant...."

"And what a regiment it was, too," cried IlyaPetrovitch, much gratified at this agreeablebanter, though still sulky.

Raskolnikov had a sudden desire to say somet-hing exceptionally pleasant to them all. "Excuseme, Captain," he began easily, suddenly ad-dressing Nikodim Fomitch, "will you enter intomy position?... I am ready to ask pardon, if Ihave been ill-mannered. I am a poor student,sick and shattered (shattered was the word heused) by poverty. I am not studying, because Icannot keep myself now, but I shall get mo-ney.... I have a mother and sister in the provin-ce of X. They will send it to me, and I will pay.My landlady is a good-hearted woman, but sheis so exasperated at my having lost my lessons,

and not paying her for the last four months,that she does not even send up my dinner...and I don't understand this I O U at all. She isasking me to pay her on this I O U. How am Ito pay her? Judge for yourselves!..."

"But that is not our business, you know," thehead clerk was observing.

"Yes, yes. I perfectly agree with you. But allowme to explain..." Raskolnikov put in again, stilladdressing Nikodim Fomitch, but trying hisbest to address Ilya Petrovitch also, though thelatter persistently appeared to be rummagingamong his papers and to be contemptuouslyoblivious of him. "Allow me to explain that Ihave been living with her for nearly three yearsand at first... at first... for why should I not con-fess it, at the very beginning I promised to ma-rry her daughter, it was a verbal promise, freelygiven... she was a girl... indeed, I liked her,though I was not in love with her... a youthfulaffair in fact... that is, I mean to say, that my

landlady 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 Petrovitchinterposed roughly and with a note of triumph;but Raskolnikov stopped him hotly, though hesuddenly found it exceedingly difficult tospeak.

"But excuse me, excuse me. It is for me to ex-plain... how it all happened... In my turn...though I agree with you... it is unnecessary. Buta year ago, the girl died of typhus. I remainedlodging there as before, and when my landladymoved into her present quarters, she said tome... and in a friendly way... that she had com-plete trust in me, but still, would I not give heran I O U for one hundred and fifteen roubles,all the debt I owed her. She said if only I gaveher that, she would trust me again, as much as Iliked, and that she would never, never—thosewere her own words—make use of that I O U

till I could pay of myself... and now, when Ihave lost my lessons and have nothing to eat,she takes action against me. What am I to say tothat?"

"All these affecting details are no business ofours." Ilya Petrovitch interrupted rudely. "Youmust give a written undertaking but as for yourlove affairs and all these tragic events, we havenothing to do with that."

"Come now... you are harsh," muttered Niko-dim Fomitch, sitting down at the table and alsobeginning to write. He looked a little ashamed.

"Write!" said the head clerk to Raskolnikov.

"Write what?" the latter asked, gruffly.

"I will dictate to you."

Raskolnikov fancied that the head clerk treatedhim more casually and contemptuously afterhis speech, but strange to say he suddenly felt

completely indifferent to anyone's opinion, andthis revulsion took place in a flash, in one ins-tant. If he had cared to think a little, he wouldhave been amazed indeed that he could havetalked to them like that a minute before, forcinghis feelings upon them. And where had thosefeelings come from? Now if the whole roomhad been filled, not with police officers, butwith those nearest and dearest to him, hewould not have found one human word forthem, so empty was his heart. A gloomy sensa-tion of agonising, everlasting solitude and re-moteness, took conscious form in his soul. Itwas not the meanness of his sentimental effu-sions before Ilya Petrovitch, nor the meannessof the latter's triumph over him that had causedthis sudden revulsion in his heart. Oh, whathad he to do now with his own baseness, withall these petty vanities, officers, German wo-men, debts, police-offices? If he had been sen-tenced to be burnt at that moment, he wouldnot have stirred, would hardly have heard the

sentence to the end. Something was happeningto him entirely new, sudden and unknown. Itwas not that he understood, but he felt clearlywith all the intensity of sensation that he couldnever more appeal to these people in the police-office with sentimental effusions like his recentoutburst, or with anything whatever; and thatif they had been his own brothers and sistersand not police-officers, it would have been ut-terly out of the question to appeal to them inany circumstance of life. He had never expe-rienced such a strange and awful sensation.And what was most agonising—it was more asensation than a conception or idea, a directsensation, the most agonising of all the sensa-tions he had known in his life.

The head clerk began dictating to him the usualform of declaration, that he could not pay, thathe undertook to do so at a future date, that hewould not leave the town, nor sell his property,and so on.

"But you can't write, you can hardly hold thepen," observed the head clerk, looking withcuriosity at Raskolnikov. "Are you ill?"

"Yes, I am giddy. Go on!"

"That's all. Sign it."

The head clerk took the paper, and turned toattend to others.

Raskolnikov gave back the pen; but instead ofgetting up and going away, he put his elbowson the table and pressed his head in his hands.He felt as if a nail were being driven into hisskull. A strange idea suddenly occurred to him,to get up at once, to go up to Nikodim Fomitch,and tell him everything that had happenedyesterday, and then to go with him to his lod-gings and to show him the things in the hole inthe corner. The impulse was so strong that hegot up from his seat to carry it out. "Hadn't Ibetter think a minute?" flashed through his

mind. "No, better cast off the burden withoutthinking." But all at once he stood still, rootedto the spot. Nikodim Fomitch was talking ea-gerly with Ilya Petrovitch, and the words rea-ched him:

"It's impossible, they'll both be released. Tobegin with, the whole story contradicts itself.Why should they have called the porter, if ithad been their doing? To inform against them-selves? Or as a blind? No, that would be toocunning! Besides, Pestryakov, the student, wasseen at the gate by both the porters and a wo-man as he went in. He was walking with threefriends, who left him only at the gate, and heasked the porters to direct him, in the presenceof the friends. Now, would he have asked hisway if he had been going with such an object?As for Koch, he spent half an hour at the sil-versmith's below, before he went up to the oldwoman and he left him at exactly a quarter toeight. Now just consider..."

"But excuse me, how do you explain this con-tradiction? They state themselves that theyknocked and the door was locked; yet threeminutes later when they went up with the por-ter, it turned out the door was unfastened."

"That's just it; the murderer must have beenthere and bolted himself in; and they'd havecaught him for a certainty if Koch had not beenan ass and gone to look for the porter too. Hemust have seized the interval to get downstairsand slip by them somehow. Koch keeps cros-sing himself and saying: 'If I had been there, hewould have jumped out and killed me with hisaxe.' He is going to have a thanksgiving servi-ce—ha, ha!"

"And no one saw the murderer?"

"They might well not see him; the house is aregular Noah's Ark," said the head clerk, whowas listening.

"It's clear, quite clear," Nikodim Fomitch repea-ted warmly.

"No, it is anything but clear," Ilya Petrovitchmaintained.

Raskolnikov picked up his hat and walked to-wards the door, but he did not reach it....

When he recovered consciousness, he foundhimself sitting in a chair, supported by someo-ne on the right side, while someone else wasstanding on the left, holding a yellowish glassfilled with yellow water, and Nikodim Fomitchstanding before him, looking intently at him.He got up from the chair.

"What's this? Are you ill?" Nikodim Fomitchasked, rather sharply.

"He could hardly hold his pen when he wassigning," said the head clerk, settling back inhis place, and taking up his work again.

"Have you been ill long?" cried Ilya Petrovitchfrom his place, where he, too, was lookingthrough papers. He had, of course, come tolook at the sick man when he fainted, but reti-red at once when he recovered.

"Since yesterday," muttered Raskolnikov inreply.

"Did you go out yesterday?"

"Yes."

"Though you were ill?"

"Yes."

"At what time?"

"About seven."

"And where did you go, my I ask?"

"Along the street."

"Short and clear."

Raskolnikov, white as a handkerchief, had ans-wered sharply, jerkily, without dropping hisblack feverish eyes before Ilya Petrovitch's sta-re.

"He can scarcely stand upright. And you..."Nikodim Fomitch was beginning.

"No matter," Ilya Petrovitch pronounced ratherpeculiarly.

Nikodim Fomitch would have made some furt-her protest, but glancing at the head clerk whowas looking very hard at him, he did not speak.There was a sudden silence. It was strange.

"Very well, then," concluded Ilya Petrovitch,"we will not detain you."

Raskolnikov went out. He caught the sound ofeager conversation on his departure, and abovethe rest rose the questioning voice of Nikodim

Fomitch. In the street, his faintness passed offcompletely.

"A search—there will be a search at once," herepeated to himself, hurrying home. "The bru-tes! they suspect."

His former terror mastered him completelyagain.

CHAPTER II

"And what if there has been a search already?What if I find them in my room?"

But here was his room. Nothing and no one init. No one had peeped in. Even Nastasya hadnot touched it. But heavens! how could he haveleft all those things in the hole?

He rushed to the corner, slipped his hand un-der the paper, pulled the things out and linedhis pockets with them. There were eight articlesin all: two little boxes with ear-rings or somet-hing of the sort, he hardly looked to see; thenfour small leather cases. There was a chain, too,merely wrapped in newspaper and somethingelse in newspaper, that looked like a decora-tion.... He put them all in the different pocketsof his overcoat, and the remaining pocket of histrousers, trying to conceal them as much aspossible. He took the purse, too. Then he wentout of his room, leaving the door open. Hewalked quickly and resolutely, and though hefelt shattered, he had his senses about him. Hewas afraid of pursuit, he was afraid that inanother half-hour, another quarter of an hourperhaps, instructions would be issued for hispursuit, and so at all costs, he must hide alltraces before then. He must clear everything upwhile he still had some strength, some reaso-ning power left him.... Where was he to go?

That had long been settled: "Fling them into thecanal, and all traces hidden in the water, thething would be at an end." So he had decided inthe night of his delirium when several times hehad had the impulse to get up and go away, tomake haste, and get rid of it all. But to get rid ofit, turned out to be a very difficult task. Hewandered along the bank of the EkaterininskyCanal for half an hour or more and looked se-veral times at the steps running down to thewater, but he could not think of carrying outhis plan; either rafts stood at the steps' edge,and women were washing clothes on them, orboats were moored there, and people wereswarming everywhere. Moreover he could beseen and noticed from the banks on all sides; itwould look suspicious for a man to go down onpurpose, stop, and throw something into thewater. And what if the boxes were to float ins-tead of sinking? And of course they would.Even as it was, everyone he met seemed to sta-re and look round, as if they had nothing to do

but to watch him. "Why is it, or can it be myfancy?" he thought.

At last the thought struck him that it might bebetter to go to the Neva. There were not so ma-ny people there, he would be less observed,and it would be more convenient in every way,above all it was further off. He wondered howhe could have been wandering for a good half-hour, worried and anxious in this dangerouspast without thinking of it before. And thathalf-hour he had lost over an irrational plan,simply because he had thought of it in deli-rium! He had become extremely absent andforgetful and he was aware of it. He certainlymust make haste.

He walked towards the Neva along V——Prospect, but on the way another idea struckhim. "Why to the Neva? Would it not be betterto go somewhere far off, to the Islands again,and there hide the things in some solitary place,in a wood or under a bush, and mark the spot

perhaps?" And though he felt incapable of clearjudgment, the idea seemed to him a sound one.But he was not destined to go there. For comingout of V—— Prospect towards the square, hesaw on the left a passage leading between twoblank walls to a courtyard. On the right hand,the blank unwhitewashed wall of a four-storiedhouse stretched far into the court; on the left, awooden hoarding ran parallel with it for twen-ty paces into the court, and then turned sharplyto the left. Here was a deserted fenced-off placewhere rubbish of different sorts was lying. Atthe end of the court, the corner of a low, smut-ty, stone shed, apparently part of some works-hop, peeped from behind the hoarding. It wasprobably a carriage builder's or carpenter'sshed; the whole place from the entrance wasblack with coal dust. Here would be the placeto throw it, he thought. Not seeing anyone inthe yard, he slipped in, and at once saw nearthe gate a sink, such as is often put in yardswhere there are many workmen or cab-drivers;

and on the hoarding above had been scribbledin chalk the time-honoured witticism, "Stan-ding here strictly forbidden." This was all thebetter, for there would be nothing suspiciousabout his going in. "Here I could throw it all ina heap and get away!"

Looking round once more, with his hand alrea-dy in his pocket, he noticed against the outerwall, between the entrance and the sink, a bigunhewn stone, weighing perhaps sixty pounds.The other side of the wall was a street. Hecould hear passers-by, always numerous in thatpart, but he could not be seen from the entran-ce, unless someone came in from the street,which might well happen indeed, so there wasneed of haste.

He bent down over the stone, seized the top ofit firmly in both hands, and using all hisstrength turned it over. Under the stone was asmall hollow in the ground, and he immediate-ly emptied his pocket into it. The purse lay at

the top, and yet the hollow was not filled up.Then he seized the stone again and with onetwist turned it back, so that it was in the sameposition again, though it stood a very little hig-her. But he scraped the earth about it and pres-sed it at the edges with his foot. Nothing couldbe noticed.

Then he went out, and turned into the square.Again an intense, almost unbearable joy overw-helmed him for an instant, as it had in the poli-ce-office. "I have buried my tracks! And who,who can think of looking under that stone? Ithas been lying there most likely ever since thehouse was built, and will lie as many years mo-re. And if it were found, who would think ofme? It is all over! No clue!" And he laughed.Yes, he remembered that he began laughing athin, nervous noiseless laugh, and went onlaughing all the time he was crossing the squa-re. But when he reached the K—— Boulevardwhere two days before he had come upon that

girl, his laughter suddenly ceased. Other ideascrept into his mind. He felt all at once that itwould be loathsome to pass that seat on whichafter the girl was gone, he had sat and ponde-red, and that it would be hateful, too, to meetthat whiskered policeman to whom he had gi-ven the twenty copecks: "Damn him!"

He walked, looking about him angrily and dis-tractedly. All his ideas now seemed to be cir-cling round some single point, and he felt thatthere really was such a point, and that now,now, he was left facing that point—and for thefirst time, indeed, during the last two months.

"Damn it all!" he thought suddenly, in a fit ofungovernable fury. "If it has begun, then it hasbegun. Hang the new life! Good Lord, howstupid it is!... And what lies I told to-day! Howdespicably I fawned upon that wretched IlyaPetrovitch! But that is all folly! What do I carefor them all, and my fawning upon them! It isnot that at all! It is not that at all!"

Suddenly he stopped; a new utterly unexpectedand exceedingly simple question perplexed andbitterly confounded him.

"If it all has really been done deliberately andnot idiotically, if I really had a certain and defi-nite object, how is it I did not even glance intothe purse and don't know what I had there, forwhich I have undergone these agonies, andhave deliberately undertaken this base, filthydegrading business? And here I wanted at onceto throw into the water the purse together withall the things which I had not seen either...how's that?"

Yes, that was so, that was all so. Yet he hadknown it all before, and it was not a new ques-tion for him, even when it was decided in thenight without hesitation and consideration, asthough so it must be, as though it could notpossibly be otherwise.... Yes, he had known itall, and understood it all; it surely had all beensettled even yesterday at the moment when he

was bending over the box and pulling the je-wel-cases out of it.... Yes, so it was.

"It is because I am very ill," he decided grimlyat last, "I have been worrying and fretting my-self, and I don't know what I am doing.... Yes-terday and the day before yesterday and all thistime I have been worrying myself.... I shall getwell and I shall not worry.... But what if I don'tget well at all? Good God, how sick I am of itall!"

He walked on without resting. He had a terri-ble longing for some distraction, but he did notknow what to do, what to attempt. A newoverwhelming sensation was gaining more andmore mastery over him every moment; this wasan immeasurable, almost physical, repulsionfor everything surrounding him, an obstinate,malignant feeling of hatred. All who met himwere loathsome to him—he loathed their faces,their movements, their gestures. If anyone had

addressed him, he felt that he might have spatat him or bitten him....

He stopped suddenly, on coming out on thebank of the Little Neva, near the bridge to Vas-silyevsky Ostrov. "Why, he lives here, in thathouse," he thought, "why, I have not come toRazumihin of my own accord! Here it's the sa-me thing over again.... Very interesting toknow, though; have I come on purpose or haveI simply walked here by chance? Never mind, Isaid the day before yesterday that I would goand see him the day after; well, and so I will!Besides I really cannot go further now."

He went up to Razumihin's room on the fifthfloor.

The latter was at home in his garret, busily wri-ting at the moment, and he opened the doorhimself. It was four months since they had seeneach other. Razumihin was sitting in a raggeddressing-gown, with slippers on his bare feet,

unkempt, unshaven and unwashed. His faceshowed surprise.

"Is it you?" he cried. He looked his comrade upand down; then after a brief pause, he whistled."As hard up as all that! Why, brother, you'vecut me out!" he added, looking at Raskolnikov'srags. "Come sit down, you are tired, I'll bebound."

And when he had sunk down on the Americanleather sofa, which was in even worse condi-tion than his own, Razumihin saw at once thathis visitor was ill.

"Why, you are seriously ill, do you know that?"He began feeling his pulse. Raskolnikov pulledaway his hand.

"Never mind," he said, "I have come for this: Ihave no lessons.... I wanted,... but I don't reallywant lessons...."

"But I say! You are delirious, you know!" Ra-zumihin observed, watching him carefully.

"No, I am not."

Raskolnikov got up from the sofa. As he hadmounted the stairs to Razumihin's, he had notrealised that he would be meeting his friendface to face. Now, in a flash, he knew, that whathe was least of all disposed for at that momentwas to be face to face with anyone in the wideworld. His spleen rose within him. He almostchoked with rage at himself as soon as he cros-sed Razumihin's threshold.

"Good-bye," he said abruptly, and walked tothe door.

"Stop, stop! You queer fish."

"I don't want to," said the other, again pullingaway his hand.

"Then why the devil have you come? Are youmad, or what? Why, this is... almost insulting! Iwon't let you go like that."

"Well, then, I came to you because I know noone but you who could help... to begin... becau-se you are kinder than anyone—cleverer, Imean, and can judge... and now I see that Iwant nothing. Do you hear? Nothing at all... noone's services... no one's sympathy. I am bymyself... alone. Come, that's enough. Leave mealone."

"Stay a minute, you sweep! You are a perfectmadman. As you like for all I care. I have nolessons, do you see, and I don't care about that,but there's a bookseller, Heruvimov—and hetakes the place of a lesson. I would not exchan-ge him for five lessons. He's doing publishingof a kind, and issuing natural science manualsand what a circulation they have! The very ti-tles are worth the money! You always maintai-ned that I was a fool, but by Jove, my boy, there

are greater fools than I am! Now he is settingup for being advanced, not that he has an in-kling of anything, but, of course, I encouragehim. Here are two signatures of the Germantext—in my opinion, the crudest charlatanism;it discusses the question, 'Is woman a humanbeing?' And, of course, triumphantly provesthat she is. Heruvimov is going to bring outthis work as a contribution to the woman ques-tion; I am translating it; he will expand thesetwo and a half signatures into six, we shall ma-ke up a gorgeous title half a page long andbring it out at half a rouble. It will do! He paysme six roubles the signature, it works out toabout fifteen roubles for the job, and I've hadsix already in advance. When we have finishedthis, we are going to begin a translation aboutwhales, and then some of the dullest scandalsout of the second part of Les Confessions wehave marked for translation; somebody hastold Heruvimov, that Rousseau was a kind ofRadishchev. You may be sure I don't contradict

him, hang him! Well, would you like to do thesecond signature of 'Is woman a human being?' Ifyou would, take the German and pens and pa-per—all those are provided, and take threeroubles; for as I have had six roubles in advan-ce on the whole thing, three roubles come toyou for your share. And when you have finis-hed the signature there will be another threeroubles for you. And please don't think I amdoing you a service; quite the contrary, as soonas you came in, I saw how you could help me;to begin with, I am weak in spelling, and se-condly, I am sometimes utterly adrift in Ger-man, so that I make it up as I go along for themost part. The only comfort is, that it's boundto be a change for the better. Though who cantell, maybe it's sometimes for the worse. Willyou take it?"

Raskolnikov took the German sheets in silence,took the three roubles and without a wordwent out. Razumihin gazed after him in asto-

nishment. But when Raskolnikov was in thenext street, he turned back, mounted the stairsto Razumihin's again and laying on the tablethe German article and the three roubles, wentout again, still without uttering a word.

"Are you raving, or what?" Razumihin shouted,roused to fury at last. "What farce is this? You'lldrive me crazy too... what did you come to seeme for, damn you?"

"I don't want... translation," muttered Raskolni-kov from the stairs.

"Then what the devil do you want?" shoutedRazumihin from above. Raskolnikov continueddescending the staircase in silence.

"Hey, there! Where are you living?"

No answer.

"Well, confound you then!"

But Raskolnikov was already stepping into thestreet. On the Nikolaevsky Bridge he was rou-sed to full consciousness again by an unplea-sant incident. A coachman, after shouting athim two or three times, gave him a violent lashon the back with his whip, for having almostfallen under his horses' hoofs. The lash so infu-riated him that he dashed away to the railing(for some unknown reason he had been wal-king in the very middle of the bridge in thetraffic). He angrily clenched and ground histeeth. He heard laughter, of course.

"Serves him right!"

"A pickpocket I dare say."

"Pretending to be drunk, for sure, and gettingunder the wheels on purpose; and you have toanswer for him."

"It's a regular profession, that's what it is."

But while he stood at the railing, still lookingangry and bewildered after the retreating ca-rriage, and rubbing his back, he suddenly feltsomeone thrust money into his hand. He loo-ked. It was an elderly woman in a kerchief andgoatskin shoes, with a girl, probably herdaughter wearing a hat, and carrying a greenparasol.

"Take it, my good man, in Christ's name."

He took it and they passed on. It was a piece oftwenty copecks. From his dress and appearancethey might well have taken him for a beggarasking alms in the streets, and the gift of thetwenty copecks he doubtless owed to the blow,which made them feel sorry for him.

He closed his hand on the twenty copecks, wal-ked on for ten paces, and turned facing the Ne-va, looking towards the palace. The sky waswithout a cloud and the water was almostbright blue, which is so rare in the Neva. The

cupola of the cathedral, which is seen at its bestfrom the bridge about twenty paces from thechapel, glittered in the sunlight, and in the pureair every ornament on it could be clearly dis-tinguished. The pain from the lash went off,and Raskolnikov forgot about it; one uneasyand not quite definite idea occupied him nowcompletely. He stood still, and gazed long andintently into the distance; this spot was especia-lly familiar to him. When he was attending theuniversity, he had hundreds of times—generally on his way home—stood still on thisspot, gazed at this truly magnificent spectacleand almost always marvelled at a vague andmysterious emotion it roused in him. It left himstrangely cold; this gorgeous picture was forhim blank and lifeless. He wondered everytime at his sombre and enigmatic impressionand, mistrusting himself, put off finding theexplanation of it. He vividly recalled those olddoubts and perplexities, and it seemed to himthat it was no mere chance that he recalled

them now. It struck him as strange and grotes-que, that he should have stopped at the samespot as before, as though he actually imaginedhe could think the same thoughts, be interestedin the same theories and pictures that had inte-rested him... so short a time ago. He felt it al-most amusing, and yet it wrung his heart. Deepdown, hidden far away out of sight all thatseemed to him now—all his old past, his oldthoughts, his old problems and theories, his oldimpressions and that picture and himself andall, all.... He felt as though he were flying up-wards, and everything were vanishing from hissight. Making an unconscious movement withhis hand, he suddenly became aware of thepiece of money in his fist. He opened his hand,stared at the coin, and with a sweep of his armflung it into the water; then he turned and wenthome. It seemed to him, he had cut himself offfrom everyone and from everything at thatmoment.

Evening was coming on when he reachedhome, so that he must have been walking aboutsix hours. How and where he came back he didnot remember. Undressing, and quivering likean overdriven horse, he lay down on the sofa,drew his greatcoat over him, and at once sankinto oblivion....

It was dusk when he was waked up by a fearfulscream. Good God, what a scream! Such unna-tural sounds, such howling, wailing, grinding,tears, blows and curses he had never heard.

He could never have imagined such brutality,such frenzy. In terror he sat up in bed, almostswooning with agony. But the fighting, wailingand cursing grew louder and louder. And thento his intense amazement he caught the voice ofhis landlady. She was howling, shrieking andwailing, rapidly, hurriedly, incoherently, sothat he could not make out what she was tal-king about; she was beseeching, no doubt, notto be beaten, for she was being mercilessly bea-

ten on the stairs. The voice of her assailant wasso horrible from spite and rage that it was al-most a croak; but he, too, was saying somet-hing, and just as quickly and indistinctly, hurr-ying and spluttering. All at once Raskolnikovtrembled; he recognised the voice—it was thevoice of Ilya Petrovitch. Ilya Petrovitch hereand beating the landlady! He is kicking her,banging her head against the steps—that'sclear, that can be told from the sounds, fromthe cries and the thuds. How is it, is the worldtopsy-turvy? He could hear people running incrowds from all the storeys and all the stairca-ses; he heard voices, exclamations, knocking,doors banging. "But why, why, and how couldit be?" he repeated, thinking seriously that hehad gone mad. But no, he heard too distinctly!And they would come to him then next, "for nodoubt... it's all about that... about yesterday....Good God!" He would have fastened his doorwith the latch, but he could not lift his hand...besides, it would be useless. Terror gripped his

heart like ice, tortured him and numbed him....But at last all this uproar, after continuingabout ten minutes, began gradually to subside.The landlady was moaning and groaning; IlyaPetrovitch was still uttering threats and cur-ses.... But at last he, too, seemed to be silent,and now he could not be heard. "Can he havegone away? Good Lord!" Yes, and now thelandlady is going too, still weeping and moa-ning... and then her door slammed.... Now thecrowd was going from the stairs to their rooms,exclaiming, disputing, calling to one another,raising their voices to a shout, dropping themto a whisper. There must have been numbers ofthem—almost all the inmates of the block. "But,good God, how could it be! And why, why hadhe come here!"

Raskolnikov sank worn out on the sofa, butcould not close his eyes. He lay for half an hourin such anguish, such an intolerable sensationof infinite terror as he had never experienced

before. Suddenly a bright light flashed into hisroom. Nastasya came in with a candle and aplate of soup. Looking at him carefully andascertaining that he was not asleep, she set thecandle on the table and began to lay out whatshe had brought—bread, salt, a plate, a spoon.

"You've eaten nothing since yesterday, I wa-rrant. You've been trudging about all day, andyou're shaking with fever."

"Nastasya... what were they beating the landla-dy for?"

She looked intently at him.

"Who beat the landlady?"

"Just now... half an hour ago, Ilya Petrovitch,the assistant superintendent, on the stairs....Why was he ill-treating her like that, and... whywas he here?"

Nastasya scrutinised him, silent and frowning,and her scrutiny lasted a long time. He feltuneasy, even frightened at her searching eyes.

"Nastasya, why don't you speak?" he said ti-midly at last in a weak voice.

"It's the blood," she answered at last softly, asthough speaking to herself.

"Blood? What blood?" he muttered, growingwhite and turning towards the wall.

Nastasya still looked at him without speaking.

"Nobody has been beating the landlady," shedeclared at last in a firm, resolute voice.

He gazed at her, hardly able to breathe.

"I heard it myself.... I was not asleep... I wassitting up," he said still more timidly. "I listeneda long while. The assistant superintendent ca-

me.... Everyone ran out on to the stairs from allthe flats."

"No one has been here. That's the blood cryingin your ears. When there's no outlet for it and itgets clotted, you begin fancying things.... Willyou eat something?"

He made no answer. Nastasya still stood overhim, watching him.

"Give me something to drink... Nastasya."

She went downstairs and returned with a whiteearthenware jug of water. He remembered onlyswallowing one sip of the cold water and spi-lling some on his neck. Then followed forget-fulness.

CHAPTER III

He was not completely unconscious, however,all the time he was ill; he was in a feverish state,sometimes delirious, sometimes half conscious.He remembered a great deal afterwards. Some-times it seemed as though there were a numberof people round him; they wanted to take himaway somewhere, there was a great deal ofsquabbling and discussing about him. Then hewould be alone in the room; they had all goneaway afraid of him, and only now and thenopened the door a crack to look at him; theythreatened him, plotted something together,laughed, and mocked at him. He rememberedNastasya often at his bedside; he distinguishedanother person, too, whom he seemed to knowvery well, though he could not remember whohe was, and this fretted him, even made himcry. Sometimes he fancied he had been lyingthere a month; at other times it all seemed part

of the same day. But of that—of that he had norecollection, and yet every minute he felt thathe had forgotten something he ought to re-member. He worried and tormented himselftrying to remember, moaned, flew into a rage,or sank into awful, intolerable terror. Then hestruggled to get up, would have run away, butsomeone always prevented him by force, andhe sank back into impotence and forgetfulness.At last he returned to complete consciousness.

It happened at ten o'clock in the morning. Onfine days the sun shone into the room at thathour, throwing a streak of light on the rightwall and the corner near the door. Nastasyawas standing beside him with another person,a complete stranger, who was looking at himvery inquisitively. He was a young man with abeard, wearing a full, short-waisted coat, andlooked like a messenger. The landlady waspeeping in at the half-opened door. Raskolni-kov sat up.

"Who is this, Nastasya?" he asked, pointing tothe young man.

"I say, he's himself again!" she said.

"He is himself," echoed the man.

Concluding that he had returned to his senses,the landlady closed the door and disappeared.She was always shy and dreaded conversationsor discussions. She was a woman of forty, notat all bad-looking, fat and buxom, with blackeyes and eyebrows, good-natured from fatnessand laziness, and absurdly bashful.

"Who... are you?" he went on, addressing theman. But at that moment the door was flungopen, and, stooping a little, as he was so tall,Razumihin came in.

"What a cabin it is!" he cried. "I am alwaysknocking my head. You call this a lodging! So

you are conscious, brother? I've just heard thenews from Pashenka."

"He has just come to," said Nastasya.

"Just come to," echoed the man again, with asmile.

"And who are you?" Razumihin asked, sudden-ly addressing him. "My name is Vrazumihin, atyour service; not Razumihin, as I am alwayscalled, but Vrazumihin, a student and gentle-man; and he is my friend. And who are you?"

"I am the messenger from our office, from themerchant Shelopaev, and I've come on busi-ness."

"Please sit down." Razumihin seated himself onthe other side of the table. "It's a good thingyou've come to, brother," he went on to Raskol-nikov. "For the last four days you have scarcelyeaten or drunk anything. We had to give you

tea in spoonfuls. I brought Zossimov to see youtwice. You remember Zossimov? He examinedyou carefully and said at once it was nothingserious—something seemed to have gone toyour head. Some nervous nonsense, the resultof bad feeding, he says you have not hadenough beer and radish, but it's nothing much,it will pass and you will be all right. Zossimovis a first-rate fellow! He is making quite a name.Come, I won't keep you," he said, addressingthe man again. "Will you explain what youwant? You must know, Rodya, this is the se-cond time they have sent from the office; but itwas another man last time, and I talked to him.Who was it came before?"

"That was the day before yesterday, I ventureto say, if you please, sir. That was Alexey Sem-yonovitch; he is in our office, too."

"He was more intelligent than you, don't youthink so?"

"Yes, indeed, sir, he is of more weight than Iam."

"Quite so; go on."

"At your mamma's request, through AfanasyIvanovitch Vahrushin, of whom I presume youhave heard more than once, a remittance is sentto you from our office," the man began, addres-sing Raskolnikov. "If you are in an intelligiblecondition, I've thirty-five roubles to remit toyou, as Semyon Semyonovitch has receivedfrom Afanasy Ivanovitch at your mamma'srequest instructions to that effect, as on pre-vious occasions. Do you know him, sir?"

"Yes, I remember... Vahrushin," Raskolnikovsaid dreamily.

"You hear, he knows Vahrushin," cried Razu-mihin. "He is in 'an intelligible condition'! And Isee you are an intelligent man too. Well, it'salways pleasant to hear words of wisdom."

"That's the gentleman, Vahrushin, Afanasy Iva-novitch. And at the request of your mamma,who has sent you a remittance once before inthe same manner through him, he did not refu-se this time also, and sent instructions to Sem-yon Semyonovitch some days since to handyou thirty-five roubles in the hope of better tocome."

"That 'hoping for better to come' is the bestthing you've said, though 'your mamma' is notbad either. Come then, what do you say? Is hefully conscious, eh?"

"That's all right. If only he can sign this littlepaper."

"He can scrawl his name. Have you got thebook?"

"Yes, here's the book."

"Give it to me. Here, Rodya, sit up. I'll holdyou. Take the pen and scribble 'Raskolnikov'for him. For just now, brother, money is swee-ter to us than treacle."

"I don't want it," said Raskolnikov, pushingaway the pen.

"Not want it?"

"I won't sign it."

"How the devil can you do without signing it?"

"I don't want... the money."

"Don't want the money! Come, brother, that'snonsense, I bear witness. Don't trouble, please,it's only that he is on his travels again. Butthat's pretty common with him at all timesthough.... You are a man of judgment and wewill take him in hand, that is, more simply, takehis hand and he will sign it. Here."

"But I can come another time."

"No, no. Why should we trouble you? You are aman of judgment.... Now, Rodya, don't keepyour visitor, you see he is waiting," and he ma-de ready to hold Raskolnikov's hand in earnest.

"Stop, I'll do it alone," said the latter, taking thepen and signing his name.

The messenger took out the money and wentaway.

"Bravo! And now, brother, are you hungry?"

"Yes," answered Raskolnikov.

"Is there any soup?"

"Some of yesterday's," answered Nastasya, whowas still standing there.

"With potatoes and rice in it?"

"Yes."

"I know it by heart. Bring soup and give us so-me tea."

"Very well."

Raskolnikov looked at all this with profoundastonishment and a dull, unreasoning terror.He made up his mind to keep quiet and seewhat would happen. "I believe I am not wande-ring. I believe it's reality," he thought.

In a couple of minutes Nastasya returned withthe soup, and announced that the tea would beready directly. With the soup she brought twospoons, two plates, salt, pepper, mustard forthe beef, and so on. The table was set as it hadnot been for a long time. The cloth was clean.

"It would not be amiss, Nastasya, if PraskovyaPavlovna were to send us up a couple of bottlesof beer. We could empty them."

"Well, you are a cool hand," muttered Nastasya,and she departed to carry out his orders.

Raskolnikov still gazed wildly with strainedattention. Meanwhile Razumihin sat down onthe sofa beside him, as clumsily as a bear puthis left arm round Raskolnikov's head, alt-hough he was able to sit up, and with his righthand gave him a spoonful of soup, blowing onit that it might not burn him. But the soup wasonly just warm. Raskolnikov swallowed onespoonful greedily, then a second, then a third.But after giving him a few more spoonfuls ofsoup, Razumihin suddenly stopped, and saidthat he must ask Zossimov whether he ought tohave more.

Nastasya came in with two bottles of beer.

"And will you have tea?"

"Yes."

"Cut along, Nastasya, and bring some tea, fortea we may venture on without the faculty. Buthere is the beer!" He moved back to his chair,pulled the soup and meat in front of him, andbegan eating as though he had not touchedfood for three days.

"I must tell you, Rodya, I dine like this hereevery day now," he mumbled with his mouthfull of beef, "and it's all Pashenka, your dearlittle landlady, who sees to that; she loves to doanything for me. I don't ask for it, but, of cour-se, I don't object. And here's Nastasya with thetea. 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. Sitdown."

He poured out two cups, left his dinner, and saton the sofa again. As before, he put his left armround the sick man's head, raised him up andgave him tea in spoonfuls, again blowing eachspoonful steadily and earnestly, as though thisprocess was the principal and most effectivemeans towards his friend's recovery. Raskolni-kov said nothing and made no resistance,though he felt quite strong enough to sit up onthe sofa without support and could not merelyhave held a cup or a spoon, but even perhapscould have walked about. But from somequeer, almost animal, cunning he conceived theidea of hiding his strength and lying low for atime, pretending if necessary not to be yet infull possession of his faculties, and meanwhilelistening to find out what was going on. Yet hecould not overcome his sense of repugnance.After sipping a dozen spoonfuls of tea, he sud-

denly released his head, pushed the spoonaway capriciously, and sank back on the pi-llow. There were actually real pillows under hishead now, down pillows in clean cases, he ob-served that, too, and took note of it.

"Pashenka must give us some raspberry jam to-day to make him some raspberry tea," said Ra-zumihin, going back to his chair and attackinghis soup and beer again.

"And where is she to get raspberries for you?"asked Nastasya, balancing a saucer on her fiveoutspread fingers and sipping tea through alump of sugar.

"She'll get it at the shop, my dear. You see,Rodya, all sorts of things have been happeningwhile you have been laid up. When you de-camped in that rascally way without leavingyour address, I felt so angry that I resolved tofind you out and punish you. I set to work thatvery day. How I ran about making inquiries for

you! This lodging of yours I had forgotten,though I never remembered it, indeed, becauseI did not know it; and as for your old lodgings,I could only remember it was at the Five Cor-ners, Harlamov's house. I kept trying to findthat Harlamov's house, and afterwards it tur-ned out that it was not Harlamov's, but Buch's.How one muddles up sound sometimes! So Ilost my temper, and I went on the chance to theaddress bureau next day, and only fancy, intwo minutes they looked you up! Your name isdown there."

"My name!"

"I should think so; and yet a General Kobelevthey could not find while I was there. Well, it'sa long story. But as soon as I did land on thisplace, I soon got to know all your affairs—all,all, brother, I know everything; Nastasya herewill tell you. I made the acquaintance of Niko-dim Fomitch and Ilya Petrovitch, and the hou-se-porter and Mr. Zametov, Alexandr Grigorie-

vitch, the head clerk in the police office, and,last, but not least, of Pashenka; Nastasya hereknows...."

"He's got round her," Nastasya murmured, smi-ling slyly.

"Why don't you put the sugar in your tea, Nas-tasya Nikiforovna?"

"You are a one!" Nastasya cried suddenly,going off into a giggle. "I am not Nikiforovna,but Petrovna," she added suddenly, recoveringfrom her mirth.

"I'll make a note of it. Well, brother, to make along story short, I was going in for a regularexplosion here to uproot all malignant influen-ces in the locality, but Pashenka won the day. Ihad not expected, brother, to find her so... pre-possessing. Eh, what do you think?"

Raskolnikov did not speak, but he still kept hiseyes fixed upon him, full of alarm.

"And all that could be wished, indeed, in everyrespect," Razumihin went on, not at all emba-rrassed by his silence.

"Ah, the sly dog!" Nastasya shrieked again.This conversation afforded her unspeakabledelight.

"It's a pity, brother, that you did not set to workin the right way at first. You ought to have ap-proached her differently. She is, so to speak, amost unaccountable character. But we will talkabout her character later.... How could you letthings come to such a pass that she gave upsending you your dinner? And that I O U? Youmust have been mad to sign an I O U. And thatpromise of marriage when her daughter, Na-talya Yegorovna, was alive?... I know all aboutit! But I see that's a delicate matter and I am anass; forgive me. But, talking of foolishness, do

you know Praskovya Pavlovna is not nearly sofoolish as you would think at first sight?"

"No," mumbled Raskolnikov, looking away,but feeling that it was better to keep up theconversation.

"She isn't, is she?" cried Razumihin, delightedto get an answer out of him. "But she is not ve-ry clever either, eh? She is essentially, essentia-lly an unaccountable character! I am sometimesquite at a loss, I assure you.... She must be forty;she says she is thirty-six, and of course she hasevery right to say so. But I swear I judge herintellectually, simply from the metaphysicalpoint of view; there is a sort of symbolismsprung up between us, a sort of algebra or whatnot! I don't understand it! Well, that's all non-sense. Only, seeing that you are not a studentnow and have lost your lessons and your clot-hes, and that through the young lady's deathshe has no need to treat you as a relation, shesuddenly took fright; and as you hid in your

den and dropped all your old relations withher, she planned to get rid of you. And she'sbeen cherishing that design a long time, butwas sorry to lose the I O U, for you assured heryourself that your mother would pay."

"It was base of me to say that.... My motherherself is almost a beggar... and I told a lie tokeep my lodging... and be fed," Raskolnikovsaid loudly and distinctly.

"Yes, you did very sensibly. But the worst of itis that at that point Mr. Tchebarov turns up, abusiness man. Pashenka would never havethought of doing anything on her own account,she is too retiring; but the business man is byno means retiring, and first thing he puts thequestion, 'Is there any hope of realising the I OU?' Answer: there is, because he has a motherwho would save her Rodya with her hundredand twenty-five roubles pension, if she has tostarve herself; and a sister, too, who would gointo bondage for his sake. That's what he was

building upon.... Why do you start? I know allthe ins and outs of your affairs now, my dearboy—it's not for nothing that you were so openwith Pashenka when you were her prospectiveson-in-law, and I say all this as a friend.... But Itell you what it is; an honest and sensitive manis open; and a business man 'listens and goeson eating' you up. Well, then she gave the I O Uby way of payment to this Tchebarov, and wit-hout hesitation he made a formal demand forpayment. When I heard of all this I wanted toblow him up, too, to clear my conscience, butby that time harmony reigned between me andPashenka, and I insisted on stopping the wholeaffair, engaging that you would pay. I wentsecurity for you, brother. Do you understand?We called Tchebarov, flung him ten roublesand got the I O U back from him, and here Ihave the honour of presenting it to you. Shetrusts your word now. Here, take it, you see Ihave torn it."

Razumihin put the note on the table. Raskolni-kov looked at him and turned to the wall wit-hout uttering a word. Even Razumihin felt atwinge.

"I see, brother," he said a moment later, "that Ihave been playing the fool again. I thought Ishould amuse you with my chatter, and I belie-ve I have only made you cross."

"Was it you I did not recognise when I was de-lirious?" Raskolnikov asked, after a moment'spause without turning his head.

"Yes, and you flew into a rage about it, especia-lly when I brought Zametov one day."

"Zametov? The head clerk? What for?" Raskol-nikov turned round quickly and fixed his eyeson Razumihin.

"What's the matter with you?... What are youupset about? He wanted to make your acquain-

tance because I talked to him a lot about you....How could I have found out so much exceptfrom him? He is a capital fellow, brother, first-rate... in his own way, of course. Now we arefriends—see each other almost every day. Ihave moved into this part, you know. I haveonly just moved. I've been with him to LuiseIvanovna once or twice.... Do you rememberLuise, Luise Ivanovna?

"Did I say anything in delirium?"

"I should think so! You were beside yourself."

"What did I rave about?"

"What next? What did you rave about? Whatpeople do rave about.... Well, brother, now Imust not lose time. To work." He got up fromthe table and took up his cap.

"What did I rave about?"

"How he keeps on! Are you afraid of having letout some secret? Don't worry yourself; you saidnothing about a countess. But you said a lotabout a bulldog, and about ear-rings andchains, and about Krestovsky Island, and someporter, and Nikodim Fomitch and Ilya Petro-vitch, the assistant superintendent. And anot-her thing that was of special interest to you wasyour own sock. You whined, 'Give me mysock.' Zametov hunted all about your room foryour socks, and with his own scented, ring-bedecked fingers he gave you the rag. And onlythen were you comforted, and for the nexttwenty-four hours you held the wretched thingin your hand; we could not get it from you. It ismost likely somewhere under your quilt at thismoment. And then you asked so piteously forfringe for your trousers. We tried to find outwhat sort of fringe, but we could not make itout. Now to business! Here are thirty-five rou-bles; I take ten of them, and shall give you anaccount of them in an hour or two. I will let

Zossimov know at the same time, though heought to have been here long ago, for it is near-ly twelve. And you, Nastasya, look in prettyoften while I am away, to see whether he wantsa drink or anything else. And I will tell Pashen-ka what is wanted myself. Good-bye!"

"He calls her Pashenka! Ah, he's a deep one!"said Nastasya as he went out; then she openedthe door and stood listening, but could not re-sist running downstairs after him. She was veryeager to hear what he would say to the landla-dy. She was evidently quite fascinated by Ra-zumihin.

No sooner had she left the room than the sickman flung off the bedclothes and leapt out ofbed like a madman. With burning, twitchingimpatience he had waited for them to be goneso that he might set to work. But to what work?Now, as though to spite him, it eluded him.

"Good God, only tell me one thing: do theyknow of it yet or not? What if they know it andare only pretending, mocking me while I amlaid up, and then they will come in and tell methat it's been discovered long ago and that theyhave only... What am I to do now? That's whatI've forgotten, as though on purpose; forgottenit all at once, I remembered a minute ago."

He stood in the middle of the room and gazedin miserable bewilderment about him; he wal-ked to the door, opened it, listened; but thatwas not what he wanted. Suddenly, as thoughrecalling something, he rushed to the cornerwhere there was a hole under the paper, beganexamining it, put his hand into the hole, fum-bled—but that was not it. He went to the stove,opened it and began rummaging in the ashes;the frayed edges of his trousers and the rags cutoff his pocket were lying there just as he hadthrown them. No one had looked, then! Thenhe remembered the sock about which Razu-

mihin had just been telling him. Yes, there it layon the sofa under the quilt, but it was so cove-red with dust and grime that Zametov couldnot have seen anything on it.

"Bah, Zametov! The police office! And why amI sent for to the police office? Where's the noti-ce? Bah! I am mixing it up; that was then. I loo-ked at my sock then, too, but now... now I havebeen ill. But what did Zametov come for? Whydid Razumihin bring him?" he muttered, hel-plessly sitting on the sofa again. "What does itmean? Am I still in delirium, or is it real? I be-lieve it is real.... Ah, I remember; I must escape!Make haste to escape. Yes, I must, I must esca-pe! Yes... but where? And where are my clot-hes? I've no boots. They've taken them away!They've hidden them! I understand! Ah, here ismy coat—they passed that over! And here ismoney on the table, thank God! And here's theI O U... I'll take the money and go and takeanother lodging. They won't find me!... Yes, but

the address bureau? They'll find me, Razu-mihin will find me. Better escape altogether...far away... to America, and let them do theirworst! And take the I O U... it would be of usethere.... What else shall I take? They think I amill! They don't know that I can walk, ha-ha-ha! Icould see by their eyes that they know all aboutit! If only I could get downstairs! And what ifthey have set a watch there—policemen! What'sthis tea? Ah, and here is beer left, half a bottle,cold!"

He snatched up the bottle, which still containeda glassful of beer, and gulped it down withrelish, as though quenching a flame in hisbreast. But in another minute the beer had goneto his head, and a faint and even pleasant shi-ver ran down his spine. He lay down and pu-lled the quilt over him. His sick and incoherentthoughts grew more and more disconnected,and soon a light, pleasant drowsiness cameupon him. With a sense of comfort he nestled

his head into the pillow, wrapped more closelyabout him the soft, wadded quilt which hadreplaced the old, ragged greatcoat, sighed sof-tly and sank into a deep, sound, refreshingsleep.

He woke up, hearing someone come in. Heopened his eyes and saw Razumihin standingin the doorway, uncertain whether to come inor not. Raskolnikov sat up quickly on the sofaand gazed at him, as though trying to recallsomething.

"Ah, you are not asleep! Here I am! Nastasya,bring in the parcel!" Razumihin shouted downthe stairs. "You shall have the account directly."

"What time is it?" asked Raskolnikov, lookinground uneasily.

"Yes, you had a fine sleep, brother, it's almostevening, it will be six o'clock directly. You haveslept more than six hours."

"Good heavens! Have I?"

"And why not? It will do you good. What's thehurry? A tryst, is it? We've all time before us.I've been waiting for the last three hours foryou; I've been up twice and found you asleep.I've called on Zossimov twice; not at home,only fancy! But no matter, he will turn up. AndI've been out on my own business, too. Youknow I've been moving to-day, moving withmy uncle. I have an uncle living with me now.But that's no matter, to business. Give me theparcel, Nastasya. We will open it directly. Andhow do you feel now, brother?"

"I am quite well, I am not ill. Razumihin, haveyou been here long?"

"I tell you I've been waiting for the last threehours."

"No, before."

"How do you mean?"

"How long have you been coming here?"

"Why I told you all about it this morning. Don'tyou remember?"

Raskolnikov pondered. The morning seemedlike a dream to him. He could not rememberalone, and looked inquiringly at Razumihin.

"Hm!" said the latter, "he has forgotten. I fan-cied then that you were not quite yourself.Now you are better for your sleep.... You reallylook much better. First-rate! Well, to business.Look here, my dear boy."

He began untying the bundle, which evidentlyinterested him.

"Believe me, brother, this is something speciallynear my heart. For we must make a man ofyou. Let's begin from the top. Do you see thiscap?" he said, taking out of the bundle a fairly

good though cheap and ordinary cap. "Let metry it on."

"Presently, afterwards," said Raskolnikov, wa-ving it off pettishly.

"Come, Rodya, my boy, don't oppose it, after-wards will be too late; and I shan't sleep allnight, for I bought it by guess, without measu-re. Just right!" he cried triumphantly, fitting iton, "just your size! A proper head-covering isthe first thing in dress and a recommendationin its own way. Tolstyakov, a friend of mine, isalways obliged to take off his pudding basinwhen he goes into any public place where otherpeople wear their hats or caps. People think hedoes it from slavish politeness, but it's simplybecause he is ashamed of his bird's nest; he issuch a boastful fellow! Look, Nastasya, here aretwo specimens of headgear: this Palmerston"—he took from the corner Raskolnikov's old, bat-tered hat, which for some unknown reason, hecalled a Palmerston—"or this jewel! Guess the

price, Rodya, what do you suppose I paid for it,Nastasya!" he said, turning to her, seeing thatRaskolnikov did not speak.

"Twenty copecks, no more, I dare say," answe-red Nastasya.

"Twenty copecks, silly!" he cried, offended."Why, nowadays you would cost more thanthat—eighty copecks! And that only because ithas been worn. And it's bought on conditionthat when's it's worn out, they will give youanother next year. Yes, on my word! Well, nowlet us pass to the United States of America, asthey called them at school. I assure you I amproud of these breeches," and he exhibited toRaskolnikov a pair of light, summer trousers ofgrey woollen material. "No holes, no spots, andquite respectable, although a little worn; and awaistcoat to match, quite in the fashion. And itsbeing worn really is an improvement, it's softer,smoother.... You see, Rodya, to my thinking,the great thing for getting on in the world is

always to keep to the seasons; if you don't insiston having asparagus in January, you keep yourmoney in your purse; and it's the same withthis purchase. It's summer now, so I've beenbuying summer things—warmer materials willbe wanted for autumn, so you will have tothrow these away in any case... especially asthey will be done for by then from their ownlack of coherence if not your higher standard ofluxury. Come, price them! What do you say?Two roubles twenty-five copecks! And remem-ber the condition: if you wear these out, youwill have another suit for nothing! They onlydo business on that system at Fedyaev's; ifyou've bought a thing once, you are satisfiedfor life, for you will never go there again ofyour own free will. Now for the boots. What doyou say? You see that they are a bit worn, butthey'll last a couple of months, for it's foreignwork and foreign leather; the secretary of theEnglish Embassy sold them last week—he had

only worn them six days, but he was very shortof cash. Price—a rouble and a half. A bargain?"

"But perhaps they won't fit," observed Nastas-ya.

"Not fit? Just look!" and he pulled out of hispocket Raskolnikov's old, broken boot, stifflycoated with dry mud. "I did not go empty-handed—they took the size from this monster.We all did our best. And as to your linen, yourlandlady has seen to that. Here, to begin withare three shirts, hempen but with a fashionablefront.... Well now then, eighty copecks the cap,two roubles twenty-five copecks the suit—together three roubles five copecks—a roubleand a half for the boots—for, you see, they arevery good—and that makes four roubles fifty-five copecks; five roubles for the underclot-hes—they were bought in the lo—which makesexactly nine roubles fifty-five copecks. Forty-five copecks change in coppers. Will you takeit? And so, Rodya, you are set up with a com-

plete new rig-out, for your overcoat will serve,and even has a style of its own. That comesfrom getting one's clothes from Sharmer's! Asfor your socks and other things, I leave them toyou; we've twenty-five roubles left. And as forPashenka and paying for your lodging, don'tyou worry. I tell you she'll trust you for anyt-hing. And now, brother, let me change yourlinen, for I daresay you will throw off your ill-ness with your shirt."

"Let me be! I don't want to!" Raskolnikov wa-ved him off. He had listened with disgust toRazumihin's efforts to be playful about his pur-chases.

"Come, brother, don't tell me I've been trudgingaround for nothing," Razumihin insisted. "Nas-tasya, don't be bashful, but help me—that's it,"and in spite of Raskolnikov's resistance hechanged his linen. The latter sank back on thepillows and for a minute or two said nothing.

"It will be long before I get rid of them," hethought. "What money was all that boughtwith?" he asked at last, gazing at the wall.

"Money? Why, your own, what the messengerbrought from Vahrushin, your mother sent it.Have you forgotten that, too?"

"I remember now," said Raskolnikov after along, sullen silence. Razumihin looked at him,frowning and uneasy.

The door opened and a tall, stout man whoseappearance seemed familiar to Raskolnikovcame in.

CHAPTER IV

Zossimov was a tall, fat man with a puffy, co-lourless, clean-shaven face and straight flaxenhair. He wore spectacles, and a big gold ring onhis fat finger. He was twenty-seven. He had ona light grey fashionable loose coat, light sum-mer trousers, and everything about him loose,fashionable and spick and span; his linen wasirreproachable, his watch-chain was massive. Inmanner he was slow and, as it were, noncha-lant, and at the same time studiously free andeasy; he made efforts to conceal his self-importance, but it was apparent at every ins-tant. All his acquaintances found him tedious,but said he was clever at his work.

"I've been to you twice to-day, brother. You see,he's come to himself," cried Razumihin.

"I see, I see; and how do we feel now, eh?" saidZossimov to Raskolnikov, watching him care-

fully and, sitting down at the foot of the sofa,he settled himself as comfortably as he could.

"He is still depressed," Razumihin went on."We've just changed his linen and he almostcried."

"That's very natural; you might have put it off ifhe did not wish it.... His pulse is first-rate. Isyour head still aching, eh?"

"I am well, I am perfectly well!" Raskolnikovdeclared positively and irritably. He raisedhimself on the sofa and looked at them withglittering eyes, but sank back on to the pillowat once and turned to the wall. Zossimov wat-ched him intently.

"Very good.... Going on all right," he said lazily."Has he eaten anything?"

They told him, and asked what he might have.

"He may have anything... soup, tea... mush-rooms and cucumbers, of course, you must notgive him; he'd better not have meat either,and... but no need to tell you that!" Razumihinand he looked at each other. "No more medici-ne or anything. I'll look at him again to-morrow. Perhaps, to-day even... but nevermind..."

"To-morrow evening I shall take him for awalk," said Razumihin. "We are going to theYusupov garden and then to the Palais de Crys-tal."

"I would not disturb him to-morrow at all, but Idon't know... a little, maybe... but we'll see."

"Ach, what a nuisance! I've got a house-warming party to-night; it's only a step fromhere. Couldn't he come? He could lie on thesofa. You are coming?" Razumihin said to Zos-simov. "Don't forget, you promised."

"All right, only rather later. What are you goingto do?"

"Oh, nothing—tea, vodka, herrings. There willbe a pie... just our friends."

"And who?"

"All neighbours here, almost all new friends,except my old uncle, and he is new too—heonly arrived in Petersburg yesterday to see tosome business of his. We meet once in fiveyears."

"What is he?"

"He's been stagnating all his life as a districtpostmaster; gets a little pension. He is sixty-five—not worth talking about.... But I am fondof him. Porfiry Petrovitch, the head of the In-vestigation Department here... But you knowhim."

"Is he a relation of yours, too?"

"A very distant one. But why are you scowling?Because you quarrelled once, won't you comethen?"

"I don't care a damn for him."

"So much the better. Well, there will be somestudents, a teacher, a government clerk, a musi-cian, an officer and Zametov."

"Do tell me, please, what you or he"—Zossimovnodded at Raskolnikov—"can have in commonwith this Zametov?"

"Oh, you particular gentleman! Principles! Youare worked by principles, as it were by springs;you won't venture to turn round on your ownaccount. If a man is a nice fellow, that's the onlyprinciple I go upon. Zametov is a delightfulperson."

"Though he does take bribes."

"Well, he does! and what of it? I don't care if hedoes take bribes," Razumihin cried with unna-tural irritability. "I don't praise him for takingbribes. I only say he is a nice man in his ownway! But if one looks at men in all ways—arethere many good ones left? Why, I am sure Ishouldn't be worth a baked onion myself... per-haps with you thrown in."

"That's too little; I'd give two for you."

"And I wouldn't give more than one for you.No more of your jokes! Zametov is no morethan a boy. I can pull his hair and one mustdraw him not repel him. You'll never improve aman by repelling him, especially a boy. One hasto be twice as careful with a boy. Oh, you pro-gressive dullards! You don't understand. Youharm yourselves running another man down....But if you want to know, we really have so-mething in common."

"I should like to know what."

"Why, it's all about a house-painter.... We aregetting him out of a mess! Though indeed the-re's nothing to fear now. The matter is absolute-ly self-evident. We only put on steam."

"A painter?"

"Why, haven't I told you about it? I only toldyou the beginning then about the murder of theold pawnbroker-woman. Well, the painter ismixed up in it..."

"Oh, I heard about that murder before and wasrather interested in it... partly... for one rea-son.... I read about it in the papers, too...."

"Lizaveta was murdered, too," Nastasya blur-ted out, suddenly addressing Raskolnikov. Sheremained in the room all the time, standing bythe door listening.

"Lizaveta," murmured Raskolnikov hardly au-dibly.

"Lizaveta, who sold old clothes. Didn't youknow her? She used to come here. She mendeda shirt for you, too."

Raskolnikov turned to the wall where in thedirty, yellow paper he picked out one clumsy,white flower with brown lines on it and beganexamining how many petals there were in it,how many scallops in the petals and how manylines on them. He felt his arms and legs as life-less as though they had been cut off. He did notattempt to move, but stared obstinately at theflower.

"But what about the painter?" Zossimov inte-rrupted Nastasya's chatter with marked dis-pleasure. She sighed and was silent.

"Why, he was accused of the murder," Razu-mihin went on hotly.

"Was there evidence against him then?"

"Evidence, indeed! Evidence that was no evi-dence, and that's what we have to prove. It wasjust as they pitched on those fellows, Koch andPestryakov, at first. Foo! how stupidly it's alldone, it makes one sick, though it's not one'sbusiness! Pestryakov may be coming to-night....By the way, Rodya, you've heard about thebusiness already; it happened before you wereill, the day before you fainted at the police offi-ce while they were talking about it."

Zossimov looked curiously at Raskolnikov. Hedid not stir.

"But I say, Razumihin, I wonder at you. What abusybody you are!" Zossimov observed.

"Maybe I am, but we will get him off anyway,"shouted Razumihin, bringing his fist down onthe table. "What's the most offensive is not theirlying—one can always forgive lying—lying is adelightful thing, for it leads to truth—what isoffensive is that they lie and worship their own

lying.... I respect Porfiry, but... What threwthem out at first? The door was locked, andwhen they came back with the porter it wasopen. So it followed that Koch and Pestryakovwere the murderers—that was their logic!"

"But don't excite yourself; they simply detainedthem, they could not help that.... And, by theway, I've met that man Koch. He used to buyunredeemed 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 ofhim! Do you know what makes me angry? It'stheir sickening rotten, petrified routine.... Andthis case might be the means of introducing anew method. One can show from the psycholo-gical data alone how to get on the track of thereal man. 'We have facts,' they say. But facts arenot everything—at least half the business lies inhow you interpret them!"

"Can you interpret them, then?"

"Anyway, one can't hold one's tongue whenone has a feeling, a tangible feeling, that onemight be a help if only.... Eh! Do you know thedetails of the case?"

"I am waiting to hear about the painter."

"Oh, yes! Well, here's the story. Early on thethird day after the murder, when they were stilldandling Koch and Pestryakov—though theyaccounted for every step they took and it wasas plain as a pikestaff-an unexpected fact tur-ned up. A peasant called Dushkin, who keeps adram-shop facing the house, brought to thepolice office a jeweller's case containing somegold ear-rings, and told a long rigamarole. 'Theday before yesterday, just after eight o'clock'—mark the day and the hour!—'a journeymanhouse-painter, Nikolay, who had been in to seeme already that day, brought me this box ofgold ear-rings and stones, and asked me to give

him two roubles for them. When I asked himwhere he got them, he said that he picked themup in the street. I did not ask him anything mo-re.' I am telling you Dushkin's story. 'I gave hima note'—a rouble that is—'for I thought if hedid not pawn it with me he would with anot-her. It would all come to the same thing—he'dspend it on drink, so the thing had better bewith me. The further you hide it the quickeryou will find it, and if anything turns up, if Ihear any rumours, I'll take it to the police.' Ofcourse, that's all taradiddle; he lies like a horse,for I know this Dushkin, he is a pawnbrokerand a receiver of stolen goods, and he did notcheat Nikolay out of a thirty-rouble trinket inorder to give it to the police. He was simplyafraid. But no matter, to return to Dushkin'sstory. 'I've known this peasant, Nikolay De-mentyev, from a child; he comes from the sameprovince and district of Zaraïsk, we are bothRyazan men. And though Nikolay is not adrunkard, he drinks, and I knew he had a job in

that house, painting work with Dmitri, whocomes from the same village, too. As soon as hegot the rouble he changed it, had a couple ofglasses, took his change and went out. But I didnot see Dmitri with him then. And the next dayI heard that someone had murdered AlyonaIvanovna and her sister, Lizaveta Ivanovna,with an axe. I knew them, and I felt suspiciousabout the ear-rings at once, for I knew themurdered woman lent money on pledges. Iwent to the house, and began to make carefulinquiries without saying a word to anyone.First of all I asked, "Is Nikolay here?" Dmitritold me that Nikolay had gone off on the spree;he had come home at daybreak drunk, stayedin the house about ten minutes, and went outagain. Dmitri didn't see him again and is finis-hing the job alone. And their job is on the samestaircase as the murder, on the second floor.When I heard all that I did not say a word toanyone'—that's Dushkin's tale—'but I foundout what I could about the murder, and went

home feeling as suspicious as ever. And ateight o'clock this morning'—that was the thirdday, you understand—'I saw Nikolay comingin, not sober, though not to say very drunk—hecould understand what was said to him. He satdown on the bench and did not speak. Therewas only one stranger in the bar and a man Iknew asleep on a bench and our two boys."Have you seen Dmitri?" said I. "No, I haven't,"said he. "And you've not been here either?""Not since the day before yesterday," said he."And where did you sleep last night?" "In Pes-ki, with the Kolomensky men." "And where didyou get those ear-rings?" I asked. "I found themin the street," and the way he said it was a bitqueer; he did not look at me. "Did you hearwhat happened that very evening, at that veryhour, on that same staircase?" said I. "No," saidhe, "I had not heard," and all the while he waslistening, his eyes were staring out of his headand he turned as white as chalk. I told him allabout it and he took his hat and began getting

up. I wanted to keep him. "Wait a bit, Nikolay,"said I, "won't you have a drink?" And I signedto the boy to hold the door, and I came outfrom behind the bar; but he darted out anddown the street to the turning at a run. I havenot seen him since. Then my doubts were at anend—it was his doing, as clear as could be....'"

"I should think so," said Zossimov.

"Wait! Hear the end. Of course they soughthigh and low for Nikolay; they detained Dush-kin and searched his house; Dmitri, too, wasarrested; the Kolomensky men also were tur-ned inside out. And the day before yesterdaythey arrested Nikolay in a tavern at the end ofthe town. He had gone there, taken the silvercross off his neck and asked for a dram for it.They gave it to him. A few minutes afterwardsthe woman went to the cowshed, and through acrack in the wall she saw in the stable adjoininghe 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 scree-ched her hardest; people ran in. 'So that's whatyou are up to!' 'Take me,' he says, 'to such-and-such a police officer; I'll confess everything.'Well, they took him to that police station—thatis here—with a suitable escort. So they askedhim this and that, how old he is, 'twenty-two,'and so on. At the question, 'When you wereworking with Dmitri, didn't you see anyone onthe staircase at such-and-such a time?'—answer: 'To be sure folks may have gone upand down, but I did not notice them.' 'Anddidn'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?' 'Inever knew a thing about it. The first I heard ofit was from Afanasy Pavlovitch the day beforeyesterday.' 'And where did you find the ear-rings?' 'I found them on the pavement.' 'Whydidn't you go to work with Dmitri the otherday?' 'Because I was drinking.' 'And where we-

re you drinking?' 'Oh, in such-and-such a pla-ce.' 'Why did you run away from Dushkin's?''Because I was awfully frightened.' 'What wereyou frightened of?' 'That I should be accused.''How could you be frightened, if you felt freefrom guilt?' Now, Zossimov, you may not be-lieve me, that question was put literally in tho-se words. I know it for a fact, it was repeated tome exactly! What do you say to that?"

"Well, anyway, there's the evidence."

"I am not talking of the evidence now, I amtalking about that question, of their own idea ofthemselves. Well, so they squeezed and squee-zed him and he confessed: 'I did not find it inthe street, but in the flat where I was paintingwith Dmitri.' 'And how was that?' 'Why, Dmitriand I were painting there all day, and we werejust getting ready to go, and Dmitri took abrush and painted my face, and he ran off and Iafter him. I ran after him, shouting my hardest,and at the bottom of the stairs I ran right

against the porter and some gentlemen—andhow many gentlemen were there I don't re-member. And the porter swore at me, and theother porter swore, too, and the porter's wifecame out, and swore at us, too; and a gentle-man came into the entry with a lady, and heswore at us, too, for Dmitri and I lay rightacross the way. I got hold of Dmitri's hair andknocked him down and began beating him.And Dmitri, too, caught me by the hair andbegan beating me. But we did it all not for tem-per but in a friendly way, for sport. And thenDmitri escaped and ran into the street, and Iran after him; but I did not catch him, and wentback to the flat alone; I had to clear up mythings. I began putting them together, expec-ting Dmitri to come, and there in the passage,in the corner by the door, I stepped on the box.I saw it lying there wrapped up in paper. I tookoff the paper, saw some little hooks, undidthem, and in the box were the ear-rings....'"

"Behind the door? Lying behind the door?Behind the door?" Raskolnikov cried suddenly,staring with a blank look of terror at Razu-mihin, and he slowly sat up on the sofa, leaningon his hand.

"Yes... why? What's the matter? What's wrong?"Razumihin, too, got up from his seat.

"Nothing," Raskolnikov answered faintly, tur-ning to the wall. All were silent for a while.

"He must have waked from a dream," Razu-mihin said at last, looking inquiringly at Zos-simov. The latter slightly shook his head.

"Well, go on," said Zossimov. "What next?"

"What next? As soon as he saw the ear-rings,forgetting Dmitri and everything, he took uphis cap and ran to Dushkin and, as we know,got a rouble from him. He told a lie saying hefound them in the street, and went off drinking.

He keeps repeating his old story about themurder: 'I know nothing of it, never heard of ittill the day before yesterday.' 'And why didn'tyou come to the police till now?' 'I was frighte-ned.' 'And why did you try to hang yourself?''From anxiety.' 'What anxiety?' 'That I shouldbe accused of it.' Well, that's the whole story.And now what do you suppose they deducedfrom that?"

"Why, there's no supposing. There's a clue,such as it is, a fact. You wouldn't have yourpainter set free?"

"Now they've simply taken him for the murde-rer. They haven't a shadow of doubt."

"That's nonsense. You are excited. But whatabout the ear-rings? You must admit that, if onthe very same day and hour ear-rings from theold woman's box have come into Nikolay'shands, they must have come there somehow.That's a good deal in such a case."

"How did they get there? How did they getthere?" cried Razumihin. "How can you, a doc-tor, whose duty it is to study man and who hasmore opportunity than anyone else for stud-ying human nature—how can you fail to seethe character of the man in the whole story?Don't you see at once that the answers he hasgiven in the examination are the holy truth?They came into his hand precisely as he hastold us—he stepped on the box and picked itup."

"The holy truth! But didn't he own himself thathe told a lie at first?"

"Listen to me, listen attentively. The porter andKoch and Pestryakov and the other porter andthe wife of the first porter and the woman whowas sitting in the porter's lodge and the manKryukov, who had just got out of a cab at thatminute and went in at the entry with a lady onhis arm, that is eight or ten witnesses, agreethat Nikolay had Dmitri on the ground, was

lying on him beating him, while Dmitri hungon to his hair, beating him, too. They lay rightacross the way, blocking the thoroughfare.They were sworn at on all sides while they 'likechildren' (the very words of the witnesses) we-re falling over one another, squealing, fightingand laughing with the funniest faces, and, cha-sing one another like children, they ran into thestreet. Now take careful note. The bodies ups-tairs were warm, you understand, warm whenthey found them! If they, or Nikolay alone, hadmurdered them and broken open the boxes, orsimply taken part in the robbery, allow me toask you one question: do their state of mind,their squeals and giggles and childish scufflingat the gate fit in with axes, bloodshed, fiendishcunning, robbery? They'd just killed them, notfive or ten minutes before, for the bodies werestill warm, and at once, leaving the flat open,knowing that people would go there at once,flinging away their booty, they rolled about likechildren, laughing and attracting general atten-

tion. And there are a dozen witnesses to swearto that!"

"Of course it is strange! It's impossible, indeed,but..."

"No, brother, no buts. And if the ear-rings beingfound in Nikolay's hands at the very day andhour of the murder constitutes an importantpiece of circumstantial evidence against him—although the explanation given by him ac-counts for it, and therefore it does not tell se-riously against him—one must take into consi-deration the facts which prove him innocent,especially as they are facts that cannot be denied.And do you suppose, from the character of ourlegal system, that they will accept, or that theyare in a position to accept, this fact—restingsimply on a psychological impossibility—asirrefutable and conclusively breaking down thecircumstantial evidence for the prosecution?No, they won't accept it, they certainly won't,because they found the jewel-case and the man

tried to hang himself, 'which he could not havedone if he hadn't felt guilty.' That's the point,that's what excites me, you must understand!"

"Oh, I see you are excited! Wait a bit. I forgot toask you; what proof is there that the box camefrom the old woman?"

"That's been proved," said Razumihin with ap-parent reluctance, frowning. "Koch recognisedthe jewel-case and gave the name of the owner,who proved conclusively that it was his."

"That's bad. Now another point. Did anyonesee Nikolay at the time that Koch and Pestrya-kov were going upstairs at first, and is there noevidence about that?"

"Nobody did see him," Razumihin answeredwith vexation. "That's the worst of it. EvenKoch and Pestryakov did not notice them ontheir way upstairs, though, indeed, their evi-dence could not have been worth much. They

said they saw the flat was open, and that theremust be work going on in it, but they took nospecial notice and could not remember whetherthere actually were men at work in it."

"Hm!... So the only evidence for the defence isthat they were beating one another and laug-hing. That constitutes a strong presumption,but... How do you explain the facts yourself?"

"How do I explain them? What is there to ex-plain? It's clear. At any rate, the direction inwhich explanation is to be sought is clear, andthe jewel-case points to it. The real murdererdropped those ear-rings. The murderer wasupstairs, locked in, when Koch and Pestryakovknocked at the door. Koch, like an ass, did notstay at the door; so the murderer popped outand ran down, too; for he had no other way ofescape. He hid from Koch, Pestryakov and theporter in the flat when Nikolay and Dmitri hadjust run out of it. He stopped there while theporter and others were going upstairs, waited

till they were out of hearing, and then wentcalmly downstairs at the very minute whenDmitri and Nikolay ran out into the street andthere was no one in the entry; possibly he wasseen, but not noticed. There are lots of peoplegoing in and out. He must have dropped theear-rings out of his pocket when he stoodbehind the door, and did not notice he droppedthem, because he had other things to think of.The jewel-case is a conclusive proof that he didstand there.... That's how I explain it."

"Too clever! No, my boy, you're too clever. Thatbeats everything."

"But, why, why?"

"Why, because everything fits too well... it's toomelodramatic."

"A-ach!" Razumihin was exclaiming, but at thatmoment the door opened and a personage ca-me in who was a stranger to all present.

CHAPTER V

This was a gentleman no longer young, of astiff and portly appearance, and a cautious andsour countenance. He began by stopping shortin the doorway, staring about him with offen-sive and undisguised astonishment, as thoughasking himself what sort of place he had cometo. Mistrustfully and with an affectation ofbeing alarmed and almost affronted, he scan-ned Raskolnikov's low and narrow "cabin."With the same amazement he stared at Raskol-nikov, who lay undressed, dishevelled, unwas-hed, on his miserable dirty sofa, looking fixedlyat him. Then with the same deliberation hescrutinised the uncouth, unkempt figure andunshaven face of Razumihin, who looked him

boldly and inquiringly in the face without ri-sing from his seat. A constrained silence lastedfor a couple of minutes, and then, as might beexpected, some scene-shifting took place. Re-flecting, probably from certain fairly unmista-kable signs, that he would get nothing in this"cabin" by attempting to overawe them, thegentleman softened somewhat, and civilly,though with some severity, emphasising everysyllable of his question, addressed Zossimov:

"Rodion Romanovitch Raskolnikov, a student,or formerly a student?"

Zossimov made a slight movement, and wouldhave answered, had not Razumihin anticipatedhim.

"Here he is lying on the sofa! What do youwant?"

This familiar "what do you want" seemed to cutthe ground from the feet of the pompous gen-

tleman. He was turning to Razumihin, butchecked himself in time and turned to Zossi-mov again.

"This is Raskolnikov," mumbled Zossimov,nodding towards him. Then he gave a prolon-ged yawn, opening his mouth as wide as possi-ble. Then he lazily put his hand into his waist-coat-pocket, pulled out a huge gold watch in around hunter's case, opened it, looked at it andas slowly and lazily proceeded to put it back.

Raskolnikov himself lay without speaking, onhis back, gazing persistently, though withoutunderstanding, at the stranger. Now that hisface was turned away from the strange floweron the paper, it was extremely pale and wore alook of anguish, as though he had just under-gone an agonising operation or just been takenfrom the rack. But the new-comer graduallybegan to arouse his attention, then his wonder,then suspicion and even alarm. When Zossi-mov said "This is Raskolnikov" he jumped up

quickly, sat on the sofa and with an almost de-fiant, but weak and breaking, voice articulated:

"Yes, I am Raskolnikov! What do you want?"

The visitor scrutinised him and pronouncedimpressively:

"Pyotr Petrovitch Luzhin. I believe I have rea-son to hope that my name is not wholly unk-nown to you?"

But Raskolnikov, who had expected somethingquite different, gazed blankly and dreamily athim, making no reply, as though he heard thename of Pyotr Petrovitch for the first time.

"Is it possible that you can up to the presenthave received no information?" asked PyotrPetrovitch, somewhat disconcerted.

In reply Raskolnikov sank languidly back onthe pillow, put his hands behind his head andgazed at the ceiling. A look of dismay came

into Luzhin's face. Zossimov and Razumihinstared at him more inquisitively than ever, andat last he showed unmistakable signs of emba-rrassment.

"I had presumed and calculated," he faltered,"that a letter posted more than ten days, if not afortnight ago..."

"I say, why are you standing in the doorway?"Razumihin interrupted suddenly. "If you'vesomething to say, sit down. Nastasya and youare so crowded. Nastasya, make room. Here's achair, thread your way in!"

He moved his chair back from the table, made alittle space between the table and his knees, andwaited in a rather cramped position for thevisitor to "thread his way in." The minute wasso chosen that it was impossible to refuse, andthe visitor squeezed his way through, hurryingand stumbling. Reaching the chair, he satdown, looking suspiciously at Razumihin.

"No need to be nervous," the latter blurted out."Rodya has been ill for the last five days anddelirious for three, but now he is recoveringand has got an appetite. This is his doctor, whohas just had a look at him. I am a comrade ofRodya's, like him, formerly a student, and nowI am nursing him; so don't you take any noticeof us, but go on with your business."

"Thank you. But shall I not disturb the invalidby my presence and conversation?" Pyotr Pe-trovitch asked of Zossimov.

"N-no," mumbled Zossimov; "you may amusehim." He yawned again.

"He has been conscious a long time, since themorning," went on Razumihin, whose familiari-ty seemed so much like unaffected good-naturethat Pyotr Petrovitch began to be more cheer-ful, partly, perhaps, because this shabby andimpudent person had introduced himself as astudent.

"Your mamma," began Luzhin.

"Hm!" Razumihin cleared his throat loudly.Luzhin looked at him inquiringly.

"That's all right, go on."

Luzhin shrugged his shoulders.

"Your mamma had commenced a letter to youwhile I was sojourning in her neighbourhood.On my arrival here I purposely allowed a fewdays to elapse before coming to see you, in or-der that I might be fully assured that you werein full possession of the tidings; but now, to myastonishment..."

"I know, I know!" Raskolnikov cried suddenlywith impatient vexation. "So you are the fiancé?I know, and that's enough!"

There was no doubt about Pyotr Petrovitch'sbeing offended this time, but he said nothing.

He made a violent effort to understand what itall meant. There was a moment's silence.

Meanwhile Raskolnikov, who had turned alittle towards him when he answered, begansuddenly staring at him again with markedcuriosity, as though he had not had a good lookat him yet, or as though something new hadstruck him; he rose from his pillow on purposeto stare at him. There certainly was somethingpeculiar in Pyotr Petrovitch's whole appearan-ce, something which seemed to justify the titleof "fiancé" so unceremoniously applied to him.In the first place, it was evident, far too muchso indeed, that Pyotr Petrovitch had made ea-ger use of his few days in the capital to gethimself up and rig himself out in expectation ofhis betrothed—a perfectly innocent and per-missible proceeding, indeed. Even his own,perhaps too complacent, consciousness of theagreeable improvement in his appearancemight have been forgiven in such circumstan-

ces, seeing that Pyotr Petrovitch had taken upthe rôle of fiancé. All his clothes were freshfrom the tailor's and were all right, except forbeing too new and too distinctly appropriate.Even the stylish new round hat had the samesignificance. Pyotr Petrovitch treated it too res-pectfully and held it too carefully in his hands.The exquisite pair of lavender gloves, real Lou-vain, told the same tale, if only from the fact ofhis not wearing them, but carrying them in hishand for show. Light and youthful colours pre-dominated in Pyotr Petrovitch's attire. He worea charming summer jacket of a fawn shade,light thin trousers, a waistcoat of the same, newand fine linen, a cravat of the lightest cambricwith pink stripes on it, and the best of it was,this all suited Pyotr Petrovitch. His very freshand even handsome face looked younger thanhis forty-five years at all times. His dark, mut-ton-chop whiskers made an agreeable settingon both sides, growing thickly upon his shi-ning, clean-shaven chin. Even his hair, touched

here and there with grey, though it had beencombed and curled at a hairdresser's, did notgive him a stupid appearance, as curled hairusually does, by inevitably suggesting a Ger-man on his wedding-day. If there really wassomething unpleasing and repulsive in his rat-her good-looking and imposing countenance, itwas due to quite other causes. After scanningMr. Luzhin unceremoniously, Raskolnikov smi-led malignantly, sank back on the pillow andstared at the ceiling as before.

But Mr. Luzhin hardened his heart and seemedto determine to take no notice of their oddities.

"I feel the greatest regret at finding you in thissituation," he began, again breaking the silencewith an effort. "If I had been aware of your ill-ness I should have come earlier. But you knowwhat business is. I have, too, a very importantlegal affair in the Senate, not to mention otherpreoccupations which you may well conjecture.

I am expecting your mamma and sister anyminute."

Raskolnikov made a movement and seemedabout to speak; his face showed some excite-ment. Pyotr Petrovitch paused, waited, but asnothing followed, he went on:

"... Any minute. I have found a lodging forthem on their arrival."

"Where?" asked Raskolnikov weakly.

"Very near here, in Bakaleyev's house."

"That's in Voskresensky," put in Razumihin."There are two storeys of rooms, let by a mer-chant called Yushin; I've been there."

"Yes, rooms..."

"A disgusting place—filthy, stinking and,what's more, of doubtful character. Things havehappened there, and there are all sorts of queer

people living there. And I went there about ascandalous business. It's cheap, though..."

"I could not, of course, find out so much aboutit, for I am a stranger in Petersburg myself,"Pyotr Petrovitch replied huffily. "However, thetwo rooms are exceedingly clean, and as it is forso short a time... I have already taken a perma-nent, that is, our future flat," he said, addres-sing Raskolnikov, "and I am having it done up.And meanwhile I am myself cramped for roomin a lodging with my friend Andrey Semyono-vitch Lebeziatnikov, in the flat of Madame Lip-pevechsel; it was he who told me of Bakaleyev'shouse, too..."

"Lebeziatnikov?" said Raskolnikov slowly, as ifrecalling something.

"Yes, Andrey Semyonovitch Lebeziatnikov, aclerk in the Ministry. Do you know him?"

"Yes... no," Raskolnikov answered.

"Excuse me, I fancied so from your inquiry. Iwas once his guardian.... A very nice youngman and advanced. I like to meet young peo-ple: one learns new things from them." Luzhinlooked round hopefully at them all.

"How do you mean?" asked Razumihin.

"In the most serious and essential matters,"Pyotr Petrovitch replied, as though delighted atthe question. "You see, it's ten years since I visi-ted Petersburg. All the novelties, reforms, ideashave reached us in the provinces, but to see itall more clearly one must be in Petersburg. Andit's my notion that you observe and learn mostby watching the younger generation. And Iconfess I am delighted..."

"At what?"

"Your question is a wide one. I may be mista-ken, but I fancy I find clearer views, more, so tosay, criticism, more practicality..."

"That's true," Zossimov let drop.

"Nonsense! There's no practicality." Razumihinflew at him. "Practicality is a difficult thing tofind; it does not drop down from heaven. Andfor the last two hundred years we have beendivorced from all practical life. Ideas, if youlike, are fermenting," he said to Pyotr Petro-vitch, "and desire for good exists, though it's ina childish form, and honesty you may find,although there are crowds of brigands. Any-way, there's no practicality. Practicality goeswell shod."

"I don't agree with you," Pyotr Petrovitch re-plied, with evident enjoyment. "Of course, peo-ple do get carried away and make mistakes, butone must have indulgence; those mistakes aremerely evidence of enthusiasm for the causeand of abnormal external environment. If littlehas been done, the time has been but short; ofmeans I will not speak. It's my personal view, ifyou care to know, that something has been ac-

complished already. New valuable ideas, newvaluable works are circulating in the place ofour old dreamy and romantic authors. Literatu-re is taking a maturer form, many injuriousprejudice have been rooted up and turned intoridicule.... In a word, we have cut ourselves offirrevocably from the past, and that, to my thin-king, is a great thing..."

"He's learnt it by heart to show off!" Raskolni-kov pronounced suddenly.

"What?" asked Pyotr Petrovitch, not catchinghis words; but he received no reply.

"That's all true," Zossimov hastened to interpo-se.

"Isn't it so?" Pyotr Petrovitch went on, glancingaffably at Zossimov. "You must admit," he wenton, addressing Razumihin with a shade oftriumph and superciliousness—he almost ad-ded "young man"—"that there is an advance,

or, as they say now, progress in the name ofscience and economic truth..."

"A commonplace."

"No, not a commonplace! Hitherto, for instance,if I were told, 'love thy neighbour,' what cameof it?" Pyotr Petrovitch went on, perhaps withexcessive haste. "It came to my tearing my coatin half to share with my neighbour and we bothwere left half naked. As a Russian proverb hasit, 'Catch several hares and you won't catchone.' Science now tells us, love yourself beforeall men, for everything in the world rests onself-interest. You love yourself and manageyour own affairs properly and your coat re-mains whole. Economic truth adds that thebetter private affairs are organised in society—the more whole coats, so to say—the firmer areits foundations and the better is the commonwelfare organised too. Therefore, in acquiringwealth solely and exclusively for myself, I amacquiring, so to speak, for all, and helping to

bring to pass my neighbour's getting a littlemore than a torn coat; and that not from priva-te, personal liberality, but as a consequence ofthe general advance. The idea is simple, butunhappily it has been a long time reaching us,being hindered by idealism and sentimentality.And yet it would seem to want very little wit toperceive it..."

"Excuse me, I've very little wit myself," Razu-mihin cut in sharply, "and so let us drop it. Ibegan this discussion with an object, but I'vegrown so sick during the last three years of thischattering to amuse oneself, of this incessantflow of commonplaces, always the same, that,by Jove, I blush even when other people talklike that. You are in a hurry, no doubt, to ex-hibit your acquirements; and I don't blame you,that's quite pardonable. I only wanted to findout what sort of man you are, for so many uns-crupulous people have got hold of the progres-sive cause of late and have so distorted in their

own interests everything they touched, that thewhole cause has been dragged in the mire.That's enough!"

"Excuse me, sir," said Luzhin, affronted, andspeaking with excessive dignity. "Do you meanto suggest so unceremoniously that I too..."

"Oh, my dear sir... how could I?... Come, that'senough," Razumihin concluded, and he turnedabruptly to Zossimov to continue their pre-vious conversation.

Pyotr Petrovitch had the good sense to acceptthe disavowal. He made up his mind to takeleave in another minute or two.

"I trust our acquaintance," he said, addressingRaskolnikov, "may, upon your recovery and inview of the circumstances of which you areaware, become closer... Above all, I hope foryour return to health..."

Raskolnikov did not even turn his head. PyotrPetrovitch began getting up from his chair.

"One of her customers must have killed her,"Zossimov declared positively.

"Not a doubt of it," replied Razumihin. "Porfirydoesn't give his opinion, but is examining allwho have left pledges with her there."

"Examining them?" Raskolnikov asked aloud.

"Yes. What then?"

"Nothing."

"How does he get hold of them?" asked Zossi-mov.

"Koch has given the names of some of them,other names are on the wrappers of the pledgesand some have come forward of themselves."

"It must have been a cunning and practisedruffian! The boldness of it! The coolness!"

"That's just what it wasn't!" interposed Razu-mihin. "That's what throws you all off the scent.But I maintain that he is not cunning, not prac-tised, and probably this was his first crime! Thesupposition that it was a calculated crime and acunning criminal doesn't work. Suppose him tohave been inexperienced, and it's clear that itwas only a chance that saved him—and chancemay do anything. Why, he did not foresee obs-tacles, perhaps! And how did he set to work?He took jewels worth ten or twenty roubles,stuffing his pockets with them, ransacked theold woman's trunks, her rags—and they foundfifteen hundred roubles, besides notes, in a boxin the top drawer of the chest! He did not knowhow to rob; he could only murder. It was hisfirst crime, I assure you, his first crime; he losthis head. And he got off more by luck thangood counsel!"

"You are talking of the murder of the old pawn-broker, I believe?" Pyotr Petrovitch put in, ad-dressing Zossimov. He was standing, hat andgloves in hand, but before departing he feltdisposed to throw off a few more intellectualphrases. He was evidently anxious to make afavourable impression and his vanity overcamehis prudence.

"Yes. You've heard of it?"

"Oh, yes, being in the neighbourhood."

"Do you know the details?"

"I can't say that; but another circumstance inte-rests me in the case—the whole question, so tosay. Not to speak of the fact that crime has beengreatly on the increase among the lower classesduring the last five years, not to speak of thecases of robbery and arson everywhere, whatstrikes me as the strangest thing is that in thehigher classes, too, crime is increasing propor-

tionately. In one place one hears of a student'srobbing the mail on the high road; in anotherplace people of good social position forge falsebanknotes; in Moscow of late a whole gang hasbeen captured who used to forge lottery tickets,and one of the ringleaders was a lecturer inuniversal history; then our secretary abroadwas murdered from some obscure motive ofgain.... And if this old woman, the pawnbroker,has been murdered by someone of a higherclass in society—for peasants don't pawn goldtrinkets—how are we to explain this demorali-sation of the civilised part of our society?"

"There are many economic changes," put inZossimov.

"How are we to explain it?" Razumihin caughthim up. "It might be explained by our invetera-te impracticality."

"How do you mean?"

"What answer had your lecturer in Moscow tomake to the question why he was forging no-tes? 'Everybody is getting rich one way oranother, so I want to make haste to get rich too.'I don't remember the exact words, but the ups-hot was that he wants money for nothing, wit-hout waiting or working! We've grown used tohaving everything ready-made, to walking oncrutches, to having our food chewed for us.Then the great hour struck,[*] and every manshowed himself in his true colours."

[*] The emancipation of the serfs in 1861 ismeant. —TRANSLATOR'S NOTE.

"But morality? And so to speak, principles..."

"But why do you worry about it?" Raskolnikovinterposed suddenly. "It's in accordance withyour theory!"

"In accordance with my theory?"

"Why, carry out logically the theory you wereadvocating just now, and it follows that peoplemay be killed..."

"Upon my word!" cried Luzhin.

"No, that's not so," put in Zossimov.

Raskolnikov lay with a white face and twit-ching upper lip, breathing painfully.

"There's a measure in all things," Luzhin wenton superciliously. "Economic ideas are not anincitement to murder, and one has but to sup-pose..."

"And is it true," Raskolnikov interposed oncemore suddenly, again in a voice quivering withfury and delight in insulting him, "is it true thatyou told your fiancée... within an hour of heracceptance, that what pleased you most... wasthat she was a beggar... because it was better toraise a wife from poverty, so that you may have

complete control over her, and reproach herwith your being her benefactor?"

"Upon my word," Luzhin cried wrathfully andirritably, crimson with confusion, "to distort mywords in this way! Excuse me, allow me to as-sure you that the report which has reached you,or rather, let me say, has been conveyed to you,has no foundation in truth, and I... suspectwho... in a word... this arrow... in a word, yourmamma... She seemed to me in other things,with all her excellent qualities, of a somewhathigh-flown and romantic way of thinking.... ButI was a thousand miles from supposing that shewould misunderstand and misrepresent thingsin so fanciful a way.... And indeed... indeed..."

"I tell you what," cried Raskolnikov, raisinghimself on his pillow and fixing his piercing,glittering eyes upon him, "I tell you what."

"What?" Luzhin stood still, waiting with a de-fiant and offended face. Silence lasted for someseconds.

"Why, if ever again... you dare to mention asingle word... about my mother... I shall sendyou flying downstairs!"

"What's the matter with you?" cried Razumihin.

"So that's how it is?" Luzhin turned pale and bithis lip. "Let me tell you, sir," he began delibera-tely, doing his utmost to restrain himself butbreathing hard, "at the first moment I saw youyou were ill-disposed to me, but I remainedhere on purpose to find out more. I could for-give a great deal in a sick man and a connec-tion, but you... never after this..."

"I am not ill," cried Raskolnikov.

"So much the worse..."

"Go to hell!"

But Luzhin was already leaving without finis-hing his speech, squeezing between the tableand the chair; Razumihin got up this time to lethim pass. Without glancing at anyone, and noteven nodding to Zossimov, who had for sometime been making signs to him to let the sickman alone, he went out, lifting his hat to thelevel of his shoulders to avoid crushing it as hestooped to go out of the door. And even thecurve of his spine was expressive of the horri-ble insult he had received.

"How could you—how could you!" Razumihinsaid, shaking his head in perplexity.

"Let me alone—let me alone all of you!" Ras-kolnikov cried in a frenzy. "Will you ever leaveoff tormenting me? I am not afraid of you! I amnot afraid of anyone, anyone now! Get awayfrom me! I want to be alone, alone, alone!"

"Come along," said Zossimov, nodding to Ra-zumihin.

"But we can't leave him like this!"

"Come along," Zossimov repeated insistently,and he went out. Razumihin thought a minuteand ran to overtake him.

"It might be worse not to obey him," said Zos-simov on the stairs. "He mustn't be irritated."

"What's the matter with him?"

"If only he could get some favourable shock,that's what would do it! At first he was better....You know he has got something on his mind!Some fixed idea weighing on him.... I am verymuch afraid so; he must have!"

"Perhaps it's that gentleman, Pyotr Petrovitch.From his conversation I gather he is going tomarry his sister, and that he had received aletter about it just before his illness...."

"Yes, confound the man! he may have upset thecase altogether. But have you noticed, he takes

no interest in anything, he does not respond toanything except one point on which he seemsexcited—that's the murder?"

"Yes, yes," Razumihin agreed, "I noticed that,too. He is interested, frightened. It gave him ashock on the day he was ill in the police office;he fainted."

"Tell me more about that this evening and I'lltell you something afterwards. He interests mevery much! In half an hour I'll go and see himagain.... There'll be no inflammation though."

"Thanks! And I'll wait with Pashenka meantimeand will keep watch on him through Nastas-ya...."

Raskolnikov, left alone, looked with impatienceand misery at Nastasya, but she still lingered.

"Won't you have some tea now?" she asked.

"Later! I am sleepy! Leave me."

He turned abruptly to the wall; Nastasya wentout.

CHAPTER VI

But as soon as she went out, he got up, latchedthe door, undid the parcel which Razumihinhad brought in that evening and had tied upagain and began dressing. Strange to say, heseemed immediately to have become perfectlycalm; not a trace of his recent delirium nor ofthe panic fear that had haunted him of late. Itwas the first moment of a strange sudden calm.His movements were precise and definite; afirm purpose was evident in them. "To-day, to-day," he muttered to himself. He understoodthat he was still weak, but his intense spiritualconcentration gave him strength and self-

confidence. He hoped, moreover, that he wouldnot fall down in the street. When he had dres-sed in entirely new clothes, he looked at themoney lying on the table, and after a moment'sthought put it in his pocket. It was twenty-fiveroubles. He took also all the copper changefrom the ten roubles spent by Razumihin on theclothes. Then he softly unlatched the door,went out, slipped downstairs and glanced in atthe open kitchen door. Nastasya was standingwith her back to him, blowing up the landla-dy's samovar. She heard nothing. Who wouldhave dreamed of his going out, indeed? A mi-nute later he was in the street.

It was nearly eight o'clock, the sun was setting.It was as stifling as before, but he eagerly drankin the stinking, dusty town air. His head feltrather dizzy; a sort of savage energy gleamedsuddenly in his feverish eyes and his wasted,pale and yellow face. He did not know and didnot think where he was going, he had one

thought only: "that all this must be ended to-day, once for all, immediately; that he wouldnot return home without it, because he wouldnot go on living like that." How, with what tomake an end? He had not an idea about it, hedid not even want to think of it. He drove awaythought; thought tortured him. All he knew, allhe felt was that everything must be changed"one way or another," he repeated with despe-rate and immovable self-confidence and deter-mination.

From old habit he took his usual walk in thedirection of the Hay Market. A dark-hairedyoung man with a barrel organ was standing inthe road in front of a little general shop andwas grinding out a very sentimental song. Hewas accompanying a girl of fifteen, who stoodon the pavement in front of him. She was dres-sed up in a crinoline, a mantle and a straw hatwith a flame-coloured feather in it, all very oldand shabby. In a strong and rather agreeable

voice, cracked and coarsened by street singing,she sang in hope of getting a copper from theshop. Raskolnikov joined two or three listeners,took out a five copeck piece and put it in thegirl's hand. She broke off abruptly on a senti-mental high note, shouted sharply to the organgrinder "Come on," and both moved on to thenext shop.

"Do you like street music?" said Raskolnikov,addressing a middle-aged man standing idlyby him. The man looked at him, startled andwondering.

"I love to hear singing to a street organ," saidRaskolnikov, and his manner seemed strangelyout of keeping with the subject—"I like it oncold, dark, damp autumn evenings—they mustbe damp—when all the passers-by have palegreen, sickly faces, or better still when wetsnow is falling straight down, when there's nowind—you know what I mean?—and the streetlamps shine through it..."

"I don't know.... Excuse me..." muttered thestranger, frightened by the question and Ras-kolnikov's strange manner, and he crossed overto the other side of the street.

Raskolnikov walked straight on and came outat the corner of the Hay Market, where thehuckster and his wife had talked with Lizaveta;but they were not there now. Recognising theplace, he stopped, looked round and addresseda young fellow in a red shirt who stood gapingbefore a corn chandler's shop.

"Isn't there a man who keeps a booth with hiswife at this corner?"

"All sorts of people keep booths here," answe-red the young man, glancing superciliously atRaskolnikov.

"What's his name?"

"What he was christened."

"Aren't you a Zaraïsky man, too? Which pro-vince?"

The young man looked at Raskolnikov again.

"It's not a province, your excellency, but a dis-trict. Graciously forgive me, your excellency!"

"Is that a tavern at the top there?"

"Yes, it's an eating-house and there's a billiard-room and you'll find princesses there too.... La-la!"

Raskolnikov crossed the square. In that cornerthere was a dense crowd of peasants. He pus-hed his way into the thickest part of it, lookingat the faces. He felt an unaccountable inclina-tion to enter into conversation with people. Butthe peasants took no notice of him; they wereall shouting in groups together. He stood andthought a little and took a turning to the rightin the direction of V.

He had often crossed that little street whichturns at an angle, leading from the market-place to Sadovy Street. Of late he had often feltdrawn to wander about this district, when hefelt depressed, that he might feel more so.

Now he walked along, thinking of nothing. Atthat point there is a great block of buildings,entirely let out in dram shops and eating-houses; women were continually running inand out, bare-headed and in their indoor clot-hes. Here and there they gathered in groups, onthe pavement, especially about the entrances tovarious festive establishments in the lower sto-reys. From one of these a loud din, sounds ofsinging, the tinkling of a guitar and shouts ofmerriment, floated into the street. A crowd ofwomen were thronging round the door; somewere sitting on the steps, others on the pave-ment, others were standing talking. A drunkensoldier, smoking a cigarette, was walking nearthem in the road, swearing; he seemed to be

trying to find his way somewhere, but had for-gotten where. One beggar was quarrelling withanother, and a man dead drunk was lying rightacross the road. Raskolnikov joined the throngof women, who were talking in husky voices.They were bare-headed and wore cotton dres-ses and goatskin shoes. There were women offorty and some not more than seventeen; al-most all had blackened eyes.

He felt strangely attracted by the singing andall the noise and uproar in the saloon below....someone could be heard within dancing franti-cally, marking time with his heels to the soundsof the guitar and of a thin falsetto voice singinga jaunty air. He listened intently, gloomily anddreamily, bending down at the entrance andpeeping inquisitively in from the pavement.

"Oh, my handsome soldier Don't beat me fornothing,"

trilled the thin voice of the singer. Raskolnikovfelt a great desire to make out what he was sin-ging, as though everything depended on that.

"Shall I go in?" he thought. "They are laughing.From drink. Shall I get drunk?"

"Won't you come in?" one of the women askedhim. Her voice was still musical and less thickthan the others, she was young and not repul-sive—the only one of the group.

"Why, she's pretty," he said, drawing himselfup and looking at her.

She smiled, much pleased at the compliment.

"You're very nice looking yourself," she said.

"Isn't he thin though!" observed another wo-man in a deep bass. "Have you just come out ofa hospital?"

"They're all generals' daughters, it seems, butthey have all snub noses," interposed a tipsypeasant with a sly smile on his face, wearing aloose coat. "See how jolly they are."

"Go along with you!"

"I'll go, sweetie!"

And he darted down into the saloon below.Raskolnikov moved on.

"I say, sir," the girl shouted after him.

"What is it?"

She hesitated.

"I'll always be pleased to spend an hour withyou, kind gentleman, but now I feel shy. Giveme six copecks for a drink, there's a nice youngman!"

Raskolnikov gave her what came first—fifteencopecks.

"Ah, what a good-natured gentleman!"

"What's your name?"

"Ask for Duclida."

"Well, that's too much," one of the women ob-served, shaking her head at Duclida. "I don'tknow how you can ask like that. I believe Ishould drop with shame...."

Raskolnikov looked curiously at the speaker.She was a pock-marked wench of thirty, cove-red with bruises, with her upper lip swollen.She made her criticism quietly and earnestly."Where is it," thought Raskolnikov. "Where is itI've read that someone condemned to deathsays or thinks, an hour before his death, that ifhe had to live on some high rock, on such anarrow ledge that he'd only room to stand, and

the ocean, everlasting darkness, everlastingsolitude, everlasting tempest around him, if hehad to remain standing on a square yard ofspace all his life, a thousand years, eternity, itwere better to live so than to die at once! Onlyto live, to live and live! Life, whatever it maybe!... How true it is! Good God, how true! Manis a vile creature!... And vile is he who calls himvile for that," he added a moment later.

He went into another street. "Bah, the Palais deCristal! Razumihin was just talking of the Pa-lais de Cristal. But what on earth was it I wan-ted? Yes, the newspapers.... Zossimov said he'dread it in the papers. Have you the papers?" heasked, going into a very spacious and positive-ly clean restaurant, consisting of several rooms,which were, however, rather empty. Two orthree people were drinking tea, and in a roomfurther away were sitting four men drinkingchampagne. Raskolnikov fancied that Zametov

was one of them, but he could not be sure atthat distance. "What if it is?" he thought.

"Will you have vodka?" asked the waiter.

"Give me some tea and bring me the papers, theold ones for the last five days, and I'll give yousomething."

"Yes, sir, here's to-day's. No vodka?"

The old newspapers and the tea were brought.Raskolnikov sat down and began to lookthrough them.

"Oh, damn... these are the items of intelligence.An accident on a staircase, spontaneous com-bustion of a shopkeeper from alcohol, a fire inPeski... a fire in the Petersburg quarter... anot-her fire in the Petersburg quarter... and anotherfire in the Petersburg quarter.... Ah, here it is!"He found at last what he was seeking and be-gan to read it. The lines danced before his eyes,

but he read it all and began eagerly seekinglater additions in the following numbers. Hishands shook with nervous impatience as heturned the sheets. Suddenly someone sat downbeside him at his table. He looked up, it was thehead clerk Zametov, looking just the same,with the rings on his fingers and the watch-chain, with the curly, black hair, parted andpomaded, with the smart waistcoat, rathershabby coat and doubtful linen. He was in agood humour, at least he was smiling very gai-ly and good-humouredly. His dark face wasrather flushed from the champagne he haddrunk.

"What, you here?" he began in surprise, spea-king as though he'd known him all his life."Why, Razumihin told me only yesterday youwere unconscious. How strange! And do youknow I've been to see you?"

Raskolnikov knew he would come up to him.He laid aside the papers and turned to Zame-

tov. There was a smile on his lips, and a newshade of irritable impatience was apparent inthat smile.

"I know you have," he answered. "I've heard it.You looked for my sock.... And you know Ra-zumihin has lost his heart to you? He says you'-ve been with him to Luise Ivanovna's—youknow, the woman you tried to befriend, forwhom you winked to the Explosive Lieutenantand he would not understand. Do you remem-ber? How could he fail to understand—it wasquite clear, wasn't it?"

"What a hot head he is!"

"The explosive one?"

"No, your friend Razumihin."

"You must have a jolly life, Mr. Zametov; en-trance free to the most agreeable places. Who'sbeen pouring champagne into you just now?"

"We've just been... having a drink together....You talk about pouring it into me!"

"By way of a fee! You profit by everything!"Raskolnikov laughed, "it's all right, my dearboy," he added, slapping Zametov on theshoulder. "I am not speaking from temper, butin a friendly way, for sport, as that workman ofyours said when he was scuffling with Dmitri,in the case of the old woman...."

"How do you know about it?"

"Perhaps I know more about it than you do."

"How strange you are.... I am sure you are stillvery unwell. You oughtn't to have come out."

"Oh, do I seem strange to you?"

"Yes. What are you doing, reading the papers?"

"Yes."

"There's a lot about the fires."

"No, I am not reading about the fires." Here helooked mysteriously at Zametov; his lips weretwisted again in a mocking smile. "No, I am notreading about the fires," he went on, winking atZametov. "But confess now, my dear fellow,you're awfully anxious to know what I am rea-ding about?"

"I am not in the least. Mayn't I ask a question?Why do you keep on...?"

"Listen, you are a man of culture and educa-tion?"

"I was in the sixth class at the gymnasium," saidZametov with some dignity.

"Sixth class! Ah, my cock-sparrow! With yourparting and your rings—you are a gentleman offortune. Foo! what a charming boy!" Here Ras-kolnikov broke into a nervous laugh right in

Zametov's face. The latter drew back, moreamazed than offended.

"Foo! how strange you are!" Zametov repeatedvery seriously. "I can't help thinking you arestill delirious."

"I am delirious? You are fibbing, my cock-sparrow! So I am strange? You find me curious,do you?"

"Yes, curious."

"Shall I tell you what I was reading about, whatI was looking for? See what a lot of papers I'vemade them bring me. Suspicious, eh?"

"Well, what is it?"

"You prick up your ears?"

"How do you mean—'prick up my ears'?"

"I'll explain that afterwards, but now, my boy, Ideclare to you... no, better 'I confess'... No,that's not right either; 'I make a deposition andyou take it.' I depose that I was reading, that Iwas looking and searching...." he screwed uphis eyes and paused. "I was searching—andcame here on purpose to do it—for news of themurder of the old pawnbroker woman," hearticulated at last, almost in a whisper, bringinghis face exceedingly close to the face of Zame-tov. Zametov looked at him steadily, withoutmoving or drawing his face away. What struckZametov afterwards as the strangest part of itall was that silence followed for exactly a minu-te, and that they gazed at one another all thewhile.

"What if you have been reading about it?" hecried at last, perplexed and impatient. "That'sno business of mine! What of it?"

"The same old woman," Raskolnikov went onin the same whisper, not heeding Zametov's

explanation, "about whom you were talking inthe police-office, you remember, when I fain-ted. Well, do you understand now?"

"What do you mean? Understand... what?" Za-metov brought out, almost alarmed.

Raskolnikov's set and earnest face was sudden-ly transformed, and he suddenly went off intothe same nervous laugh as before, as thoughutterly unable to restrain himself. And in oneflash he recalled with extraordinary vividnessof sensation a moment in the recent past, thatmoment when he stood with the axe behind thedoor, while the latch trembled and the menoutside swore and shook it, and he had a sud-den desire to shout at them, to swear at them,to put out his tongue at them, to mock them, tolaugh, and laugh, and laugh!

"You are either mad, or..." began Zametov, andhe broke off, as though stunned by the idea thathad suddenly flashed into his mind.

"Or? Or what? What? Come, tell me!"

"Nothing," said Zametov, getting angry, "it's allnonsense!"

Both were silent. After his sudden fit of laugh-ter Raskolnikov became suddenly thoughtfuland melancholy. He put his elbow on the tableand leaned his head on his hand. He seemed tohave completely forgotten Zametov. The silen-ce lasted for some time.

"Why don't you drink your tea? It's gettingcold," said Zametov.

"What! Tea? Oh, yes...." Raskolnikov sipped theglass, put a morsel of bread in his mouth and,suddenly looking at Zametov, seemed to re-member everything and pulled himself toget-her. At the same moment his face resumed itsoriginal mocking expression. He went on drin-king tea.

"There have been a great many of these crimeslately," said Zametov. "Only the other day Iread in the Moscow News that a whole gang offalse coiners had been caught in Moscow. Itwas a regular society. They used to forge tic-kets!"

"Oh, but it was a long time ago! I read about it amonth ago," Raskolnikov answered calmly. "Soyou consider them criminals?" he added, smi-ling.

"Of course they are criminals."

"They? They are children, simpletons, not cri-minals! Why, half a hundred people meetingfor such an object—what an idea! Three wouldbe too many, and then they want to have morefaith in one another than in themselves! Onehas only to blab in his cups and it all collapses.Simpletons! They engaged untrustworthy peo-ple to change the notes—what a thing to trustto a casual stranger! Well, let us suppose that

these simpletons succeed and each makes amillion, and what follows for the rest of theirlives? Each is dependent on the others for therest of his life! Better hang oneself at once! Andthey did not know how to change the noteseither; the man who changed the notes tookfive thousand roubles, and his hands trembled.He counted the first four thousand, but did notcount the fifth thousand—he was in such ahurry to get the money into his pocket and runaway. Of course he roused suspicion. And thewhole 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 aterrible experience? To go with false notes into

a bank where it's their business to spot that sortof thing! No, I should not have the face to do it.Would you?"

Raskolnikov had an intense desire again "to puthis tongue out." Shivers kept running down hisspine.

"I should do it quite differently," Raskolnikovbegan. "This is how I would change the notes:I'd count the first thousand three or four timesbackwards and forwards, looking at every noteand then I'd set to the second thousand; I'dcount that half-way through and then hold so-me fifty-rouble note to the light, then turn it,then hold it to the light again—to see whether itwas a good one. 'I am afraid,' I would say, 'arelation of mine lost twenty-five roubles theother day through a false note,' and then I'd tellthem the whole story. And after I began coun-ting the third, 'No, excuse me,' I would say, 'Ifancy I made a mistake in the seventh hundredin that second thousand, I am not sure.' And so

I would give up the third thousand and go backto the second and so on to the end. And when Ihad finished, I'd pick out one from the fifth andone from the second thousand and take themagain to the light and ask again, 'Change them,please,' and put the clerk into such a stew thathe would not know how to get rid of me. WhenI'd finished and had gone out, I'd come back,'No, excuse me,' and ask for some explanation.That's how I'd do it."

"Foo! what terrible things you say!" said Zame-tov, laughing. "But all that is only talk. I daresay when it came to deeds you'd make a slip. Ibelieve that even a practised, desperate mancannot always reckon on himself, much lessyou and I. To take an example near home—thatold woman murdered in our district. The mur-derer seems to have been a desperate fellow, herisked everything in open daylight, was savedby a miracle—but his hands shook, too. He did

not succeed in robbing the place, he couldn'tstand it. That was clear from the..."

Raskolnikov seemed offended.

"Clear? Why don't you catch him then?" hecried, maliciously gibing at Zametov.

"Well, they will catch him."

"Who? You? Do you suppose you could catchhim? You've a tough job! A great point for youis whether a man is spending money or not. Ifhe had no money and suddenly begins spen-ding, he must be the man. So that any child canmislead you."

"The fact is they always do that, though," ans-wered Zametov. "A man will commit a clevermurder at the risk of his life and then at once hegoes drinking in a tavern. They are caughtspending money, they are not all as cunning as

you are. You wouldn't go to a tavern, of cour-se?"

Raskolnikov frowned and looked steadily atZametov.

"You seem to enjoy the subject and would liketo know how I should behave in that case, too?"he asked with displeasure.

"I should like to," Zametov answered firmlyand seriously. Somewhat too much earnestnessbegan to appear in his words and looks.

"Very much?"

"Very much!"

"All right then. This is how I should behave,"Raskolnikov began, again bringing his face clo-se to Zametov's, again staring at him and spea-king in a whisper, so that the latter positivelyshuddered. "This is what I should have done. Ishould have taken the money and jewels, I

should have walked out of there and have gonestraight to some deserted place with fencesround it and scarcely anyone to be seen, somekitchen garden or place of that sort. I shouldhave looked out beforehand some stone weig-hing a hundredweight or more which had beenlying in the corner from the time the house wasbuilt. I would lift that stone—there would sureto be a hollow under it, and I would put thejewels and money in that hole. Then I'd roll thestone back so that it would look as before,would press it down with my foot and walkaway. And for a year or two, three maybe, Iwould not touch it. And, well, they couldsearch! There'd be no trace."

"You are a madman," said Zametov, and forsome reason he too spoke in a whisper, andmoved away from Raskolnikov, whose eyeswere glittering. He had turned fearfully paleand his upper lip was twitching and quivering.He bent down as close as possible to Zametov,

and his lips began to move without uttering aword. This lasted for half a minute; he knewwhat he was doing, but could not restrain him-self. The terrible word trembled on his lips, likethe latch on that door; in another moment itwill break out, in another moment he will let itgo, he will speak out.

"And what if it was I who murdered the oldwoman and Lizaveta?" he said suddenly and—realised what he had done.

Zametov looked wildly at him and turned whi-te as the tablecloth. His face wore a contortedsmile.

"But is it possible?" he brought out faintly. Ras-kolnikov looked wrathfully at him.

"Own up that you believed it, yes, you did?"

"Not a bit of it, I believe it less than ever now,"Zametov cried hastily.

"I've caught my cock-sparrow! So you did be-lieve it before, if now you believe less thanever?"

"Not at all," cried Zametov, obviously emba-rrassed. "Have you been frightening me so as tolead up to this?"

"You don't believe it then? What were you tal-king about behind my back when I went out ofthe police-office? And why did the explosivelieutenant question me after I fainted? Hey,there," he shouted to the waiter, getting up andtaking his cap, "how much?"

"Thirty copecks," the latter replied, running up.

"And there is twenty copecks for vodka. Seewhat a lot of money!" he held out his shakinghand to Zametov with notes in it. "Red notesand blue, twenty-five roubles. Where did I getthem? And where did my new clothes comefrom? You know I had not a copeck. You've

cross-examined my landlady, I'll be bound....Well, that's enough! Assez causé! Till we meetagain!"

He went out, trembling all over from a sort ofwild hysterical sensation, in which there was anelement of insufferable rapture. Yet he wasgloomy and terribly tired. His face was twistedas after a fit. His fatigue increased rapidly. Anyshock, any irritating sensation stimulated andrevived his energies at once, but his strengthfailed as quickly when the stimulus was remo-ved.

Zametov, left alone, sat for a long time in thesame place, plunged in thought. Raskolnikovhad unwittingly worked a revolution in hisbrain on a certain point and had made up hismind for him conclusively.

"Ilya Petrovitch is a blockhead," he decided.

Raskolnikov had hardly opened the door of therestaurant when he stumbled against Razu-mihin on the steps. They did not see each othertill they almost knocked against each other. Fora moment they stood looking each other upand down. Razumihin was greatly astounded,then anger, real anger gleamed fiercely in hiseyes.

"So here you are!" he shouted at the top of hisvoice—"you ran away from your bed! And hereI've been looking for you under the sofa! Wewent up to the garret. I almost beat Nastasyaon your account. And here he is after all. Rod-ya! What is the meaning of it? Tell me the who-le truth! Confess! Do you hear?"

"It means that I'm sick to death of you all and Iwant to be alone," Raskolnikov answered calm-ly.

"Alone? When you are not able to walk, whenyour face is as white as a sheet and you are gas-

ping for breath! Idiot!... What have you beendoing in the Palais de Cristal? Own up at once!"

"Let me go!" said Raskolnikov and tried to passhim. This was too much for Razumihin; hegripped him firmly by the shoulder.

"Let you go? You dare tell me to let you go? Doyou know what I'll do with you directly? I'llpick you up, tie you up in a bundle, carry youhome under my arm and lock you up!"

"Listen, Razumihin," Raskolnikov began quie-tly, apparently calm—"can't you see that I don'twant your benevolence? A strange desire youhave to shower benefits on a man who... cursesthem, who feels them a burden in fact! Why didyou seek me out at the beginning of my illness?Maybe I was very glad to die. Didn't I tell youplainly enough to-day that you were torturingme, that I was... sick of you! You seem to wantto torture people! I assure you that all that isseriously hindering my recovery, because it's

continually irritating me. You saw Zossimovwent away just now to avoid irritating me. Youleave me alone too, for goodness' sake! Whatright have you, indeed, to keep me by force?Don't you see that I am in possession of all myfaculties now? How, how can I persuade younot to persecute me with your kindness? I maybe 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 thevenomous phrases he was about to utter, butfinished, panting for breath, in a frenzy, as hehad been with Luzhin.

Razumihin stood a moment, thought and let hishand drop.

"Well, go to hell then," he said gently andthoughtfully. "Stay," he roared, as Raskolnikovwas about to move. "Listen to me. Let me tellyou, that you are all a set of babbling, posingidiots! If you've any little trouble you brood

over it like a hen over an egg. And you are pla-giarists even in that! There isn't a sign of inde-pendent life in you! You are made of spermace-ti ointment and you've lymph in your veinsinstead of blood. I don't believe in anyone ofyou! In any circumstances the first thing for allof you is to be unlike a human being! Stop!" hecried with redoubled fury, noticing that Ras-kolnikov was again making a movement—"hear me out! You know I'm having a house-warming this evening, I dare say they've arri-ved by now, but I left my uncle there—I justran in—to receive the guests. And if you we-ren't a fool, a common fool, a perfect fool, if youwere an original instead of a translation... yousee, Rodya, I recognise you're a clever fellow,but you're a fool!—and if you weren't a foolyou'd come round to me this evening instead ofwearing out your boots in the street! Since youhave gone out, there's no help for it! I'd giveyou a snug easy chair, my landlady has one... acup of tea, company.... Or you could lie on the

sofa—any way you would be with us.... Zossi-mov will be there too. Will you come?"

"No."

"R-rubbish!" Razumihin shouted, out of patien-ce. "How do you know? You can't answer foryourself! You don't know anything about it....Thousands of times I've fought tooth and nailwith people and run back to them afterwards....One feels ashamed and goes back to a man! Soremember, Potchinkov's house on the thirdstorey...."

"Why, Mr. Razumihin, I do believe you'd letanybody beat you from sheer benevolence."

"Beat? Whom? Me? I'd twist his nose off at themere idea! Potchinkov's house, 47, Babushkin'sflat...."

"I shall not come, Razumihin." Raskolnikovturned and walked away.

"I bet you will," Razumihin shouted after him."I refuse to know you if you don't! Stay, hey, isZametov in there?"

"Yes."

"Did you see him?"

"Yes."

"Talked to him?"

"Yes."

"What about? Confound you, don't tell methen. Potchinkov's house, 47, Babushkin's flat,remember!"

Raskolnikov walked on and turned the cornerinto Sadovy Street. Razumihin looked after himthoughtfully. Then with a wave of his hand hewent into the house but stopped short of thestairs.

"Confound it," he went on almost aloud. "Hetalked sensibly but yet... I am a fool! As ifmadmen didn't talk sensibly! And this was justwhat Zossimov seemed afraid of." He struck hisfinger on his forehead. "What if... how could Ilet him go off alone? He may drown himself....Ach, what a blunder! I can't." And he ran backto overtake Raskolnikov, but there was no traceof him. With a curse he returned with rapidsteps to the Palais de Cristal to question Zame-tov.

Raskolnikov walked straight to X—— Bridge,stood in the middle, and leaning both elbowson the rail stared into the distance. On partingwith Razumihin, he felt so much weaker thathe could scarcely reach this place. He longed tosit or lie down somewhere in the street. Ben-ding over the water, he gazed mechanically atthe last pink flush of the sunset, at the row ofhouses growing dark in the gathering twilight,at one distant attic window on the left bank,

flashing as though on fire in the last rays of thesetting sun, at the darkening water of the canal,and the water seemed to catch his attention. Atlast red circles flashed before his eyes, the hou-ses seemed moving, the passers-by, the canalbanks, the carriages, all danced before his eyes.Suddenly he started, saved again perhaps fromswooning by an uncanny and hideous sight. Hebecame aware of someone standing on the rightside of him; he looked and saw a tall womanwith a kerchief on her head, with a long, ye-llow, wasted face and red sunken eyes. She waslooking straight at him, but obviously she sawnothing and recognised no one. Suddenly sheleaned her right hand on the parapet, lifted herright leg over the railing, then her left andthrew herself into the canal. The filthy waterparted and swallowed up its victim for a mo-ment, but an instant later the drowning womanfloated to the surface, moving slowly with thecurrent, her head and legs in the water, herskirt inflated like a balloon over her back.

"A woman drowning! A woman drowning!"shouted dozens of voices; people ran up, bothbanks were thronged with spectators, on thebridge people crowded about Raskolnikov,pressing up behind him.

"Mercy on it! it's our Afrosinya!" a woman criedtearfully close by. "Mercy! save her! kind peo-ple, pull her out!"

"A boat, a boat" was shouted in the crowd. Butthere was no need of a boat; a policeman randown the steps to the canal, threw off his greatcoat and his boots and rushed into the water. Itwas easy to reach her: she floated within a cou-ple of yards from the steps, he caught hold ofher clothes with his right hand and with his leftseized a pole which a comrade held out to him;the drowning woman was pulled out at once.They laid her on the granite pavement of theembankment. She soon recovered conscious-ness, raised her head, sat up and began snee-

zing and coughing, stupidly wiping her wetdress with her hands. She said nothing.

"She's drunk herself out of her senses," the sa-me woman's voice wailed at her side. "Out ofher senses. The other day she tried to hang her-self, we cut her down. I ran out to the shop justnow, left my little girl to look after her—andhere she's in trouble again! A neighbour, gen-tleman, a neighbour, we live close by, the se-cond house from the end, see yonder...."

The crowd broke up. The police still remainedround the woman, someone mentioned thepolice station.... Raskolnikov looked on with astrange sensation of indifference and apathy.He felt disgusted. "No, that's loathsome... wa-ter... it's not good enough," he muttered to him-self. "Nothing will come of it," he added, "nouse to wait. What about the police office...? Andwhy isn't Zametov at the police office? The po-lice office is open till ten o'clock...." He turnedhis back to the railing and looked about him.

"Very well then!" he said resolutely; he movedfrom the bridge and walked in the direction ofthe police office. His heart felt hollow and emp-ty. He did not want to think. Even his depres-sion had passed, there was not a trace now ofthe energy with which he had set out "to makean end of it all." Complete apathy had succee-ded to it.

"Well, it's a way out of it," he thought, walkingslowly and listlessly along the canal bank."Anyway I'll make an end, for I want to.... Butis it a way out? What does it matter! There'll bethe 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 so-mewhere to sit or lie down soon! What I ammost ashamed of is its being so stupid. But Idon't care about that either! What idiotic ideascome into one's head."

To reach the police office he had to go straightforward and take the second turning to the left.

It was only a few paces away. But at the firstturning he stopped and, after a minute'sthought, turned into a side street and went twostreets out of his way, possibly without anyobject, or possibly to delay a minute and gaintime. He walked, looking at the ground; sud-denly someone seemed to whisper in his ear; helifted his head and saw that he was standing atthe very gate of the house. He had not passed it,he had not been near it since that evening. Anoverwhelming, unaccountable prompting drewhim on. He went into the house, passedthrough the gateway, then into the first entran-ce on the right, and began mounting the fami-liar staircase to the fourth storey. The narrow,steep staircase was very dark. He stopped ateach landing and looked round him with curio-sity; on the first landing the framework of thewindow had been taken out. "That wasn't sothen," he thought. Here was the flat on the se-cond storey where Nikolay and Dmitri hadbeen working. "It's shut up and the door newly

painted. So it's to let." Then the third storey andthe fourth. "Here!" He was perplexed to findthe door of the flat wide open. There were menthere, he could hear voices; he had not expectedthat. After brief hesitation he mounted the laststairs and went into the flat. It, too, was beingdone up; there were workmen in it. This see-med to amaze him; he somehow fancied that hewould find everything as he left it, even per-haps the corpses in the same places on thefloor. And now, bare walls, no furniture; itseemed strange. He walked to the window andsat down on the window-sill. There were twoworkmen, both young fellows, but one muchyounger than the other. They were paperingthe walls with a new white paper covered withlilac flowers, instead of the old, dirty, yellowone. Raskolnikov for some reason felt horriblyannoyed by this. He looked at the new paperwith dislike, as though he felt sorry to have itall so changed. The workmen had obviouslystayed beyond their time and now they were

hurriedly rolling up their paper and gettingready to go home. They took no notice of Ras-kolnikov's coming in; they were talking. Ras-kolnikov folded his arms and listened.

"She comes to me in the morning," said the el-der to the younger, "very early, all dressed up.'Why are you preening and prinking?' says I. 'Iam ready to do anything to please you, Tit Vas-silitch!' That's a way of going on! And she dres-sed up like a regular fashion book!"

"And what is a fashion book?" the younger oneasked. He obviously regarded the other as anauthority.

"A fashion book is a lot of pictures, coloured,and they come to the tailors here every Satur-day, by post from abroad, to show folks how todress, the male sex as well as the female. They'-re pictures. The gentlemen are generally wea-ring fur coats and for the ladies' fluffles, they'rebeyond anything you can fancy."

"There's nothing you can't find in Petersburg,"the younger cried enthusiastically, "except fat-her and mother, there's everything!"

"Except them, there's everything to be found,my boy," the elder declared sententiously.

Raskolnikov got up and walked into the otherroom where the strong box, the bed, and thechest of drawers had been; the room seemed tohim very tiny without furniture in it. The paperwas the same; the paper in the corner showedwhere the case of ikons had stood. He looked atit and went to the window. The elder workmanlooked at him askance.

"What do you want?" he asked suddenly.

Instead of answering Raskolnikov went into thepassage and pulled the bell. The same bell, thesame cracked note. He rang it a second and athird time; he listened and remembered. Thehideous and agonisingly fearful sensation he

had felt then began to come back more andmore vividly. He shuddered at every ring andit gave him more and more satisfaction.

"Well, what do you want? Who are you?" theworkman shouted, going out to him. Raskolni-kov went inside again.

"I want to take a flat," he said. "I am lookinground."

"It's not the time to look at rooms at night! andyou ought to come up with the porter."

"The floors have been washed, will they bepainted?" Raskolnikov went on. "Is there noblood?"

"What blood?"

"Why, the old woman and her sister were mur-dered here. There was a perfect pool there."

"But who are you?" the workman cried, uneasy.

"Who am I?"

"Yes."

"You want to know? Come to the police station,I'll tell you."

The workmen looked at him in amazement.

"It's time for us to go, we are late. Come along,Alyoshka. We must lock up," said the elderworkman.

"Very well, come along," said Raskolnikov in-differently, and going out first, he went slowlydownstairs. "Hey, porter," he cried in the gate-way.

At the entrance several people were standing,staring at the passers-by; the two porters, a pea-sant woman, a man in a long coat and a fewothers. Raskolnikov went straight up to them.

"What do you want?" asked one of the porters.

"Have you been to the police office?"

"I've just been there. What do you want?"

"Is it open?"

"Of course."

"Is the assistant there?"

"He was there for a time. What do you want?"

Raskolnikov made no reply, but stood besidethem lost in thought.

"He's been to look at the flat," said the elderworkman, coming forward.

"Which flat?"

"Where we are at work. 'Why have you washedaway the blood?' says he. 'There has been amurder here,' says he, 'and I've come to take it.'And he began ringing at the bell, all but broke

it. 'Come to the police station,' says he. 'I'll tellyou everything there.' He wouldn't leave us."

The porter looked at Raskolnikov, frowningand perplexed.

"Who are you?" he shouted as impressively ashe could.

"I am Rodion Romanovitch Raskolnikov, for-merly a student, I live in Shil's house, not farfrom here, flat Number 14, ask the porter, heknows me." Raskolnikov said all this in a lazy,dreamy voice, not turning round, but lookingintently into the darkening street.

"Why have you been to the flat?"

"To look at it."

"What is there to look at?"

"Take him straight to the police station," theman in the long coat jerked in abruptly.

Raskolnikov looked intently at him over hisshoulder and said in the same slow, lazy tones:

"Come along."

"Yes, take him," the man went on more confi-dently. "Why was he going into that, what's inhis mind, eh?"

"He's not drunk, but God knows what's thematter with him," muttered the workman.

"But what do you want?" the porter shoutedagain, beginning to get angry in earnest—"Whyare you hanging about?"

"You funk the police station then?" said Ras-kolnikov 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 ot-her porter, a huge peasant in a full open coatand with keys on his belt. "Get along! He is arogue and no mistake. Get along!"

And seizing Raskolnikov by the shoulder heflung him into the street. He lurched forward,but recovered his footing, looked at the specta-tors in silence and walked away.

"Strange man!" observed the workman.

"There are strange folks about nowadays," saidthe woman.

"You should have taken him to the police sta-tion all the same," said the man in the long coat.

"Better have nothing to do with him," decidedthe big porter. "A regular rogue! Just what hewants, 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 atthe cross-roads, and he looked about him, asthough expecting from someone a decisiveword. But no sound came, all was dead andsilent like the stones on which he walked, deadto him, to him alone.... All at once at the end ofthe street, two hundred yards away, in the gat-hering dusk he saw a crowd and heard talk andshouts. In the middle of the crowd stood a ca-rriage.... A light gleamed in the middle of thestreet. "What is it?" Raskolnikov turned to theright and went up to the crowd. He seemed toclutch at everything and smiled coldly when herecognised it, for he had fully made up hismind to go to the police station and knew thatit would all soon be over.

CHAPTER VII

An elegant carriage stood in the middle of theroad with a pair of spirited grey horses; therewas no one in it, and the coachman had got offhis box and stood by; the horses were beingheld by the bridle.... A mass of people had gat-hered round, the police standing in front. Oneof them held a lighted lantern which he wasturning on something lying close to the wheels.Everyone was talking, shouting, exclaiming;the coachman seemed at a loss and kept repea-ting:

"What a misfortune! Good Lord, what a misfor-tune!"

Raskolnikov pushed his way in as far as hecould, and succeeded at last in seeing the objectof the commotion and interest. On the ground aman who had been run over lay apparentlyunconscious, and covered with blood; he was

very badly dressed, but not like a workman.Blood was flowing from his head and face; hisface was crushed, mutilated and disfigured. Hewas evidently badly injured.

"Merciful heaven!" wailed the coachman, "whatmore could I do? If I'd been driving fast or hadnot shouted to him, but I was going quietly, notin a hurry. Everyone could see I was goingalong just like everybody else. A drunken mancan't walk straight, we all know.... I saw himcrossing the street, staggering and almost fa-lling. I shouted again and a second and a thirdtime, then I held the horses in, but he fellstraight under their feet! Either he did it onpurpose or he was very tipsy.... The horses areyoung and ready to take fright... they started,he screamed... that made them worse. That'show it happened!"

"That's just how it was," a voice in the crowdconfirmed.

"He shouted, that's true, he shouted three ti-mes," another voice declared.

"Three times it was, we all heard it," shouted athird.

But the coachman was not very much distres-sed and frightened. It was evident that the ca-rriage belonged to a rich and important personwho was awaiting it somewhere; the police, ofcourse, were in no little anxiety to avoid upset-ting his arrangements. All they had to do wasto take the injured man to the police station andthe hospital. No one knew his name.

Meanwhile Raskolnikov had squeezed in andstooped closer over him. The lantern suddenlylighted up the unfortunate man's face. He re-cognised him.

"I know him! I know him!" he shouted, pushingto the front. "It's a government clerk retiredfrom the service, Marmeladov. He lives close

by in Kozel's house.... Make haste for a doctor! Iwill pay, see?" He pulled money out of his poc-ket and showed it to the policeman. He was inviolent agitation.

The police were glad that they had found outwho the man was. Raskolnikov gave his ownname and address, and, as earnestly as if it hadbeen his father, he besought the police to carrythe unconscious Marmeladov to his lodging atonce.

"Just here, three houses away," he said eagerly,"the house belongs to Kozel, a rich German. Hewas going home, no doubt drunk. I know him,he is a drunkard. He has a family there, a wife,children, he has one daughter.... It will taketime to take him to the hospital, and there issure to be a doctor in the house. I'll pay, I'll pay!At least he will be looked after at home... theywill help him at once. But he'll die before youget him to the hospital." He managed to slipsomething unseen into the policeman's hand.

But the thing was straightforward and legitima-te, and in any case help was closer here. Theyraised the injured man; people volunteered tohelp.

Kozel's house was thirty yards away. Raskolni-kov walked behind, carefully holding Marme-ladov's head and showing the way.

"This way, this way! We must take him upstairshead foremost. Turn round! I'll pay, I'll make itworth your while," he muttered.

Katerina Ivanovna had just begun, as she al-ways did at every free moment, walking to andfro in her little room from window to stove andback again, with her arms folded across herchest, talking to herself and coughing. Of lateshe had begun to talk more than ever to hereldest girl, Polenka, a child of ten, who, thoughthere was much she did not understand, un-derstood very well that her mother needed her,and so always watched her with her big clever

eyes and strove her utmost to appear to unders-tand. This time Polenka was undressing herlittle brother, who had been unwell all day andwas going to bed. The boy was waiting for herto take off his shirt, which had to be washed atnight. He was sitting straight and motionlesson a chair, with a silent, serious face, with hislegs stretched out straight before him—heelstogether and toes turned out.

He was listening to what his mother was sayingto his sister, sitting perfectly still with poutinglips and wide-open eyes, just as all good littleboys have to sit when they are undressed to goto bed. A little girl, still younger, dressed litera-lly in rags, stood at the screen, waiting for herturn. The door on to the stairs was open to re-lieve them a little from the clouds of tobaccosmoke which floated in from the other roomsand brought on long terrible fits of coughing inthe poor, consumptive woman. Katerina Iva-novna seemed to have grown even thinner du-

ring that week and the hectic flush on her facewas brighter than ever.

"You wouldn't believe, you can't imagine, Po-lenka," she said, walking about the room, "whata happy luxurious life we had in my papa'shouse and how this drunkard has brought me,and will bring you all, to ruin! Papa was a civilcolonel and only a step from being a governor;so that everyone who came to see him said, 'Welook upon you, Ivan Mihailovitch, as our go-vernor!' When I... when..." she coughed violen-tly, "oh, cursed life," she cried, clearing herthroat and pressing her hands to her breast,"when I... when at the last ball... at the mars-hal's... Princess Bezzemelny saw me—who ga-ve me the blessing when your father and I weremarried, Polenka—she asked at once 'Isn't thatthe pretty girl who danced the shawl dance atthe breaking-up?' (You must mend that tear,you must take your needle and darn it as Ishowed you, or to-morrow—cough, cough,

cough—he will make the hole bigger," she arti-culated with effort.) "Prince Schegolskoy, akammerjunker, had just come from Petersburgthen... he danced the mazurka with me andwanted to make me an offer next day; but Ithanked him in flattering expressions and toldhim that my heart had long been another's.That other was your father, Polya; papa wasfearfully angry.... Is the water ready? Give methe shirt, and the stockings! Lida," said she tothe youngest one, "you must manage withoutyour chemise to-night... and lay your stockingsout with it... I'll wash them together.... How is itthat drunken vagabond doesn't come in? Hehas worn his shirt till it looks like a dish-clout,he has torn it to rags! I'd do it all together, so asnot to have to work two nights running! Oh,dear! (Cough, cough, cough, cough!) Again!What's this?" she cried, noticing a crowd in thepassage and the men, who were pushing intoher room, carrying a burden. "What is it? Whatare they bringing? Mercy on us!"

"Where are we to put him?" asked the police-man, looking round when Marmeladov, un-conscious and covered with blood, had beencarried in.

"On the sofa! Put him straight on the sofa, withhis head this way," Raskolnikov showed him.

"Run over in the road! Drunk!" someone shou-ted in the passage.

Katerina Ivanovna stood, turning white andgasping for breath. The children were terrified.Little Lida screamed, rushed to Polenka andclutched at her, trembling all over.

Having laid Marmeladov down, Raskolnikovflew to Katerina Ivanovna.

"For God's sake be calm, don't be frightened!"he said, speaking quickly, "he was crossing theroad and was run over by a carriage, don't befrightened, he will come to, I told them bring

him here... I've been here already, you remem-ber? He will come to; I'll pay!"

"He's done it this time!" Katerina Ivanovnacried despairingly and she rushed to her hus-band.

Raskolnikov noticed at once that she was notone of those women who swoon easily. Sheinstantly placed under the luckless man's heada pillow, which no one had thought of and be-gan undressing and examining him. She kepther head, forgetting herself, biting her trem-bling lips and stifling the screams which wereready to break from her.

Raskolnikov meanwhile induced someone torun for a doctor. There was a doctor, it appea-red, next door but one.

"I've sent for a doctor," he kept assuring Kateri-na Ivanovna, "don't be uneasy, I'll pay. Haven'tyou water?... and give me a napkin or a towel,

anything, as quick as you can.... He is injured,but not killed, believe me.... We shall see whatthe doctor says!"

Katerina Ivanovna ran to the window; there, ona broken chair in the corner, a large earthenwa-re basin full of water had been stood, in readi-ness for washing her children's and husband'slinen that night. This washing was done byKaterina Ivanovna at night at least twice aweek, if not oftener. For the family had come tosuch a pass that they were practically withoutchange of linen, and Katerina Ivanovna couldnot endure uncleanliness and, rather than seedirt in the house, she preferred to wear herselfout at night, working beyond her strengthwhen the rest were asleep, so as to get the wetlinen hung on a line and dry by the morning.She took up the basin of water at Raskolnikov'srequest, but almost fell down with her burden.But the latter had already succeeded in finding

a towel, wetted it and began washing the bloodoff Marmeladov's face.

Katerina Ivanovna stood by, breathing painfu-lly and pressing her hands to her breast. Shewas in need of attention herself. Raskolnikovbegan to realise that he might have made a mis-take in having the injured man brought here.The policeman, too, stood in hesitation.

"Polenka," cried Katerina Ivanovna, "run toSonia, make haste. If you don't find her athome, leave word that her father has been runover and that she is to come here at once...when she comes in. Run, Polenka! there, put onthe shawl."

"Run your fastest!" cried the little boy on thechair suddenly, after which he relapsed into thesame dumb rigidity, with round eyes, his heelsthrust forward and his toes spread out.

Meanwhile the room had become so full ofpeople that you couldn't have dropped a pin.The policemen left, all except one, who remai-ned for a time, trying to drive out the peoplewho came in from the stairs. Almost all Mada-me Lippevechsel's lodgers had streamed infrom the inner rooms of the flat; at first theywere squeezed together in the doorway, butafterwards they overflowed into the room. Ka-terina Ivanovna flew into a fury.

"You might let him die in peace, at least," sheshouted at the crowd, "is it a spectacle for youto gape at? With cigarettes! (Cough, cough,cough!) You might as well keep your hats on....And there is one in his hat!... Get away! Youshould respect the dead, at least!"

Her cough choked her—but her reproacheswere not without result. They evidently stoodin some awe of Katerina Ivanovna. The lodgers,one after another, squeezed back into the door-way with that strange inner feeling of satisfac-

tion which may be observed in the presence ofa sudden accident, even in those nearest anddearest to the victim, from which no living manis exempt, even in spite of the sincerest sym-pathy and compassion.

Voices outside were heard, however, speakingof the hospital and saying that they'd no busi-ness to make a disturbance here.

"No business to die!" cried Katerina Ivanovna,and she was rushing to the door to vent herwrath upon them, but in the doorway cameface to face with Madame Lippevechsel whohad only just heard of the accident and ran in torestore order. She was a particularly quarrel-some and irresponsible German.

"Ah, my God!" she cried, clasping her hands,"your husband drunken horses have trampled!To the hospital with him! I am the landlady!"

"Amalia Ludwigovna, I beg you to recollectwhat you are saying," Katerina Ivanovna beganhaughtily (she always took a haughty tone withthe landlady that she might "remember herplace" and even now could not deny herselfthis satisfaction). "Amalia Ludwigovna..."

"I have you once before told that you to call meAmalia Ludwigovna may not dare; I am Ama-lia Ivanovna."

"You are not Amalia Ivanovna, but AmaliaLudwigovna, and as I am not one of your des-picable flatterers like Mr. Lebeziatnikov, who'slaughing behind the door at this moment (alaugh and a cry of 'they are at it again' was infact audible at the door) so I shall always callyou Amalia Ludwigovna, though I fail to un-derstand why you dislike that name. You cansee for yourself what has happened to SemyonZaharovitch; he is dying. I beg you to close thatdoor at once and to admit no one. Let him atleast die in peace! Or I warn you the Governor-

General, himself, shall be informed of yourconduct to-morrow. The prince knew me as agirl; he remembers Semyon Zaharovitch welland has often been a benefactor to him. Ever-yone knows that Semyon Zaharovitch had ma-ny friends and protectors, whom he abandonedhimself from an honourable pride, knowing hisunhappy weakness, but now (she pointed toRaskolnikov) a generous young man has cometo our assistance, who has wealth and connec-tions and whom Semyon Zaharovitch hasknown from a child. You may rest assured,Amalia Ludwigovna..."

All this was uttered with extreme rapidity, get-ting quicker and quicker, but a cough suddenlycut short Katerina Ivanovna's eloquence. Atthat instant the dying man recovered cons-ciousness and uttered a groan; she ran to him.The injured man opened his eyes and withoutrecognition or understanding gazed at Raskol-nikov who was bending over him. He drew

deep, slow, painful breaths; blood oozed at thecorners of his mouth and drops of perspirationcame out on his forehead. Not recognising Ras-kolnikov, he began looking round uneasily.Katerina Ivanovna looked at him with a sad butstern face, and tears trickled from her eyes.

"My God! His whole chest is crushed! How heis bleeding," she said in despair. "We must takeoff his clothes. Turn a little, Semyon Zaharo-vitch, if you can," she cried to him.

Marmeladov recognised her.

"A priest," he articulated huskily.

Katerina Ivanovna walked to the window, laidher head against the window frame and ex-claimed in despair:

"Oh, cursed life!"

"A priest," the dying man said again after amoment's silence.

"They've gone for him," Katerina Ivanovnashouted to him, he obeyed her shout and wassilent. With sad and timid eyes he looked forher; she returned and stood by his pillow. Heseemed a little easier but not for long.

Soon his eyes rested on little Lida, his favourite,who was shaking in the corner, as though shewere in a fit, and staring at him with her won-dering childish eyes.

"A-ah," he signed towards her uneasily. Hewanted to say something.

"What now?" cried Katerina Ivanovna.

"Barefoot, barefoot!" he muttered, indicatingwith frenzied eyes the child's bare feet.

"Be silent," Katerina Ivanovna cried irritably,"you know why she is barefooted."

"Thank God, the doctor," exclaimed Raskolni-kov, relieved.

The doctor came in, a precise little old man, aGerman, looking about him mistrustfully; hewent up to the sick man, took his pulse, carefu-lly felt his head and with the help of KaterinaIvanovna he unbuttoned the blood-stainedshirt, and bared the injured man's chest. It wasgashed, crushed and fractured, several ribs onthe right side were broken. On the left side, justover the heart, was a large, sinister-lookingyellowish-black bruise—a cruel kick from thehorse's hoof. The doctor frowned. The police-man told him that he was caught in the wheeland turned round with it for thirty yards on theroad.

"It's wonderful that he has recovered cons-ciousness," the doctor whispered softly to Ras-kolnikov.

"What do you think of him?" he asked.

"He will die immediately."

"Is there really no hope?"

"Not the faintest! He is at the last gasp.... Hishead is badly injured, too... Hm... I could bleedhim if you like, but... it would be useless. He isbound to die within the next five or ten minu-tes."

"Better bleed him then."

"If you like.... But I warn you it will be perfectlyuseless."

At that moment other steps were heard; thecrowd in the passage parted, and the priest, alittle, grey old man, appeared in the doorwaybearing the sacrament. A policeman had gonefor him at the time of the accident. The doctorchanged places with him, exchanging glanceswith him. Raskolnikov begged the doctor toremain a little while. He shrugged his shoul-ders and remained.

All stepped back. The confession was soonover. The dying man probably understood lit-tle; he could only utter indistinct brokensounds. Katerina Ivanovna took little Lida, lif-ted the boy from the chair, knelt down in thecorner by the stove and made the childrenkneel in front of her. The little girl was stilltrembling; but the boy, kneeling on his littlebare knees, lifted his hand rhythmically, cros-sing himself with precision and bowed down,touching the floor with his forehead, whichseemed to afford him especial satisfaction. Ka-terina Ivanovna bit her lips and held back hertears; she prayed, too, now and then pullingstraight the boy's shirt, and managed to coverthe girl's bare shoulders with a kerchief, whichshe took from the chest without rising from herknees or ceasing to pray. Meanwhile the doorfrom the inner rooms was opened inquisitivelyagain. In the passage the crowd of spectatorsfrom all the flats on the staircase grew denserand denser, but they did not venture beyond

the threshold. A single candle-end lighted upthe scene.

At that moment Polenka forced her waythrough the crowd at the door. She came inpanting from running so fast, took off her ker-chief, looked for her mother, went up to herand said, "She's coming, I met her in the street."Her mother made her kneel beside her.

Timidly and noiselessly a young girl made herway through the crowd, and strange was herappearance in that room, in the midst of want,rags, death and despair. She, too, was in rags,her attire was all of the cheapest, but deckedout in gutter finery of a special stamp, unmis-takably betraying its shameful purpose. Soniastopped short in the doorway and looked abouther bewildered, unconscious of everything. Sheforgot her fourth-hand, gaudy silk dress, sounseemly here with its ridiculous long train,and her immense crinoline that filled up thewhole doorway, and her light-coloured shoes,

and the parasol she brought with her, though itwas no use at night, and the absurd roundstraw hat with its flaring flame-coloured feat-her. Under this rakishly-tilted hat was a pale,frightened little face with lips parted and eyesstaring in terror. Sonia was a small thin girl ofeighteen with fair hair, rather pretty, withwonderful blue eyes. She looked intently at thebed and the priest; she too was out of breathwith running. At last whispers, some words inthe crowd probably, reached her. She lookeddown and took a step forward into the room,still keeping close to the door.

The service was over. Katerina Ivanovna wentup to her husband again. The priest steppedback and turned to say a few words of admoni-tion and consolation to Katerina Ivanovna onleaving.

"What am I to do with these?" she interruptedsharply and irritably, pointing to the little ones.

"God is merciful; look to the Most High for suc-cour," the priest began.

"Ach! He is merciful, but not to us."

"That's a sin, a sin, madam," observed thepriest, shaking his head.

"And isn't that a sin?" cried Katerina Ivanovna,pointing to the dying man.

"Perhaps those who have involuntarily causedthe accident will agree to compensate you, atleast for the loss of his earnings."

"You don't understand!" cried Katerina Ivanov-na angrily waving her hand. "And why shouldthey compensate me? Why, he was drunk andthrew himself under the horses! What ear-nings? He brought us in nothing but misery.He drank everything away, the drunkard! Herobbed us to get drink, he wasted their lives

and mine for drink! And thank God he's dying!One less to keep!"

"You must forgive in the hour of death, that's asin, madam, such feelings are a great sin."

Katerina Ivanovna was busy with the dyingman; she was giving him water, wiping theblood and sweat from his head, setting his pi-llow straight, and had only turned now andthen for a moment to address the priest. Nowshe flew at him almost in a frenzy.

"Ah, father! That's words and only words! For-give! If he'd not been run over, he'd have comehome to-day drunk and his only shirt dirty andin rags and he'd have fallen asleep like a log,and I should have been sousing and rinsing tilldaybreak, washing his rags and the children'sand then drying them by the window and assoon as it was daylight I should have been dar-ning them. That's how I spend my nights!...

What's the use of talking of forgiveness! I haveforgiven as it is!"

A terrible hollow cough interrupted her words.She put her handkerchief to her lips and sho-wed it to the priest, pressing her other hand toher aching chest. The handkerchief was cove-red with blood. The priest bowed his head andsaid nothing.

Marmeladov was in the last agony; he did nottake his eyes off the face of Katerina Ivanovna,who was bending over him again. He kepttrying to say something to her; he began mo-ving his tongue with difficulty and articulatingindistinctly, but Katerina Ivanovna, understan-ding that he wanted to ask her forgiveness,called peremptorily to him:

"Be silent! No need! I know what you want tosay!" And the sick man was silent, but at thesame instant his wandering eyes strayed to thedoorway and he saw Sonia.

Till then he had not noticed her: she was stan-ding in the shadow in a corner.

"Who's that? Who's that?" he said suddenly in athick gasping voice, in agitation, turning hiseyes in horror towards the door where hisdaughter was standing, and trying to sit up.

"Lie down! Lie do-own!" cried Katerina Iva-novna.

With unnatural strength he had succeeded inpropping himself on his elbow. He lookedwildly and fixedly for some time on his daugh-ter, as though not recognising her. He had ne-ver seen her before in such attire. Suddenly herecognised her, crushed and ashamed in herhumiliation and gaudy finery, meekly awaitingher turn to say good-bye to her dying father.His face showed intense suffering.

"Sonia! Daughter! Forgive!" he cried, and hetried to hold out his hand to her, but losing his

balance, he fell off the sofa, face downwards onthe floor. They rushed to pick him up, they puthim on the sofa; but he was dying. Sonia with afaint cry ran up, embraced him and remainedso without moving. He died in her arms.

"He's got what he wanted," Katerina Ivanovnacried, seeing her husband's dead body. "Well,what's to be done now? How am I to bury him!What can I give them to-morrow to eat?"

Raskolnikov went up to Katerina Ivanovna.

"Katerina Ivanovna," he began, "last week yourhusband told me all his life and circumstan-ces.... Believe me, he spoke of you with passio-nate reverence. From that evening, when Ilearnt how devoted he was to you all and howhe loved and respected you especially, KaterinaIvanovna, in spite of his unfortunate weakness,from that evening we became friends.... Allowme now... to do something... to repay my debtto my dead friend. Here are twenty roubles, I

think—and if that can be of any assistance toyou, then... I... in short, I will come again, I willbe sure to come again... I shall, perhaps, comeagain to-morrow.... Good-bye!"

And he went quickly out of the room, squee-zing his way through the crowd to the stairs.But in the crowd he suddenly jostled againstNikodim Fomitch, who had heard of the acci-dent and had come to give instructions in per-son. They had not met since the scene at thepolice station, but Nikodim Fomitch knew himinstantly.

"Ah, is that you?" he asked him.

"He's dead," answered Raskolnikov. "The doc-tor and the priest have been, all as it shouldhave been. Don't worry the poor woman toomuch, she is in consumption as it is. Try andcheer her up, if possible... you are a kind-hearted man, I know..." he added with a smile,looking straight in his face.

"But you are spattered with blood," observedNikodim Fomitch, noticing in the lamplightsome fresh stains on Raskolnikov's waistcoat.

"Yes... I'm covered with blood," Raskolnikovsaid with a peculiar air; then he smiled, noddedand went downstairs.

He walked down slowly and deliberately, feve-rish but not conscious of it, entirely absorbed ina new overwhelming sensation of life andstrength that surged up suddenly within him.This sensation might be compared to that of aman condemned to death who has suddenlybeen pardoned. Halfway down the staircase hewas overtaken by the priest on his way home;Raskolnikov let him pass, exchanging a silentgreeting with him. He was just descending thelast steps when he heard rapid footsteps behindhim. Someone overtook him; it was Polenka.She was running after him, calling "Wait! wait!"

He turned round. She was at the bottom of thestaircase and stopped short a step above him. Adim light came in from the yard. Raskolnikovcould distinguish the child's thin but prettylittle face, looking at him with a bright childishsmile. She had run after him with a messagewhich she was evidently glad to give.

"Tell me, what is your name?... and where doyou live?" she said hurriedly in a breathlessvoice.

He laid both hands on her shoulders and loo-ked at her with a sort of rapture. It was such ajoy to him to look at her, he could not have saidwhy.

"Who sent you?"

"Sister Sonia sent me," answered the girl, smi-ling still more brightly.

"I knew it was sister Sonia sent you."

"Mamma sent me, too... when sister Sonia wassending me, mamma came up, too, and said'Run fast, Polenka.'"

"Do you love sister Sonia?"

"I love her more than anyone," Polenka answe-red with a peculiar earnestness, and her smilebecame graver.

"And will you love me?"

By way of answer he saw the little girl's faceapproaching him, her full lips naïvely held outto kiss him. Suddenly her arms as thin as sticksheld him tightly, her head rested on his shoul-der and the little girl wept softly, pressing herface against him.

"I am sorry for father," she said a moment later,raising her tear-stained face and brushing awaythe tears with her hands. "It's nothing but mis-fortunes now," she added suddenly with that

peculiarly sedate air which children try hard toassume when they want to speak like grown-up people.

"Did your father love you?"

"He loved Lida most," she went on very se-riously without a smile, exactly like grown-uppeople, "he loved her because she is little andbecause she is ill, too. And he always used tobring her presents. But he taught us to read andme grammar and scripture, too," she addedwith dignity. "And mother never used to sayanything, but we knew that she liked it andfather knew it, too. And mother wants to teachme French, for it's time my education began."

"And do you know your prayers?"

"Of course, we do! We knew them long ago. Isay my prayers to myself as I am a big girl now,but Kolya and Lida say them aloud with mot-her. First they repeat the 'Ave Maria' and then

another prayer: 'Lord, forgive and bless sisterSonia,' and then another, 'Lord, forgive andbless our second father.' For our elder father isdead and this is another one, but we do prayfor the other as well."

"Polenka, my name is Rodion. Pray sometimesfor me, too. 'And Thy servant Rodion,' nothingmore."

"I'll pray for you all the rest of my life," the littlegirl declared hotly, and suddenly smiling againshe rushed at him and hugged him warmlyonce more.

Raskolnikov told her his name and address andpromised to be sure to come next day. Thechild went away quite enchanted with him. Itwas past ten when he came out into the street.In five minutes he was standing on the bridgeat the spot where the woman had jumped in.

"Enough," he pronounced resolutely andtriumphantly. "I've done with fancies, imagina-ry terrors and phantoms! Life is real! haven't Ilived just now? My life has not yet died withthat old woman! The Kingdom of Heaven toher—and now enough, madam, leave me inpeace! Now for the reign of reason and light...and of will, and of strength... and now we willsee! We will try our strength!" he added defian-tly, as though challenging some power of dark-ness. "And I was ready to consent to live in asquare of space!

"I am very weak at this moment, but... I believemy illness is all over. I knew it would be overwhen I went out. By the way, Potchinkov'shouse is only a few steps away. I certainly mustgo to Razumihin even if it were not close by...let him win his bet! Let us give him some satis-faction, too—no matter! Strength, strength iswhat one wants, you can get nothing withoutit, and strength must be won by strength—

that's what they don't know," he added proud-ly and self-confidently and he walked withflagging footsteps from the bridge. Pride andself-confidence grew continually stronger inhim; he was becoming a different man everymoment. What was it had happened to workthis revolution in him? He did not know him-self; like a man catching at a straw, he suddenlyfelt that he, too, 'could live, that there was stilllife for him, that his life had not died with theold woman.' Perhaps he was in too great ahurry with his conclusions, but he did not thinkof that.

"But I did ask her to remember 'Thy servantRodion' in her prayers," the idea struck him."Well, that was... in case of emergency," he ad-ded and laughed himself at his boyish sally. Hewas in the best of spirits.

He easily found Razumihin; the new lodgerwas already known at Potchinkov's and theporter at once showed him the way. Half-way

upstairs he could hear the noise and animatedconversation of a big gathering of people. Thedoor was wide open on the stairs; he could hearexclamations and discussion. Razumihin'sroom was fairly large; the company consistedof fifteen people. Raskolnikov stopped in theentry, where two of the landlady's servantswere busy behind a screen with two samovars,bottles, plates and dishes of pie and savouries,brought up from the landlady's kitchen. Ras-kolnikov sent in for Razumihin. He ran outdelighted. At the first glance it was apparentthat he had had a great deal to drink and,though no amount of liquor made Razumihinquite drunk, this time he was perceptibly affec-ted by it.

"Listen," Raskolnikov hastened to say, "I'veonly just come to tell you you've won your betand that no one really knows what may nothappen to him. I can't come in; I am so weakthat I shall fall down directly. And so good

evening and good-bye! Come and see me to-morrow."

"Do you know what? I'll see you home. If yousay you're weak yourself, you must..."

"And your visitors? Who is the curly-headedone who has just peeped out?"

"He? Goodness only knows! Some friend ofuncle's, I expect, or perhaps he has come wit-hout being invited... I'll leave uncle with them,he is an invaluable person, pity I can't introdu-ce you to him now. But confound them all now!They won't notice me, and I need a little freshair, for you've come just in the nick of time—another two minutes and I should have come toblows! They are talking such a lot of wildstuff... you simply can't imagine what men willsay! Though why shouldn't you imagine? Don'twe talk nonsense ourselves? And let them...that's the way to learn not to!... Wait a minute,I'll fetch Zossimov."

Zossimov pounced upon Raskolnikov almostgreedily; he showed a special interest in him;soon his face brightened.

"You must go to bed at once," he pronounced,examining the patient as far as he could, "andtake something for the night. Will you take it? Igot it ready some time ago... a powder."

"Two, if you like," answered Raskolnikov. Thepowder was taken at once.

"It's a good thing you are taking him home,"observed Zossimov to Razumihin—"we shallsee how he is to-morrow, to-day he's not at allamiss—a considerable change since the after-noon. Live and learn..."

"Do you know what Zossimov whispered to mewhen we were coming out?" Razumihin blur-ted out, as soon as they were in the street. "Iwon't tell you everything, brother, because theyare such fools. Zossimov told me to talk freely

to you on the way and get you to talk freely tome, and afterwards I am to tell him about it, forhe's got a notion in his head that you are... mador close on it. Only fancy! In the first place,you've three times the brains he has; in the se-cond, if you are not mad, you needn't care ahang that he has got such a wild idea; andthirdly, that piece of beef whose specialty issurgery has gone mad on mental diseases, andwhat's brought him to this conclusion aboutyou was your conversation to-day with Zame-tov."

"Zametov told you all about it?"

"Yes, and he did well. Now I understand whatit all means and so does Zametov.... Well, thefact is, Rodya... the point is... I am a little drunknow.... But that's... no matter... the point is thatthis idea... you understand? was just being hat-ched in their brains... you understand? That is,no one ventured to say it aloud, because theidea is too absurd and especially since the

arrest of that painter, that bubble's burst andgone for ever. But why are they such fools? Igave Zametov a bit of a thrashing at the time—that's between ourselves, brother; please don'tlet out a hint that you know of it; I've noticedhe is a ticklish subject; it was at Luise Ivanov-na's. But to-day, to-day it's all cleared up. ThatIlya Petrovitch is at the bottom of it! He tookadvantage of your fainting at the police station,but he is ashamed of it himself now; I knowthat..."

Raskolnikov listened greedily. Razumihin wasdrunk enough to talk too freely.

"I fainted then because it was so close and thesmell of paint," said Raskolnikov.

"No need to explain that! And it wasn't thepaint only: the fever had been coming on for amonth; Zossimov testifies to that! But howcrushed that boy is now, you wouldn't believe!'I am not worth his little finger,' he says. Yours,

he means. He has good feelings at times, brot-her. But the lesson, the lesson you gave him to-day in the Palais de Cristal, that was too goodfor anything! You frightened him at first, youknow, he nearly went into convulsions! Youalmost convinced him again of the truth of allthat hideous nonsense, and then you sudden-ly—put out your tongue at him: 'There now,what do you make of it?' It was perfect! He iscrushed, annihilated now! It was masterly, byJove, it's what they deserve! Ah, that I wasn'tthere! He was hoping to see you awfully. Porfi-ry, too, wants to make your acquaintance..."

"Ah!... he too... but why did they put me downas mad?"

"Oh, not mad. I must have said too much, brot-her.... What struck him, you see, was that onlythat subject seemed to interest you; now it'sclear why it did interest you; knowing all thecircumstances... and how that irritated you andworked in with your illness... I am a little

drunk, brother, only, confound him, he hassome idea of his own... I tell you, he's mad onmental diseases. But don't you mind him..."

For half a minute both were silent.

"Listen, Razumihin," began Raskolnikov, "Iwant to tell you plainly: I've just been at adeath-bed, a clerk who died... I gave them allmy money... and besides I've just been kissedby someone who, if I had killed anyone, wouldjust the same... in fact I saw someone else the-re... with a flame-coloured feather... but I amtalking nonsense; I am very weak, support me...we shall be at the stairs directly..."

"What's the matter? What's the matter withyou?" Razumihin asked anxiously.

"I am a little giddy, but that's not the point, Iam so sad, so sad... like a woman. Look, what'sthat? Look, look!"

"What is it?"

"Don't you see? A light in my room, you see?Through the crack..."

They were already at the foot of the last flightof stairs, at the level of the landlady's door, andthey could, as a fact, see from below that therewas a light in Raskolnikov's garret.

"Queer! Nastasya, perhaps," observed Razu-mihin.

"She is never in my room at this time and shemust be in bed long ago, but... I don't care!Good-bye!"

"What do you mean? I am coming with you,we'll come in together!"

"I know we are going in together, but I want toshake hands here and say good-bye to youhere. So give me your hand, good-bye!"

"What's the matter with you, Rodya?"

"Nothing... come along... you shall be witness."

They began mounting the stairs, and the ideastruck Razumihin that perhaps Zossimovmight be right after all. "Ah, I've upset himwith my chatter!" he muttered to himself.

When they reached the door they heard voicesin the room.

"What is it?" cried Razumihin. Raskolnikov wasthe first to open the door; he flung it wide andstood still in the doorway, dumbfoundered.

His mother and sister were sitting on his sofaand had been waiting an hour and a half forhim. Why had he never expected, neverthought of them, though the news that theyhad started, were on their way and would arri-ve immediately, had been repeated to him onlythat day? They had spent that hour and a half

plying Nastasya with questions. She was stan-ding before them and had told them everythingby now. They were beside themselves withalarm when they heard of his "running away"to-day, ill and, as they understood from herstory, delirious! "Good Heavens, what had be-come of him?" Both had been weeping, bothhad been in anguish for that hour and a half.

A cry of joy, of ecstasy, greeted Raskolnikov'sentrance. Both rushed to him. But he stood likeone dead; a sudden intolerable sensation struckhim like a thunderbolt. He did not lift his armsto embrace them, he could not. His mother andsister clasped him in their arms, kissed him,laughed and cried. He took a step, tottered andfell to the ground, fainting.

Anxiety, cries of horror, moans... Razumihinwho was standing in the doorway flew into theroom, seized the sick man in his strong armsand in a moment had him on the sofa.

"It's nothing, nothing!" he cried to the motherand sister—"it's only a faint, a mere trifle! Onlyjust now the doctor said he was much better,that he is perfectly well! Water! See, he is co-ming to himself, he is all right again!"

And seizing Dounia by the arm so that he al-most dislocated it, he made her bend down tosee that "he is all right again." The mother andsister looked on him with emotion and gratitu-de, as their Providence. They had heard alreadyfrom Nastasya all that had been done for theirRodya during his illness, by this "very compe-tent young man," as Pulcheria AlexandrovnaRaskolnikov called him that evening in conver-sation with Dounia.

PART III

CHAPTER I

Raskolnikov got up, and sat down on the sofa.He waved his hand weakly to Razumihin to cutshort the flow of warm and incoherent consola-tions he was addressing to his mother and sis-ter, took them both by the hand and for a minu-te or two gazed from one to the other withoutspeaking. His mother was alarmed by his ex-pression. It revealed an emotion agonisinglypoignant, and at the same time something im-movable, almost insane. Pulcheria Alexandrov-na began to cry.

Avdotya Romanovna was pale; her hand trem-bled in her brother's.

"Go home... with him," he said in a broken voi-ce, pointing to Razumihin, "good-bye till to-morrow; to-morrow everything... Is it long sin-ce you arrived?"

"This evening, Rodya," answered PulcheriaAlexandrovna, "the train was awfully late. But,Rodya, nothing would induce me to leave younow! I will spend the night here, near you..."

"Don't torture me!" he said with a gesture ofirritation.

"I will stay with him," cried Razumihin, "Iwon't leave him for a moment. Bother all myvisitors! Let them rage to their hearts' content!My uncle is presiding there."

"How, how can I thank you!" PulcheriaAlexandrovna was beginning, once more pres-

sing Razumihin's hands, but Raskolnikov inte-rrupted her again.

"I can't have it! I can't have it!" he repeated irri-tably, "don't worry me! Enough, go away... Ican't stand it!"

"Come, mamma, come out of the room at leastfor a minute," Dounia whispered in dismay;"we are distressing him, that's evident."

"Mayn't I look at him after three years?" weptPulcheria Alexandrovna.

"Stay," he stopped them again, "you keep inte-rrupting me, and my ideas get muddled....Have you seen Luzhin?"

"No, Rodya, but he knows already of our arri-val. We have heard, Rodya, that Pyotr Petro-vitch was so kind as to visit you today," Pulche-ria Alexandrovna added somewhat timidly.

"Yes... he was so kind... Dounia, I promisedLuzhin I'd throw him downstairs and told himto go to hell...."

"Rodya, what are you saying! Surely, you don'tmean to tell us..." Pulcheria Alexandrovna be-gan in alarm, but she stopped, looking at Dou-nia.

Avdotya Romanovna was looking attentively ather brother, waiting for what would come next.Both of them had heard of the quarrel fromNastasya, so far as she had succeeded in un-derstanding and reporting it, and were in pain-ful perplexity and suspense.

"Dounia," Raskolnikov continued with an ef-fort, "I don't want that marriage, so at the firstopportunity to-morrow you must refuse Luz-hin, so that we may never hear his name again."

"Good Heavens!" cried Pulcheria Alexandrov-na.

"Brother, think what you are saying!" AvdotyaRomanovna began impetuously, but immedia-tely checked herself. "You are not fit to talknow, perhaps; you are tired," she added gently.

"You think I am delirious? No... You are marr-ying Luzhin for my sake. But I won't accept thesacrifice. And so write a letter before to-morrow, to refuse him... Let me read it in themorning and that will be the end of it!"

"That I can't do!" the girl cried, offended, "whatright have you..."

"Dounia, you are hasty, too, be quiet, to-morrow... Don't you see..." the mother interpo-sed in dismay. "Better come away!"

"He is raving," Razumihin cried tipsily, "or howwould he dare! To-morrow all this nonsensewill be over... to-day he certainly did drive himaway. That was so. And Luzhin got angry,

too.... He made speeches here, wanted to showoff his learning and he went out crest-fallen...."

"Then it's true?" cried Pulcheria Alexandrovna.

"Good-bye till to-morrow, brother," said Dou-nia compassionately—"let us go, mother...Good-bye, Rodya."

"Do you hear, sister," he repeated after them,making a last effort, "I am not delirious; thismarriage is—an infamy. Let me act like ascoundrel, but you mustn't... one is enough...and though I am a scoundrel, I wouldn't ownsuch a sister. It's me or Luzhin! Go now...."

"But you're out of your mind! Despot!" roaredRazumihin; but Raskolnikov did not and per-haps could not answer. He lay down on thesofa, and turned to the wall, utterly exhausted.Avdotya Romanovna looked with interest atRazumihin; her black eyes flashed; Razumihinpositively started at her glance.

Pulcheria Alexandrovna stood overwhelmed.

"Nothing would induce me to go," she whispe-red in despair to Razumihin. "I will stay so-mewhere here... escort Dounia home."

"You'll spoil everything," Razumihin answeredin the same whisper, losing patience—"comeout on to the stairs, anyway. Nastasya, show alight! I assure you," he went on in a half whis-per on the stairs-"that he was almost beatingthe doctor and me this afternoon! Do you un-derstand? The doctor himself! Even he gaveway and left him, so as not to irritate him. Iremained downstairs on guard, but he dressedat once and slipped off. And he will slip offagain if you irritate him, at this time of night,and will do himself some mischief...."

"What are you saying?"

"And Avdotya Romanovna can't possibly beleft in those lodgings without you. Just think

where you are staying! That blackguard PyotrPetrovitch couldn't find you better lodgings...But you know I've had a little to drink, andthat's what makes me... swear; don't mind it...."

"But I'll go to the landlady here," PulcheriaAlexandrovna insisted, "Ill beseech her to findsome corner for Dounia and me for the night. Ican't leave him like that, I cannot!"

This conversation took place on the landing justbefore the landlady's door. Nastasya lightedthem from a step below. Razumihin was in ex-traordinary excitement. Half an hour earlier,while he was bringing Raskolnikov home, hehad indeed talked too freely, but he was awareof it himself, and his head was clear in spite ofthe vast quantities he had imbibed. Now hewas in a state bordering on ecstasy, and all thathe had drunk seemed to fly to his head withredoubled effect. He stood with the two ladies,seizing both by their hands, persuading them,and giving them reasons with astonishing

plainness of speech, and at almost every wordhe uttered, probably to emphasise his argu-ments, he squeezed their hands painfully as ina vise. He stared at Avdotya Romanovna wit-hout the least regard for good manners. Theysometimes pulled their hands out of his hugebony paws, but far from noticing what was thematter, he drew them all the closer to him. Ifthey'd told him to jump head foremost from thestaircase, he would have done it withoutthought or hesitation in their service. ThoughPulcheria Alexandrovna felt that the youngman was really too eccentric and pinched herhand too much, in her anxiety over her Rodyashe looked on his presence as providential, andwas unwilling to notice all his peculiarities. Butthough Avdotya Romanovna shared her anxie-ty, and was not of timorous disposition, shecould not see the glowing light in his eyes wit-hout wonder and almost alarm. It was only theunbounded confidence inspired by Nastasya'saccount of her brother's queer friend, which

prevented her from trying to run away fromhim, and to persuade her mother to do the sa-me. She realised, too, that even running awaywas perhaps impossible now. Ten minutes la-ter, however, she was considerably reassured; itwas characteristic of Razumihin that he showedhis true nature at once, whatever mood hemight be in, so that people quickly saw the sortof man they had to deal with.

"You can't go to the landlady, that's perfectnonsense!" he cried. "If you stay, though youare his mother, you'll drive him to a frenzy, andthen goodness knows what will happen! Listen,I'll tell you what I'll do: Nastasya will stay withhim now, and I'll conduct you both home, youcan't be in the streets alone; Petersburg is anawful place in that way.... But no matter! ThenI'll run straight back here and a quarter of anhour later, on my word of honour, I'll bring younews how he is, whether he is asleep, and allthat. Then, listen! Then I'll run home in a twin-

kling—I've a lot of friends there, all drunk—I'llfetch Zossimov—that's the doctor who is loo-king after him, he is there, too, but he is notdrunk; he is not drunk, he is never drunk! I'lldrag him to Rodya, and then to you, so thatyou'll get two reports in the hour—from thedoctor, you understand, from the doctor him-self, that's a very different thing from my ac-count of him! If there's anything wrong, I swearI'll bring you here myself, but, if it's all right,you go to bed. And I'll spend the night here, inthe passage, he won't hear me, and I'll tell Zos-simov to sleep at the landlady's, to be at hand.Which is better for him: you or the doctor? Socome home then! But the landlady is out of thequestion; it's all right for me, but it's out of thequestion for you: she wouldn't take you, forshe's... for she's a fool... She'd be jealous on myaccount of Avdotya Romanovna and of you,too, if you want to know... of Avdotya Roma-novna certainly. She is an absolutely, absolutelyunaccountable character! But I am a fool, too!...

No matter! Come along! Do you trust me? Co-me, do you trust me or not?"

"Let us go, mother," said Avdotya Romanovna,"he will certainly do what he has promised. Hehas saved Rodya already, and if the doctor rea-lly will consent to spend the night here, whatcould be better?"

"You see, you... you... understand me, becauseyou are an angel!" Razumihin cried in ecstasy,"let us go! Nastasya! Fly upstairs and sit withhim with a light; I'll come in a quarter of anhour."

Though Pulcheria Alexandrovna was not per-fectly convinced, she made no further resistan-ce. Razumihin gave an arm to each and drewthem down the stairs. He still made her uneasy,as though he was competent and good-natured,was he capable of carrying out his promise? Heseemed in such a condition....

"Ah, I see you think I am in such a condition!"Razumihin broke in upon her thoughts, gues-sing them, as he strolled along the pavementwith huge steps, so that the two ladies couldhardly keep up with him, a fact he did not ob-serve, however. "Nonsense! That is... I amdrunk like a fool, but that's not it; I am notdrunk from wine. It's seeing you has turned myhead... But don't mind me! Don't take any noti-ce: I am talking nonsense, I am not worthy ofyou.... I am utterly unworthy of you! The minu-te I've taken you home, I'll pour a couple ofpailfuls of water over my head in the gutterhere, and then I shall be all right.... If only youknew how I love you both! Don't laugh, anddon't be angry! You may be angry with anyone,but not with me! I am his friend, and therefore Iam your friend, too, I want to be... I had a pre-sentiment... Last year there was a moment...though it wasn't a presentiment really, for youseem to have fallen from heaven. And I expect Ishan't sleep all night... Zossimov was afraid a

little time ago that he would go mad... that'swhy he mustn't be irritated."

"What do you say?" cried the mother.

"Did the doctor really say that?" asked AvdotyaRomanovna, alarmed.

"Yes, but it's not so, not a bit of it. He gave himsome medicine, a powder, I saw it, and thenyour coming here.... Ah! It would have beenbetter if you had come to-morrow. It's a goodthing we went away. And in an hour Zossimovhimself will report to you about everything. Heis not drunk! And I shan't be drunk.... Andwhat made me get so tight? Because they gotme into an argument, damn them! I've swornnever to argue! They talk such trash! I almostcame to blows! I've left my uncle to preside.Would you believe, they insist on completeabsence of individualism and that's just whatthey relish! Not to be themselves, to be as unli-ke themselves as they can. That's what they

regard as the highest point of progress. If onlytheir nonsense were their own, but as it is..."

"Listen!" Pulcheria Alexandrovna interruptedtimidly, but it only added fuel to the flames.

"What do you think?" shouted Razumihin, lou-der than ever, "you think I am attacking themfor talking nonsense? Not a bit! I like them totalk nonsense. That's man's one privilege overall creation. Through error you come to thetruth! I am a man because I err! You neverreach any truth without making fourteen mis-takes and very likely a hundred and fourteen.And a fine thing, too, in its way; but we can'teven make mistakes on our own account! Talknonsense, but talk your own nonsense, and I'llkiss you for it. To go wrong in one's own way isbetter than to go right in someone else's. In thefirst case you are a man, in the second you're nobetter than a bird. Truth won't escape you, butlife can be cramped. There have been examples.And what are we doing now? In science, deve-

lopment, thought, invention, ideals, aims, libe-ralism, judgment, experience and everything,everything, everything, we are still in the pre-paratory class at school. We prefer to live onother people's ideas, it's what we are used to!Am I right, am I right?" cried Razumihin, pres-sing and shaking the two ladies' hands.

"Oh, mercy, I do not know," cried poor Pulche-ria Alexandrovna.

"Yes, yes... though I don't agree with you ineverything," added Avdotya Romanovna ear-nestly and at once uttered a cry, for he squee-zed her hand so painfully.

"Yes, you say yes... well after that you... you..."he cried in a transport, "you are a fount ofgoodness, purity, sense... and perfection. Giveme your hand... you give me yours, too! I wantto kiss your hands here at once, on my knees..."and he fell on his knees on the pavement, for-tunately at that time deserted.

"Leave off, I entreat you, what are you doing?"Pulcheria Alexandrovna cried, greatly distres-sed.

"Get up, get up!" said Dounia laughing, thoughshe, too, was upset.

"Not for anything till you let me kiss yourhands! That's it! Enough! I get up and we'll goon! I am a luckless fool, I am unworthy of youand drunk... and I am ashamed.... I am notworthy to love you, but to do homage to you isthe duty of every man who is not a perfectbeast! And I've done homage.... Here are yourlodgings, and for that alone Rodya was right indriving your Pyotr Petrovitch away.... Howdare he! how dare he put you in such lodgings!It's a scandal! Do you know the sort of peoplethey take in here? And you his betrothed! Youare his betrothed? Yes? Well, then, I'll tell you,your fiancé is a scoundrel."

"Excuse me, Mr. Razumihin, you are forget-ting..." Pulcheria Alexandrovna was beginning.

"Yes, yes, you are right, I did forget myself, Iam ashamed of it," Razumihin made haste toapologise. "But... but you can't be angry withme for speaking so! For I speak sincerely andnot because... hm, hm! That would be disgrace-ful; in fact not because I'm in... hm! Well, any-way, I won't say why, I daren't.... But we allsaw to-day when he came in that that man isnot of our sort. Not because he had his haircurled at the barber's, not because he was insuch a hurry to show his wit, but because he isa spy, a speculator, because he is a skin-flintand a buffoon. That's evident. Do you thinkhim clever? No, he is a fool, a fool. And is he amatch for you? Good heavens! Do you see, la-dies?" he stopped suddenly on the way upstairsto their rooms, "though all my friends there aredrunk, yet they are all honest, and though wedo talk a lot of trash, and I do, too, yet we shall

talk our way to the truth at last, for we are onthe right path, while Pyotr Petrovitch... is noton the right path. Though I've been callingthem all sorts of names just now, I do respectthem all... though I don't respect Zametov, Ilike him, for he is a puppy, and that bullockZossimov, because he is an honest man andknows his work. But enough, it's all said andforgiven. Is it forgiven? Well, then, let's go on. Iknow this corridor, I've been here, there was ascandal here at Number 3.... Where are youhere? Which number? eight? Well, lock your-selves in for the night, then. Don't let anybodyin. In a quarter of an hour I'll come back withnews, and half an hour later I'll bring Zossi-mov, you'll see! Good-bye, I'll run."

"Good heavens, Dounia, what is going to hap-pen?" said Pulcheria Alexandrovna, addressingher 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 froma drinking party. We can depend on him, I as-sure you. And all that he has done for Rod-ya...."

"Ah. Dounia, goodness knows whether he willcome! How could I bring myself to leave Rod-ya?... And how different, how different I hadfancied our meeting! How sullen he was, asthough not pleased to see us...."

Tears came into her eyes.

"No, it's not that, mother. You didn't see, youwere crying all the time. He is quite unhingedby serious illness—that's the reason."

"Ah, that illness! What will happen, what willhappen? And how he talked to you, Dounia!"said the mother, looking timidly at her daugh-ter, trying to read her thoughts and, alreadyhalf consoled by Dounia's standing up for herbrother, which meant that she had already for-

given him. "I am sure he will think better of itto-morrow," she added, probing her further.

"And I am sure that he will say the same to-morrow... about that," Avdotya Romanovnasaid finally. And, of course, there was no goingbeyond that, for this was a point which Pulche-ria Alexandrovna was afraid to discuss. Douniawent up and kissed her mother. The latterwarmly embraced her without speaking. Thenshe sat down to wait anxiously for Razumihin'sreturn, timidly watching her daughter whowalked up and down the room with her armsfolded, lost in thought. This walking up anddown when she was thinking was a habit ofAvdotya Romanovna's and the mother wasalways afraid to break in on her daughter'smood at such moments.

Razumihin, of course, was ridiculous in hissudden drunken infatuation for Avdotya Ro-manovna. Yet apart from his eccentric condi-tion, many people would have thought it justi-

fied if they had seen Avdotya Romanovna, es-pecially at that moment when she was walkingto and fro with folded arms, pensive and me-lancholy. Avdotya Romanovna was remarkablygood looking; she was tall, strikingly well-proportioned, strong and self-reliant—the latterquality was apparent in every gesture, thoughit did not in the least detract from the grace andsoftness of her movements. In face she resem-bled her brother, but she might be described asreally beautiful. Her hair was dark brown, alittle lighter than her brother's; there was aproud light in her almost black eyes and yet attimes a look of extraordinary kindness. She waspale, but it was a healthy pallor; her face wasradiant with freshness and vigour. Her mouthwas rather small; the full red lower lip projec-ted a little as did her chin; it was the only irre-gularity in her beautiful face, but it gave it apeculiarly individual and almost haughty ex-pression. Her face was always more seriousand thoughtful than gay; but how well smiles,

how well youthful, lighthearted, irresponsible,laughter suited her face! It was natural enoughthat a warm, open, simple-hearted, honest giantlike Razumihin, who had never seen anyonelike her and was not quite sober at the time,should lose his head immediately. Besides, aschance would have it, he saw Dounia for thefirst time transfigured by her love for her brot-her and her joy at meeting him. Afterwards hesaw her lower lip quiver with indignation ather brother's insolent, cruel and ungratefulwords—and his fate was sealed.

He had spoken the truth, moreover, when heblurted out in his drunken talk on the stairsthat Praskovya Pavlovna, Raskolnikov's eccen-tric landlady, would be jealous of PulcheriaAlexandrovna as well as of Avdotya Roma-novna on his account. Although PulcheriaAlexandrovna was forty-three, her face stillretained traces of her former beauty; she lookedmuch younger than her age, indeed, which is

almost always the case with women who retainserenity of spirit, sensitiveness and pure sincerewarmth of heart to old age. We may add inparenthesis that to preserve all this is the onlymeans of retaining beauty to old age. Her hairhad begun to grow grey and thin, there hadlong been little crow's foot wrinkles round hereyes, her cheeks were hollow and sunken fromanxiety and grief, and yet it was a handsomeface. She was Dounia over again, twenty yearsolder, but without the projecting underlip. Pul-cheria Alexandrovna was emotional, but notsentimental, timid and yielding, but only to acertain point. She could give way and accept agreat deal even of what was contrary to herconvictions, but there was a certain barrierfixed by honesty, principle and the deepestconvictions which nothing would induce her tocross.

Exactly twenty minutes after Razumihin's de-parture, there came two subdued but hurriedknocks at the door: he had come back.

"I won't come in, I haven't time," he hastened tosay when the door was opened. "He sleeps likea top, soundly, quietly, and God grant he maysleep ten hours. Nastasya's with him; I told hernot to leave till I came. Now I am fetching Zos-simov, he will report to you and then you'dbetter turn in; I can see you are too tired to doanything...."

And he ran off down the corridor.

"What a very competent and... devoted youngman!" cried Pulcheria Alexandrovna exceedin-gly delighted.

"He seems a splendid person!" Avdotya Roma-novna replied with some warmth, resumingher walk up and down the room.

It was nearly an hour later when they heardfootsteps in the corridor and another knock atthe door. Both women waited this time comple-tely relying on Razumihin's promise; he actua-lly had succeeded in bringing Zossimov. Zos-simov had agreed at once to desert the drinkingparty to go to Raskolnikov's, but he came reluc-tantly and with the greatest suspicion to see theladies, mistrusting Razumihin in his exhilara-ted condition. But his vanity was at once reas-sured and flattered; he saw that they were rea-lly expecting him as an oracle. He stayed justten minutes and succeeded in completely con-vincing and comforting Pulcheria Alexandrov-na. He spoke with marked sympathy, but withthe reserve and extreme seriousness of a youngdoctor at an important consultation. He did notutter a word on any other subject and did notdisplay the slightest desire to enter into morepersonal relations with the two ladies. Remar-king at his first entrance the dazzling beauty ofAvdotya Romanovna, he endeavoured not to

notice her at all during his visit and addressedhimself solely to Pulcheria Alexandrovna. Allthis gave him extraordinary inward satisfac-tion. He declared that he thought the invalid atthis moment going on very satisfactorily. Ac-cording to his observations the patient's illnesswas due partly to his unfortunate material su-rroundings during the last few months, but ithad partly also a moral origin, "was, so tospeak, the product of several material and mo-ral influences, anxieties, apprehensions, trou-bles, certain ideas... and so on." Noticing stealt-hily that Avdotya Romanovna was followinghis words with close attention, Zossimov allo-wed himself to enlarge on this theme. On Pul-cheria Alexandrovna's anxiously and timidlyinquiring as to "some suspicion of insanity," hereplied with a composed and candid smile thathis words had been exaggerated; that certainlythe patient had some fixed idea, somethingapproaching a monomania—he, Zossimov, wasnow particularly studying this interesting

branch of medicine—but that it must be reco-llected that until to-day the patient had been indelirium and... and that no doubt the presenceof his family would have a favourable effect onhis recovery and distract his mind, "if only allfresh shocks can be avoided," he added signifi-cantly. Then he got up, took leave with an im-pressive and affable bow, while blessings,warm gratitude, and entreaties were showeredupon him, and Avdotya Romanovna sponta-neously offered her hand to him. He went outexceedingly pleased with his visit and still mo-re so with himself.

"We'll talk to-morrow; go to bed at once!" Ra-zumihin said in conclusion, following Zossi-mov out. "I'll be with you to-morrow morningas early as possible with my report."

"That's a fetching little girl, Avdotya Romanov-na," remarked Zossimov, almost licking his lipsas they both came out into the street.

"Fetching? You said fetching?" roared Razu-mihin and he flew at Zossimov and seized himby the throat. "If you ever dare.... Do you un-derstand? Do you understand?" he shouted,shaking him by the collar and squeezing himagainst the wall. "Do you hear?"

"Let me go, you drunken devil," said Zossimov,struggling and when he had let him go, he sta-red at him and went off into a sudden guffaw.Razumihin stood facing him in gloomy andearnest reflection.

"Of course, I am an ass," he observed, sombreas a storm cloud, "but still... you are another."

"No, brother, not at all such another. I am notdreaming of any folly."

They walked along in silence and only whenthey were close to Raskolnikov's lodgings, Ra-zumihin broke the silence in considerableanxiety.

"Listen," he said, "you're a first-rate fellow, butamong your other failings, you're a loose fish,that I know, and a dirty one, too. You are a fee-ble, nervous wretch, and a mass of whims,you're getting fat and lazy and can't deny your-self anything—and I call that dirty because itleads one straight into the dirt. You've let your-self get so slack that I don't know how it is youare still a good, even a devoted doctor. You—adoctor—sleep on a feather bed and get up atnight to your patients! In another three or fouryears you won't get up for your patients... Buthang it all, that's not the point!... You are goingto spend to-night in the landlady's flat here.(Hard work I've had to persuade her!) And I'llbe in the kitchen. So here's a chance for you toget to know her better.... It's not as you think!There's not a trace of anything of the sort, brot-her...!"

"But I don't think!"

"Here you have modesty, brother, silence, bash-fulness, a savage virtue... and yet she's sighingand melting like wax, simply melting! Save mefrom her, by all that's unholy! She's most pre-possessing... I'll repay you, I'll do anything...."

Zossimov laughed more violently than ever.

"Well, you are smitten! But what am I to dowith her?"

"It won't be much trouble, I assure you. Talkany rot you like to her, as long as you sit by herand talk. You're a doctor, too; try curing her ofsomething. I swear you won't regret it. She hasa piano, and you know, I strum a little. I have asong there, a genuine Russian one: 'I shed hottears.' She likes the genuine article—and well, itall began with that song; Now you're a regularperformer, a maître, a Rubinstein.... I assureyou, you won't regret it!"

"But have you made her some promise? Somet-hing signed? A promise of marriage, perhaps?"

"Nothing, nothing, absolutely nothing of thekind! Besides she is not that sort at all.... Tche-barov tried that...."

"Well then, drop her!"

"But I can't drop her like that!"

"Why can't you?"

"Well, I can't, that's all about it! There's an ele-ment of attraction here, brother."

"Then why have you fascinated her?"

"I haven't fascinated her; perhaps I was fascina-ted myself in my folly. But she won't care astraw whether it's you or I, so long as somebo-dy sits beside her, sighing.... I can't explain theposition, brother... look here, you are good atmathematics, and working at it now... begin

teaching her the integral calculus; upon mysoul, I'm not joking, I'm in earnest, it'll be justthe same to her. She will gaze at you and sighfor a whole year together. I talked to her oncefor two days at a time about the Prussian Hou-se of Lords (for one must talk of something)—she just sighed and perspired! And you mustn'ttalk of love—she's bashful to hysterics—butjust let her see you can't tear yourself away—that's enough. It's fearfully comfortable; you'requite at home, you can read, sit, lie about, wri-te. You may even venture on a kiss, if you'recareful."

"But what do I want with her?"

"Ach, I can't make you understand! You see,you are made for each other! I have often beenreminded of you!... You'll come to it in the end!So does it matter whether it's sooner or later?There's the feather-bed element here, brother—ach! and not only that! There's an attractionhere—here you have the end of the world, an

anchorage, a quiet haven, the navel of the earth,the three fishes that are the foundation of theworld, the essence of pancakes, of savoury fish-pies, of the evening samovar, of soft sighs andwarm shawls, and hot stoves to sleep on—assnug as though you were dead, and yet you'realive—the advantages of both at once! Well,hang it, brother, what stuff I'm talking, it's bed-time! Listen. I sometimes wake up at night; soI'll go in and look at him. But there's no need,it's all right. Don't you worry yourself, yet ifyou like, you might just look in once, too. But ifyou notice anything—delirium or fever—wakeme at once. But there can't be...."

CHAPTER II

Razumihin waked up next morning at eighto'clock, troubled and serious. He found himselfconfronted with many new and unlooked-forperplexities. He had never expected that hewould ever wake up feeling like that. He re-membered every detail of the previous day andhe knew that a perfectly novel experience hadbefallen him, that he had received an impres-sion unlike anything he had known before. Atthe same time he recognised clearly that thedream which had fired his imagination washopelessly unattainable—so unattainable thathe felt positively ashamed of it, and he haste-ned to pass to the other more practical caresand difficulties bequeathed him by that "thriceaccursed yesterday."

The most awful recollection of the previous daywas the way he had shown himself "base and

mean," not only because he had been drunk,but because he had taken advantage of theyoung girl's position to abuse her fiancé in hisstupid jealousy, knowing nothing of their mu-tual relations and obligations and next to not-hing of the man himself. And what right had heto criticise him in that hasty and unguardedmanner? Who had asked for his opinion? Wasit thinkable that such a creature as AvdotyaRomanovna would be marrying an unworthyman for money? So there must be something inhim. The lodgings? But after all how could heknow the character of the lodgings? He wasfurnishing a flat... Foo! how despicable it allwas! And what justification was it that he wasdrunk? Such a stupid excuse was even moredegrading! In wine is truth, and the truth hadall come out, "that is, all the uncleanness of hiscoarse and envious heart"! And would such adream ever be permissible to him, Razumihin?What was he beside such a girl—he, the drun-ken noisy braggart of last night? Was it possible

to imagine so absurd and cynical a juxtaposi-tion? Razumihin blushed desperately at thevery idea and suddenly the recollection forceditself vividly upon him of how he had said lastnight on the stairs that the landlady would bejealous of Avdotya Romanovna... that was sim-ply intolerable. He brought his fist down heavi-ly on the kitchen stove, hurt his hand and sentone of the bricks flying.

"Of course," he muttered to himself a minutelater with a feeling of self-abasement, "of cour-se, all these infamies can never be wiped out orsmoothed over... and so it's useless even tothink of it, and I must go to them in silence anddo my duty... in silence, too... and not ask for-giveness, and say nothing... for all is lost now!"

And yet as he dressed he examined his attiremore carefully than usual. He hadn't anothersuit—if he had had, perhaps he wouldn't haveput it on. "I would have made a point of notputting it on." But in any case he could not re-

main a cynic and a dirty sloven; he had no rightto offend the feelings of others, especially whenthey were in need of his assistance and askinghim to see them. He brushed his clothes carefu-lly. His linen was always decent; in that respecthe was especially clean.

He washed that morning scrupulously—he gotsome soap from Nastasya—he washed his hair,his neck and especially his hands. When it ca-me to the question whether to shave his stubblychin or not (Praskovya Pavlovna had capitalrazors that had been left by her late husband),the question was angrily answered in the nega-tive. "Let it stay as it is! What if they think that Ishaved on purpose to...? They certainly wouldthink so! Not on any account!"

"And... the worst of it was he was so coarse, sodirty, he had the manners of a pothouse; and...and even admitting that he knew he had someof the essentials of a gentleman... what wasthere in that to be proud of? Everyone ought to

be a gentleman and more than that... and all thesame (he remembered) he, too, had done littlethings... not exactly dishonest, and yet.... Andwhat thoughts he sometimes had; hm... and toset all that beside Avdotya Romanovna! Con-found it! So be it! Well, he'd make a point thenof being dirty, greasy, pothouse in his mannersand he wouldn't care! He'd be worse!"

He was engaged in such monologues whenZossimov, who had spent the night in Praskov-ya Pavlovna's parlour, came in.

He was going home and was in a hurry to lookat the invalid first. Razumihin informed himthat Raskolnikov was sleeping like a dormouse.Zossimov gave orders that they shouldn't wakehim and promised to see him again about ele-ven.

"If he is still at home," he added. "Damn it all! Ifone can't control one's patients, how is one to

cure them? Do you know whether he will go tothem, or whether they are coming here?"

"They are coming, I think," said Razumihin,understanding the object of the question, "andthey will discuss their family affairs, no doubt.I'll be off. You, as the doctor, have more right tobe here than I."

"But I am not a father confessor; I shall comeand go away; I've plenty to do besides lookingafter them."

"One thing worries me," interposed Razumihin,frowning. "On the way home I talked a lot ofdrunken nonsense to him... all sorts of things...and amongst them that you were afraid thathe... might become insane."

"You told the ladies so, too."

"I know it was stupid! You may beat me if youlike! Did you think so seriously?"

"That's nonsense, I tell you, how could I think itseriously? You, yourself, described him as amonomaniac when you fetched me to him...and we added fuel to the fire yesterday, youdid, that is, with your story about the painter; itwas a nice conversation, when he was, perhaps,mad on that very point! If only I'd known whathappened then at the police station and thatsome wretch... had insulted him with this sus-picion! Hm... I would not have allowed thatconversation yesterday. These monomaniacswill make a mountain out of a mole-hill... andsee their fancies as solid realities.... As far as Iremember, it was Zametov's story that clearedup half the mystery, to my mind. Why, I knowone case in which a hypochondriac, a man offorty, cut the throat of a little boy of eight, be-cause he couldn't endure the jokes he madeevery day at table! And in this case his rags, theinsolent police officer, the fever and this suspi-cion! All that working upon a man half franticwith hypochondria, and with his morbid excep-

tional vanity! That may well have been the star-ting-point of illness. Well, bother it all!... And,by the way, that Zametov certainly is a nicefellow, but hm... he shouldn't have told all thatlast 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 onthem, his mother and sister? Tell them to bemore careful with him to-day...."

"They'll get on all right!" Razumihin answeredreluctantly.

"Why is he so set against this Luzhin? A manwith money and she doesn't seem to dislikehim... and they haven't a farthing, I suppose?eh?"

"But what business is it of yours?" Razumihincried with annoyance. "How can I tell whetherthey've a farthing? Ask them yourself and per-haps you'll find out...."

"Foo! what an ass you are sometimes! Lastnight's wine has not gone off yet.... Good-bye;thank your Praskovya Pavlovna from me formy night's lodging. She locked herself in, madeno reply to my bonjour through the door; shewas up at seven o'clock, the samovar was takeninto her from the kitchen. I was not vouchsafeda personal interview...."

At nine o'clock precisely Razumihin reachedthe lodgings at Bakaleyev's house. Both ladieswere waiting for him with nervous impatience.They had risen at seven o'clock or earlier. Heentered looking as black as night, bowed awk-wardly and was at once furious with himselffor it. He had reckoned without his host: Pul-cheria Alexandrovna fairly rushed at him, sei-zed him by both hands and was almost kissing

them. He glanced timidly at Avdotya Roma-novna, but her proud countenance wore at thatmoment an expression of such gratitude andfriendliness, such complete and unlooked-forrespect (in place of the sneering looks and ill-disguised contempt he had expected), that itthrew him into greater confusion than if he hadbeen met with abuse. Fortunately there was asubject for conversation, and he made haste tosnatch at it.

Hearing that everything was going well andthat Rodya had not yet waked, PulcheriaAlexandrovna declared that she was glad tohear it, because "she had something which itwas very, very necessary to talk over before-hand." Then followed an inquiry about break-fast and an invitation to have it with them; theyhad waited to have it with him. Avdotya Ro-manovna rang the bell: it was answered by aragged dirty waiter, and they asked him tobring tea which was served at last, but in such a

dirty and disorderly way that the ladies wereashamed. Razumihin vigorously attacked thelodgings, but, remembering Luzhin, stopped inembarrassment and was greatly relieved byPulcheria Alexandrovna's questions, whichshowered in a continual stream upon him.

He talked for three quarters of an hour, beingconstantly interrupted by their questions, andsucceeded in describing to them all the mostimportant facts he knew of the last year of Ras-kolnikov's life, concluding with a circumstan-tial account of his illness. He omitted, however,many things, which were better omitted, inclu-ding the scene at the police station with all itsconsequences. They listened eagerly to his sto-ry, and, when he thought he had finished andsatisfied his listeners, he found that they consi-dered he had hardly begun.

"Tell me, tell me! What do you think...? Excuseme, I still don't know your name!" PulcheriaAlexandrovna put in hastily.

"Dmitri Prokofitch."

"I should like very, very much to know, DmitriProkofitch... how he looks... on things in gene-ral now, that is, how can I explain, what are hislikes and dislikes? Is he always so irritable? Tellme, if you can, what are his hopes and, so tosay, his dreams? Under what influences is henow? In a word, I should like..."

"Ah, mother, how can he answer all that at on-ce?" observed Dounia.

"Good heavens, I had not expected to find himin the least like this, Dmitri Prokofitch!"

"Naturally," answered Razumihin. "I have nomother, but my uncle comes every year andalmost every time he can scarcely recognise me,even in appearance, though he is a clever man;and your three years' separation means a greatdeal. What am I to tell you? I have known Ro-dion for a year and a half; he is morose, gloo-

my, proud and haughty, and of late—and per-haps for a long time before—he has been suspi-cious and fanciful. He has a noble nature and akind heart. He does not like showing his fee-lings and would rather do a cruel thing thanopen his heart freely. Sometimes, though, he isnot at all morbid, but simply cold and in-humanly callous; it's as though he were alterna-ting between two characters. Sometimes he isfearfully reserved! He says he is so busy thateverything is a hindrance, and yet he lies in beddoing nothing. He doesn't jeer at things, notbecause he hasn't the wit, but as though hehadn't time to waste on such trifles. He neverlistens to what is said to him. He is never inte-rested in what interests other people at anygiven moment. He thinks very highly of him-self and perhaps he is right. Well, what more? Ithink your arrival will have a most beneficialinfluence upon him."

"God grant it may," cried Pulcheria Alexan-drovna, distressed by Razumihin's account ofher Rodya.

And Razumihin ventured to look more boldlyat Avdotya Romanovna at last. He glanced ather often while he was talking, but only for amoment and looked away again at once. Av-dotya Romanovna sat at the table, listeningattentively, then got up again and began wal-king to and fro with her arms folded and herlips compressed, occasionally putting in a ques-tion, without stopping her walk. She had thesame habit of not listening to what was said.She was wearing a dress of thin dark stuff andshe had a white transparent scarf round herneck. Razumihin soon detected signs of extre-me poverty in their belongings. Had AvdotyaRomanovna been dressed like a queen, he feltthat he would not be afraid of her, but perhapsjust because she was poorly dressed and that henoticed all the misery of her surroundings, his

heart was filled with dread and he began to beafraid of every word he uttered, every gesturehe made, which was very trying for a man whoalready felt diffident.

"You've told us a great deal that is interestingabout my brother's character... and have told itimpartially. I am glad. I thought that you weretoo uncritically devoted to him," observed Av-dotya Romanovna with a smile. "I think you areright that he needs a woman's care," she addedthoughtfully.

"I didn't say so; but I daresay you are right,only..."

"What?"

"He loves no one and perhaps he never will,"Razumihin declared decisively.

"You mean he is not capable of love?"

"Do you know, Avdotya Romanovna, you areawfully like your brother, in everything, inde-ed!" he blurted out suddenly to his own surpri-se, but remembering at once what he had justbefore said of her brother, he turned as red as acrab and was overcome with confusion. Av-dotya Romanovna couldn't help laughing whenshe looked at him.

"You may both be mistaken about Rodya," Pul-cheria Alexandrovna remarked, slightly pi-qued. "I am not talking of our present difficul-ty, Dounia. What Pyotr Petrovitch writes in thisletter and what you and I have supposed maybe mistaken, but you can't imagine, DmitriProkofitch, how moody and, so to say, capri-cious he is. I never could depend on what hewould do when he was only fifteen. And I amsure that he might do something now that no-body else would think of doing... Well, for ins-tance, do you know how a year and a half agohe astounded me and gave me a shock that

nearly killed me, when he had the idea ofmarrying that girl—what was her name—hislandlady's daughter?"

"Did you hear about that affair?" asked Avdot-ya Romanovna.

"Do you suppose——" Pulcheria Alexandrovnacontinued warmly. "Do you suppose that mytears, my entreaties, my illness, my possibledeath from grief, our poverty would have ma-de him pause? No, he would calmly have dis-regarded all obstacles. And yet it isn't that hedoesn't love us!"

"He has never spoken a word of that affair tome," Razumihin answered cautiously. "But Idid hear something from Praskovya Pavlovnaherself, though she is by no means a gossip.And what I heard certainly was rather strange."

"And what did you hear?" both the ladies askedat once.

"Well, nothing very special. I only learned thatthe marriage, which only failed to take placethrough the girl's death, was not at all to Pras-kovya Pavlovna's liking. They say, too, the girlwas not at all pretty, in fact I am told positivelyugly... and such an invalid... and queer. But sheseems to have had some good qualities. Shemust have had some good qualities or it's quiteinexplicable.... She had no money either and hewouldn't have considered her money.... But it'salways difficult to judge in such matters."

"I am sure she was a good girl," Avdotya Ro-manovna observed briefly.

"God forgive me, I simply rejoiced at her death.Though I don't know which of them wouldhave caused most misery to the other—he toher or she to him," Pulcheria Alexandrovnaconcluded. Then she began tentatively questio-ning him about the scene on the previous daywith Luzhin, hesitating and continually glan-cing at Dounia, obviously to the latter's anno-

yance. This incident more than all the rest evi-dently caused her uneasiness, even consterna-tion. Razumihin described it in detail again, butthis time he added his own conclusions: heopenly blamed Raskolnikov for intentionallyinsulting Pyotr Petrovitch, not seeking to excu-se him on the score of his illness.

"He had planned it before his illness," he ad-ded.

"I think so, too," Pulcheria Alexandrovnaagreed with a dejected air. But she was verymuch surprised at hearing Razumihin expresshimself so carefully and even with a certainrespect about Pyotr Petrovitch. Avdotya Ro-manovna, too, was struck by it.

"So this is your opinion of Pyotr Petrovitch?"Pulcheria Alexandrovna could not resist as-king.

"I can have no other opinion of your daughter'sfuture husband," Razumihin answered firmlyand with warmth, "and I don't say it simplyfrom vulgar politeness, but because... simplybecause Avdotya Romanovna has of her ownfree will deigned to accept this man. If I spokeso rudely of him last night, it was because I wasdisgustingly drunk and... mad besides; yes,mad, crazy, I lost my head completely... andthis morning I am ashamed of it."

He crimsoned and ceased speaking. AvdotyaRomanovna flushed, but did not break the si-lence. She had not uttered a word from themoment they began to speak of Luzhin.

Without her support Pulcheria Alexandrovnaobviously did not know what to do. At last,faltering and continually glancing at herdaughter, she confessed that she was exceedin-gly worried by one circumstance.

"You see, Dmitri Prokofitch," she began. "I'll beperfectly open with Dmitri Prokofitch, Dou-nia?"

"Of course, mother," said Avdotya Romanovnaemphatically.

"This is what it is," she began in haste, asthough the permission to speak of her troublelifted a weight off her mind. "Very early thismorning we got a note from Pyotr Petrovitch inreply to our letter announcing our arrival. Hepromised to meet us at the station, you know;instead of that he sent a servant to bring us theaddress of these lodgings and to show us theway; and he sent a message that he would behere himself this morning. But this morningthis note came from him. You'd better read ityourself; there is one point in it which worriesme very much... you will soon see what that is,and... tell me your candid opinion, Dmitri Pro-kofitch! You know Rodya's character betterthan anyone and no one can advise us better

than you can. Dounia, I must tell you, made herdecision at once, but I still don't feel sure howto act and I... I've been waiting for your opi-nion."

Razumihin opened the note which was datedthe previous evening and read as follows:

"Dear Madam, Pulcheria Alexandrovna, I havethe honour to inform you that owing to unfore-seen obstacles I was rendered unable to meetyou at the railway station; I sent a very compe-tent person with the same object in view. I li-kewise shall be deprived of the honour of aninterview with you to-morrow morning by bu-siness in the Senate that does not admit of de-lay, and also that I may not intrude on yourfamily circle while you are meeting your son,and Avdotya Romanovna her brother. I shallhave the honour of visiting you and paying youmy respects at your lodgings not later than to-morrow evening at eight o'clock precisely, andherewith I venture to present my earnest and, I

may add, imperative request that Rodion Ro-manovitch may not be present at our inter-view—as he offered me a gross and unprece-dented affront on the occasion of my visit tohim in his illness yesterday, and, moreover,since I desire from you personally an indispen-sable and circumstantial explanation upon acertain point, in regard to which I wish to learnyour own interpretation. I have the honour toinform you, in anticipation, that if, in spite ofmy request, I meet Rodion Romanovitch, I shallbe compelled to withdraw immediately andthen you have only yourself to blame. I writeon the assumption that Rodion Romanovitchwho appeared so ill at my visit, suddenly reco-vered two hours later and so, being able to lea-ve the house, may visit you also. I was confir-med in that belief by the testimony of my owneyes in the lodging of a drunken man who wasrun over and has since died, to whose daugh-ter, a young woman of notorious behaviour, hegave twenty-five roubles on the pretext of the

funeral, which gravely surprised me knowingwhat pains you were at to raise that sum.Herewith expressing my special respect to yourestimable daughter, Avdotya Romanovna, Ibeg you to accept the respectful homage of

"Your humble servant,

"P. LUZHIN.""What am I to do now, Dmitri Prokofitch?" be-gan Pulcheria Alexandrovna, almost weeping."How can I ask Rodya not to come? Yesterdayhe insisted so earnestly on our refusing PyotrPetrovitch and now we are ordered not to re-ceive Rodya! He will come on purpose if heknows, and... what will happen then?"

"Act on Avdotya Romanovna's decision," Ra-zumihin answered calmly at once.

"Oh, dear me! She says... goodness knows whatshe says, she doesn't explain her object! Shesays that it would be best, at least, not that it

would be best, but that it's absolutely necessarythat Rodya should make a point of being hereat eight o'clock and that they must meet.... Ididn't want even to show him the letter, but toprevent him from coming by some stratagemwith your help... because he is so irritable....Besides I don't understand about that drunkardwho died and that daughter, and how he couldhave given the daughter all the money...which..."

"Which cost you such sacrifice, mother," put inAvdotya Romanovna.

"He was not himself yesterday," Razumihinsaid thoughtfully, "if you only knew what hewas up to in a restaurant yesterday, thoughthere was sense in it too.... Hm! He did say so-mething, as we were going home yesterdayevening, about a dead man and a girl, but Ididn't understand a word.... But last night, Imyself..."

"The best thing, mother, will be for us to go tohim ourselves and there I assure you we shallsee at once what's to be done. Besides, it's get-ting late—good heavens, it's past ten," she criedlooking at a splendid gold enamelled watchwhich hung round her neck on a thin Venetianchain, and looked entirely out of keeping withthe rest of her dress. "A present from her fian-cé," thought Razumihin.

"We must start, Dounia, we must start," hermother cried in a flutter. "He will be thinkingwe are still angry after yesterday, from our co-ming so late. Merciful heavens!"

While she said this she was hurriedly puttingon her hat and mantle; Dounia, too, put on herthings. Her gloves, as Razumihin noticed, werenot merely shabby but had holes in them, andyet this evident poverty gave the two ladies anair of special dignity, which is always found inpeople who know how to wear poor clothes.Razumihin looked reverently at Dounia and

felt proud of escorting her. "The queen whomended her stockings in prison," he thought,"must have looked then every inch a queen andeven more a queen than at sumptuous ban-quets and levées."

"My God!" exclaimed Pulcheria Alexandrovna,"little did I think that I should ever fear seeingmy son, my darling, darling Rodya! I am afraid,Dmitri Prokofitch," she added, glancing at himtimidly.

"Don't be afraid, mother," said Dounia, kissingher, "better have faith in him."

"Oh, dear, I have faith in him, but I haven'tslept all night," exclaimed the poor woman.

They came out into the street.

"Do you know, Dounia, when I dozed a littlethis morning I dreamed of Marfa Petrovna...she was all in white... she came up to me, took

my hand, and shook her head at me, but sosternly as though she were blaming me.... Isthat a good omen? Oh, dear me! You don'tknow, Dmitri Prokofitch, that Marfa Petrovna'sdead!"

"No, I didn't know; who is Marfa Petrovna?"

"She died suddenly; and only fancy..."

"Afterwards, mamma," put in Dounia. "Hedoesn't know who Marfa Petrovna is."

"Ah, you don't know? And I was thinking thatyou knew all about us. Forgive me, Dmitri Pro-kofitch, I don't know what I am thinking aboutthese last few days. I look upon you really as aprovidence for us, and so I took it for grantedthat you knew all about us. I look on you as arelation.... Don't be angry with me for sayingso. Dear me, what's the matter with your righthand? Have you knocked it?"

"Yes, I bruised it," muttered Razumihin overjo-yed.

"I sometimes speak too much from the heart, sothat Dounia finds fault with me.... But, dear me,what a cupboard he lives in! I wonder whetherhe is awake? Does this woman, his landlady,consider it a room? Listen, you say he does notlike to show his feelings, so perhaps I shall an-noy him with my... weaknesses? Do advise me,Dmitri Prokofitch, how am I to treat him? I feelquite distracted, you know."

"Don't question him too much about anything ifyou see him frown; don't ask him too muchabout his health; he doesn't like that."

"Ah, Dmitri Prokofitch, how hard it is to be amother! But here are the stairs.... What an awfulstaircase!"

"Mother, you are quite pale, don't distress your-self, darling," said Dounia caressing her, then

with flashing eyes she added: "He ought to behappy at seeing you, and you are tormentingyourself so."

"Wait, I'll peep in and see whether he has wa-ked up."

The ladies slowly followed Razumihin, whowent on before, and when they reached thelandlady's door on the fourth storey, they noti-ced that her door was a tiny crack open andthat two keen black eyes were watching themfrom the darkness within. When their eyes met,the door was suddenly shut with such a slamthat Pulcheria Alexandrovna almost cried out.

CHAPTER III

"He is well, quite well!" Zossimov criedcheerfully as they entered.

He had come in ten minutes earlier and wassitting in the same place as before, on the sofa.Raskolnikov was sitting in the opposite corner,fully dressed and carefully washed and com-bed, as he had not been for some time past. Theroom was immediately crowded, yet Nastasyamanaged to follow the visitors in and stayed tolisten.

Raskolnikov really was almost well, as compa-red with his condition the day before, but hewas still pale, listless, and sombre. He lookedlike a wounded man or one who has undergo-ne some terrible physical suffering. His browswere knitted, his lips compressed, his eyes fe-verish. He spoke little and reluctantly, as

though performing a duty, and there was arestlessness in his movements.

He only wanted a sling on his arm or a banda-ge on his finger to complete the impression of aman with a painful abscess or a broken arm.The pale, sombre face lighted up for a momentwhen his mother and sister entered, but thisonly gave it a look of more intense suffering, inplace of its listless dejection. The light soon di-ed away, but the look of suffering remained,and Zossimov, watching and studying his pa-tient with all the zest of a young doctor begin-ning to practise, noticed in him no joy at thearrival of his mother and sister, but a sort ofbitter, hidden determination to bear anotherhour or two of inevitable torture. He saw laterthat almost every word of the following con-versation seemed to touch on some sore placeand irritate it. But at the same time he marve-lled at the power of controlling himself andhiding his feelings in a patient who the pre-

vious day had, like a monomaniac, fallen into afrenzy at the slightest word.

"Yes, I see myself now that I am almost well,"said Raskolnikov, giving his mother and sistera kiss of welcome which made PulcheriaAlexandrovna radiant at once. "And I don't saythis as I did yesterday," he said, addressing Ra-zumihin, with a friendly pressure of his hand.

"Yes, indeed, I am quite surprised at him to-day," began Zossimov, much delighted at theladies' entrance, for he had not succeeded inkeeping up a conversation with his patient forten minutes. "In another three or four days, ifhe goes on like this, he will be just as before,that is, as he was a month ago, or two... or per-haps even three. This has been coming on for along while.... eh? Confess, now, that it has beenperhaps your own fault?" he added, with a ten-tative smile, as though still afraid of irritatinghim.

"It is very possible," answered Raskolnikovcoldly.

"I should say, too," continued Zossimov withzest, "that your complete recovery dependssolely on yourself. Now that one can talk toyou, I should like to impress upon you that it isessential to avoid the elementary, so to speak,fundamental causes tending to produce yourmorbid condition: in that case you will be cu-red, if not, it will go from bad to worse. Thesefundamental causes I don't know, but theymust be known to you. You are an intelligentman, and must have observed yourself, ofcourse. I fancy the first stage of your derange-ment coincides with your leaving the universi-ty. You must not be left without occupation,and so, work and a definite aim set before youmight, I fancy, be very beneficial."

"Yes, yes; you are perfectly right.... I will makehaste and return to the university: and theneverything will go smoothly...."

Zossimov, who had begun his sage advice par-tly to make an effect before the ladies, was cer-tainly somewhat mystified, when, glancing athis patient, he observed unmistakable mockeryon his face. This lasted an instant, however.Pulcheria Alexandrovna began at once than-king Zossimov, especially for his visit to theirlodging the previous night.

"What! he saw you last night?" Raskolnikovasked, as though startled. "Then you have notslept either after your journey."

"Ach, Rodya, that was only till two o'clock.Dounia and I never go to bed before two athome."

"I don't know how to thank him either," Ras-kolnikov went on, suddenly frowning and loo-king down. "Setting aside the question of pay-ment—forgive me for referring to it (he turnedto Zossimov)—I really don't know what I havedone to deserve such special attention from

you! I simply don't understand it... and... and...it weighs upon me, indeed, because I don't un-derstand it. I tell you so candidly."

"Don't be irritated." Zossimov forced himself tolaugh. "Assume that you are my first patient—well—we fellows just beginning to practise loveour first patients as if they were our children,and some almost fall in love with them. And, ofcourse, I am not rich in patients."

"I say nothing about him," added Raskolnikov,pointing to Razumihin, "though he has hadnothing from me either but insult and trouble."

"What nonsense he is talking! Why, you are in asentimental mood to-day, are you?" shoutedRazumihin.

If he had had more penetration he would haveseen that there was no trace of sentimentality inhim, but something indeed quite the opposite.

But Avdotya Romanovna noticed it. She wasintently and uneasily watching her brother.

"As for you, mother, I don't dare to speak," hewent on, as though repeating a lesson learnedby heart. "It is only to-day that I have been ableto realise a little how distressed you must havebeen here yesterday, waiting for me to comeback."

When he had said this, he suddenly held outhis hand to his sister, smiling without a word.But in this smile there was a flash of real un-feigned feeling. Dounia caught it at once, andwarmly pressed his hand, overjoyed and thank-ful. It was the first time he had addressed hersince their dispute the previous day. The mot-her's face lighted up with ecstatic happiness atthe sight of this conclusive unspoken reconci-liation. "Yes, that is what I love him for," Ra-zumihin, exaggerating it all, muttered to him-self, with a vigorous turn in his chair. "He hasthese movements."

"And how well he does it all," the mother wasthinking to herself. "What generous impulseshe has, and how simply, how delicately he putan end to all the misunderstanding with hissister—simply by holding out his hand at theright minute and looking at her like that.... Andwhat fine eyes he has, and how fine his wholeface is!... He is even better looking than Dou-nia.... But, good heavens, what a suit—howterribly he's dressed!... Vasya, the messengerboy in Afanasy Ivanitch's shop, is better dres-sed! I could rush at him and hug him... weepover him—but I am afraid.... Oh, dear, he's sostrange! He's talking kindly, but I'm afraid!Why, what am I afraid of?..."

"Oh, Rodya, you wouldn't believe," she begansuddenly, in haste to answer his words to her,"how unhappy Dounia and I were yesterday!Now that it's all over and done with and we arequite happy again—I can tell you. Fancy, weran here almost straight from the train to em-

brace you and that woman—ah, here she is!Good morning, Nastasya!... She told us at oncethat you were lying in a high fever and had justrun away from the doctor in delirium, and theywere looking for you in the streets. You can'timagine how we felt! I couldn't help thinking ofthe tragic end of Lieutenant Potanchikov, afriend of your father's—you can't rememberhim, Rodya—who ran out in the same way in ahigh fever and fell into the well in the court-yard and they couldn't pull him out till nextday. Of course, we exaggerated things. We we-re on the point of rushing to find Pyotr Petro-vitch to ask him to help.... Because we werealone, utterly alone," she said plaintively andstopped short, suddenly, recollecting it was stillsomewhat dangerous to speak of Pyotr Petro-vitch, although "we are quite happy again."

"Yes, yes.... Of course it's very annoying...."Raskolnikov muttered in reply, but with such a

preoccupied and inattentive air that Douniagazed at him in perplexity.

"What else was it I wanted to say?" He went ontrying to recollect. "Oh, yes; mother, and youtoo, Dounia, please don't think that I didn'tmean to come and see you to-day and was wai-ting for you to come first."

"What are you saying, Rodya?" cried PulcheriaAlexandrovna. She, too, was surprised.

"Is he answering us as a duty?" Dounia wonde-red. "Is he being reconciled and asking forgive-ness as though he were performing a rite orrepeating a lesson?"

"I've only just waked up, and wanted to go toyou, but was delayed owing to my clothes; Iforgot yesterday to ask her... Nastasya... towash out the blood... I've only just dressed."

"Blood! What blood?" Pulcheria Alexandrovnaasked in alarm.

"Oh, nothing—don't be uneasy. It was when Iwas wandering about yesterday, rather deli-rious, I chanced upon a man who had been runover... a clerk..."

"Delirious? But you remember everything!"Razumihin interrupted.

"That's true," Raskolnikov answered with spe-cial carefulness. "I remember everything evento the slightest detail, and yet—why I did thatand went there and said that, I can't clearlyexplain now."

"A familiar phenomenon," interposed Zossi-mov, "actions are sometimes performed in amasterly and most cunning way, while the di-rection of the actions is deranged and depen-dent on various morbid impressions—it's like adream."

"Perhaps it's a good thing really that he shouldthink me almost a madman," thought Raskolni-kov.

"Why, people in perfect health act in the sameway too," observed Dounia, looking uneasily atZossimov.

"There is some truth in your observation," thelatter replied. "In that sense we are certainly allnot infrequently like madmen, but with theslight difference that the deranged are somew-hat madder, for we must draw a line. A normalman, it is true, hardly exists. Among dozens—perhaps hundreds of thousands—hardly one isto be met with."

At the word "madman," carelessly dropped byZossimov in his chatter on his favourite subject,everyone frowned.

Raskolnikov sat seeming not to pay attention,plunged in thought with a strange smile on hispale lips. He was still meditating on something.

"Well, what about the man who was run over? Iinterrupted you!" Razumihin cried hastily.

"What?" Raskolnikov seemed to wake up. "Oh...I got spattered with blood helping to carry himto his lodging. By the way, mamma, I did anunpardonable thing yesterday. I was literallyout of my mind. I gave away all the money yousent me... to his wife for the funeral. She's awidow now, in consumption, a poor creature...three little children, starving... nothing in thehouse... there's a daughter, too... perhaps you'dhave given it yourself if you'd seen them. But Ihad no right to do it I admit, especially as Iknew how you needed the money yourself. Tohelp others one must have the right to do it, orelse Crevez, chiens, si vous n'êtes pas contents." Helaughed, "That's right, isn't it, Dounia?"

"No, it's not," answered Dounia firmly.

"Bah! you, too, have ideals," he muttered, loo-king at her almost with hatred, and smilingsarcastically. "I ought to have considered that....Well, that's praiseworthy, and it's better foryou... and if you reach a line you won't overs-tep, you will be unhappy... and if you overstepit, maybe you will be still unhappier.... But allthat's nonsense," he added irritably, vexed atbeing carried away. "I only meant to say that Ibeg your forgiveness, mother," he concluded,shortly and abruptly.

"That's enough, Rodya, I am sure that everyt-hing you do is very good," said his mother,delighted.

"Don't be too sure," he answered, twisting hismouth into a smile.

A silence followed. There was a certain cons-traint in all this conversation, and in the silence,

and in the reconciliation, and in the forgive-ness, and all were feeling it.

"It is as though they were afraid of me," Ras-kolnikov was thinking to himself, looking as-kance at his mother and sister. PulcheriaAlexandrovna was indeed growing more timidthe longer she kept silent.

"Yet in their absence I seemed to love them somuch," flashed through his mind.

"Do you know, Rodya, Marfa Petrovna is de-ad," Pulcheria Alexandrovna suddenly blurtedout.

"What Marfa Petrovna?"

"Oh, mercy on us—Marfa Petrovna Svidrigaï-lov. I wrote you so much about her."

"A-a-h! Yes, I remember.... So she's dead! Oh,really?" he roused himself suddenly, as if wa-king up. "What did she die of?"

"Only imagine, quite suddenly," PulcheriaAlexandrovna answered hurriedly, encouragedby his curiosity. "On the very day I was sen-ding you that letter! Would you believe it, thatawful man seems to have been the cause of herdeath. 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 marriedlife he gave way to her, too much so indeed, inmany cases. All of a sudden he seems to havelost patience."

"Then he could not have been so awful if hecontrolled himself for seven years? You seem tobe defending him, Dounia?"

"No, no, he's an awful man! I can imagine not-hing more awful!" Dounia answered, almost

with a shudder, knitting her brows, and sinkinginto thought.

"That had happened in the morning," PulcheriaAlexandrovna went on hurriedly. "And directlyafterwards she ordered the horses to be harnes-sed to drive to the town immediately after din-ner. She always used to drive to the town insuch cases. She ate a very good dinner, I amtold...."

"After the beating?"

"That was always her... habit; and immediatelyafter dinner, so as not to be late in starting, shewent to the bath-house.... You see, she was un-dergoing some treatment with baths. They havea cold spring there, and she used to bathe in itregularly every day, and no sooner had she gotinto the water when she suddenly had a stro-ke!"

"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 ussuch gossip, mother," said Raskolnikov irrita-bly, 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, witha constrained smile.

"That's certainly true," said Dounia, lookingdirectly and sternly at her brother. "Mother wascrossing herself with terror as she came up thestairs."

His face worked, as though in convulsion.

"Ach, what are you saying, Dounia! Don't beangry, please, Rodya.... Why did you say that,Dounia?" Pulcheria Alexandrovna began,

overwhelmed—"You see, coming here, I wasdreaming all the way, in the train, how weshould meet, how we should talk over everyt-hing together.... And I was so happy, I did notnotice the journey! But what am I saying? I amhappy now.... You should not, Dounia.... I amhappy now—simply in seeing you, Rodya...."

"Hush, mother," he muttered in confusion, notlooking at her, but pressing her hand. "We shallhave time to speak freely of everything!"

As he said this, he was suddenly overwhelmedwith confusion and turned pale. Again thatawful sensation he had known of late passedwith deadly chill over his soul. Again it becamesuddenly plain and perceptible to him that hehad just told a fearful lie—that he would nevernow be able to speak freely of everything—thathe would never again be able to speak of anyt-hing to anyone. The anguish of this thoughtwas such that for a moment he almost forgot

himself. He got up from his seat, and not loo-king at anyone walked towards the door.

"What are you about?" cried Razumihin, clut-ching him by the arm.

He sat down again, and began looking abouthim, in silence. They were all looking at him inperplexity.

"But what are you all so dull for?" he shouted,suddenly and quite unexpectedly. "Do say so-mething! What's the use of sitting like this?Come, do speak. Let us talk.... We meet toget-her and sit in silence.... Come, anything!"

"Thank God; I was afraid the same thing asyesterday was beginning again," said PulcheriaAlexandrovna, crossing herself.

"What is the matter, Rodya?" asked AvdotyaRomanovna, distrustfully.

"Oh, nothing! I remembered something," heanswered, and suddenly laughed.

"Well, if you remembered something; that's allright!... I was beginning to think..." mutteredZossimov, getting up from the sofa. "It is timefor me to be off. I will look in again perhaps... ifI can..." He made his bows, and went out.

"What an excellent man!" observed PulcheriaAlexandrovna.

"Yes, excellent, splendid, well-educated, intelli-gent," Raskolnikov began, suddenly speakingwith surprising rapidity, and a liveliness hehad not shown till then. "I can't remember whe-re I met him before my illness.... I believe I havemet him somewhere——... And this is a goodman, too," he nodded at Razumihin. "Do youlike him, Dounia?" he asked her; and suddenly,for some unknown reason, laughed.

"Very much," answered Dounia.

"Foo!—what a pig you are!" Razumihin protes-ted, blushing in terrible confusion, and he gotup from his chair. Pulcheria Alexandrovna smi-led faintly, but Raskolnikov laughed aloud.

"Where are you off to?"

"I must go."

"You need not at all. Stay. Zossimov has gone,so you must. Don't go. What's the time? Is ittwelve o'clock? What a pretty watch you havegot, Dounia. But why are you all silent again? Ido all the talking."

"It was a present from Marfa Petrovna," answe-red Dounia.

"And a very expensive one!" added PulcheriaAlexandrovna.

"A-ah! What a big one! Hardly like a lady's."

"I like that sort," said Dounia.

"So it is not a present from her fiancé," thoughtRazumihin, and was unreasonably delighted.

"I thought it was Luzhin's present," observedRaskolnikov.

"No, he has not made Dounia any presents yet."

"A-ah! And do you remember, mother, I was inlove and wanted to get married?" he said sud-denly, looking at his mother, who was discon-certed by the sudden change of subject and theway he spoke of it.

"Oh, yes, my dear."

Pulcheria Alexandrovna exchanged glanceswith Dounia and Razumihin.

"H'm, yes. What shall I tell you? I don't remem-ber much indeed. She was such a sickly girl," hewent on, growing dreamy and looking downagain. "Quite an invalid. She was fond of givingalms to the poor, and was always dreaming of a

nunnery, and once she burst into tears whenshe began talking to me about it. Yes, yes, I re-member. I remember very well. She was anugly little thing. I really don't know what drewme to her then—I think it was because she wasalways ill. If she had been lame or hunchback, Ibelieve I should have liked her better still," hesmiled dreamily. "Yes, it was a sort of springdelirium."

"No, it was not only spring delirium," saidDounia, with warm feeling.

He fixed a strained intent look on his sister, butdid not hear or did not understand her words.Then, completely lost in thought, he got up,went up to his mother, kissed her, went back tohis place and sat down.

"You love her even now?" said PulcheriaAlexandrovna, touched.

"Her? Now? Oh, yes.... You ask about her? No...that's all now, as it were, in another world...and so long ago. And indeed everything hap-pening here seems somehow far away." Helooked attentively at them. "You, now... I seemto be looking at you from a thousand milesaway... but, goodness knows why we are tal-king of that! And what's the use of asking aboutit?" he added with annoyance, and biting hisnails, fell into dreamy silence again.

"What a wretched lodging you have, Rodya! It'slike a tomb," said Pulcheria Alexandrovna, sud-denly breaking the oppressive silence. "I amsure it's quite half through your lodging youhave become so melancholy."

"My lodging," he answered, listlessly. "Yes, thelodging had a great deal to do with it.... Ithought that, too.... If only you knew, though,what a strange thing you said just now, mot-her," he said, laughing strangely.

A little more, and their companionship, thismother and this sister, with him after threeyears' absence, this intimate tone of conversa-tion, in face of the utter impossibility of reallyspeaking about anything, would have beenbeyond his power of endurance. But there wasone urgent matter which must be settled oneway or the other that day—so he had decidedwhen he woke. Now he was glad to rememberit, as a means of escape.

"Listen, Dounia," he began, gravely and drily,"of course I beg your pardon for yesterday, butI consider it my duty to tell you again that I donot withdraw from my chief point. It is me orLuzhin. If I am a scoundrel, you must not be.One is enough. If you marry Luzhin, I cease atonce to look on you as a sister."

"Rodya, Rodya! It is the same as yesterdayagain," Pulcheria Alexandrovna cried, mourn-fully. "And why do you call yourself a scoun-

drel? I can't bear it. You said the same yester-day."

"Brother," Dounia answered firmly and withthe same dryness. "In all this there is a mistakeon your part. I thought it over at night, andfound out the mistake. It is all because youseem to fancy I am sacrificing myself to someo-ne and for someone. That is not the case at all. Iam simply marrying for my own sake, becausethings are hard for me. Though, of course, Ishall be glad if I succeed in being useful to myfamily. But that is not the chief motive for mydecision...."

"She is lying," he thought to himself, biting hisnails vindictively. "Proud creature! She won'tadmit she wants to do it out of charity! Toohaughty! Oh, base characters! They even loveas though they hate.... Oh, how I... hate themall!"

"In fact," continued Dounia, "I am marryingPyotr Petrovitch because of two evils I choosethe less. I intend to do honestly all he expects ofme, so I am not deceiving him.... Why did yousmile just now?" She, too, flushed, and therewas a gleam of anger in her eyes.

"All?" he asked, with a malignant grin.

"Within certain limits. Both the manner andform of Pyotr Petrovitch's courtship showedme at once what he wanted. He may, of course,think too well of himself, but I hope he esteemsme, too.... Why are you laughing again?"

"And why are you blushing again? You arelying, sister. You are intentionally lying, simplyfrom feminine obstinacy, simply to hold yourown against me.... You cannot respect Luzhin. Ihave seen him and talked with him. So you areselling yourself for money, and so in any caseyou are acting basely, and I am glad at leastthat you can blush for it."

"It is not true. I am not lying," cried Dounia,losing her composure. "I would not marry himif I were not convinced that he esteems me andthinks highly of me. I would not marry him if Iwere not firmly convinced that I can respecthim. Fortunately, I can have convincing proofof it this very day... and such a marriage is nota vileness, as you say! And even if you wereright, if I really had determined on a vile action,is it not merciless on your part to speak to melike that? Why do you demand of me a heroismthat perhaps you have not either? It is despo-tism; it is tyranny. If I ruin anyone, it is onlymyself.... I am not committing a murder. Whydo you look at me like that? Why are you sopale? Rodya, darling, what's the matter?"

"Good heavens! You have made him faint,"cried Pulcheria Alexandrovna.

"No, no, nonsense! It's nothing. A little giddi-ness—not fainting. You have fainting on thebrain. H'm, yes, what was I saying? Oh, yes. In

what way will you get convincing proof to-daythat you can respect him, and that he... esteemsyou, as you said. I think you said to-day?"

"Mother, show Rodya Pyotr Petrovitch's letter,"said Dounia.

With trembling hands, Pulcheria Alexandrovnagave him the letter. He took it with great inter-est, but, before opening it, he suddenly lookedwith a sort of wonder at Dounia.

"It is strange," he said, slowly, as though struckby a new idea. "What am I making such a fussfor? What is it all about? Marry whom you li-ke!"

He said this as though to himself, but said italoud, and looked for some time at his sister, asthough puzzled. He opened the letter at last,still with the same look of strange wonder onhis face. Then, slowly and attentively, he beganreading, and read it through twice. Pulcheria

Alexandrovna showed marked anxiety, and allindeed expected something particular.

"What surprises me," he began, after a shortpause, handing the letter to his mother, but notaddressing anyone in particular, "is that he is abusiness man, a lawyer, and his conversation ispretentious indeed, and yet he writes such anuneducated letter."

They all started. They had expected somethingquite different.

"But they all write like that, you know," Razu-mihin observed, abruptly.

"Have you read it?"

"Yes."

"We showed him, Rodya. We... consulted himjust now," Pulcheria Alexandrovna began, em-barrassed.

"That's just the jargon of the courts," Razumihinput in. "Legal documents are written like thatto this day."

"Legal? Yes, it's just legal—business language—not so very uneducated, and not quite educa-ted—business language!"

"Pyotr Petrovitch makes no secret of the factthat he had a cheap education, he is proud in-deed of having made his own way," AvdotyaRomanovna observed, somewhat offended byher brother's tone.

"Well, if he's proud of it, he has reason, I don'tdeny it. You seem to be offended, sister, at mymaking only such a frivolous criticism on theletter, and to think that I speak of such triflingmatters on purpose to annoy you. It is quite thecontrary, an observation apropos of the styleoccurred to me that is by no means irrelevant asthings stand. There is one expression, 'blameyourselves' put in very significantly and plain-

ly, and there is besides a threat that he will goaway at once if I am present. That threat to goaway is equivalent to a threat to abandon youboth if you are disobedient, and to abandonyou now after summoning you to Petersburg.Well, what do you think? Can one resent suchan expression from Luzhin, as we should if he(he pointed to Razumihin) had written it, orZossimov, or one of us?"

"N-no," answered Dounia, with more anima-tion. "I saw clearly that it was too naïvely ex-pressed, and that perhaps he simply has noskill in writing... that is a true criticism, brother.I did not expect, indeed..."

"It is expressed in legal style, and sounds coar-ser than perhaps he intended. But I must disi-llusion you a little. There is one expression inthe letter, one slander about me, and rather acontemptible one. I gave the money last nightto the widow, a woman in consumption, crus-hed with trouble, and not 'on the pretext of the

funeral,' but simply to pay for the funeral, andnot to the daughter—a young woman, as hewrites, of notorious behaviour (whom I sawlast night for the first time in my life)—but tothe widow. In all this I see a too hasty desire toslander me and to raise dissension between us.It is expressed again in legal jargon, that is tosay, with a too obvious display of the aim, andwith a very naïve eagerness. He is a man ofintelligence, but to act sensibly, intelligence isnot enough. It all shows the man and... I don'tthink he has a great esteem for you. I tell youthis simply to warn you, because I sincerelywish for your good..."

Dounia did not reply. Her resolution had beentaken. She was only awaiting the evening.

"Then what is your decision, Rodya?" askedPulcheria Alexandrovna, who was more unea-sy than ever at the sudden, new businessliketone of his talk.

"What decision?"

"You see Pyotr Petrovitch writes that you arenot to be with us this evening, and that he willgo away if you come. So will you... come?"

"That, of course, is not for me to decide, but foryou first, if you are not offended by such a re-quest; and secondly, by Dounia, if she, too, isnot offended. I will do what you think best," headded, drily.

"Dounia has already decided, and I fully agreewith her," Pulcheria Alexandrovna hastened todeclare.

"I decided to ask you, Rodya, to urge you not tofail to be with us at this interview," said Dou-nia. "Will you come?"

"Yes."

"I will ask you, too, to be with us at eight o'-clock," she said, addressing Razumihin. "Mot-her, I am inviting him, too."

"Quite right, Dounia. Well, since you have de-cided," added Pulcheria Alexandrovna, "so beit. I shall feel easier myself. I do not like con-cealment and deception. Better let us have thewhole truth.... Pyotr Petrovitch may be angryor not, now!"

CHAPTER IV

At that moment the door was softly opened,and a young girl walked into the room, lookingtimidly about her. Everyone turned towardsher with surprise and curiosity. At first sight,Raskolnikov did not recognise her. It was Sofya

Semyonovna Marmeladov. He had seen heryesterday for the first time, but at such a mo-ment, in such surroundings and in such a dress,that his memory retained a very different ima-ge of her. Now she was a modestly and poorly-dressed young girl, very young, indeed, almostlike a child, with a modest and refined manner,with a candid but somewhat frightened-looking face. She was wearing a very plain in-door dress, and had on a shabby old-fashionedhat, but she still carried a parasol. Unexpected-ly finding the room full of people, she was notso much embarrassed as completely overw-helmed with shyness, like a little child. She waseven about to retreat. "Oh... it's you!" said Ras-kolnikov, extremely astonished, and he, too,was confused. He at once recollected that hismother and sister knew through Luzhin's letterof "some young woman of notorious beha-viour." He had only just been protesting againstLuzhin's calumny and declaring that he hadseen the girl last night for the first time, and

suddenly she had walked in. He remembered,too, that he had not protested against the ex-pression "of notorious behaviour." All this pas-sed vaguely and fleetingly through his brain,but looking at her more intently, he saw thatthe humiliated creature was so humiliated thathe felt suddenly sorry for her. When she madea movement to retreat in terror, it sent a pangto his heart.

"I did not expect you," he said, hurriedly, witha look that made her stop. "Please sit down.You come, no doubt, from Katerina Ivanovna.Allow me—not there. Sit here...."

At Sonia's entrance, Razumihin, who had beensitting on one of Raskolnikov's three chairs,close to the door, got up to allow her to enter.Raskolnikov had at first shown her the place onthe sofa where Zossimov had been sitting, butfeeling that the sofa which served him as a bed,was too familiar a place, he hurriedly motionedher to Razumihin's chair.

"You sit here," he said to Razumihin, puttinghim on the sofa.

Sonia sat down, almost shaking with terror,and looked timidly at the two ladies. It wasevidently almost inconceivable to herself thatshe could sit down beside them. At the thoughtof it, she was so frightened that she hurriedlygot up again, and in utter confusion addressedRaskolnikov.

"I... I... have come for one minute. Forgive mefor disturbing you," she began falteringly. "Icome from Katerina Ivanovna, and she had noone to send. Katerina Ivanovna told me to begyou... to be at the service... in the morning... atMitrofanievsky... and then... to us... to her... todo her the honour... she told me to beg you..."Sonia stammered and ceased speaking.

"I will try, certainly, most certainly," answeredRaskolnikov. He, too, stood up, and he, too,faltered and could not finish his sentence.

"Please sit down," he said, suddenly. "I want totalk to you. You are perhaps in a hurry, butplease, be so kind, spare me two minutes," andhe drew up a chair for her.

Sonia sat down again, and again timidly shetook a hurried, frightened look at the two la-dies, and dropped her eyes. Raskolnikov's paleface flushed, a shudder passed over him, hiseyes glowed.

"Mother," he said, firmly and insistently, "this isSofya Semyonovna Marmeladov, the daughterof that unfortunate Mr. Marmeladov, who wasrun over yesterday before my eyes, and ofwhom I was just telling you."

Pulcheria Alexandrovna glanced at Sonia, andslightly screwed up her eyes. In spite of herembarrassment before Rodya's urgent and cha-llenging look, she could not deny herself thatsatisfaction. Dounia gazed gravely and intentlyinto the poor girl's face, and scrutinised her

with perplexity. Sonia, hearing herself introdu-ced, tried to raise her eyes again, but was moreembarrassed than ever.

"I wanted to ask you," said Raskolnikov, hasti-ly, "how things were arranged yesterday. Youwere not worried by the police, for instance?"

"No, that was all right... it was too evident, thecause of death... they did not worry us... onlythe lodgers are angry."

"Why?"

"At the body's remaining so long. You see it ishot now. So that, to-day, they will carry it to thecemetery, into the chapel, until to-morrow. Atfirst Katerina Ivanovna was unwilling, but nowshe sees herself that it's necessary..."

"To-day, then?"

"She begs you to do us the honour to be in thechurch to-morrow for the service, and then tobe present at the funeral lunch."

"She is giving a funeral lunch?"

"Yes... just a little.... She told me to thank youvery much for helping us yesterday. But foryou, we should have had nothing for the fune-ral."

All at once her lips and chin began trembling,but, with an effort, she controlled herself, loo-king down again.

During the conversation, Raskolnikov watchedher carefully. She had a thin, very thin, palelittle face, rather irregular and angular, with asharp little nose and chin. She could not havebeen called pretty, but her blue eyes were soclear, and when they lighted up, there was sucha kindliness and simplicity in her expressionthat one could not help being attracted. Her

face, and her whole figure indeed, had anotherpeculiar characteristic. In spite of her eighteenyears, she looked almost a little girl—almost achild. And in some of her gestures, this chil-dishness seemed almost absurd.

"But has Katerina Ivanovna been able to mana-ge with such small means? Does she even meanto have a funeral lunch?" Raskolnikov asked,persistently keeping up the conversation.

"The coffin will be plain, of course... and eve-rything will be plain, so it won't cost much.Katerina Ivanovna and I have reckoned it allout, so that there will be enough left... and Ka-terina Ivanovna was very anxious it should beso. You know one can't... it's a comfort to her...she is like that, you know...."

"I understand, I understand... of course... whydo you look at my room like that? My motherhas just said it is like a tomb."

"You gave us everything yesterday," Sonia saidsuddenly, in reply, in a loud rapid whisper;and again she looked down in confusion. Herlips and chin were trembling once more. Shehad been struck at once by Raskolnikov's poorsurroundings, and now these words broke outspontaneously. A silence followed. There was alight in Dounia's eyes, and even PulcheriaAlexandrovna looked kindly at Sonia.

"Rodya," she said, getting up, "we shall havedinner together, of course. Come, Dounia....And you, Rodya, had better go for a little walk,and then rest and lie down before you come tosee us.... I am afraid we have exhausted you...."

"Yes, yes, I'll come," he answered, getting upfussily. "But I have something to see to."

"But surely you will have dinner together?"cried Razumihin, looking in surprise at Raskol-nikov. "What do you mean?"

"Yes, yes, I am coming... of course, of course!And you stay a minute. You do not want himjust now, do you, mother? Or perhaps I amtaking him from you?"

"Oh, no, no. And will you, Dmitri Prokofitch,do us the favour of dining with us?"

"Please do," added Dounia.

Razumihin bowed, positively radiant. For onemoment, they were all strangely embarrassed.

"Good-bye, Rodya, that is till we meet. I do notlike saying good-bye. Good-bye, Nastasya. Ah,I have said good-bye again."

Pulcheria Alexandrovna meant to greet Sonia,too; but it somehow failed to come off, and shewent in a flutter out of the room.

But Avdotya Romanovna seemed to await herturn, and following her mother out, gave Soniaan attentive, courteous bow. Sonia, in confu-

sion, gave a hurried, frightened curtsy. Therewas a look of poignant discomfort in her face,as though Avdotya Romanovna's courtesy andattention were oppressive and painful to her.

"Dounia, good-bye," called Raskolnikov, in thepassage. "Give me your hand."

"Why, I did give it to you. Have you forgotten?"said Dounia, turning warmly and awkwardlyto him.

"Never mind, give it to me again." And hesqueezed her fingers warmly.

Dounia smiled, flushed, pulled her hand away,and went off quite happy.

"Come, that's capital," he said to Sonia, goingback and looking brightly at her. "God givepeace to the dead, the living have still to live.That is right, isn't it?"

Sonia looked surprised at the sudden bright-ness of his face. He looked at her for some mo-ments in silence. The whole history of the deadfather floated before his memory in those mo-ments....

"Heavens, Dounia," Pulcheria Alexandrovnabegan, as soon as they were in the street, "I rea-lly feel relieved myself at coming away—moreat ease. How little did I think yesterday in thetrain that I could ever be glad of that."

"I tell you again, mother, he is still very ill.Don't you see it? Perhaps worrying about usupset him. We must be patient, and much,much can be forgiven."

"Well, you were not very patient!" PulcheriaAlexandrovna caught her up, hotly and jealous-ly. "Do you know, Dounia, I was looking at youtwo. You are the very portrait of him, and notso much in face as in soul. You are both melan-

choly, both morose and hot-tempered, bothhaughty and both generous.... Surely he can'tbe an egoist, Dounia. Eh? When I think of whatis in store for us this evening, my heart sinks!"

"Don't be uneasy, mother. What must be, willbe."

"Dounia, only think what a position we are in!What if Pyotr Petrovitch breaks it off?" poorPulcheria Alexandrovna blurted out, incau-tiously.

"He won't be worth much if he does," answeredDounia, sharply and contemptuously.

"We did well to come away," PulcheriaAlexandrovna hurriedly broke in. "He was in ahurry about some business or other. If he getsout and has a breath of air... it is fearfully closein his room.... But where is one to get a breathof air here? The very streets here feel like shut-up rooms. Good heavens! what a town!... stay...

this side... they will crush you—carrying so-mething. Why, it is a piano they have got, Ideclare... how they push!... I am very muchafraid of that young woman, too."

"What young woman, mother?

"Why, that Sofya Semyonovna, who was therejust now."

"Why?"

"I have a presentiment, Dounia. Well, you maybelieve it or not, but as soon as she came in,that very minute, I felt that she was the chiefcause of the trouble...."

"Nothing of the sort!" cried Dounia, in vexation."What nonsense, with your presentiments, mot-her! He only made her acquaintance the eve-ning before, and he did not know her when shecame in."

"Well, you will see.... She worries me; but youwill see, you will see! I was so frightened. Shewas gazing at me with those eyes. I could scar-cely sit still in my chair when he began intro-ducing her, do you remember? It seems sostrange, but Pyotr Petrovitch writes like thatabout her, and he introduces her to us—to you!So he must think a great deal of her."

"People will write anything. We were talkedabout and written about, too. Have you forgot-ten? I am sure that she is a good girl, and that itis all nonsense."

"God grant it may be!"

"And Pyotr Petrovitch is a contemptible slande-rer," Dounia snapped out, suddenly.

Pulcheria Alexandrovna was crushed; the con-versation was not resumed.

"I will tell you what I want with you," said Ras-kolnikov, drawing Razumihin to the window.

"Then I will tell Katerina Ivanovna that you arecoming," Sonia said hurriedly, preparing todepart.

"One minute, Sofya Semyonovna. We have nosecrets. You are not in our way. I want to haveanother word or two with you. Listen!" he tur-ned suddenly to Razumihin again. "You knowthat... what's his name... Porfiry Petrovitch?"

"I should think so! He is a relation. Why?" ad-ded the latter, with interest.

"Is not he managing that case... you know,about that murder?... You were speaking aboutit yesterday."

"Yes... well?" Razumihin's eyes opened wide.

"He was inquiring for people who had pawnedthings, and I have some pledges there, too—

trifles—a ring my sister gave me as a keepsakewhen I left home, and my father's silverwatch—they are only worth five or six roublesaltogether... but I value them. So what am I todo now? I do not want to lose the things, espe-cially the watch. I was quaking just now, forfear mother would ask to look at it, when wespoke of Dounia's watch. It is the only thing offather's left us. She would be ill if it were lost.You know what women are. So tell me what todo. I know I ought to have given notice at thepolice station, but would it not be better to gostraight to Porfiry? Eh? What do you think?The matter might be settled more quickly. Yousee, mother may ask for it before dinner."

"Certainly not to the police station. Certainly toPorfiry," Razumihin shouted in extraordinaryexcitement. "Well, how glad I am. Let us go atonce. It is a couple of steps. We shall be sure tofind him."

"Very well, let us go."

"And he will be very, very glad to make youracquaintance. I have often talked to him of youat different times. I was speaking of you yes-terday. Let us go. So you knew the old woman?So that's it! It is all turning out splendidly....Oh, yes, Sofya Ivanovna..."

"Sofya Semyonovna," corrected Raskolnikov."Sofya Semyonovna, this is my friend Razu-mihin, and he is a good man."

"If you have to go now," Sonia was beginning,not looking at Razumihin at all, and still moreembarrassed.

"Let us go," decided Raskolnikov. "I will cometo you to-day, Sofya Semyonovna. Only tell mewhere you live."

He was not exactly ill at ease, but seemedhurried, and avoided her eyes. Sonia gave heraddress, and flushed as she did so. They allwent out together.

"Don't you lock up?" asked Razumihin, follo-wing him on to the stairs.

"Never," answered Raskolnikov. "I have beenmeaning to buy a lock for these two years. Peo-ple are happy who have no need of locks," hesaid, laughing, to Sonia. They stood still in thegateway.

"Do you go to the right, Sofya Semyonovna?How did you find me, by the way?" he added,as though he wanted to say something quitedifferent. He wanted to look at her soft cleareyes, but this was not easy.

"Why, you gave your address to Polenka yes-terday."

"Polenka? Oh, yes; Polenka, that is the little girl.She is your sister? Did I give her the address?"

"Why, had you forgotten?"

"No, I remember."

"I had heard my father speak of you... only Idid not know your name, and he did not knowit. And now I came... and as I had learnt yourname, I asked to-day, 'Where does Mr. Raskol-nikov live?' I did not know you had only aroom too.... Good-bye, I will tell Katerina Iva-novna."

She was extremely glad to escape at last; shewent away looking down, hurrying to get outof sight as soon as possible, to walk the twentysteps to the turning on the right and to be atlast alone, and then moving rapidly along, loo-king at no one, noticing nothing, to think, toremember, to meditate on every word, everydetail. Never, never had she felt anything likethis. Dimly and unconsciously a whole newworld was opening before her. She remembe-red suddenly that Raskolnikov meant to cometo her that day, perhaps at once!

"Only not to-day, please, not to-day!" she keptmuttering with a sinking heart, as though en-

treating someone, like a frightened child. "Mer-cy! to me... to that room... he will see... oh, de-ar!"

She was not capable at that instant of noticingan unknown gentleman who was watching herand following at her heels. He had accompa-nied her from the gateway. At the momentwhen Razumihin, Raskolnikov, and she stoodstill at parting on the pavement, this gentleman,who was just passing, started on hearing So-nia's words: "and I asked where Mr. Raskolni-kov lived?" He turned a rapid but attentivelook upon all three, especially upon Raskolni-kov, to whom Sonia was speaking; then lookedback and noted the house. All this was done inan instant as he passed, and trying not to betrayhis interest, he walked on more slowly asthough waiting for something. He was waitingfor Sonia; he saw that they were parting, andthat Sonia was going home.

"Home? Where? I've seen that face somew-here," he thought. "I must find out."

At the turning he crossed over, looked round,and saw Sonia coming the same way, noticingnothing. She turned the corner. He followedher on the other side. After about fifty paces hecrossed over again, overtook her and kept twoor three yards behind her.

He was a man about fifty, rather tall and thic-kly set, with broad high shoulders which madehim look as though he stooped a little. He woregood and fashionable clothes, and looked like agentleman of position. He carried a handsomecane, which he tapped on the pavement at eachstep; his gloves were spotless. He had a broad,rather pleasant face with high cheek-bones anda fresh colour, not often seen in Petersburg. Hisflaxen hair was still abundant, and only tou-ched here and there with grey, and his thicksquare beard was even lighter than his hair. Hiseyes were blue and had a cold and thoughtful

look; his lips were crimson. He was a remar-kedly well-preserved man and looked muchyounger than his years.

When Sonia came out on the canal bank, theywere the only two persons on the pavement.He observed her dreaminess and preoccupa-tion. On reaching the house where she lodged,Sonia turned in at the gate; he followed her,seeming rather surprised. In the courtyard sheturned to the right corner. "Bah!" muttered theunknown gentleman, and mounted the stairsbehind her. Only then Sonia noticed him. Shereached the third storey, turned down the pas-sage, and rang at No. 9. On the door was ins-cribed in chalk, "Kapernaumov, Tailor." "Bah!"the stranger repeated again, wondering at thestrange coincidence, and he rang next door, atNo. 8. The doors were two or three yards apart.

"You lodge at Kapernaumov's," he said, lookingat Sonia and laughing. "He altered a waistcoatfor me yesterday. I am staying close here at

Madame Resslich's. How odd!" Sonia looked athim attentively.

"We are neighbours," he went on gaily. "I onlycame to town the day before yesterday. Good-bye for the present."

Sonia made no reply; the door opened and sheslipped in. She felt for some reason ashamedand uneasy.

On the way to Porfiry's, Razumihin was ob-viously excited.

"That's capital, brother," he repeated severaltimes, "and I am glad! I am glad!"

"What are you glad about?" Raskolnikovthought to himself.

"I didn't know that you pledged things at theold woman's, too. And... was it long ago? Imean, was it long since you were there?"

"What a simple-hearted fool he is!"

"When was it?" Raskolnikov stopped still torecollect. "Two or three days before her death itmust have been. But I am not going to redeemthe things now," he put in with a sort of hurriedand conspicuous solicitude about the things."I've not more than a silver rouble left... afterlast night's accursed delirium!"

He laid special emphasis on the delirium.

"Yes, yes," Razumihin hastened to agree—withwhat was not clear. "Then that's why you... we-re stuck... partly... you know in your deliriumyou were continually mentioning some rings orchains! Yes, yes... that's clear, it's all clear now."

"Hullo! How that idea must have got aboutamong them. Here this man will go to the stakefor me, and I find him delighted at having itcleared up why I spoke of rings in my delirium!What a hold the idea must have on all of them!"

"Shall we find him?" he asked suddenly.

"Oh, yes," Razumihin answered quickly. "He isa nice fellow, you will see, brother. Ratherclumsy, that is to say, he is a man of polishedmanners, but I mean clumsy in a different sen-se. He is an intelligent fellow, very much soindeed, but he has his own range of ideas.... Heis incredulous, sceptical, cynical... he likes toimpose on people, or rather to make fun ofthem. His is the old, circumstantial method....But he understands his work... thoroughly....Last year he cleared up a case of murder inwhich the police had hardly a clue. He is very,very anxious to make your acquaintance!"

"On what grounds is he so anxious?"

"Oh, it's not exactly... you see, since you've beenill I happen to have mentioned you several ti-mes.... So, when he heard about you... aboutyour being a law student and not able to finishyour studies, he said, 'What a pity!' And so I

concluded... from everything together, not onlythat; yesterday Zametov... you know, Rodya, Italked some nonsense on the way home to youyesterday, when I was drunk... I am afraid,brother, of your exaggerating it, you see."

"What? That they think I am a madman? Maybethey are right," he said with a constrained smi-le.

"Yes, yes.... That is, pooh, no!... But all that Isaid (and there was something else too) it wasall nonsense, drunken nonsense."

"But why are you apologising? I am so sick of itall!" Raskolnikov cried with exaggerated irrita-bility. It was partly assumed, however.

"I know, I know, I understand. Believe me, Iunderstand. One's ashamed to speak of it."

"If you are ashamed, then don't speak of it."

Both were silent. Razumihin was more thanecstatic and Raskolnikov perceived it with re-pulsion. He was alarmed, too, by what Razu-mihin had just said about Porfiry.

"I shall have to pull a long face with him too,"he thought, with a beating heart, and he turnedwhite, "and do it naturally, too. But the mostnatural thing would be to do nothing at all.Carefully do nothing at all! No, carefully wouldnot be natural again.... Oh, well, we shall seehow it turns out.... We shall see... directly. Is it agood thing to go or not? The butterfly flies tothe light. My heart is beating, that's what'sbad!"

"In this grey house," said Razumihin.

"The most important thing, does Porfiry knowthat I was at the old hag's flat yesterday... andasked about the blood? I must find that outinstantly, as soon as I go in, find out from hisface; otherwise... I'll find out, if it's my ruin."

"I say, brother," he said suddenly, addressingRazumihin, with a sly smile, "I have been noti-cing all day that you seem to be curiously exci-ted. Isn't it so?"

"Excited? Not a bit of it," said Razumihin, stungto the quick.

"Yes, brother, I assure you it's noticeable. Why,you sat on your chair in a way you never do sit,on the edge somehow, and you seemed to bewrithing all the time. You kept jumping up fornothing. One moment you were angry, and thenext your face looked like a sweetmeat. Youeven blushed; especially when you were invi-ted to dinner, you blushed awfully."

"Nothing of the sort, nonsense! What do youmean?"

"But why are you wriggling out of it, like aschoolboy? By Jove, there he's blushing again."

"What a pig you are!"

"But why are you so shamefaced about it? Ro-meo! Stay, I'll tell of you to-day. Ha-ha-ha! I'llmake mother laugh, and someone else, too..."

"Listen, listen, listen, this is serious.... Whatnext, you fiend!" Razumihin was utterly overw-helmed, turning cold with horror. "What willyou tell them? Come, brother... foo! what a pigyou are!"

"You are like a summer rose. And if only youknew how it suits you; a Romeo over six foothigh! And how you've washed to-day—youcleaned your nails, I declare. Eh? That's somet-hing unheard of! Why, I do believe you've gotpomatum on your hair! Bend down."

"Pig!"

Raskolnikov laughed as though he could notrestrain himself. So laughing, they entered Por-

firy Petrovitch's flat. This is what Raskolnikovwanted: from within they could be heard laug-hing as they came in, still guffawing in the pas-sage.

"Not a word here or I'll... brain you!" Razu-mihin whispered furiously, seizing Raskolni-kov by the shoulder.

CHAPTER V

Raskolnikov was already entering the room. Hecame in looking as though he had the utmostdifficulty not to burst out laughing again.Behind him Razumihin strode in gawky andawkward, shamefaced and red as a peony, withan utterly crestfallen and ferocious expression.His face and whole figure really were ridicu-

lous at that moment and amply justified Ras-kolnikov's laughter. Raskolnikov, not waitingfor an introduction, bowed to Porfiry Petro-vitch, who stood in the middle of the room loo-king inquiringly at them. He held out his handand shook hands, still apparently making des-perate efforts to subdue his mirth and utter afew words to introduce himself. But he had nosooner succeeded in assuming a serious air andmuttering something when he suddenly glan-ced again as though accidentally at Razumihin,and could no longer control himself: his stifledlaughter broke out the more irresistibly themore he tried to restrain it. The extraordinaryferocity with which Razumihin received this"spontaneous" mirth gave the whole scene theappearance of most genuine fun and natural-ness. Razumihin strengthened this impressionas though on purpose.

"Fool! You fiend," he roared, waving his armwhich at once struck a little round table with an

empty tea-glass on it. Everything was sentflying and crashing.

"But why break chairs, gentlemen? You knowit's a loss to the Crown," Porfiry Petrovitch quo-ted gaily.

Raskolnikov was still laughing, with his handin Porfiry Petrovitch's, but anxious not to over-do it, awaited the right moment to put a naturalend to it. Razumihin, completely put to confu-sion by upsetting the table and smashing theglass, gazed gloomily at the fragments, cursedand turned sharply to the window where hestood looking out with his back to the companywith a fiercely scowling countenance, seeingnothing. Porfiry Petrovitch laughed and wasready to go on laughing, but obviously lookedfor explanations. Zametov had been sitting inthe corner, but he rose at the visitors' entranceand was standing in expectation with a smileon his lips, though he looked with surprise andeven it seemed incredulity at the whole scene

and at Raskolnikov with a certain embarrass-ment. Zametov's unexpected presence struckRaskolnikov unpleasantly.

"I've got to think of that," he thought. "Excuseme, please," he began, affecting extreme emba-rrassment. "Raskolnikov."

"Not at all, very pleasant to see you... and howpleasantly you've come in.... Why, won't heeven say good-morning?" Porfiry Petrovitchnodded at Razumihin.

"Upon my honour I don't know why he is insuch a rage with me. I only told him as we ca-me along that he was like Romeo... and provedit. And that was all, I think!"

"Pig!" ejaculated Razumihin, without turninground.

"There must have been very grave grounds forit, if he is so furious at the word," Porfiry laug-hed.

"Oh, you sharp lawyer!... Damn you all!" snap-ped Razumihin, and suddenly bursting outlaughing himself, he went up to Porfiry with amore cheerful face as though nothing had hap-pened. "That'll do! We are all fools. To come tobusiness. This is my friend Rodion Romano-vitch Raskolnikov; in the first place he hasheard of you and wants to make your acquain-tance, and secondly, he has a little matter ofbusiness with you. Bah! Zametov, whatbrought you here? Have you met before? Haveyou known each other long?"

"What does this mean?" thought Raskolnikovuneasily.

Zametov seemed taken aback, but not verymuch so.

"Why, it was at your rooms we met yesterday,"he said easily.

"Then I have been spared the trouble. All lastweek he was begging me to introduce him toyou. Porfiry and you have sniffed each otherout without me. Where is your tobacco?"

Porfiry Petrovitch was wearing a dressing-gown, very clean linen, and trodden-down slip-pers. He was a man of about five and thirty,short, stout even to corpulence, and clean sha-ven. He wore his hair cut short and had a largeround head, particularly prominent at the back.His soft, round, rather snub-nosed face was of asickly yellowish colour, but had a vigorous andrather ironical expression. It would have beengood-natured except for a look in the eyes,which shone with a watery, mawkish light un-der almost white, blinking eyelashes. The ex-pression of those eyes was strangely out of kee-ping with his somewhat womanish figure, and

gave it something far more serious than couldbe guessed at first sight.

As soon as Porfiry Petrovitch heard that hisvisitor had a little matter of business with him,he begged him to sit down on the sofa and satdown himself on the other end, waiting for himto explain his business, with that careful andover-serious attention which is at once oppres-sive and embarrassing, especially to a stranger,and especially if what you are discussing is inyour opinion of far too little importance forsuch exceptional solemnity. But in brief andcoherent phrases Raskolnikov explained hisbusiness clearly and exactly, and was so wellsatisfied with himself that he even succeeded intaking a good look at Porfiry. Porfiry Petrovitchdid not once take his eyes off him. Razumihin,sitting opposite at the same table, listenedwarmly and impatiently, looking from one tothe other every moment with rather excessiveinterest.

"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 themurder, you beg to inform the lawyer in chargeof the case that such and such things belong toyou, and that you desire to redeem them... or...but they will write to you."

"That's just the point, that at the present mo-ment," Raskolnikov tried his utmost to feignembarrassment, "I am not quite in funds... andeven this trifling sum is beyond me... I onlywanted, you see, for the present to declare thatthe things are mine, and that when I have mo-ney...."

"That's no matter," answered Porfiry Petrovitch,receiving his explanation of his pecuniary posi-tion coldly, "but you can, if you prefer, writestraight to me, to say, that having been infor-

med of the matter, and claiming such and suchas your property, you beg..."

"On an ordinary sheet of paper?" Raskolnikovinterrupted eagerly, again interested in the fi-nancial side of the question.

"Oh, the most ordinary," and suddenly PorfiryPetrovitch looked with obvious irony at him,screwing up his eyes and, as it were, winking athim. But perhaps it was Raskolnikov's fancy,for it all lasted but a moment. There was cer-tainly something of the sort, Raskolnikov couldhave sworn he winked at him, goodness knowswhy.

"He knows," flashed through his mind likelightning.

"Forgive my troubling you about such trifles,"he went on, a little disconcerted, "the things areonly worth five roubles, but I prize them parti-cularly for the sake of those from whom they

came to me, and I must confess that I was alar-med when I heard..."

"That's why you were so much struck when Imentioned to Zossimov that Porfiry was inqui-ring for everyone who had pledges!" Razu-mihin put in with obvious intention.

This was really unbearable. Raskolnikov couldnot help glancing at him with a flash of vindic-tive anger in his black eyes, but immediatelyrecollected himself.

"You seem to be jeering at me, brother?" he saidto him, with a well-feigned irritability. "I daresay I do seem to you absurdly anxious aboutsuch trash; but you mustn't think me selfish orgrasping for that, and these two things may beanything but trash in my eyes. I told you justnow that the silver watch, though it's not wortha cent, is the only thing left us of my father's.You may laugh at me, but my mother is here,"he turned suddenly to Porfiry, "and if she

knew," he turned again hurriedly to Razu-mihin, carefully making his voice tremble, "thatthe watch was lost, she would be in despair!You know what women are!"

"Not a bit of it! I didn't mean that at all! Quitethe contrary!" shouted Razumihin distressed.

"Was it right? Was it natural? Did I overdo it?"Raskolnikov asked himself in a tremor. "Whydid I say that about women?"

"Oh, your mother is with you?" Porfiry Petro-vitch inquired.

"Yes."

"When did she come?"

"Last night."

Porfiry paused as though reflecting.

"Your things would not in any case be lost," hewent on calmly and coldly. "I have been expec-ting you here for some time."

And as though that was a matter of no impor-tance, he carefully offered the ash-tray to Ra-zumihin, who was ruthlessly scattering cigaret-te ash over the carpet. Raskolnikov shuddered,but Porfiry did not seem to be looking at him,and was still concerned with Razumihin's ciga-rette.

"What? Expecting him? Why, did you knowthat he had pledges there?" cried Razumihin.

Porfiry Petrovitch addressed himself to Raskol-nikov.

"Your things, the ring and the watch, werewrapped up together, and on the paper yourname was legibly written in pencil, togetherwith the date on which you left them withher..."

"How observant you are!" Raskolnikov smiledawkwardly, doing his very utmost to look himstraight in the face, but he failed, and suddenlyadded:

"I say that because I suppose there were a greatmany pledges... that it must be difficult to re-member them all.... But you remember them allso clearly, and... and..."

"Stupid! Feeble!" he thought. "Why did I addthat?"

"But we know all who had pledges, and youare the only one who hasn't come forward,"Porfiry answered with hardly perceptible iro-ny.

"I haven't been quite well."

"I heard that too. I heard, indeed, that you werein great distress about something. You lookpale still."

"I am not pale at all.... No, I am quite well,"Raskolnikov snapped out rudely and angrily,completely changing his tone. His anger wasmounting, he could not repress it. "And in myanger I shall betray myself," flashed throughhis mind again. "Why are they torturing me?"

"Not quite well!" Razumihin caught him up."What next! He was unconscious and deliriousall yesterday. Would you believe, Porfiry, assoon as our backs were turned, he dressed,though he could hardly stand, and gave us theslip and went off on a spree somewhere tillmidnight, delirious all the time! Would youbelieve it! Extraordinary!"

"Really delirious? You don't say so!" Porfiryshook his head in a womanish way.

"Nonsense! Don't you believe it! But you don'tbelieve it anyway," Raskolnikov let slip in hisanger. But Porfiry Petrovitch did not seem tocatch those strange words.

"But how could you have gone out if youhadn't been delirious?" Razumihin got hot sud-denly. "What did you go out for? What was theobject of it? And why on the sly? Were you inyour senses when you did it? Now that alldanger is over I can speak plainly."

"I was awfully sick of them yesterday." Raskol-nikov addressed Porfiry suddenly with a smileof insolent defiance, "I ran away from them totake lodgings where they wouldn't find me,and took a lot of money with me. Mr. Zametovthere saw it. I say, Mr. Zametov, was I sensibleor delirious yesterday; settle our dispute."

He could have strangled Zametov at that mo-ment, so hateful were his expression and hissilence to him.

"In my opinion you talked sensibly and evenartfully, but you were extremely irritable," Za-metov pronounced dryly.

"And Nikodim Fomitch was telling me to-day,"put in Porfiry Petrovitch, "that he met you verylate last night in the lodging of a man who hadbeen run over."

"And there," said Razumihin, "weren't you madthen? You gave your last penny to the widowfor the funeral. If you wanted to help, give fif-teen or twenty even, but keep three roubles foryourself at least, but he flung away all thetwenty-five at once!"

"Maybe I found a treasure somewhere and youknow nothing of it? So that's why I was liberalyesterday.... Mr. Zametov knows I've found atreasure! Excuse us, please, for disturbing youfor half an hour with such trivialities," he said,turning to Porfiry Petrovitch, with tremblinglips. "We are boring you, aren't we?"

"Oh no, quite the contrary, quite the contrary! Ifonly you knew how you interest me! It's inte-

resting to look on and listen... and I am reallyglad you have come forward at last."

"But you might give us some tea! My throat'sdry," cried Razumihin.

"Capital idea! Perhaps we will all keep youcompany. Wouldn't you like... something moreessential before tea?"

"Get along with you!"

Porfiry Petrovitch went out to order tea.

Raskolnikov's thoughts were in a whirl. He wasin terrible exasperation.

"The worst of it is they don't disguise it; theydon't care to stand on ceremony! And how ifyou didn't know me at all, did you come to talkto Nikodim Fomitch about me? So they don'tcare to hide that they are tracking me like apack of dogs. They simply spit in my face." Hewas shaking with rage. "Come, strike me open-

ly, don't play with me like a cat with a mouse.It's hardly civil, Porfiry Petrovitch, but perhapsI won't allow it! I shall get up and throw thewhole truth in your ugly faces, and you'll seehow I despise you." He could hardly breathe."And what if it's only my fancy? What if I ammistaken, and through inexperience I get angryand don't keep up my nasty part? Perhaps it'sall unintentional. All their phrases are the usualones, but there is something about them.... It allmight be said, but there is something. Why didhe say bluntly, 'With her'? Why did Zametovadd that I spoke artfully? Why do they speak inthat tone? Yes, the tone.... Razumihin is sittinghere, why does he see nothing? That innocentblockhead never does see anything! Feverishagain! Did Porfiry wink at me just now? Ofcourse it's nonsense! What could he wink for?Are they trying to upset my nerves or are theyteasing me? Either it's ill fancy or they know!Even Zametov is rude.... Is Zametov rude? Za-metov has changed his mind. I foresaw he

would change his mind! He is at home here,while it's my first visit. Porfiry does not consi-der him a visitor; sits with his back to him.They're as thick as thieves, no doubt, over me!Not a doubt they were talking about me beforewe came. Do they know about the flat? If onlythey'd make haste! When I said that I ran awayto take a flat he let it pass.... I put that in clever-ly about a flat, it may be of use afterwards....Delirious, indeed... ha-ha-ha! He knows allabout last night! He didn't know of my mot-her's arrival! The hag had written the date on inpencil! You are wrong, you won't catch me!There are no facts... it's all supposition! Youproduce facts! The flat even isn't a fact but deli-rium. I know what to say to them.... Do theyknow about the flat? I won't go without findingout. What did I come for? But my being angrynow, maybe is a fact! Fool, how irritable I am!Perhaps that's right; to play the invalid.... He isfeeling me. He will try to catch me. Why did Icome?"

All this flashed like lightning through his mind.

Porfiry Petrovitch returned quickly. He becamesuddenly more jovial.

"Your party yesterday, brother, has left myhead rather.... And I am out of sorts altogether,"he began in quite a different tone, laughing toRazumihin.

"Was it interesting? I left you yesterday at themost interesting point. Who got the best of it?"

"Oh, no one, of course. They got on to everlas-ting questions, floated off into space."

"Only fancy, Rodya, what we got on to yester-day. Whether there is such a thing as crime. Itold you that we talked our heads off."

"What is there strange? It's an everyday socialquestion," Raskolnikov answered casually.

"The question wasn't put quite like that," ob-served Porfiry.

"Not quite, that's true," Razumihin agreed atonce, getting warm and hurried as usual. "Lis-ten, Rodion, and tell us your opinion, I want tohear it. I was fighting tooth and nail with themand wanted you to help me. I told them youwere coming.... It began with the socialist doc-trine. You know their doctrine; crime is a pro-test against the abnormality of the social orga-nisation and nothing more, and nothing more;no other causes admitted!..."

"You are wrong there," cried Porfiry Petrovitch;he was noticeably animated and kept laughingas he looked at Razumihin, which made himmore excited than ever.

"Nothing is admitted," Razumihin interruptedwith heat.

"I am not wrong. I'll show you their pamphlets.Everything with them is 'the influence of envi-ronment,' and nothing else. Their favouritephrase! From which it follows that, if society isnormally organised, all crime will cease at once,since there will be nothing to protest againstand all men will become righteous in one ins-tant. Human nature is not taken into account, itis excluded, it's not supposed to exist! Theydon't recognise that humanity, developing by ahistorical living process, will become at last anormal society, but they believe that a socialsystem that has come out of some mathematicalbrain is going to organise all humanity at onceand make it just and sinless in an instant, quic-ker than any living process! That's why theyinstinctively dislike history, 'nothing but ugli-ness and stupidity in it,' and they explain it allas stupidity! That's why they so dislike the li-ving process of life; they don't want a livingsoul! The living soul demands life, the soulwon't obey the rules of mechanics, the soul is

an object of suspicion, the soul is retrograde!But what they want though it smells of deathand can be made of India-rubber, at least is notalive, has no will, is servile and won't revolt!And it comes in the end to their reducing eve-rything to the building of walls and the plan-ning of rooms and passages in a phalanstery!The phalanstery is ready, indeed, but yourhuman nature is not ready for the phalanste-ry—it wants life, it hasn't completed its vitalprocess, it's too soon for the graveyard! Youcan't skip over nature by logic. Logic presuppo-ses three possibilities, but there are millions!Cut away a million, and reduce it all to thequestion of comfort! That's the easiest solutionof the problem! It's seductively clear and youmusn't think about it. That's the great thing,you mustn't think! The whole secret of life intwo pages of print!"

"Now he is off, beating the drum! Catch hold ofhim, do!" laughed Porfiry. "Can you imagine,"

he turned to Raskolnikov, "six people holdingforth like that last night, in one room, withpunch as a preliminary! No, brother, you arewrong, environment accounts for a great dealin crime; I can assure you of that."

"Oh, I know it does, but just tell me: a man offorty violates a child of ten; was it environmentdrove him to it?"

"Well, strictly speaking, it did," Porfiry obser-ved with noteworthy gravity; "a crime of thatnature may be very well ascribed to the in-fluence of environment."

Razumihin was almost in a frenzy. "Oh, if youlike," he roared. "I'll prove to you that yourwhite eyelashes may very well be ascribed tothe Church of Ivan the Great's being two hun-dred and fifty feet high, and I will prove itclearly, exactly, progressively, and even with aLiberal tendency! I undertake to! Will you beton it?"

"Done! Let's hear, please, how he will prove it!"

"He is always humbugging, confound him,"cried Razumihin, jumping up and gesticulating."What's the use of talking to you? He does allthat on purpose; you don't know him, Rodion!He took their side yesterday, simply to makefools of them. And the things he said yesterday!And they were delighted! He can keep it up fora fortnight together. Last year he persuaded usthat he was going into a monastery: he stuck toit for two months. Not long ago he took it intohis head to declare he was going to get married,that he had everything ready for the wedding.He ordered new clothes indeed. We all beganto congratulate him. There was no bride, not-hing, all pure fantasy!"

"Ah, you are wrong! I got the clothes before. Itwas the new clothes in fact that made me thinkof taking you in."

"Are you such a good dissembler?" Raskolni-kov asked carelessly.

"You wouldn't have supposed it, eh? Wait a bit,I shall take you in, too. Ha-ha-ha! No, I'll tellyou the truth. All these questions about crime,environment, children, recall to my mind anarticle of yours which interested me at the time.'On Crime'... or something of the sort, I forgetthe title, I read it with pleasure two months agoin the Periodical Review."

"My article? In the Periodical Review?" Raskolni-kov asked in astonishment. "I certainly did wri-te an article upon a book six months ago when Ileft the university, but I sent it to the WeeklyReview."

"But it came out in the Periodical."

"And the Weekly Review ceased to exist, so that'swhy it wasn't printed at the time."

"That's true; but when it ceased to exist, theWeekly Review was amalgamated with the Pe-riodical, and so your article appeared twomonths ago in the latter. Didn't you know?"

Raskolnikov had not known.

"Why, you might get some money out of themfor the article! What a strange person you are!You lead such a solitary life that you know not-hing of matters that concern you directly. It's afact, I assure you."

"Bravo, Rodya! I knew nothing about it either!"cried Razumihin. "I'll run to-day to the reading-room and ask for the number. Two monthsago? What was the date? It doesn't matterthough, I will find it. Think of not telling us!"

"How did you find out that the article was mi-ne? It's only signed with an initial."

"I only learnt it by chance, the other day.Through the editor; I know him.... I was verymuch interested."

"I analysed, if I remember, the psychology of acriminal before and after the crime."

"Yes, and you maintained that the perpetrationof a crime is always accompanied by illness.Very, very original, but... it was not that part ofyour article that interested me so much, but anidea at the end of the article which I regret tosay you merely suggested without working itout clearly. There is, if you recollect, a sugges-tion that there are certain persons who can...that is, not precisely are able to, but have a per-fect right to commit breaches of morality andcrimes, and that the law is not for them."

Raskolnikov smiled at the exaggerated andintentional distortion of his idea.

"What? What do you mean? A right to crime?But not because of the influence of environ-ment?" Razumihin inquired with some alarmeven.

"No, not exactly because of it," answered Porfi-ry. "In his article all men are divided into 'ordi-nary' and 'extraordinary.' Ordinary men haveto live in submission, have no right to trans-gress the law, because, don't you see, they areordinary. But extraordinary men have a right tocommit any crime and to transgress the law inany way, just because they are extraordinary.That was your idea, if I am not mistaken?"

"What do you mean? That can't be right?" Ra-zumihin muttered in bewilderment.

Raskolnikov smiled again. He saw the point atonce, and knew where they wanted to drivehim. He decided to take up the challenge.

"That wasn't quite my contention," he begansimply and modestly. "Yet I admit that youhave stated it almost correctly; perhaps, if youlike, perfectly so." (It almost gave him pleasureto admit this.) "The only difference is that Idon't contend that extraordinary people arealways bound to commit breaches of morals, asyou call it. In fact, I doubt whether such an ar-gument could be published. I simply hintedthat an 'extraordinary' man has the right... thatis not an official right, but an inner right to de-cide in his own conscience to overstep... certainobstacles, and only in case it is essential for thepractical fulfilment of his idea (sometimes, per-haps, of benefit to the whole of humanity). Yousay that my article isn't definite; I am ready tomake it as clear as I can. Perhaps I am right inthinking you want me to; very well. I maintainthat if the discoveries of Kepler and Newtoncould not have been made known except bysacrificing the lives of one, a dozen, a hundred,or more men, Newton would have had the

right, would indeed have been in duty bound...to eliminate the dozen or the hundred men forthe sake of making his discoveries known tothe whole of humanity. But it does not followfrom that that Newton had a right to murderpeople right and left and to steal every day inthe market. Then, I remember, I maintain in myarticle that all... well, legislators and leaders ofmen, such as Lycurgus, Solon, Mahomet, Napo-leon, and so on, were all without exceptioncriminals, from the very fact that, making anew law, they transgressed the ancient one,handed down from their ancestors and heldsacred by the people, and they did not stopshort at bloodshed either, if that bloodshed—often of innocent persons fighting bravely indefence of ancient law—were of use to theircause. It's remarkable, in fact, that the majority,indeed, of these benefactors and leaders ofhumanity were guilty of terrible carnage. Inshort, I maintain that all great men or even mena little out of the common, that is to say capable

of giving some new word, must from their verynature be criminals—more or less, of course.Otherwise it's hard for them to get out of thecommon rut; and to remain in the common rutis what they can't submit to, from their verynature again, and to my mind they ought not,indeed, to submit to it. You see that there isnothing particularly new in all that. The samething has been printed and read a thousandtimes before. As for my division of people intoordinary and extraordinary, I acknowledge thatit's somewhat arbitrary, but I don't insist uponexact numbers. I only believe in my leadingidea that men are in general divided by a law ofnature into two categories, inferior (ordinary),that is, so to say, material that serves only toreproduce its kind, and men who have the giftor the talent to utter a new word. There are, ofcourse, innumerable sub-divisions, but the dis-tinguishing features of both categories are fair-ly well marked. The first category, generallyspeaking, are men conservative in tempera-

ment and law-abiding; they live under controland love to be controlled. To my thinking it istheir duty to be controlled, because that's theirvocation, and there is nothing humiliating in itfor them. The second category all transgress thelaw; they are destroyers or disposed to destruc-tion according to their capacities. The crimes ofthese men are of course relative and varied; forthe most part they seek in very varied ways thedestruction of the present for the sake of thebetter. But if such a one is forced for the sake ofhis idea to step over a corpse or wade throughblood, he can, I maintain, find within himself,in his conscience, a sanction for wadingthrough blood—that depends on the idea andits dimensions, note that. It's only in that sense Ispeak of their right to crime in my article (youremember it began with the legal question).There's no need for such anxiety, however; themasses will scarcely ever admit this right, theypunish them or hang them (more or less), andin doing so fulfil quite justly their conservative

vocation. But the same masses set these crimi-nals on a pedestal in the next generation andworship them (more or less). The first categoryis always the man of the present, the second theman of the future. The first preserve the worldand people it, the second move the world andlead it to its goal. Each class has an equal rightto exist. In fact, all have equal rights with me—and vive la guerre éternelle—till the New Jerusa-lem, of course!"

"Then you believe in the New Jerusalem, doyou?"

"I do," Raskolnikov answered firmly; as he saidthese words and during the whole precedingtirade he kept his eyes on one spot on the car-pet.

"And... and do you believe in God? Excuse mycuriosity."

"I do," repeated Raskolnikov, raising his eyes toPorfiry.

"And... do you believe in Lazarus' rising fromthe dead?"

"I... I do. Why do you ask all this?"

"You believe it literally?"

"Literally."

"You don't say so.... I asked from curiosity. Ex-cuse me. But let us go back to the question; theyare not always executed. Some, on the contra-ry..."

"Triumph in their lifetime? Oh, yes, some attaintheir ends in this life, and then..."

"They begin executing other people?"

"If it's necessary; indeed, for the most part theydo. Your remark is very witty."

"Thank you. But tell me this: how do you dis-tinguish those extraordinary people from theordinary ones? Are there signs at their birth? Ifeel there ought to be more exactitude, moreexternal definition. Excuse the natural anxietyof a practical law-abiding citizen, but couldn'tthey adopt a special uniform, for instance,couldn't they wear something, be branded insome way? For you know if confusion arisesand a member of one category imagines that hebelongs to the other, begins to 'eliminate obsta-cles' as you so happily expressed it, then..."

"Oh, that very often happens! That remark iswittier than the other."

"Thank you."

"No reason to; but take note that the mistakecan only arise in the first category, that isamong the ordinary people (as I perhaps unfor-tunately called them). In spite of their predis-position to obedience very many of them,

through a playfulness of nature, sometimesvouchsafed even to the cow, like to imaginethemselves advanced people, 'destroyers,' andto push themselves into the 'new movement,'and this quite sincerely. Meanwhile the reallynew people are very often unobserved by them,or even despised as reactionaries of grovellingtendencies. But I don't think there is any consi-derable danger here, and you really need not beuneasy for they never go very far. Of course,they might have a thrashing sometimes for let-ting their fancy run away with them and toteach them their place, but no more; in fact,even this isn't necessary as they castigate them-selves, for they are very conscientious: someperform this service for one another and otherschastise themselves with their own hands....They will impose various public acts of peni-tence upon themselves with a beautiful andedifying effect; in fact you've nothing to beuneasy about.... It's a law of nature."

"Well, you have certainly set my mind more atrest on that score; but there's another thing wo-rries me. Tell me, please, are there many peoplewho have the right to kill others, these extraor-dinary people? I am ready to bow down tothem, of course, but you must admit it's alar-ming if there are a great many of them, eh?"

"Oh, you needn't worry about that either," Ras-kolnikov went on in the same tone. "Peoplewith new ideas, people with the faintest capaci-ty for saying something new, are extremely fewin number, extraordinarily so in fact. One thingonly is clear, that the appearance of all thesegrades and sub-divisions of men must followwith unfailing regularity some law of nature.That law, of course, is unknown at present, butI am convinced that it exists, and one day maybecome known. The vast mass of mankind ismere material, and only exists in order by somegreat effort, by some mysterious process, bymeans of some crossing of races and stocks, to

bring into the world at last perhaps one manout of a thousand with a spark of independen-ce. One in ten thousand perhaps—I speakroughly, approximately—is born with someindependence, and with still greater indepen-dence one in a hundred thousand. The man ofgenius is one of millions, and the great geniu-ses, the crown of humanity, appear on earthperhaps one in many thousand millions. In factI have not peeped into the retort in which allthis takes place. But there certainly is and mustbe a definite law, it cannot be a matter of chan-ce."

"Why, are you both joking?" Razumihin cried atlast. "There you sit, making fun of one another.Are you serious, Rodya?"

Raskolnikov raised his pale and almost mourn-ful face and made no reply. And the unconcea-led, persistent, nervous, and discourteous sar-casm of Porfiry seemed strange to Razumihinbeside that quiet and mournful face.

"Well, brother, if you are really serious... Youare right, of course, in saying that it's not new,that it's like what we've read and heard a thou-sand times already; but what is really originalin all this, and is exclusively your own, to myhorror, is that you sanction bloodshed in thename of conscience, and, excuse my saying so,with such fanaticism.... That, I take it, is thepoint of your article. But that sanction ofbloodshed by conscience is to my mind... moreterrible than the official, legal sanction ofbloodshed...."

"You are quite right, it is more terrible," Porfiryagreed.

"Yes, you must have exaggerated! There is so-me mistake, I shall read it. You can't think that!I shall read it."

"All that is not in the article, there's only a hintof it," said Raskolnikov.

"Yes, yes." Porfiry couldn't sit still. "Your atti-tude to crime is pretty clear to me now, but...excuse me for my impertinence (I am reallyashamed to be worrying you like this), you see,you've removed my anxiety as to the two gra-des getting mixed, but... there are various prac-tical possibilities that make me uneasy! What ifsome man or youth imagines that he is a Ly-curgus or Mahomet—a future one of course—and suppose he begins to remove all obsta-cles.... He has some great enterprise before himand needs money for it... and tries to get it... doyou see?"

Zametov gave a sudden guffaw in his corner.Raskolnikov did not even raise his eyes to him.

"I must admit," he went on calmly, "that suchcases certainly must arise. The vain and foolishare particularly apt to fall into that snare;young people especially."

"Yes, you see. Well then?"

"What then?" Raskolnikov smiled in reply;"that's not my fault. So it is and so it always willbe. He said just now (he nodded at Razumihin)that I sanction bloodshed. Society is too wellprotected by prisons, banishment, criminal in-vestigators, penal servitude. There's no need tobe uneasy. You have but to catch the thief."

"And what if we do catch him?"

"Then he gets what he deserves."

"You are certainly logical. But what of his cons-cience?"

"Why do you care about that?"

"Simply from humanity."

"If he has a conscience he will suffer for his mis-take. That will be his punishment—as well asthe prison."

"But the real geniuses," asked Razumihin frow-ning, "those who have the right to murder?Oughtn't they to suffer at all even for the bloodthey've shed?"

"Why the word ought? It's not a matter of per-mission or prohibition. He will suffer if he issorry for his victim. Pain and suffering are al-ways inevitable for a large intelligence and adeep heart. The really great men must, I think,have great sadness on earth," he added dreami-ly, not in the tone of the conversation.

He raised his eyes, looked earnestly at them all,smiled, and took his cap. He was too quiet bycomparison with his manner at his entrance,and he felt this. Everyone got up.

"Well, you may abuse me, be angry with me ifyou like," Porfiry Petrovitch began again, "but Ican't resist. Allow me one little question (Iknow I am troubling you). There is just one

little notion I want to express, simply that Imay not forget it."

"Very good, tell me your little notion," Raskol-nikov stood waiting, pale and grave beforehim.

"Well, you see... I really don't know how to ex-press it properly.... It's a playful, psychologicalidea.... When you were writing your article,surely you couldn't have helped, he-he! fanc-ying yourself... just a little, an 'extraordinary'man, uttering a new word in your sense.... That'sso, isn't it?"

"Quite possibly," Raskolnikov answered con-temptuously.

Razumihin made a movement.

"And, if so, could you bring yourself in case ofworldly difficulties and hardship or for some

service to humanity—to overstep obstacles?...For instance, to rob and murder?"

And again he winked with his left eye, andlaughed noiselessly just as before.

"If I did I certainly should not tell you," Raskol-nikov answered with defiant and haughty con-tempt.

"No, I was only interested on account of yourarticle, from a literary point of view..."

"Foo! how obvious and insolent that is!" Ras-kolnikov thought with repulsion.

"Allow me to observe," he answered dryly,"that I don't consider myself a Mahomet or aNapoleon, nor any personage of that kind, andnot being one of them I cannot tell you how Ishould act."

"Oh, come, don't we all think ourselves Napo-leons now in Russia?" Porfiry Petrovitch saidwith alarming familiarity.

Something peculiar betrayed itself in the veryintonation of his voice.

"Perhaps it was one of these future Napoleonswho did for Alyona Ivanovna last week?" Za-metov blurted out from the corner.

Raskolnikov did not speak, but looked firmlyand intently at Porfiry. Razumihin was scow-ling gloomily. He seemed before this to be noti-cing something. He looked angrily around.There was a minute of gloomy silence. Raskol-nikov turned to go.

"Are you going already?" Porfiry said amiably,holding out his hand with excessive politeness."Very, very glad of your acquaintance. As foryour request, have no uneasiness, write just as Itold you, or, better still, come to me there your-

self in a day or two... to-morrow, indeed. I shallbe there at eleven o'clock for certain. We'llarrange it all; we'll have a talk. As one of thelast to be there, you might perhaps be able totell us something," he added with a most good-natured expression.

"You want to cross-examine me officially in dueform?" Raskolnikov asked sharply.

"Oh, why? That's not necessary for the present.You misunderstand me. I lose no opportunity,you see, and... I've talked with all who hadpledges.... I obtained evidence from some ofthem, and you are the last.... Yes, by the way,"he cried, seemingly suddenly delighted, "I justremember, what was I thinking of?" he turnedto Razumihin, "you were talking my ears offabout that Nikolay... of course, I know, I knowvery well," he turned to Raskolnikov, "that thefellow is innocent, but what is one to do? Wehad to trouble Dmitri too.... This is the point,

this is all: when you went up the stairs it waspast seven, wasn't it?"

"Yes," answered Raskolnikov, with an unplea-sant sensation at the very moment he spokethat he need not have said it.

"Then when you went upstairs between sevenand eight, didn't you see in a flat that stoodopen on a second storey, do you remember?two workmen or at least one of them? Theywere painting there, didn't you notice them?It's very, very important for them."

"Painters? No, I didn't see them," Raskolnikovanswered slowly, as though ransacking hismemory, while at the same instant he was rac-king every nerve, almost swooning with anxie-ty to conjecture as quickly as possible wherethe trap lay and not to overlook anything. "No,I didn't see them, and I don't think I noticed aflat like that open.... But on the fourth storey"(he had mastered the trap now and was

triumphant) "I remember now that someonewas moving out of the flat opposite AlyonaIvanovna's.... I remember... I remember it clear-ly. Some porters were carrying out a sofa andthey squeezed me against the wall. But pain-ters... no, I don't remember that there were anypainters, and I don't think that there was a flatopen anywhere, no, there wasn't."

"What do you mean?" Razumihin shouted sud-denly, as though he had reflected and realised."Why, it was on the day of the murder the pain-ters were at work, and he was there three daysbefore? What are you asking?"

"Foo! I have muddled it!" Porfiry slapped him-self on the forehead. "Deuce take it! This busi-ness is turning my brain!" he addressed Ras-kolnikov somewhat apologetically. "It would besuch a great thing for us to find out whetheranyone had seen them between seven and eightat the flat, so I fancied you could perhaps havetold us something.... I quite muddled it."

"Then you should be more careful," Razumihinobserved grimly.

The last words were uttered in the passage.Porfiry Petrovitch saw them to the door withexcessive politeness.

They went out into the street gloomy and su-llen, and for some steps they did not say aword. Raskolnikov drew a deep breath.

CHAPTER VI

"I don't believe it, I can't believe it!" repeatedRazumihin, trying in perplexity to refute Ras-kolnikov's arguments.

They were by now approaching Bakaleyev'slodgings, where Pulcheria Alexandrovna and

Dounia had been expecting them a long while.Razumihin kept stopping on the way in theheat of discussion, confused and excited by thevery fact that they were for the first time spea-king openly about it.

"Don't believe it, then!" answered Raskolnikov,with a cold, careless smile. "You were noticingnothing as usual, but I was weighing everyword."

"You are suspicious. That is why you weighedtheir words... h'm... certainly, I agree, Porfiry'stone was rather strange, and still more thatwretch Zametov!... You are right, there wassomething about him—but why? Why?"

"He has changed his mind since last night."

"Quite the contrary! If they had that brainlessidea, they would do their utmost to hide it, andconceal their cards, so as to catch you after-wards.... But it was all impudent and careless."

"If they had had facts—I mean, real facts—or atleast grounds for suspicion, then they wouldcertainly have tried to hide their game, in thehope of getting more (they would have made asearch long ago besides). But they have nofacts, not one. It is all mirage—all ambiguous.Simply a floating idea. So they try to throw meout by impudence. And perhaps, he was irrita-ted at having no facts, and blurted it out in hisvexation—or perhaps he has some plan... heseems an intelligent man. Perhaps he wanted tofrighten me by pretending to know. They havea psychology of their own, brother. But it isloathsome explaining it all. Stop!"

"And it's insulting, insulting! I understand you.But... since we have spoken openly now (and itis an excellent thing that we have at last—I amglad) I will own now frankly that I noticed it inthem long ago, this idea. Of course the meresthint only—an insinuation—but why an insi-nuation even? How dare they? What founda-

tion have they? If only you knew how furious Ihave been. Think only! Simply because a poorstudent, unhinged by poverty and hypochon-dria, on the eve of a severe delirious illness (no-te that), suspicious, vain, proud, who has notseen a soul to speak to for six months, in ragsand in boots without soles, has to face somewretched policemen and put up with their in-solence; and the unexpected debt thrust underhis nose, the I.O.U. presented by Tchebarov, thenew paint, thirty degrees Reaumur and a sti-fling atmosphere, a crowd of people, the talkabout the murder of a person where he hadbeen just before, and all that on an empty sto-mach—he might well have a fainting fit! Andthat, that is what they found it all on! Damnthem! I understand how annoying it is, but inyour place, Rodya, I would laugh at them, orbetter still, spit in their ugly faces, and spit adozen times in all directions. I'd hit out in alldirections, neatly too, and so I'd put an end to

it. Damn them! Don't be downhearted. It's ashame!"

"He really has put it well, though," Raskolnikovthought.

"Damn them? But the cross-examination again,to-morrow?" he said with bitterness. "Must Ireally enter into explanations with them? I feelvexed as it is, that I condescended to speak toZametov yesterday in the restaurant...."

"Damn it! I will go myself to Porfiry. I willsqueeze it out of him, as one of the family: hemust let me know the ins and outs of it all! Andas for Zametov..."

"At last he sees through him!" thought Raskol-nikov.

"Stay!" cried Razumihin, seizing him by theshoulder again. "Stay! you were wrong. I havethought it out. You are wrong! How was that a

trap? You say that the question about theworkmen was a trap. But if you had done that,could you have said you had seen them pain-ting the flat... and the workmen? On the contra-ry, you would have seen nothing, even if youhad seen it. Who would own it against him-self?"

"If I had done that thing, I should certainly havesaid that I had seen the workmen and the flat,"Raskolnikov answered, with reluctance andobvious disgust.

"But why speak against yourself?"

"Because only peasants, or the most inexperien-ced novices deny everything flatly at examina-tions. If a man is ever so little developed andexperienced, he will certainly try to admit allthe external facts that can't be avoided, but willseek other explanations of them, will introducesome special, unexpected turn, that will givethem another significance and put them in

another light. Porfiry might well reckon that Ishould be sure to answer so, and say I had seenthem to give an air of truth, and then make so-me explanation."

"But he would have told you at once that theworkmen could not have been there two daysbefore, and that therefore you must have beenthere on the day of the murder at eight o'clock.And so he would have caught you over a de-tail."

"Yes, that is what he was reckoning on, that Ishould not have time to reflect, and should bein a hurry to make the most likely answer, andso would forget that the workmen could nothave been there two days before."

"But how could you forget it?"

"Nothing easier. It is in just such stupid thingsclever people are most easily caught. The morecunning a man is, the less he suspects that he

will be caught in a simple thing. The more cun-ning a man is, the simpler the trap he must becaught in. Porfiry is not such a fool as youthink...."

"He is a knave then, if that is so!"

Raskolnikov could not help laughing. But at thevery moment, he was struck by the strangenessof his own frankness, and the eagerness withwhich he had made this explanation, though hehad kept up all the preceding conversationwith gloomy repulsion, obviously with a moti-ve, from necessity.

"I am getting a relish for certain aspects!" hethought to himself. But almost at the same ins-tant he became suddenly uneasy, as though anunexpected and alarming idea had occurred tohim. His uneasiness kept on increasing. Theyhad just reached the entrance to Bakaleyev's.

"Go in alone!" said Raskolnikov suddenly. "Iwill be back directly."

"Where are you going? Why, we are just here."

"I can't help it.... I will come in half an hour.Tell them."

"Say what you like, I will come with you."

"You, too, want to torture me!" he screamed,with such bitter irritation, such despair in hiseyes that Razumihin's hands dropped. Hestood for some time on the steps, lookinggloomily at Raskolnikov striding rapidly awayin the direction of his lodging. At last, grittinghis teeth and clenching his fist, he swore hewould squeeze Porfiry like a lemon that veryday, and went up the stairs to reassure Pulche-ria Alexandrovna, who was by now alarmed attheir long absence.

When Raskolnikov got home, his hair was soa-ked with sweat and he was breathing heavily.He went rapidly up the stairs, walked into hisunlocked room and at once fastened the latch.Then in senseless terror he rushed to the corner,to that hole under the paper where he had putthe things; put his hand in, and for some minu-tes felt carefully in the hole, in every crack andfold of the paper. Finding nothing, he got upand drew a deep breath. As he was reachingthe steps of Bakaleyev's, he suddenly fanciedthat something, a chain, a stud or even a bit ofpaper in which they had been wrapped withthe old woman's handwriting on it, might so-mehow have slipped out and been lost in somecrack, and then might suddenly turn up asunexpected, conclusive evidence against him.

He stood as though lost in thought, and a stran-ge, humiliated, half senseless smile strayed onhis lips. He took his cap at last and went quietly

out of the room. His ideas were all tangled. Hewent dreamily through the gateway.

"Here he is himself," shouted a loud voice.

He raised his head.

The porter was standing at the door of his littleroom and was pointing him out to a short manwho looked like an artisan, wearing a long coatand a waistcoat, and looking at a distance re-markably like a woman. He stooped, and hishead in a greasy cap hung forward. From hiswrinkled flabby face he looked over fifty; hislittle eyes were lost in fat and they looked outgrimly, sternly and discontentedly.

"What is it?" Raskolnikov asked, going up tothe porter.

The man stole a look at him from under hisbrows and he looked at him attentively, delibe-

rately; then he turned slowly and went out ofthe gate into the street without saying a word.

"What is it?" cried Raskolnikov.

"Why, he there was asking whether a studentlived here, mentioned your name and whomyou lodged with. I saw you coming and poin-ted you out and he went away. It's funny."

The porter too seemed rather puzzled, but notmuch so, and after wondering for a moment heturned and went back to his room.

Raskolnikov ran after the stranger, and at oncecaught sight of him walking along the otherside of the street with the same even, deliberatestep with his eyes fixed on the ground, asthough in meditation. He soon overtook him,but for some time walked behind him. At last,moving on to a level with him, he looked at hisface. The man noticed him at once, looked athim quickly, but dropped his eyes again; and

so they walked for a minute side by side wit-hout uttering a word.

"You were inquiring for me... of the porter?"Raskolnikov said at last, but in a curiouslyquiet voice.

The man made no answer; he didn't even lookat him. Again they were both silent.

"Why do you... come and ask for me... and saynothing.... What's the meaning of it?"

Raskolnikov's voice broke and he seemed una-ble to articulate the words clearly.

The man raised his eyes this time and turned agloomy sinister look at Raskolnikov.

"Murderer!" he said suddenly in a quiet butclear and distinct voice.

Raskolnikov went on walking beside him. Hislegs felt suddenly weak, a cold shiver ran down

his spine, and his heart seemed to stand still fora moment, then suddenly began throbbing asthough it were set free. So they walked forabout a hundred paces, side by side in silence.

The man did not look at him.

"What do you mean... what is.... Who is a mur-derer?" muttered Raskolnikov hardly audibly.

"You are a murderer," the man answered stillmore articulately and emphatically, with a smi-le of triumphant hatred, and again he lookedstraight into Raskolnikov's pale face and stric-ken eyes.

They had just reached the cross-roads. The manturned to the left without looking behind him.Raskolnikov remained standing, gazing afterhim. He saw him turn round fifty paces awayand look back at him still standing there. Ras-kolnikov could not see clearly, but he fancied

that he was again smiling the same smile ofcold hatred and triumph.

With slow faltering steps, with shaking knees,Raskolnikov made his way back to his littlegarret, feeling chilled all over. He took off hiscap and put it on the table, and for ten minuteshe stood without moving. Then he sank ex-hausted on the sofa and with a weak moan ofpain he stretched himself on it. So he lay forhalf an hour.

He thought of nothing. Some thoughts or frag-ments of thoughts, some images without orderor coherence floated before his mind—faces ofpeople he had seen in his childhood or metsomewhere once, whom he would never haverecalled, the belfry of the church at V., the bi-lliard table in a restaurant and some officersplaying billiards, the smell of cigars in someunderground tobacco shop, a tavern room, aback staircase quite dark, all sloppy with dirtywater and strewn with egg-shells, and the Sun-

day bells floating in from somewhere.... Theimages followed one another, whirling like ahurricane. Some of them he liked and tried toclutch at, but they faded and all the while therewas an oppression within him, but it was notoverwhelming, sometimes it was even plea-sant.... The slight shivering still persisted, butthat too was an almost pleasant sensation.

He heard the hurried footsteps of Razumihin;he closed his eyes and pretended to be asleep.Razumihin opened the door and stood for sometime in the doorway as though hesitating, thenhe stepped softly into the room and went cau-tiously to the sofa. Raskolnikov heard Nastas-ya's whisper:

"Don't disturb him! Let him sleep. He can havehis dinner later."

"Quite so," answered Razumihin. Both with-drew carefully and closed the door. Anotherhalf-hour passed. Raskolnikov opened his eyes,

turned on his back again, clasping his handsbehind his head.

"Who is he? Who is that man who sprang out ofthe earth? Where was he, what did he see? Hehas seen it all, that's clear. Where was he then?And from where did he see? Why has he onlynow sprung out of the earth? And how couldhe see? Is it possible? Hm..." continued Raskol-nikov, turning cold and shivering, "and thejewel case Nikolay found behind the door—was that possible? A clue? You miss an infinite-simal line and you can build it into a pyramidof evidence! A fly flew by and saw it! Is it pos-sible?" He felt with sudden loathing how weak,how physically weak he had become. "I oughtto have known it," he thought with a bitter smi-le. "And how dared I, knowing myself, kno-wing how I should be, take up an axe and shedblood! I ought to have known beforehand....Ah, but I did know!" he whispered in despair.

At times he came to a standstill at somethought.

"No, those men are not made so. The real Mas-ter to whom all is permitted storms Toulon,makes a massacre in Paris, forgets an army inEgypt, wastes half a million men in the Moscowexpedition and gets off with a jest at Vilna. Andaltars are set up to him after his death, and soall is permitted. No, such people, it seems, arenot of flesh but of bronze!"

One sudden irrelevant idea almost made himlaugh. Napoleon, the pyramids, Waterloo, anda wretched skinny old woman, a pawnbrokerwith a red trunk under her bed—it's a nice hashfor Porfiry Petrovitch to digest! How can theydigest it! It's too inartistic. "A Napoleon creepunder an old woman's bed! Ugh, how loathso-me!"

At moments he felt he was raving. He sank intoa state of feverish excitement. "The old woman

is of no consequence," he thought, hotly andincoherently. "The old woman was a mistakeperhaps, but she is not what matters! The oldwoman was only an illness.... I was in a hurryto overstep.... I didn't kill a human being, but aprinciple! I killed the principle, but I didn'toverstep, I stopped on this side.... I was onlycapable of killing. And it seems I wasn't evencapable of that... Principle? Why was that foolRazumihin abusing the socialists? They areindustrious, commercial people; 'the happinessof all' is their case. No, life is only given to meonce and I shall never have it again; I don'twant to wait for 'the happiness of all.' I want tolive myself, or else better not live at all. I simplycouldn't pass by my mother starving, keepingmy rouble in my pocket while I waited for the'happiness of all.' I am putting my little brickinto the happiness of all and so my heart is atpeace. Ha-ha! Why have you let me slip? I onlylive once, I too want.... Ech, I am an æstheticlouse and nothing more," he added suddenly,

laughing like a madman. "Yes, I am certainly alouse," he went on, clutching at the idea, gloa-ting over it and playing with it with vindictivepleasure. "In the first place, because I can rea-son that I am one, and secondly, because for amonth past I have been troubling benevolentProvidence, calling it to witness that not for myown fleshly lusts did I undertake it, but with agrand and noble object—ha-ha! Thirdly, becau-se I aimed at carrying it out as justly as possi-ble, weighing, measuring and calculating. Of allthe lice I picked out the most useless one andproposed to take from her only as much as Ineeded for the first step, no more nor less (sothe rest would have gone to a monastery, ac-cording to her will, ha-ha!). And what showsthat I am utterly a louse," he added, grindinghis teeth, "is that I am perhaps viler and moreloathsome than the louse I killed, and I felt befo-rehand that I should tell myself so after killingher. Can anything be compared with the horrorof that? The vulgarity! The abjectness! I unders-

tand the 'prophet' with his sabre, on his steed:Allah commands and 'trembling' creation mustobey! The 'prophet' is right, he is right when hesets a battery across the street and blows up theinnocent and the guilty without deigning toexplain! It's for you to obey, trembling creation,and not to have desires, for that's not for you!... Ishall never, never forgive the old woman!"

His hair was soaked with sweat, his quiveringlips were parched, his eyes were fixed on theceiling.

"Mother, sister—how I loved them! Why do Ihate them now? Yes, I hate them, I feel a physi-cal hatred for them, I can't bear them near me....I went up to my mother and kissed her, I re-member.... To embrace her and think if she onlyknew... shall I tell her then? That's just what Imight do.... She must be the same as I am," headded, straining himself to think, as it werestruggling with delirium. "Ah, how I hate theold woman now! I feel I should kill her again if

she came to life! Poor Lizaveta! Why did shecome in?... It's strange though, why is it I scar-cely ever think of her, as though I hadn't killedher? Lizaveta! Sonia! Poor gentle things, withgentle eyes.... Dear women! Why don't theyweep? Why don't they moan? They give upeverything... their eyes are soft and gentle....Sonia, Sonia! Gentle Sonia!"

He lost consciousness; it seemed strange to himthat he didn't remember how he got into thestreet. It was late evening. The twilight hadfallen and the full moon was shining more andmore brightly; but there was a peculiar breath-lessness in the air. There were crowds of peoplein the street; workmen and business peoplewere making their way home; other people hadcome out for a walk; there was a smell of mor-tar, dust and stagnant water. Raskolnikov wal-ked along, mournful and anxious; he was dis-tinctly aware of having come out with a purpo-se, of having to do something in a hurry, but

what it was he had forgotten. Suddenly hestood still and saw a man standing on the otherside of the street, beckoning to him. He crossedover to him, but at once the man turned andwalked away with his head hanging, as thoughhe had made no sign to him. "Stay, did he rea-lly beckon?" Raskolnikov wondered, but hetried to overtake him. When he was within tenpaces he recognised him and was frightened; itwas the same man with stooping shoulders inthe long coat. Raskolnikov followed him at adistance; his heart was beating; they wentdown a turning; the man still did not lookround. "Does he know I am following him?"thought Raskolnikov. The man went into thegateway of a big house. Raskolnikov hastenedto the gate and looked in to see whether hewould look round and sign to him. In thecourt-yard the man did turn round and againseemed to beckon him. Raskolnikov at oncefollowed him into the yard, but the man wasgone. He must have gone up the first staircase.

Raskolnikov rushed after him. He heard slowmeasured steps two flights above. The staircaseseemed strangely familiar. He reached thewindow on the first floor; the moon shonethrough the panes with a melancholy and mys-terious light; then he reached the second floor.Bah! this is the flat where the painters were atwork... but how was it he did not recognise it atonce? The steps of the man above had diedaway. "So he must have stopped or hidden so-mewhere." He reached the third storey, shouldhe go on? There was a stillness that was dread-ful.... But he went on. The sound of his ownfootsteps scared and frightened him. How darkit was! The man must be hiding in some cornerhere. Ah! the flat was standing wide open, hehesitated and went in. It was very dark andempty in the passage, as though everythinghad been removed; he crept on tiptoe into theparlour which was flooded with moonlight.Everything there was as before, the chairs, thelooking-glass, the yellow sofa and the pictures

in the frames. A huge, round, copper-red moonlooked in at the windows. "It's the moon thatmakes it so still, weaving some mystery,"thought Raskolnikov. He stood and waited,waited a long while, and the more silent themoonlight, the more violently his heart beat, tillit was painful. And still the same hush. Sud-denly he heard a momentary sharp crack likethe snapping of a splinter and all was stillagain. A fly flew up suddenly and struck thewindow pane with a plaintive buzz. At thatmoment he noticed in the corner between thewindow and the little cupboard something likea cloak hanging on the wall. "Why is that cloakhere?" he thought, "it wasn't there before...." Hewent up to it quietly and felt that there wassomeone hiding behind it. He cautiously mo-ved the cloak and saw, sitting on a chair in thecorner, the old woman bent double so that hecouldn't see her face; but it was she. He stoodover her. "She is afraid," he thought. He stealt-hily took the axe from the noose and struck her

one blow, then another on the skull. But stran-ge to say she did not stir, as though she weremade of wood. He was frightened, bent downnearer and tried to look at her; but she, too,bent her head lower. He bent right down to theground and peeped up into her face from be-low, he peeped and turned cold with horror:the old woman was sitting and laughing, sha-king with noiseless laughter, doing her utmostthat he should not hear it. Suddenly he fanciedthat the door from the bedroom was opened alittle and that there was laughter and whispe-ring within. He was overcome with frenzy andhe began hitting the old woman on the headwith all his force, but at every blow of the axethe laughter and whispering from the bedroomgrew louder and the old woman was simplyshaking with mirth. He was rushing away, butthe passage was full of people, the doors of theflats stood open and on the landing, on thestairs and everywhere below there were peo-ple, rows of heads, all looking, but huddled

together in silence and expectation. Somethinggripped his heart, his legs were rooted to thespot, they would not move.... He tried toscream and woke up.

He drew a deep breath—but his dream seemedstrangely to persist: his door was flung openand a man whom he had never seen stood inthe doorway watching him intently.

Raskolnikov had hardly opened his eyes andhe instantly closed them again. He lay on hisback without stirring.

"Is it still a dream?" he wondered and againraised his eyelids hardly perceptibly; the stran-ger was standing in the same place, still wat-ching him.

He stepped cautiously into the room, carefullyclosing the door after him, went up to the table,paused a moment, still keeping his eyes on Ras-kolnikov, and noiselessly seated himself on the

chair by the sofa; he put his hat on the floorbeside him and leaned his hands on his caneand his chin on his hands. It was evident thathe was prepared to wait indefinitely. As far asRaskolnikov could make out from his stolenglances, he was a man no longer young, stout,with a full, fair, almost whitish beard.

Ten minutes passed. It was still light, but be-ginning to get dusk. There was complete still-ness in the room. Not a sound came from thestairs. Only a big fly buzzed and flutteredagainst the window pane. It was unbearable atlast. Raskolnikov suddenly got up and sat onthe sofa.

"Come, tell me what you want."

"I knew you were not asleep, but only preten-ding," the stranger answered oddly, laughingcalmly. "Arkady Ivanovitch Svidrigaïlov, allowme to introduce myself...."

PART IV

CHAPTER I

"Can this be still a dream?" Raskolnikovthought once more.

He looked carefully and suspiciously at theunexpected visitor.

"Svidrigaïlov! What nonsense! It can't be!" hesaid at last aloud in bewilderment.

His visitor did not seem at all surprised at thisexclamation.

"I've come to you for two reasons. In the firstplace, I wanted to make your personal acquain-tance, as I have already heard a great dealabout you that is interesting and flattering; se-condly, I cherish the hope that you may notrefuse to assist me in a matter directly concer-ning the welfare of your sister, Avdotya Roma-novna. For without your support she might notlet me come near her now, for she is prejudicedagainst me, but with your assistance I reckonon..."

"You reckon wrongly," interrupted Raskolni-kov.

"They only arrived yesterday, may I ask you?"

Raskolnikov made no reply.

"It was yesterday, I know. I only arrived myselfthe day before. Well, let me tell you this, Ro-dion Romanovitch, I don't consider it necessaryto justify myself, but kindly tell me what wasthere particularly criminal on my part in all thisbusiness, speaking without prejudice, withcommon sense?"

Raskolnikov continued to look at him in silen-ce.

"That in my own house I persecuted a defence-less girl and 'insulted her with my infamousproposals'—is that it? (I am anticipating you.)But you've only to assume that I, too, am a manet nihil humanum... in a word, that I am capableof being attracted and falling in love (whichdoes not depend on our will), then everythingcan be explained in the most natural manner.The question is, am I a monster, or am I myselfa victim? And what if I am a victim? In propo-sing to the object of my passion to elope withme to America or Switzerland, I may have che-

rished the deepest respect for her and mayhave thought that I was promoting our mutualhappiness! Reason is the slave of passion, youknow; why, probably, I was doing more harmto myself than anyone!"

"But that's not the point," Raskolnikov interrup-ted with disgust. "It's simply that whether youare right or wrong, we dislike you. We don'twant to have anything to do with you. Weshow you the door. Go out!"

Svidrigaïlov broke into a sudden laugh.

"But you're... but there's no getting round you,"he said, laughing in the frankest way. "I hopedto get round you, but you took up the right lineat once!"

"But you are trying to get round me still!"

"What of it? What of it?" cried Svidrigaïlov,laughing openly. "But this is what the French

call bonne guerre, and the most innocent form ofdeception!... But still you have interrupted me;one way or another, I repeat again: there wouldnever have been any unpleasantness except forwhat happened in the garden. Marfa Petrov-na..."

"You have got rid of Marfa Petrovna, too, sothey say?" Raskolnikov interrupted rudely.

"Oh, you've heard that, too, then? You'd be sureto, though.... But as for your question, I reallydon't know what to say, though my own cons-cience is quite at rest on that score. Don't sup-pose that I am in any apprehension about it. Allwas regular and in order; the medical inquirydiagnosed apoplexy due to bathing immediate-ly after a heavy dinner and a bottle of wine,and indeed it could have proved nothing else.But I'll tell you what I have been thinking tomyself of late, on my way here in the train, es-pecially: didn't I contribute to all that... calami-ty, morally, in a way, by irritation or something

of the sort. But I came to the conclusion thatthat, too, was quite out of the question."

Raskolnikov laughed.

"I wonder you trouble yourself about it!"

"But what are you laughing at? Only consider, Istruck her just twice with a switch—there wereno marks even... don't regard me as a cynic,please; I am perfectly aware how atrocious itwas of me and all that; but I know for certain,too, that Marfa Petrovna was very likely plea-sed at my, so to say, warmth. The story of yoursister had been wrung out to the last drop; forthe last three days Marfa Petrovna had beenforced to sit at home; she had nothing to showherself with in the town. Besides, she had boredthem so with that letter (you heard about herreading the letter). And all of a sudden thosetwo switches fell from heaven! Her first act wasto order the carriage to be got out.... Not tospeak of the fact that there are cases when wo-

men are very, very glad to be insulted in spiteof all their show of indignation. There are ins-tances of it with everyone; human beings ingeneral, indeed, greatly love to be insulted,have you noticed that? But it's particularly sowith women. One might even say it's their onlyamusement."

At one time Raskolnikov thought of getting upand walking out and so finishing the interview.But some curiosity and even a sort of prudencemade him linger for a moment.

"You are fond of fighting?" he asked carelessly.

"No, not very," Svidrigaïlov answered, calmly."And Marfa Petrovna and I scarcely everfought. We lived very harmoniously, and shewas always pleased with me. I only used thewhip twice in all our seven years (not countinga third occasion of a very ambiguous charac-ter). The first time, two months after our ma-rriage, immediately after we arrived in the

country, and the last time was that of which weare speaking. Did you suppose I was such amonster, such a reactionary, such a slave dri-ver? Ha, ha! By the way, do you remember,Rodion Romanovitch, how a few years ago, inthose days of beneficent publicity, a nobleman,I've forgotten his name, was put to shame eve-rywhere, in all the papers, for having thrasheda German woman in the railway train. You re-member? It was in those days, that very year Ibelieve, the 'disgraceful action of the Age' tookplace (you know, 'The Egyptian Nights,' thatpublic reading, you remember? The dark eyes,you know! Ah, the golden days of our youth,where are they?). Well, as for the gentlemanwho thrashed the German, I feel no sympathywith him, because after all what need is therefor sympathy? But I must say that there aresometimes such provoking 'Germans' that Idon't believe there is a progressive who couldquite answer for himself. No one looked at the

subject from that point of view then, but that'sthe truly humane point of view, I assure you."

After saying this, Svidrigaïlov broke into a sud-den laugh again. Raskolnikov saw clearly thatthis was a man with a firm purpose in his mindand able to keep it to himself.

"I expect you've not talked to anyone for somedays?" he asked.

"Scarcely anyone. I suppose you are wonderingat my being such an adaptable man?"

"No, I am only wondering at your being tooadaptable a man."

"Because I am not offended at the rudeness ofyour questions? Is that it? But why take offen-ce? As you asked, so I answered," he replied,with a surprising expression of simplicity. "Youknow, there's hardly anything I take interestin," he went on, as it were dreamily, "especially

now, I've nothing to do.... You are quite at liber-ty to imagine though that I am making up toyou with a motive, particularly as I told you Iwant to see your sister about something. But I'llconfess frankly, I am very much bored. The lastthree days especially, so I am delighted to seeyou.... Don't be angry, Rodion Romanovitch,but you seem to be somehow awfully strangeyourself. Say what you like, there's somethingwrong with you, and now, too... not this veryminute, I mean, but now, generally.... Well,well, I won't, I won't, don't scowl! I am not sucha bear, you know, as you think."

Raskolnikov looked gloomily at him.

"You are not a bear, perhaps, at all," he said. "Ifancy indeed that you are a man of very goodbreeding, or at least know how on occasion tobehave like one."

"I am not particularly interested in anyone'sopinion," Svidrigaïlov answered, dryly and

even with a shade of haughtiness, "and therefo-re why not be vulgar at times when vulgarity issuch a convenient cloak for our climate... andespecially if one has a natural propensity thatway," he added, laughing again.

"But I've heard you have many friends here.You are, as they say, 'not without connections.'What can you want with me, then, unless you'-ve some special object?"

"That's true that I have friends here," Svidrigaï-lov admitted, not replying to the chief point."I've met some already. I've been loungingabout for the last three days, and I've seenthem, or they've seen me. That's a matter ofcourse. I am well dressed and reckoned not apoor man; the emancipation of the serfs hasn'taffected me; my property consists chiefly offorests and water meadows. The revenue hasnot fallen off; but... I am not going to see them,I was sick of them long ago. I've been here threedays 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 ofall sorts. Yes, there's a great deal I didn't noticewhen I was here eight years ago, kicking up myheels.... My only hope now is in anatomy, byJove, it is!"

"Anatomy?"

"But as for these clubs, Dussauts, parades, orprogress, indeed, maybe—well, all that can goon without me," he went on, again without no-ticing the question. "Besides, who wants to be acard-sharper?"

"Why, have you been a card-sharper then?"

"How could I help being? There was a regularset of us, men of the best society, eight yearsago; we had a fine time. And all men of bree-ding, you know, poets, men of property. Andindeed as a rule in our Russian society the bestmanners are found among those who've been

thrashed, have you noticed that? I've deteriora-ted in the country. But I did get into prison fordebt, through a low Greek who came fromNezhin. Then Marfa Petrovna turned up; shebargained with him and bought me off for thir-ty thousand silver pieces (I owed seventy thou-sand). We were united in lawful wedlock andshe bore me off into the country like a treasure.You know she was five years older than I. Shewas very fond of me. For seven years I neverleft the country. And, take note, that all my lifeshe held a document over me, the IOU for thir-ty thousand roubles, so if I were to elect to berestive about anything I should be trapped atonce! And she would have done it! Womenfind nothing incompatible in that."

"If it hadn't been for that, would you have gi-ven her the slip?"

"I don't know what to say. It was scarcely thedocument restrained me. I didn't want to goanywhere else. Marfa Petrovna herself invited

me to go abroad, seeing I was bored, but I'vebeen abroad before, and always felt sick there.For no reason, but the sunrise, the bay of Na-ples, the sea—you look at them and it makesyou sad. What's most revolting is that one isreally sad! No, it's better at home. Here at leastone blames others for everything and excusesoneself. I should have gone perhaps on an ex-pedition to the North Pole, because j'ai le vinmauvais and hate drinking, and there's nothingleft but wine. I have tried it. But, I say, I've beentold Berg is going up in a great balloon nextSunday from the Yusupov Garden and willtake up passengers at a fee. Is it true?"

"Why, would you go up?"

"I... No, oh, no," muttered Svidrigaïlov reallyseeming to be deep in thought.

"What does he mean? Is he in earnest?" Raskol-nikov wondered.

"No, the document didn't restrain me," Svidri-gaïlov went on, meditatively. "It was my owndoing, not leaving the country, and nearly ayear ago Marfa Petrovna gave me back the do-cument on my name-day and made me a pre-sent of a considerable sum of money, too. Shehad a fortune, you know. 'You see how I trustyou, Arkady Ivanovitch'—that was actually herexpression. You don't believe she used it? Butdo you know I managed the estate quite decen-tly, they know me in the neighbourhood. I or-dered books, too. Marfa Petrovna at first ap-proved, but afterwards she was afraid of myover-studying."

"You seem to be missing Marfa Petrovna verymuch?"

"Missing her? Perhaps. Really, perhaps I am.And, by the way, do you believe in ghosts?"

"What ghosts?"

"Why, ordinary ghosts."

"Do you believe in them?"

"Perhaps not, pour vous plaire.... I wouldn't sayno exactly."

"Do you see them, then?"

Svidrigaïlov looked at him rather oddly.

"Marfa Petrovna is pleased to visit me," he said,twisting his mouth into a strange smile.

"How do you mean 'she is pleased to visityou'?"

"She has been three times. I saw her first on thevery day of the funeral, an hour after she wasburied. It was the day before I left to come here.The second time was the day before yesterday,at daybreak, on the journey at the station ofMalaya Vishera, and the third time was two

hours ago in the room where I am staying. Iwas alone."

"Were you awake?"

"Quite awake. I was wide awake every time.She comes, speaks to me for a minute and goesout at the door—always at the door. I can al-most hear her."

"What made me think that something of thesort must be happening to you?" Raskolnikovsaid suddenly.

At the same moment he was surprised athaving said it. He was much excited.

"What! Did you think so?" Svidrigaïlov asked inastonishment. "Did you really? Didn't I say thatthere was something in common between us,eh?"

"You never said so!" Raskolnikov cried sharplyand with heat.

"Didn't I?"

"No!"

"I thought I did. When I came in and saw youlying with your eyes shut, pretending, I said tomyself at once, 'Here's the man.'"

"What do you mean by 'the man?' What are youtalking about?" cried Raskolnikov.

"What do I mean? I really don't know...." Svi-drigaïlov muttered ingenuously, as though he,too, were puzzled.

For a minute they were silent. They stared ineach other's faces.

"That's all nonsense!" Raskolnikov shoutedwith vexation. "What does she say when shecomes to you?"

"She! Would you believe it, she talks of the si-lliest trifles and—man is a strange creature—it

makes me angry. The first time she came in (Iwas tired you know: the funeral service, thefuneral ceremony, the lunch afterwards. At lastI was left alone in my study. I lighted a cigarand began to think), she came in at the door.'You've been so busy to-day, Arkady Ivano-vitch, you have forgotten to wind the dining-room clock,' she said. All those seven years I'vewound that clock every week, and if I forgot itshe would always remind me. The next day Iset off on my way here. I got out at the stationat daybreak; I'd been asleep, tired out, with myeyes half open, I was drinking some coffee. Ilooked up and there was suddenly Marfa Pe-trovna sitting beside me with a pack of cards inher hands. 'Shall I tell your fortune for the jour-ney, Arkady Ivanovitch?' She was a great handat telling fortunes. I shall never forgive myselffor 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 dinnerfrom a cookshop; I was sitting smoking, all of a

sudden Marfa Petrovna again. She came in verysmart in a new green silk dress with a longtrain. 'Good day, Arkady Ivanovitch! How doyou like my dress? Aniska can't make like this.'(Aniska was a dressmaker in the country, oneof our former serf girls who had been trained inMoscow, a pretty wench.) She stood turninground before me. I looked at the dress, andthen I looked carefully, very carefully, at herface. 'I wonder you trouble to come to me aboutsuch trifles, Marfa Petrovna.' 'Good gracious,you won't let one disturb you about anything!'To tease her I said, 'I want to get married, Mar-fa Petrovna.' 'That's just like you, Arkady Iva-novitch; it does you very little credit to comelooking for a bride when you've hardly buriedyour wife. And if you could make a good choi-ce, at least, but I know it won't be for your hap-piness or hers, you will only be a laughing-stock to all good people.' Then she went outand her train seemed to rustle. Isn't it nonsense,eh?"

"But perhaps you are telling lies?" Raskolnikovput in.

"I rarely lie," answered Svidrigaïlov thoughtfu-lly, apparently not noticing the rudeness of thequestion.

"And in the past, have you ever seen ghostsbefore?"

"Y-yes, I have seen them, but only once in mylife, six years ago. I had a serf, Filka; just afterhis burial I called out forgetting 'Filka, my pi-pe!' He came in and went to the cupboard whe-re my pipes were. I sat still and thought 'he isdoing it out of revenge,' because we had a vio-lent quarrel just before his death. 'How dareyou 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 Pe-trovna at the time. I wanted to have a servicesung 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 Iam five times as strong as you are. I didn't askyou whether you believe that ghosts are seen,but whether you believe that they exist."

"No, I won't believe it!" Raskolnikov cried, withpositive anger.

"What do people generally say?" muttered Svi-drigaïlov, as though speaking to himself, loo-king aside and bowing his head. "They say,'You are ill, so what appears to you is only un-real fantasy.' But that's not strictly logical. Iagree that ghosts only appear to the sick, butthat only proves that they are unable to appearexcept to the sick, not that they don't exist."

"Nothing of the sort," Raskolnikov insisted irri-tably.

"No? You don't think so?" Svidrigaïlov went on,looking at him deliberately. "But what do yousay to this argument (help me with it): ghostsare, as it were, shreds and fragments of otherworlds, the beginning of them. A man in healthhas, of course, no reason to see them, becausehe is above all a man of this earth and is boundfor the sake of completeness and order to liveonly in this life. But as soon as one is ill, as soonas the normal earthly order of the organism isbroken, one begins to realise the possibility ofanother world; and the more seriously ill one is,the closer becomes one's contact with that otherworld, so that as soon as the man dies he stepsstraight into that world. I thought of that longago. If you believe in a future life, you couldbelieve in that, too."

"I don't believe in a future life," said Raskolni-kov.

Svidrigaïlov sat lost in thought.

"And what if there are only spiders there, orsomething of that sort," he said suddenly.

"He is a madman," thought Raskolnikov.

"We always imagine eternity as something be-yond our conception, something vast, vast! Butwhy must it be vast? Instead of all that, what ifit's one little room, like a bath house in thecountry, black and grimy and spiders in everycorner, and that's all eternity is? I sometimesfancy it like that."

"Can it be you can imagine nothing juster andmore comforting than that?" Raskolnikov cried,with a feeling of anguish.

"Juster? And how can we tell, perhaps that isjust, and do you know it's what I would cer-tainly have made it," answered Svidrigaïlov,with a vague smile.

This horrible answer sent a cold chill throughRaskolnikov. Svidrigaïlov raised his head, loo-ked at him, and suddenly began laughing.

"Only think," he cried, "half an hour ago wehad never seen each other, we regarded eachother as enemies; there is a matter unsettledbetween us; we've thrown it aside, and awaywe've gone into the abstract! Wasn't I right insaying that we were birds of a feather?"

"Kindly allow me," Raskolnikov went on irrita-bly, "to ask you to explain why you havehonoured me with your visit... and... and I amin a hurry, I have no time to waste. I want to goout."

"By all means, by all means. Your sister, Av-dotya Romanovna, is going to be married toMr. Luzhin, Pyotr Petrovitch?"

"Can you refrain from any question about mysister and from mentioning her name? I can't

understand how you dare utter her name in mypresence, if you really are Svidrigaïlov."

"Why, but I've come here to speak about her;how can I avoid mentioning her?"

"Very good, speak, but make haste."

"I am sure that you must have formed yourown opinion of this Mr. Luzhin, who is a con-nection of mine through my wife, if you haveonly seen him for half an hour, or heard anyfacts about him. He is no match for AvdotyaRomanovna. I believe Avdotya Romanovna issacrificing herself generously and imprudentlyfor the sake of... for the sake of her family. Ifancied from all I had heard of you that youwould be very glad if the match could be bro-ken off without the sacrifice of worldly advan-tages. Now I know you personally, I am con-vinced of it."

"All this is very naïve... excuse me, I shouldhave said impudent on your part," said Raskol-nikov.

"You mean to say that I am seeking my ownends. Don't be uneasy, Rodion Romanovitch, ifI were working for my own advantage, I wouldnot have spoken out so directly. I am not quitea fool. I will confess something psychologicallycurious about that: just now, defending mylove for Avdotya Romanovna, I said I was my-self the victim. Well, let me tell you that I've nofeeling of love now, not the slightest, so that Iwonder myself indeed, for I really did feel so-mething..."

"Through idleness and depravity," Raskolnikovput in.

"I certainly am idle and depraved, but yoursister has such qualities that even I could nothelp being impressed by them. But that's allnonsense, as I see myself now."

"Have you seen that long?"

"I began to be aware of it before, but was onlyperfectly sure of it the day before yesterday,almost at the moment I arrived in Petersburg. Istill fancied in Moscow, though, that I was co-ming to try to get Avdotya Romanovna's handand to cut out Mr. Luzhin."

"Excuse me for interrupting you; kindly bebrief, and come to the object of your visit. I amin a hurry, I want to go out..."

"With the greatest pleasure. On arriving hereand determining on a certain... journey, Ishould like to make some necessary prelimina-ry arrangements. I left my children with anaunt; they are well provided for; and they haveno need of me personally. And a nice father Ishould make, too! I have taken nothing butwhat Marfa Petrovna gave me a year ago.That's enough for me. Excuse me, I am just co-ming 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 wasthrough him I quarrelled with Marfa Petrovnawhen I learned that she had dished up this ma-rriage. I want now to see Avdotya Romanovnathrough your mediation, and if you like in yourpresence, to explain to her that in the first placeshe will never gain anything but harm fromMr. Luzhin. Then, begging her pardon for allpast unpleasantness, to make her a present often thousand roubles and so assist the rupturewith Mr. Luzhin, a rupture to which I believeshe is herself not disinclined, if she could seethe way to it."

"You are certainly mad," cried Raskolnikov notso much angered as astonished. "How dare youtalk like that!"

"I knew you would scream at me; but in thefirst place, though I am not rich, this ten thou-sand roubles is perfectly free; I have absolutelyno need for it. If Avdotya Romanovna does not

accept it, I shall waste it in some more foolishway. That's the first thing. Secondly, my cons-cience is perfectly easy; I make the offer with noulterior motive. You may not believe it, but inthe end Avdotya Romanovna and you willknow. The point is, that I did actually causeyour sister, whom I greatly respect, some trou-ble and unpleasantness, and so, sincerely re-gretting it, I want—not to compensate, not torepay her for the unpleasantness, but simply todo something to her advantage, to show that Iam not, after all, privileged to do nothing butharm. If there were a millionth fraction of self-interest in my offer, I should not have made itso openly; and I should not have offered herten thousand only, when five weeks ago I offe-red her more, Besides, I may, perhaps, verysoon marry a young lady, and that alone oughtto prevent suspicion of any design on AvdotyaRomanovna. In conclusion, let me say that inmarrying Mr. Luzhin, she is taking money justthe same, only from another man. Don't be an-

gry, Rodion Romanovitch, think it over coollyand quietly."

Svidrigaïlov himself was exceedingly cool andquiet as he was saying this.

"I beg you to say no more," said Raskolnikov."In any case this is unpardonable impertinen-ce."

"Not in the least. Then a man may do nothingbut harm to his neighbour in this world, and isprevented from doing the tiniest bit of good bytrivial conventional formalities. That's absurd.If I died, for instance, and left that sum to yoursister in my will, surely she wouldn't refuse it?"

"Very likely she would."

"Oh, no, indeed. However, if you refuse it, sobe it, though ten thousand roubles is a capitalthing to have on occasion. In any case I beg you

to repeat what I have said to Avdotya Roma-novna."

"No, I won't."

"In that case, Rodion Romanovitch, I shall beobliged to try and see her myself and worry herby doing so."

"And if I do tell her, will you not try to seeher?"

"I don't know really what to say. I should likevery much to see her once more."

"Don't hope for it."

"I'm sorry. But you don't know me. Perhaps wemay become better friends."

"You think we may become friends?"

"And why not?" Svidrigaïlov said, smiling. Hestood up and took his hat. "I didn't quite intend

to disturb you and I came here without recko-ning on it... though I was very much struck byyour face this morning."

"Where did you see me this morning?" Raskol-nikov asked uneasily.

"I saw you by chance.... I kept fancying there issomething about you like me.... But don't beuneasy. I am not intrusive; I used to get on allright with card-sharpers, and I never boredPrince Svirbey, a great personage who is a dis-tant relation of mine, and I could write aboutRaphael's Madonna in Madam Prilukov's al-bum, and I never left Marfa Petrovna's side forseven years, and I used to stay the night at Via-zemsky's house in the Hay Market in the olddays, and I may go up in a balloon with Berg,perhaps."

"Oh, all right. Are you starting soon on yourtravels, may I ask?"

"What travels?"

"Why, on that 'journey'; you spoke of it your-self."

"A journey? Oh, yes. I did speak of a journey.Well, that's a wide subject.... if only you knewwhat you are asking," he added, and gave asudden, loud, short laugh. "Perhaps I'll get ma-rried instead of the journey. They're making amatch for me."

"Here?"

"Yes."

"How have you had time for that?"

"But I am very anxious to see Avdotya Roma-novna once. I earnestly beg it. Well, good-byefor the present. Oh, yes. I have forgotten so-mething. Tell your sister, Rodion Romanovitch,that Marfa Petrovna remembered her in herwill and left her three thousand roubles. That's

absolutely certain. Marfa Petrovna arranged it aweek before her death, and it was done in mypresence. Avdotya Romanovna will be able toreceive the money in two or three weeks."

"Are you telling the truth?"

"Yes, tell her. Well, your servant. I am stayingvery near you."

As he went out, Svidrigaïlov ran up againstRazumihin in the doorway.

CHAPTER II

It was nearly eight o'clock. The two young menhurried to Bakaleyev's, to arrive before Luzhin.

"Why, who was that?" asked Razumihin, assoon as they were in the street.

"It was Svidrigaïlov, that landowner in whosehouse my sister was insulted when she wastheir governess. Through his persecuting herwith his attentions, she was turned out by hiswife, Marfa Petrovna. This Marfa Petrovnabegged Dounia's forgiveness afterwards, andshe's just died suddenly. It was of her we weretalking this morning. I don't know why I'mafraid of that man. He came here at once afterhis wife's funeral. He is very strange, and isdetermined on doing something.... We mustguard Dounia from him... that's what I wantedto tell you, do you hear?"

"Guard her! What can he do to harm AvdotyaRomanovna? Thank you, Rodya, for speakingto me like that.... We will, we will guard her.Where does he live?"

"I don't know."

"Why didn't you ask? What a pity! I'll find out,though."

"Did you see him?" asked Raskolnikov after apause.

"Yes, I noticed him, I noticed him well."

"You did really see him? You saw him clearly?"Raskolnikov insisted.

"Yes, I remember him perfectly, I should knowhim in a thousand; I have a good memory forfaces."

They were silent again.

"Hm!... that's all right," muttered Raskolnikov."Do you know, I fancied... I keep thinking thatit may have been an hallucination."

"What do you mean? I don't understand you."

"Well, you all say," Raskolnikov went on, twis-ting his mouth into a smile, "that I am mad. Ithought just now that perhaps I really am mad,and have only seen a phantom."

"What do you mean?"

"Why, who can tell? Perhaps I am really mad,and perhaps everything that happened all thesedays may be only imagination."

"Ach, Rodya, you have been upset again!... Butwhat did he say, what did he come for?"

Raskolnikov did not answer. Razumihinthought a minute.

"Now let me tell you my story," he began, "Icame to you, you were asleep. Then we haddinner and then I went to Porfiry's, Zametovwas still with him. I tried to begin, but it was nouse. I couldn't speak in the right way. Theydon't seem to understand and can't understand,

but are not a bit ashamed. I drew Porfiry to thewindow, and began talking to him, but it wasstill no use. He looked away and I looked away.At last I shook my fist in his ugly face, and toldhim as a cousin I'd brain him. He merely loo-ked at me, I cursed and came away. That wasall. It was very stupid. To Zametov I didn't saya word. But, you see, I thought I'd made a messof it, but as I went downstairs a brilliant ideastruck me: why should we trouble? Of course ifyou were in any danger or anything, but whyneed you care? You needn't care a hang forthem. We shall have a laugh at them after-wards, and if I were in your place I'd mystifythem more than ever. How ashamed they'll beafterwards! Hang them! We can thrash themafterwards, but let's laugh at them now!"

"To be sure," answered Raskolnikov. "But whatwill you say to-morrow?" he thought to him-self. Strange to say, till that moment it had ne-ver occurred to him to wonder what Razu-

mihin would think when he knew. As hethought it, Raskolnikov looked at him. Razu-mihin's account of his visit to Porfiry had verylittle interest for him, so much had come andgone since then.

In the corridor they came upon Luzhin; he hadarrived punctually at eight, and was lookingfor the number, so that all three went in toget-her without greeting or looking at one another.The young men walked in first, while PyotrPetrovitch, for good manners, lingered a littlein the passage, taking off his coat. PulcheriaAlexandrovna came forward at once to greethim in the doorway, Dounia was welcomingher brother. Pyotr Petrovitch walked in andquite amiably, though with redoubled dignity,bowed to the ladies. He looked, however, asthough he were a little put out and could notyet recover himself. Pulcheria Alexandrovna,who seemed also a little embarrassed, hastenedto make them all sit down at the round table

where a samovar was boiling. Dounia andLuzhin were facing one another on oppositesides of the table. Razumihin and Raskolnikovwere facing Pulcheria Alexandrovna, Razu-mihin was next to Luzhin and Raskolnikov wasbeside his sister.

A moment's silence followed. Pyotr Petrovitchdeliberately drew out a cambric handkerchiefreeking of scent and blew his nose with an airof a benevolent man who felt himself slighted,and was firmly resolved to insist on an expla-nation. In the passage the idea had occurred tohim to keep on his overcoat and walk away,and so give the two ladies a sharp and emp-hatic lesson and make them feel the gravity ofthe position. But he could not bring himself todo this. Besides, he could not endure uncertain-ty, and he wanted an explanation: if his requesthad been so openly disobeyed, there was so-mething behind it, and in that case it was betterto find it out beforehand; it rested with him to

punish them and there would always be timefor that.

"I trust you had a favourable journey," he in-quired officially of Pulcheria Alexandrovna.

"Oh, very, Pyotr Petrovitch."

"I am gratified to hear it. And Avdotya Roma-novna is not over-fatigued either?"

"I am young and strong, I don't get tired, but itwas a great strain for mother," answered Dou-nia.

"That's unavoidable! our national railways areof terrible length. 'Mother Russia,' as they say,is a vast country.... In spite of all my desire todo so, I was unable to meet you yesterday. But Itrust all passed off without inconvenience?"

"Oh, no, Pyotr Petrovitch, it was all terriblydisheartening," Pulcheria Alexandrovna haste-ned to declare with peculiar intonation, "and if

Dmitri Prokofitch had not been sent us, I reallybelieve by God Himself, we should have beenutterly lost. Here, he is! Dmitri Prokofitch Ra-zumihin," she added, introducing him to Luz-hin.

"I had the pleasure... yesterday," mutteredPyotr Petrovitch with a hostile glance sidelongat Razumihin; then he scowled and was silent.

Pyotr Petrovitch belonged to that class of per-sons, on the surface very polite in society, whomake a great point of punctiliousness, but who,directly they are crossed in anything, are com-pletely disconcerted, and become more likesacks of flour than elegant and lively men ofsociety. Again all was silent; Raskolnikov wasobstinately mute, Avdotya Romanovna wasunwilling to open the conversation too soon.Razumihin had nothing to say, so PulcheriaAlexandrovna was anxious again.

"Marfa Petrovna is dead, have you heard?" shebegan having recourse to her leading item ofconversation.

"To be sure, I heard so. I was immediately in-formed, and I have come to make you acquain-ted with the fact that Arkady Ivanovitch Svi-drigaïlov set off in haste for Petersburg imme-diately after his wife's funeral. So at least I haveexcellent authority for believing."

"To Petersburg? here?" Dounia asked in alarmand looked at her mother.

"Yes, indeed, and doubtless not without somedesign, having in view the rapidity of his de-parture, and all the circumstances preceding it."

"Good heavens! won't he leave Dounia in peaceeven here?" cried Pulcheria Alexandrovna.

"I imagine that neither you nor Avdotya Ro-manovna have any grounds for uneasiness,

unless, of course, you are yourselves desirousof getting into communication with him. Formy part I am on my guard, and am now disco-vering where he is lodging."

"Oh, Pyotr Petrovitch, you would not believewhat a fright you have given me," PulcheriaAlexandrovna went on: "I've only seen himtwice, but I thought him terrible, terrible! I amconvinced that he was the cause of Marfa Pe-trovna's death."

"It's impossible to be certain about that. I haveprecise information. I do not dispute that hemay have contributed to accelerate the courseof events by the moral influence, so to say, ofthe affront; but as to the general conduct andmoral characteristics of that personage, I am inagreement with you. I do not know whether heis well off now, and precisely what Marfa Pe-trovna left him; this will be known to me wit-hin a very short period; but no doubt here inPetersburg, if he has any pecuniary resources,

he will relapse at once into his old ways. He isthe most depraved, and abjectly vicious speci-men of that class of men. I have considerablereason to believe that Marfa Petrovna, who wasso unfortunate as to fall in love with him and topay his debts eight years ago, was of service tohim also in another way. Solely by her exer-tions and sacrifices, a criminal charge, invol-ving an element of fantastic and homicidal bru-tality for which he might well have been sen-tenced to Siberia, was hushed up. That's thesort of man he is, if you care to know."

"Good heavens!" cried Pulcheria Alexandrovna.Raskolnikov listened attentively.

"Are you speaking the truth when you say thatyou have good evidence of this?" Dounia askedsternly and emphatically.

"I only repeat what I was told in secret by Mar-fa Petrovna. I must observe that from the legalpoint of view the case was far from clear. There

was, and I believe still is, living here a womancalled Resslich, a foreigner, who lent smallsums of money at interest, and did other com-missions, and with this woman Svidrigaïlovhad for a long while close and mysterious rela-tions. She had a relation, a niece I believe, livingwith her, a deaf and dumb girl of fifteen, orperhaps not more than fourteen. Resslich hatedthis girl, and grudged her every crust; she usedto beat her mercilessly. One day the girl wasfound hanging in the garret. At the inquest theverdict was suicide. After the usual procee-dings the matter ended, but, later on, informa-tion was given that the child had been... cruellyoutraged by Svidrigaïlov. It is true, this was notclearly established, the information was givenby another German woman of loose characterwhose word could not be trusted; no statementwas actually made to the police, thanks to Mar-fa Petrovna's money and exertions; it did notget beyond gossip. And yet the story is a verysignificant one. You heard, no doubt, Avdotya

Romanovna, when you were with them thestory of the servant Philip who died of illtreatment he received six years ago, before theabolition of serfdom."

"I heard, on the contrary, that this Philip han-ged himself."

"Quite so, but what drove him, or rather per-haps disposed him, to suicide was the systema-tic persecution and severity of Mr. Svidrigaï-lov."

"I don't know that," answered Dounia, dryly. "Ionly heard a queer story that Philip was a sortof hypochondriac, a sort of domestic philosop-her, the servants used to say, 'he read himselfsilly,' and that he hanged himself partly on ac-count of Mr. Svidrigaïlov's mockery of him andnot his blows. When I was there he behavedwell to the servants, and they were actuallyfond of him, though they certainly did blamehim for Philip's death."

"I perceive, Avdotya Romanovna, that youseem disposed to undertake his defence all of asudden," Luzhin observed, twisting his lips intoan ambiguous smile, "there's no doubt that heis an astute man, and insinuating where ladiesare concerned, of which Marfa Petrovna, whohas died so strangely, is a terrible instance. Myonly desire has been to be of service to you andyour mother with my advice, in view of therenewed efforts which may certainly be antici-pated from him. For my part it's my firm con-viction, that he will end in a debtor's prisonagain. Marfa Petrovna had not the slightestintention of settling anything substantial onhim, having regard for his children's interests,and, if she left him anything, it would only bethe merest sufficiency, something insignificantand ephemeral, which would not last a year fora man of his habits."

"Pyotr Petrovitch, I beg you," said Dounia, "sayno more of Mr. Svidrigaïlov. It makes me mise-rable."

"He has just been to see me," said Raskolnikov,breaking his silence for the first time.

There were exclamations from all, and they allturned to him. Even Pyotr Petrovitch was rou-sed.

"An hour and a half ago, he came in when I wasasleep, waked me, and introduced himself,"Raskolnikov continued. "He was fairly cheerfuland at ease, and quite hopes that we shall be-come friends. He is particularly anxious, by theway, Dounia, for an interview with you, atwhich he asked me to assist. He has a proposi-tion to make to you, and he told me about it.He told me, too, that a week before her deathMarfa Petrovna left you three thousand roublesin her will, Dounia, and that you can receivethe money very shortly."

"Thank God!" cried Pulcheria Alexandrovna,crossing herself. "Pray for her soul, Dounia!"

"It's a fact!" broke from Luzhin.

"Tell us, what more?" Dounia urged Raskolni-kov.

"Then he said that he wasn't rich and all theestate was left to his children who are now withan aunt, then that he was staying somewherenot far from me, but where, I don't know, Ididn't ask...."

"But what, what does he want to propose toDounia?" cried Pulcheria Alexandrovna in afright. "Did he tell you?"

"Yes."

"What was it?"

"I'll tell you afterwards."

Raskolnikov ceased speaking and turned hisattention to his tea.

Pyotr Petrovitch looked at his watch.

"I am compelled to keep a business engage-ment, and so I shall not be in your way," headded with an air of some pique and he begangetting up.

"Don't go, Pyotr Petrovitch," said Dounia, "youintended to spend the evening. Besides, youwrote yourself that you wanted to have an ex-planation with mother."

"Precisely so, Avdotya Romanovna," Pyotr Pe-trovitch answered impressively, sitting downagain, but still holding his hat. "I certainly desi-red an explanation with you and your honou-red mother upon a very important point inde-ed. But as your brother cannot speak openly inmy presence of some proposals of Mr. Svidri-gaïlov, I, too, do not desire and am not able to

speak openly... in the presence of others... ofcertain matters of the greatest gravity. Moreo-ver, my most weighty and urgent request hasbeen disregarded...."

Assuming an aggrieved air, Luzhin relapsedinto dignified silence.

"Your request that my brother should not bepresent at our meeting was disregarded solelyat my instance," said Dounia. "You wrote thatyou had been insulted by my brother; I thinkthat this must be explained at once, and youmust be reconciled. And if Rodya really hasinsulted you, then he should and will apologise."

Pyotr Petrovitch took a stronger line.

"There are insults, Avdotya Romanovna, whichno goodwill can make us forget. There is a linein everything which it is dangerous to overstep;and when it has been overstepped, there is noreturn."

"That wasn't what I was speaking of exactly,Pyotr Petrovitch," Dounia interrupted withsome impatience. "Please understand that ourwhole future depends now on whether all thisis explained and set right as soon as possible. Itell you frankly at the start that I cannot look atit in any other light, and if you have the leastregard for me, all this business must be endedto-day, however hard that may be. I repeat thatif my brother is to blame he will ask your forgi-veness."

"I am surprised at your putting the questionlike that," said Luzhin, getting more and moreirritated. "Esteeming, and so to say, adoringyou, I may at the same time, very well indeed,be able to dislike some member of your family.Though I lay claim to the happiness of yourhand, I cannot accept duties incompatiblewith..."

"Ah, don't be so ready to take offence, PyotrPetrovitch," Dounia interrupted with feeling,

"and be the sensible and generous man I havealways considered, and wish to consider, youto be. I've given you a great promise, I am yourbetrothed. Trust me in this matter and, believeme, I shall be capable of judging impartially.My assuming the part of judge is as much asurprise for my brother as for you. When I in-sisted on his coming to our interview to-dayafter your letter, I told him nothing of what Imeant to do. Understand that, if you are notreconciled, I must choose between you—itmust be either you or he. That is how the ques-tion rests on your side and on his. I don't wantto be mistaken in my choice, and I must not be.For your sake I must break off with my brother,for my brother's sake I must break off with you.I can find out for certain now whether he is abrother to me, and I want to know it; and ofyou, whether I am dear to you, whether youesteem me, whether you are the husband forme."

"Avdotya Romanovna," Luzhin declared huffi-ly, "your words are of too much consequence tome; I will say more, they are offensive in viewof the position I have the honour to occupy inrelation to you. To say nothing of your strangeand offensive setting me on a level with an im-pertinent boy, you admit the possibility of brea-king your promise to me. You say 'you or he,'showing thereby of how little consequence I amin your eyes... I cannot let this pass consideringthe relationship and... the obligations existingbetween us."

"What!" cried Dounia, flushing. "I set your in-terest beside all that has hitherto been mostprecious in my life, what has made up the wholeof my life, and here you are offended at mymaking too little account of you."

Raskolnikov smiled sarcastically, Razumihinfidgeted, but Pyotr Petrovitch did not acceptthe reproof; on the contrary, at every word he

became more persistent and irritable, as thoughhe relished it.

"Love for the future partner of your life, foryour husband, ought to outweigh your love foryour brother," he pronounced sententiously,"and in any case I cannot be put on the samelevel.... Although I said so emphatically that Iwould not speak openly in your brother's pre-sence, nevertheless, I intend now to ask yourhonoured mother for a necessary explanationon a point of great importance closely affectingmy dignity. Your son," he turned to PulcheriaAlexandrovna, "yesterday in the presence ofMr. Razsudkin (or... I think that's it? excuse meI have forgotten your surname," he bowed poli-tely to Razumihin) "insulted me by misrepre-senting the idea I expressed to you in a privateconversation, drinking coffee, that is, that ma-rriage with a poor girl who has had experienceof trouble is more advantageous from the con-jugal point of view than with one who has lived

in luxury, since it is more profitable for the mo-ral character. Your son intentionally exaggera-ted the significance of my words and madethem ridiculous, accusing me of malicious in-tentions, and, as far as I could see, relied uponyour correspondence with him. I shall considermyself happy, Pulcheria Alexandrovna, if it ispossible for you to convince me of an oppositeconclusion, and thereby considerately reassureme. Kindly let me know in what terms precise-ly you repeated my words in your letter to Ro-dion Romanovitch."

"I don't remember," faltered Pulcheria Alexan-drovna. "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 atyour instigation."

"Pyotr Petrovitch," Pulcheria Alexandrovnadeclared with dignity, "the proof that Dounia

and I did not take your words in a very badsense is the fact that we are here."

"Good, mother," said Dounia approvingly.

"Then this is my fault again," said Luzhin, ag-grieved.

"Well, Pyotr Petrovitch, you keep blaming Ro-dion, but you yourself have just written whatwas false about him," Pulcheria Alexandrovnaadded, gaining courage.

"I don't remember writing anything false."

"You wrote," Raskolnikov said sharply, notturning to Luzhin, "that I gave money yester-day not to the widow of the man who was ki-lled, as was the fact, but to his daughter (whomI had never seen till yesterday). You wrote thisto make dissension between me and my family,and for that object added coarse expressions

about the conduct of a girl whom you don'tknow. All that is mean slander."

"Excuse me, sir," said Luzhin, quivering withfury. "I enlarged upon your qualities and con-duct in my letter solely in response to your sis-ter's and mother's inquiries, how I found you,and what impression you made on me. As forwhat you've alluded to in my letter, be so goodas to point out one word of falsehood, show,that is, that you didn't throw away your mo-ney, and that there are not worthless persons inthat family, however unfortunate."

"To my thinking, you, with all your virtues, arenot worth the little finger of that unfortunategirl at whom you throw stones."

"Would you go so far then as to let her associatewith your mother and sister?"

"I have done so already, if you care to know. Imade her sit down to-day with mother andDounia."

"Rodya!" cried Pulcheria Alexandrovna. Dou-nia crimsoned, Razumihin knitted his brows.Luzhin smiled with lofty sarcasm.

"You may see for yourself, Avdotya Romanov-na," he said, "whether it is possible for us toagree. I hope now that this question is at anend, once and for all. I will withdraw, that Imay not hinder the pleasures of family intima-cy, and the discussion of secrets." He got upfrom his chair and took his hat. "But in with-drawing, I venture to request that for the futureI may be spared similar meetings, and, so tosay, compromises. I appeal particularly to you,honoured Pulcheria Alexandrovna, on this sub-ject, the more as my letter was addressed toyou and to no one else."

Pulcheria Alexandrovna was a little offended.

"You seem to think we are completely underyour authority, Pyotr Petrovitch. Dounia hastold you the reason your desire was disregar-ded, she had the best intentions. And indeedyou write as though you were laying com-mands upon me. Are we to consider every de-sire of yours as a command? Let me tell you onthe contrary that you ought to show particulardelicacy and consideration for us now, becausewe have thrown up everything, and have comehere relying on you, and so we are in any casein a sense in your hands."

"That is not quite true, Pulcheria Alexandrovna,especially at the present moment, when thenews has come of Marfa Petrovna's legacy,which seems indeed very apropos, judgingfrom the new tone you take to me," he addedsarcastically.

"Judging from that remark, we may certainlypresume that you were reckoning on our hel-plessness," Dounia observed irritably.

"But now in any case I cannot reckon on it, andI particularly desire not to hinder your discus-sion of the secret proposals of Arkady Ivano-vitch Svidrigaïlov, which he has entrusted toyour brother and which have, I perceive, agreat and possibly a very agreeable interest foryou."

"Good heavens!" cried Pulcheria Alexandrovna.

Razumihin could not sit still on his chair.

"Aren't you ashamed now, sister?" asked Ras-kolnikov.

"I am ashamed, Rodya," said Dounia. "PyotrPetrovitch, go away," she turned to him, whitewith anger.

Pyotr Petrovitch had apparently not at all ex-pected such a conclusion. He had too muchconfidence in himself, in his power and in thehelplessness of his victims. He could not belie-

ve it even now. He turned pale, and his lipsquivered.

"Avdotya Romanovna, if I go out of this doornow, after such a dismissal, then, you may rec-kon on it, I will never come back. Considerwhat you are doing. My word is not to be sha-ken."

"What insolence!" cried Dounia, springing upfrom her seat. "I don't want you to come backagain."

"What! So that's how it stands!" cried Luzhin,utterly unable to the last moment to believe inthe rupture and so completely thrown out ofhis reckoning now. "So that's how it stands! Butdo you know, Avdotya Romanovna, that Imight protest?"

"What right have you to speak to her like that?"Pulcheria Alexandrovna intervened hotly."And what can you protest about? What rights

have you? Am I to give my Dounia to a manlike you? Go away, leave us altogether! We areto blame for having agreed to a wrong action,and I above all...."

"But you have bound me, Pulcheria Alexan-drovna," Luzhin stormed in a frenzy, "by yourpromise, and now you deny it and... besides... Ihave been led on account of that into expen-ses...."

This last complaint was so characteristic ofPyotr Petrovitch, that Raskolnikov, pale withanger and with the effort of restraining it, couldnot help breaking into laughter. But PulcheriaAlexandrovna was furious.

"Expenses? What expenses? Are you speakingof our trunk? But the conductor brought it fornothing for you. Mercy on us, we have boundyou! What are you thinking about, Pyotr Petro-vitch, it was you bound us, hand and foot, notwe!"

"Enough, mother, no more please," AvdotyaRomanovna implored. "Pyotr Petrovitch, do bekind and go!"

"I am going, but one last word," he said, quiteunable to control himself. "Your mamma seemsto have entirely forgotten that I made up mymind to take you, so to speak, after the gossipof the town had spread all over the district inregard to your reputation. Disregarding publicopinion for your sake and reinstating your re-putation, I certainly might very well reckon ona fitting return, and might indeed look for gra-titude on your part. And my eyes have onlynow been opened! I see myself that I may haveacted very, very recklessly in disregarding theuniversal verdict...."

"Does the fellow want his head smashed?" criedRazumihin, jumping up.

"You are a mean and spiteful man!" cried Dou-nia.

"Not a word! Not a movement!" cried Raskol-nikov, holding Razumihin back; then goingclose up to Luzhin, "Kindly leave the room!" hesaid quietly and distinctly, "and not a wordmore or..."

Pyotr Petrovitch gazed at him for some secondswith a pale face that worked with anger, thenhe turned, went out, and rarely has any mancarried away in his heart such vindictive hatredas he felt against Raskolnikov. Him, and himalone, he blamed for everything. It is notewort-hy that as he went downstairs he still imaginedthat his case was perhaps not utterly lost, andthat, so far as the ladies were concerned, allmight "very well indeed" be set right again.

CHAPTER III

The fact was that up to the last moment he hadnever expected such an ending; he had beenoverbearing to the last degree, never dreamingthat two destitute and defenceless womencould escape from his control. This convictionwas strengthened by his vanity and conceit, aconceit to the point of fatuity. Pyotr Petrovitch,who had made his way up from insignificance,was morbidly given to self-admiration, had thehighest opinion of his intelligence and capaci-ties, and sometimes even gloated in solitudeover his image in the glass. But what he lovedand valued above all was the money he hadamassed by his labour, and by all sorts of devi-ces: that money made him the equal of all whohad been his superiors.

When he had bitterly reminded Dounia that hehad decided to take her in spite of evil report,

Pyotr Petrovitch had spoken with perfect since-rity and had, indeed, felt genuinely indignantat such "black ingratitude." And yet, when hemade Dounia his offer, he was fully aware ofthe groundlessness of all the gossip. The storyhad been everywhere contradicted by MarfaPetrovna, and was by then disbelieved by allthe townspeople, who were warm in Dounia'adefence. And he would not have denied that heknew all that at the time. Yet he still thoughthighly of his own resolution in lifting Douniato his level and regarded it as somethingheroic. In speaking of it to Dounia, he had letout the secret feeling he cherished and admi-red, and he could not understand that othersshould fail to admire it too. He had called onRaskolnikov with the feelings of a benefactorwho is about to reap the fruits of his gooddeeds and to hear agreeable flattery. And as hewent downstairs now, he considered himselfmost undeservedly injured and unrecognised.

Dounia was simply essential to him; to do wit-hout her was unthinkable. For many years hehad had voluptuous dreams of marriage, buthe had gone on waiting and amassing money.He brooded with relish, in profound secret,over the image of a girl—virtuous, poor (shemust be poor), very young, very pretty, of goodbirth and education, very timid, one who hadsuffered much, and was completely humbledbefore him, one who would all her life look onhim as her saviour, worship him, admire himand only him. How many scenes, how manyamorous episodes he had imagined on this se-ductive and playful theme, when his work wasover! And, behold, the dream of so many yearswas all but realised; the beauty and educationof Avdotya Romanovna had impressed him;her helpless position had been a great allure-ment; in her he had found even more than hedreamed of. Here was a girl of pride, character,virtue, of education and breeding superior tohis own (he felt that), and this creature would

be slavishly grateful all her life for his heroiccondescension, and would humble herself inthe dust before him, and he would have absolu-te, unbounded power over her!... Not long be-fore, he had, too, after long reflection and hesi-tation, made an important change in his careerand was now entering on a wider circle of bu-siness. With this change his cherished dreamsof rising into a higher class of society seemedlikely to be realised.... He was, in fact, determi-ned to try his fortune in Petersburg. He knewthat women could do a very great deal. Thefascination of a charming, virtuous, highly edu-cated woman might make his way easier, mightdo wonders in attracting people to him, thro-wing an aureole round him, and now everyt-hing was in ruins! This sudden horrible ruptureaffected him like a clap of thunder; it was like ahideous joke, an absurdity. He had only been atiny bit masterful, had not even time to speakout, had simply made a joke, been carriedaway—and it had ended so seriously. And, of

course, too, he did love Dounia in his own way;he already possessed her in his dreams—andall at once! No! The next day, the very next day,it must all be set right, smoothed over, settled.Above all he must crush that conceited milksopwho was the cause of it all. With a sick feelinghe could not help recalling Razumihin too, but,he soon reassured himself on that score; asthough a fellow like that could be put on a levelwith him! The man he really dreaded in earnestwas Svidrigaïlov.... He had, in short, a greatdeal to attend to....

"No, I, I am more to blame than anyone!" saidDounia, kissing and embracing her mother. "Iwas tempted by his money, but on my honour,brother, I had no idea he was such a base man.If I had seen through him before, nothingwould have tempted me! Don't blame me,brother!"

"God has delivered us! God has delivered us!"Pulcheria Alexandrovna muttered, but halfconsciously, as though scarcely able to realisewhat had happened.

They were all relieved, and in five minutes theywere laughing. Only now and then Douniaturned white and frowned, remembering whathad passed. Pulcheria Alexandrovna was sur-prised to find that she, too, was glad: she hadonly that morning thought rupture with Luzhina terrible misfortune. Razumihin was deligh-ted. He did not yet dare to express his joy fully,but he was in a fever of excitement as though aton-weight had fallen off his heart. Now he hadthe right to devote his life to them, to servethem.... Anything might happen now! But hefelt afraid to think of further possibilities anddared not let his imagination range. But Ras-kolnikov sat still in the same place, almost su-llen and indifferent. Though he had been themost insistent on getting rid of Luzhin, he see-

med now the least concerned at what had hap-pened. Dounia could not help thinking that hewas still angry with her, and Pulcheria Alexan-drovna watched him timidly.

"What did Svidrigaïlov say to you?" said Dou-nia, approaching him.

"Yes, yes!" cried Pulcheria Alexandrovna.

Raskolnikov raised his head.

"He wants to make you a present of ten thou-sand roubles and he desires to see you once inmy presence."

"See her! On no account!" cried PulcheriaAlexandrovna. "And how dare he offer hermoney!"

Then Raskolnikov repeated (rather dryly) hisconversation with Svidrigaïlov, omitting hisaccount of the ghostly visitations of Marfa Pe-trovna, wishing to avoid all unnecessary talk.

"What answer did you give him?" asked Dou-nia.

"At first I said I would not take any message toyou. Then he said that he would do his utmostto obtain an interview with you without myhelp. He assured me that his passion for youwas a passing infatuation, now he has no fee-ling for you. He doesn't want you to marryLuzhin.... His talk was altogether rather mudd-led."

"How do you explain him to yourself, Rodya?How did he strike you?"

"I must confess I don't quite understand him.He offers you ten thousand, and yet says he isnot well off. He says he is going away, and inten minutes he forgets he has said it. Then hesays is he going to be married and has alreadyfixed on the girl.... No doubt he has a motive,and probably a bad one. But it's odd that heshould be so clumsy about it if he had any de-

signs against you.... Of course, I refused thismoney on your account, once for all. Altoget-her, I thought him very strange.... One mightalmost think he was mad. But I may be mista-ken; that may only be the part he assumes. Thedeath of Marfa Petrovna seems to have made agreat impression on him."

"God rest her soul," exclaimed PulcheriaAlexandrovna. "I shall always, always pray forher! Where should we be now, Dounia, withoutthis three thousand! It's as though it had fallenfrom heaven! Why, Rodya, this morning wehad only three roubles in our pocket and Dou-nia and I were just planning to pawn herwatch, so as to avoid borrowing from that manuntil he offered help."

Dounia seemed strangely impressed by Svidri-gaïlov's offer. She still stood meditating.

"He has got some terrible plan," she said in ahalf whisper to herself, almost shuddering.

Raskolnikov noticed this disproportionate te-rror.

"I fancy I shall have to see him more than onceagain," he said to Dounia.

"We will watch him! I will track him out!" criedRazumihin, vigorously. "I won't lose sight ofhim. Rodya has given me leave. He said to mehimself just now. 'Take care of my sister.' Willyou give me leave, too, Avdotya Romanovna?"

Dounia smiled and held out her hand, but thelook of anxiety did not leave her face. PulcheriaAlexandrovna gazed at her timidly, but thethree thousand roubles had obviously a soot-hing effect on her.

A quarter of an hour later, they were all enga-ged in a lively conversation. Even Raskolnikovlistened attentively for some time, though hedid not talk. Razumihin was the speaker.

"And why, why should you go away?" he flo-wed on ecstatically. "And what are you to do ina little town? The great thing is, you are all heretogether and you need one another—you doneed one another, believe me. For a time, any-way.... Take me into partnership, and I assureyou we'll plan a capital enterprise. Listen! I'llexplain it all in detail to you, the whole project!It all flashed into my head this morning, beforeanything had happened... I tell you what; Ihave an uncle, I must introduce him to you (amost accommodating and respectable oldman). This uncle has got a capital of a thousandroubles, and he lives on his pension and has noneed of that money. For the last two years hehas been bothering me to borrow it from himand pay him six per cent. interest. I know whatthat means; he simply wants to help me. Lastyear I had no need of it, but this year I resolvedto borrow it as soon as he arrived. Then youlend me another thousand of your three and we

have enough for a start, so we'll go into part-nership, and what are we going to do?"

Then Razumihin began to unfold his project,and he explained at length that almost all ourpublishers and booksellers know nothing at allof what they are selling, and for that reasonthey are usually bad publishers, and that anydecent publications pay as a rule and give aprofit, sometimes a considerable one. Razu-mihin had, indeed, been dreaming of setting upas a publisher. For the last two years he hadbeen working in publishers' offices, and knewthree European languages well, though he hadtold Raskolnikov six days before that he was"schwach" in German with an object of persua-ding him to take half his translation and halfthe payment for it. He had told a lie then, andRaskolnikov knew he was lying.

"Why, why should we let our chance slip whenwe have one of the chief means of success—money of our own!" cried Razumihin warmly.

"Of course there will be a lot of work, but wewill work, you, Avdotya Romanovna, I, Ro-dion.... You get a splendid profit on some booksnowadays! And the great point of the businessis that we shall know just what wants transla-ting, and we shall be translating, publishing,learning all at once. I can be of use because Ihave experience. For nearly two years I've beenscuttling about among the publishers, and nowI know every detail of their business. You neednot be a saint to make pots, believe me! Andwhy, why should we let our chance slip! Why, Iknow—and I kept the secret—two or threebooks which one might get a hundred roublessimply for thinking of translating and publis-hing. Indeed, and I would not take five hun-dred for the very idea of one of them. Andwhat do you think? If I were to tell a publisher,I dare say he'd hesitate—they are such bloc-kheads! And as for the business side, printing,paper, selling, you trust to me, I know my wayabout. We'll begin in a small way and go on to

a large. In any case it will get us our living andwe shall get back our capital."

Dounia's eyes shone.

"I like what you are saying, Dmitri Prokofitch!"she said.

"I know nothing about it, of course," put in Pul-cheria Alexandrovna, "it may be a good idea,but again God knows. It's new and untried. Ofcourse, we must remain here at least for a ti-me." She looked at Rodya.

"What do you think, brother?" said Dounia.

"I think he's got a very good idea," he answe-red. "Of course, it's too soon to dream of a pu-blishing firm, but we certainly might bring outfive or six books and be sure of success. I knowof one book myself which would be sure to gowell. And as for his being able to manage it,

there's no doubt about that either. He knowsthe business.... But we can talk it over later...."

"Hurrah!" cried Razumihin. "Now, stay, there'sa flat here in this house, belonging to the sameowner. It's a special flat apart, not communica-ting with these lodgings. It's furnished, rentmoderate, three rooms. Suppose you take themto begin with. I'll pawn your watch to-morrowand bring you the money, and everything canbe arranged then. You can all three live toget-her, and Rodya will be with you. But where areyou off to, Rodya?"

"What, Rodya, you are going already?" Pulche-ria Alexandrovna asked in dismay.

"At such a minute?" cried Razumihin.

Dounia looked at her brother with incredulouswonder. He held his cap in his hand, he waspreparing to leave them.

"One would think you were burying me or sa-ying good-bye for ever," he said somewhatoddly. He attempted to smile, but it did notturn out a smile. "But who knows, perhaps it isthe last time we shall see each other..." he letslip accidentally. It was what he was thinking,and it somehow was uttered aloud.

"What is the matter with you?" cried his mot-her.

"Where are you going, Rodya?" asked Douniarather strangely.

"Oh, I'm quite obliged to..." he answered vague-ly, as though hesitating what he would say. Butthere was a look of sharp determination in hiswhite face.

"I meant to say... as I was coming here... Imeant to tell you, mother, and you, Dounia,that it would be better for us to part for a time. Ifeel ill, I am not at peace.... I will come after-

wards, I will come of myself... when it's possi-ble. I remember you and love you.... Leave me,leave me alone. I decided this even before... I'mabsolutely resolved on it. Whatever may cometo me, whether I come to ruin or not, I want tobe alone. Forget me altogether, it's better. Don'tinquire about me. When I can, I'll come of my-self or... I'll send for you. Perhaps it will all co-me back, but now if you love me, give me up...else I shall begin to hate you, I feel it.... Good-bye!"

"Good God!" cried Pulcheria Alexandrovna.Both his mother and his sister were terriblyalarmed. Razumihin was also.

"Rodya, Rodya, be reconciled with us! Let us beas before!" cried his poor mother.

He turned slowly to the door and slowly wentout of the room. Dounia overtook him.

"Brother, what are you doing to mother?" shewhispered, her eyes flashing with indignation.

He looked dully at her.

"No matter, I shall come.... I'm coming," hemuttered in an undertone, as though not fullyconscious of what he was saying, and he wentout of the room.

"Wicked, heartless egoist!" cried Dounia.

"He is insane, but not heartless. He is mad!Don't you see it? You're heartless after that!"Razumihin whispered in her ear, squeezing herhand tightly. "I shall be back directly," he shou-ted to the horror-stricken mother, and he ranout of the room.

Raskolnikov was waiting for him at the end ofthe passage.

"I knew you would run after me," he said. "Goback to them—be with them... be with them to-

morrow and always.... I... perhaps I shall co-me... if I can. Good-bye."

And without holding out his hand he walkedaway.

"But where are you going? What are youdoing? What's the matter with you? How canyou go on like this?" Razumihin muttered, athis wits' end.

Raskolnikov stopped once more.

"Once for all, never ask me about anything. Ihave nothing to tell you. Don't come to see me.Maybe I'll come here.... Leave me, but don'tleave them. Do you understand me?"

It was dark in the corridor, they were standingnear the lamp. For a minute they were lookingat one another in silence. Razumihin remembe-red that minute all his life. Raskolnikov's bur-ning and intent eyes grew more penetrating

every moment, piercing into his soul, into hisconsciousness. Suddenly Razumihin started.Something strange, as it were, passed betweenthem.... Some idea, some hint, as it were, slip-ped, something awful, hideous, and suddenlyunderstood on both sides.... Razumihin turnedpale.

"Do you understand now?" said Raskolnikov,his face twitching nervously. "Go back, go tothem," he said suddenly, and turning quickly,he went out of the house.

I will not attempt to describe how Razumihinwent back to the ladies, how he soothed them,how he protested that Rodya needed rest in hisillness, protested that Rodya was sure to come,that he would come every day, that he was ve-ry, very much upset, that he must not be irrita-ted, that he, Razumihin, would watch over him,would get him a doctor, the best doctor, a con-sultation.... In fact from that evening Razu-

mihin took his place with them as a son and abrother.

CHAPTER IV

Raskolnikov went straight to the house on thecanal bank where Sonia lived. It was an oldgreen house of three storeys. He found the por-ter and obtained from him vague directions asto the whereabouts of Kapernaumov, the tailor.Having found in the corner of the courtyard theentrance to the dark and narrow staircase, hemounted to the second floor and came out intoa gallery that ran round the whole second sto-rey over the yard. While he was wandering inthe darkness, uncertain where to turn for Ka-pernaumov's door, a door opened three pacesfrom him; he mechanically took hold of it.

"Who is there?" a woman's voice asked uneasi-ly.

"It's I... come to see you," answered Raskolni-kov and he walked into the tiny entry.

On a broken chair stood a candle in a batteredcopper candlestick.

"It's you! Good heavens!" cried Sonia weakly,and she stood rooted to the spot.

"Which is your room? This way?" and Raskol-nikov, trying not to look at her, hastened in.

A minute later Sonia, too, came in with thecandle, set down the candlestick and, complete-ly disconcerted, stood before him inexpressiblyagitated and apparently frightened by his unex-pected visit. The colour rushed suddenly to herpale face and tears came into her eyes... She feltsick and ashamed and happy, too.... Raskolni-kov turned away quickly and sat on a chair by

the table. He scanned the room in a rapid glan-ce.

It was a large but exceedingly low-pitchedroom, the only one let by the Kapernaumovs, towhose rooms a closed door led in the wall onthe left. In the opposite side on the right handwall was another door, always kept locked.That led to the next flat, which formed a sepa-rate lodging. Sonia's room looked like a barn; itwas a very irregular quadrangle and this gaveit a grotesque appearance. A wall with threewindows looking out on to the canal ran aslantso that one corner formed a very acute angle,and it was difficult to see in it without verystrong light. The other corner was dispropor-tionately obtuse. There was scarcely any furni-ture in the big room: in the corner on the rightwas a bedstead, beside it, nearest the door, achair. A plain, deal table covered by a bluecloth stood against the same wall, close to thedoor into the other flat. Two rush-bottom chairs

stood by the table. On the opposite wall nearthe acute angle stood a small plain woodenchest of drawers looking, as it were, lost in adesert. That was all there was in the room. Theyellow, scratched and shabby wall-paper wasblack in the corners. It must have been dampand full of fumes in the winter. There was eve-ry sign of poverty; even the bedstead had nocurtain.

Sonia looked in silence at her visitor, who wasso attentively and unceremoniously scrutini-sing her room, and even began at last to trem-ble with terror, as though she was standingbefore her judge and the arbiter of her desti-nies.

"I am late.... It's eleven, isn't it?" he asked, stillnot lifting his eyes.

"Yes," muttered Sonia, "oh yes, it is," she added,hastily, as though in that lay her means of es-

cape. "My landlady's clock has just struck... Iheard it myself...."

"I've come to you for the last time," Raskolni-kov went on gloomily, although this was thefirst time. "I may perhaps not see you again..."

"Are you... going away?"

"I don't know... to-morrow...."

"Then you are not coming to Katerina Ivanovnato-morrow?" Sonia's voice shook.

"I don't know. I shall know to-morrow mor-ning.... Never mind that: I've come to say oneword...."

He raised his brooding eyes to her and sudden-ly noticed that he was sitting down while shewas all the while standing before him.

"Why are you standing? Sit down," he said in achanged voice, gentle and friendly.

She sat down. He looked kindly and almostcompassionately at her.

"How thin you are! What a hand! Quite trans-parent, like a dead hand."

He took her hand. Sonia smiled faintly.

"I have always been like that," she said.

"Even when you lived at home?"

"Yes."

"Of course, you were," he added abruptly andthe expression of his face and the sound of hisvoice changed again suddenly.

He looked round him once more.

"You rent this room from the Kapernaumovs?"

"Yes...."

"They live there, through that door?"

"Yes.... They have another room like this."

"All in one room?"

"Yes."

"I should be afraid in your room at night," heobserved gloomily.

"They are very good people, very kind," answe-red Sonia, who still seemed bewildered, "andall the furniture, everything... everything istheirs. And they are very kind and the children,too, often come to see me."

"They all stammer, don't they?"

"Yes.... He stammers and he's lame. And hiswife, too.... It's not exactly that she stammers,but she can't speak plainly. She is a very kindwoman. And he used to be a house serf. Andthere are seven children... and it's only the el-dest one that stammers and the others are sim-ply ill... but they don't stammer.... But where

did you hear about them?" she added with so-me surprise.

"Your father told me, then. He told me all aboutyou.... And how you went out at six o'clock andcame back at nine and how Katerina Ivanovnaknelt down by your bed."

Sonia was confused.

"I fancied I saw him to-day," she whisperedhesitatingly.

"Whom?"

"Father. I was walking in the street, out there atthe corner, about ten o'clock and he seemed tobe walking in front. It looked just like him. Iwanted to go to Katerina Ivanovna...."

"You were walking in the streets?"

"Yes," Sonia whispered abruptly, again over-come with confusion and looking down.

"Katerina Ivanovna used to beat you, I daresay?"

"Oh no, what are you saying? No!" Sonia loo-ked at him almost with dismay.

"You love her, then?"

"Love her? Of course!" said Sonia with plaintiveemphasis, and she clasped her hands in di-stress. "Ah, you don't.... If you only knew! Yousee, she is quite like a child.... Her mind is quiteunhinged, you see... from sorrow. And howclever she used to be... how generous... howkind! Ah, you don't understand, you don't un-derstand!"

Sonia said this as though in despair, wringingher hands in excitement and distress. Her palecheeks flushed, there was a look of anguish inher eyes. It was clear that she was stirred to thevery depths, that she was longing to speak, tochampion, to express something. A sort of insa-

tiable compassion, if one may so express it, wasreflected in every feature of her face.

"Beat me! how can you? Good heavens, beatme! And if she did beat me, what then? What ofit? You know nothing, nothing about it.... She isso unhappy... ah, how unhappy! And ill.... Sheis seeking righteousness, she is pure. She hassuch faith that there must be righteousness eve-rywhere and she expects it.... And if you wereto torture her, she wouldn't do wrong. Shedoesn't see that it's impossible for people to berighteous and she is angry at it. Like a child,like a child. She is good!"

"And what will happen to you?"

Sonia looked at him inquiringly.

"They are left on your hands, you see. Theywere all on your hands before, though.... Andyour father came to you to beg for drink. Well,how will it be now?"

"I don't know," Sonia articulated mournfully.

"Will they stay there?"

"I don't know.... They are in debt for the lod-ging, but the landlady, I hear, said to-day thatshe wanted to get rid of them, and KaterinaIvanovna says that she won't stay another mi-nute."

"How is it she is so bold? She relies upon you?"

"Oh, no, don't talk like that.... We are one, welive like one." Sonia was agitated again andeven angry, as though a canary or some otherlittle bird were to be angry. "And what couldshe do? What, what could she do?" she persis-ted, getting hot and excited. "And how shecried to-day! Her mind is unhinged, haven'tyou noticed it? At one minute she is worryinglike a child that everything should be right to-morrow, the lunch and all that.... Then she iswringing her hands, spitting blood, weeping,

and all at once she will begin knocking herhead against the wall, in despair. Then she willbe comforted again. She builds all her hopes onyou; she says that you will help her now andthat she will borrow a little money somewhereand go to her native town with me and set up aboarding school for the daughters of gentlemenand take me to superintend it, and we will be-gin a new splendid life. And she kisses andhugs me, comforts me, and you know she hassuch faith, such faith in her fancies! One can'tcontradict her. And all the day long she hasbeen washing, cleaning, mending. She draggedthe wash tub into the room with her feeblehands and sank on the bed, gasping for breath.We went this morning to the shops to buyshoes for Polenka and Lida for theirs are quiteworn out. Only the money we'd reckonedwasn't enough, not nearly enough. And shepicked out such dear little boots, for she hastaste, you don't know. And there in the shopshe burst out crying before the shopmen becau-

se she hadn't enough.... Ah, it was sad to seeher...."

"Well, after that I can understand your livinglike this," Raskolnikov said with a bitter smile.

"And aren't you sorry for them? Aren't yousorry?" Sonia flew at him again. "Why, I know,you gave your last penny yourself, thoughyou'd seen nothing of it, and if you'd seen eve-rything, oh dear! And how often, how oftenI've brought her to tears! Only last week! Yes, I!Only a week before his death. I was cruel! Andhow often I've done it! Ah, I've been wretchedat the thought of it all day!"

Sonia wrung her hands as she spoke at the painof remembering it.

"You were cruel?"

"Yes, I—I. I went to see them," she went on,weeping, "and father said, 'read me something,

Sonia, my head aches, read to me, here's abook.' He had a book he had got from AndreySemyonovitch Lebeziatnikov, he lives there, healways used to get hold of such funny books.And I said, 'I can't stay,' as I didn't want to re-ad, and I'd gone in chiefly to show KaterinaIvanovna some collars. Lizaveta, the pedlar,sold me some collars and cuffs cheap, pretty,new, embroidered ones. Katerina Ivanovnaliked them very much; she put them on andlooked at herself in the glass and was delightedwith them. 'Make me a present of them, Sonia,'she said, 'please do.' 'Please do,' she said, shewanted them so much. And when could shewear them? They just reminded her of her oldhappy days. She looked at herself in the glass,admired herself, and she has no clothes at all,no things of her own, hasn't had all these years!And she never asks anyone for anything; she isproud, she'd sooner give away everything. Andthese she asked for, she liked them so much.And I was sorry to give them. 'What use are

they to you, Katerina Ivanovna?' I said. I spokelike that to her, I ought not to have said that!She gave me such a look. And she was so grie-ved, so grieved at my refusing her. And it wasso sad to see.... And she was not grieved for thecollars, but for my refusing, I saw that. Ah, ifonly I could bring it all back, change it, takeback those words! Ah, if I... but it's nothing toyou!"

"Did you know Lizaveta, the pedlar?"

"Yes.... Did you know her?" Sonia asked withsome surprise.

"Katerina Ivanovna is in consumption, rapidconsumption; she will soon die," said Raskolni-kov after a pause, without answering her ques-tion.

"Oh, no, no, no!"

And Sonia unconsciously clutched both hishands, as though imploring that she shouldnot.

"But it will be better if she does die."

"No, not better, not at all better!" Sonia uncons-ciously repeated in dismay.

"And the children? What can you do excepttake them to live with you?"

"Oh, I don't know," cried Sonia, almost in des-pair, and she put her hands to her head.

It was evident that that idea had very oftenoccurred to her before and he had only rousedit again.

"And, what, if even now, while Katerina Iva-novna is alive, you get ill and are taken to thehospital, what will happen then?" he persistedpitilessly.

"How can you? That cannot be!"

And Sonia's face worked with awful terror.

"Cannot be?" Raskolnikov went on with a harshsmile. "You are not insured against it, are you?What will happen to them then? They will be inthe street, all of them, she will cough and begand knock her head against some wall, as shedid to-day, and the children will cry.... Thenshe will fall down, be taken to the police stationand to the hospital, she will die, and the chil-dren..."

"Oh, no.... God will not let it be!" broke at lastfrom Sonia's overburdened bosom.

She listened, looking imploringly at him, clas-ping her hands in dumb entreaty, as though itall depended upon him.

Raskolnikov got up and began to walk aboutthe room. A minute passed. Sonia was standing

with her hands and her head hanging in terri-ble dejection.

"And can't you save? Put by for a rainy day?"he asked, stopping suddenly before her.

"No," whispered Sonia.

"Of course not. Have you tried?" he added al-most ironically.

"Yes."

"And it didn't come off! Of course not! No needto ask."

And again he paced the room. Another minutepassed.

"You don't get money every day?"

Sonia was more confused than ever and colourrushed into her face again.

"No," she whispered with a painful effort.

"It will be the same with Polenka, no doubt," hesaid suddenly.

"No, no! It can't be, no!" Sonia cried aloud indesperation, as though she had been stabbed."God would not allow anything so awful!"

"He lets others come to it."

"No, no! God will protect her, God!" she repea-ted beside herself.

"But, perhaps, there is no God at all," Raskolni-kov answered with a sort of malignance, laug-hed and looked at her.

Sonia's face suddenly changed; a tremor passedover it. She looked at him with unutterable re-proach, tried to say something, but could notspeak and broke into bitter, bitter sobs, hidingher face in her hands.

"You say Katerina Ivanovna's mind is unhin-ged; your own mind is unhinged," he said aftera brief silence.

Five minutes passed. He still paced up anddown the room in silence, not looking at her. Atlast he went up to her; his eyes glittered. He puthis two hands on her shoulders and lookedstraight into her tearful face. His eyes werehard, feverish and piercing, his lips were twit-ching. All at once he bent down quickly anddropping to the ground, kissed her foot. Soniadrew back from him as from a madman. Andcertainly he looked like a madman.

"What are you doing to me?" she muttered,turning pale, and a sudden anguish clutched ather heart.

He stood up at once.

"I did not bow down to you, I bowed down toall the suffering of humanity," he said wildly

and walked away to the window. "Listen," headded, turning to her a minute later. "I said justnow to an insolent man that he was not worthyour little finger... and that I did my sisterhonour making her sit beside you."

"Ach, you said that to them! And in her presen-ce?" cried Sonia, frightened. "Sit down with me!An honour! Why, I'm... dishonourable.... Ah,why did you say that?"

"It was not because of your dishonour and yoursin I said that of you, but because of your greatsuffering. But you are a great sinner, that'strue," he added almost solemnly, "and yourworst sin is that you have destroyed and betra-yed yourself for nothing. Isn't that fearful? Isn'tit fearful that you are living in this filth whichyou loathe so, and at the same time you knowyourself (you've only to open your eyes) thatyou are not helping anyone by it, not savinganyone from anything? Tell me," he went onalmost in a frenzy, "how this shame and degra-

dation can exist in you side by side with other,opposite, holy feelings? It would be better, athousand times better and wiser to leap into thewater and end it all!"

"But what would become of them?" Sonia askedfaintly, gazing at him with eyes of anguish, butnot seeming surprised at his suggestion.

Raskolnikov looked strangely at her. He read itall in her face; so she must have had thatthought already, perhaps many times, and ear-nestly she had thought out in her despair howto end it and so earnestly, that now she scarcelywondered at his suggestion. She had not evennoticed the cruelty of his words. (The signifi-cance of his reproaches and his peculiar attitu-de to her shame she had, of course, not noticedeither, and that, too, was clear to him.) But hesaw how monstrously the thought of her dis-graceful, shameful position was torturing herand had long tortured her. "What, what," hethought, "could hitherto have hindered her

from putting an end to it?" Only then he reali-sed what those poor little orphan children andthat pitiful half-crazy Katerina Ivanovna, knoc-king her head against the wall in her consump-tion, meant for Sonia.

But, nevertheless, it was clear to him again thatwith her character and the amount of educationshe had after all received, she could not in anycase remain so. He was still confronted by thequestion, how could she have remained so longin that position without going out of her mind,since she could not bring herself to jump intothe water? Of course he knew that Sonia's posi-tion was an exceptional case, though unhappilynot unique and not infrequent, indeed; but thatvery exceptionalness, her tinge of education,her previous life might, one would havethought, have killed her at the first step on thatrevolting path. What held her up—surely notdepravity? All that infamy had obviously onlytouched her mechanically, not one drop of real

depravity had penetrated to her heart; he sawthat. He saw through her as she stood beforehim....

"There are three ways before her," he thought,"the canal, the madhouse, or... at last to sinkinto depravity which obscures the mind andturns the heart to stone."

The last idea was the most revolting, but hewas a sceptic, he was young, abstract, and the-refore cruel, and so he could not help believingthat the last end was the most likely.

"But can that be true?" he cried to himself. "Canthat creature who has still preserved the purityof her spirit be consciously drawn at last intothat sink of filth and iniquity? Can the processalready have begun? Can it be that she has onlybeen able to bear it till now, because vice hasbegun to be less loathsome to her? No, no, thatcannot be!" he cried, as Sonia had just before."No, what has kept her from the canal till now

is the idea of sin and they, the children.... Andif she has not gone out of her mind... but whosays she has not gone out of her mind? Is she inher senses? Can one talk, can one reason as shedoes? How can she sit on the edge of the abyssof loathsomeness into which she is slipping andrefuse to listen when she is told of danger?Does she expect a miracle? No doubt she does.Doesn't that all mean madness?"

He stayed obstinately at that thought. He likedthat explanation indeed better than any other.He began looking more intently at her.

"So you pray to God a great deal, Sonia?" heasked her.

Sonia did not speak; he stood beside her wai-ting for an answer.

"What should I be without God?" she whispe-red rapidly, forcibly, glancing at him with sud-denly flashing eyes, and squeezing his hand.

"Ah, so that is it!" he thought.

"And what does God do for you?" he asked,probing her further.

Sonia was silent a long while, as though shecould not answer. Her weak chest kept heavingwith emotion.

"Be silent! Don't ask! You don't deserve!" shecried suddenly, looking sternly and wrathfullyat him.

"That's it, that's it," he repeated to himself.

"He does everything," she whispered quickly,looking down again.

"That's the way out! That's the explanation," hedecided, scrutinising her with eager curiosity,with a new, strange, almost morbid feeling. Hegazed at that pale, thin, irregular, angular littleface, those soft blue eyes, which could flashwith such fire, such stern energy, that little bo-

dy still shaking with indignation and anger—and it all seemed to him more and more stran-ge, almost impossible. "She is a religious ma-niac!" he repeated to himself.

There was a book lying on the chest of drawers.He had noticed it every time he paced up anddown the room. Now he took it up and lookedat it. It was the New Testament in the Russiantranslation. It was bound in leather, old andworn.

"Where did you get that?" he called to heracross the room.

She was still standing in the same place, threesteps from the table.

"It was brought me," she answered, as it wereunwillingly, not looking at him.

"Who brought it?"

"Lizaveta, I asked her for it."

"Lizaveta! strange!" he thought.

Everything about Sonia seemed to him strangerand more wonderful every moment. He carriedthe book to the candle and began to turn overthe pages.

"Where is the story of Lazarus?" he asked sud-denly.

Sonia looked obstinately at the ground andwould not answer. She was standing sidewaysto the table.

"Where is the raising of Lazarus? Find it for me,Sonia."

She stole a glance at him.

"You are not looking in the right place.... It's inthe fourth gospel," she whispered sternly, wit-hout looking at him.

"Find it and read it to me," he said. He satdown with his elbow on the table, leaned hishead on his hand and looked away sullenly,prepared to listen.

"In three weeks' time they'll welcome me in themadhouse! I shall be there if I am not in a wor-se place," he muttered to himself.

Sonia heard Raskolnikov's request distrustfullyand moved hesitatingly to the table. She tookthe book however.

"Haven't you read it?" she asked, looking up athim across the table.

Her voice became sterner and sterner.

"Long ago.... When I was at school. Read!"

"And haven't you heard it in church?"

"I... haven't been. Do you often go?"

"N-no," whispered Sonia.

Raskolnikov smiled.

"I understand.... And you won't go to your fat-her's funeral to-morrow?"

"Yes, I shall. I was at church last week, too... Ihad a requiem service."

"For whom?"

"For Lizaveta. She was killed with an axe."

His nerves were more and more strained. Hishead began to go round.

"Were you friends with Lizaveta?"

"Yes.... She was good... she used to come... notoften... she couldn't.... We used to read togetherand... talk. She will see God."

The last phrase sounded strange in his ears.And here was something new again: the myste-rious meetings with Lizaveta and both ofthem—religious maniacs.

"I shall be a religious maniac myself soon! It'sinfectious!"

"Read!" he cried irritably and insistently.

Sonia still hesitated. Her heart was throbbing.She hardly dared to read to him. He lookedalmost with exasperation at the "unhappy luna-tic."

"What for? You don't believe?..." she whisperedsoftly and as it were breathlessly.

"Read! I want you to," he persisted. "You usedto read to Lizaveta."

Sonia opened the book and found the place.Her hands were shaking, her voice failed her.

Twice she tried to begin and could not bringout the first syllable.

"Now a certain man was sick named Lazarus ofBethany..." she forced herself at last to read, butat the third word her voice broke like an overs-trained string. There was a catch in her breath.

Raskolnikov saw in part why Sonia could notbring herself to read to him and the more hesaw this, the more roughly and irritably he in-sisted on her doing so. He understood only toowell how painful it was for her to betray andunveil all that was her own. He understood thatthese feelings really were her secret treasure,which she had kept perhaps for years, perhapsfrom childhood, while she lived with an un-happy father and a distracted stepmother cra-zed by grief, in the midst of starving childrenand unseemly abuse and reproaches. But at thesame time he knew now and knew for certainthat, although it filled her with dread and suf-fering, yet she had a tormenting desire to read

and to read to him that he might hear it, and toread now whatever might come of it!... He readthis in her eyes, he could see it in her intenseemotion. She mastered herself, controlled thespasm in her throat and went on reading theeleventh chapter of St. John. She went on to thenineteenth verse:

"And many of the Jews came to Martha andMary to comfort them concerning their brother.

"Then Martha as soon as she heard that Jesuswas coming went and met Him: but Mary satstill in the house.

"Then said Martha unto Jesus, Lord, if Thouhadst been here, my brother had not died.

"But I know that even now whatsoever Thouwilt ask of God, God will give it Thee...."

Then she stopped again with a shamefacedfeeling that her voice would quiver and breakagain.

"Jesus said unto her, thy brother shall riseagain.

"Martha saith unto Him, I know that he shallrise again in the resurrection, at the last day.

"Jesus said unto her, I am the resurrection andthe life: he that believeth in Me though he weredead, yet shall he live.

"And whosoever liveth and believeth in Meshall never die. Believest thou this?

"She saith unto Him,"

(And drawing a painful breath, Sonia read dis-tinctly and forcibly as though she were makinga public confession of faith.)

"Yea, Lord: I believe that Thou art the Christ,the Son of God Which should come into theworld."

She stopped and looked up quickly at him, butcontrolling herself went on reading. Raskolni-kov sat without moving, his elbows on the ta-ble and his eyes turned away. She read to thethirty-second verse.

"Then when Mary was come where Jesus wasand saw Him, she fell down at His feet, sayingunto Him, Lord if Thou hadst been here, mybrother had not died.

"When Jesus therefore saw her weeping, andthe Jews also weeping which came with her, Hegroaned in the spirit and was troubled,

"And said, Where have ye laid him? They saidunto Him, Lord, come and see.

"Jesus wept.

"Then said the Jews, behold how He loved him!

"And some of them said, could not this Manwhich opened the eyes of the blind, have cau-sed that even this man should not have died?"

Raskolnikov turned and looked at her withemotion. Yes, he had known it! She was trem-bling in a real physical fever. He had expectedit. She was getting near the story of the greatestmiracle and a feeling of immense triumph cameover her. Her voice rang out like a bell; triumphand joy gave it power. The lines danced beforeher eyes, but she knew what she was readingby heart. At the last verse "Could not this Manwhich opened the eyes of the blind..." droppingher voice she passionately reproduced thedoubt, the reproach and censure of the blinddisbelieving Jews, who in another momentwould fall at His feet as though struck by thun-der, 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 qui-vering with happy anticipation.

"Jesus therefore again groaning in Himself co-meth to the grave. It was a cave, and a stone layupon it.

"Jesus said, Take ye away the stone. Martha, thesister of him that was dead, saith unto Him,Lord by this time he stinketh: for he hath beendead four days."

She laid emphasis on the word four.

"Jesus saith unto her, Said I not unto thee that ifthou wouldest believe, thou shouldest see theglory of God?

"Then they took away the stone from the placewhere the dead was laid. And Jesus lifted upHis eyes and said, Father, I thank Thee thatThou hast heard Me.

"And I knew that Thou hearest Me always; butbecause 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 witha loud voice, Lazarus, come forth.

"And he that was dead came forth."

(She read loudly, cold and trembling with ecs-tasy, as though she were seeing it before hereyes.)

"Bound hand and foot with graveclothes; andhis face was bound about with a napkin. Jesussaith unto them, Loose him and let him go.

"Then many of the Jews which came to Maryand had seen the things which Jesus did belie-ved on Him."

She could read no more, closed the book andgot up from her chair quickly.

"That is all about the raising of Lazarus," shewhispered severely and abruptly, and turningaway she stood motionless, not daring to raiseher eyes to him. She still trembled feverishly.The candle-end was flickering out in the batte-red candlestick, dimly lighting up in the pover-ty-stricken room the murderer and the harlotwho had so strangely been reading together theeternal book. Five minutes or more passed.

"I came to speak of something," Raskolnikovsaid aloud, frowning. He got up and went toSonia. She lifted her eyes to him in silence. Hisface was particularly stern and there was a sortof savage determination in it.

"I have abandoned my family to-day," he said,"my mother and sister. I am not going to seethem. I've broken with them completely."

"What for?" asked Sonia amazed. Her recentmeeting 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 gotogether.... I've come to you, we are both accur-sed, let us go our way together!"

His eyes glittered "as though he were mad,"Sonia thought, in her turn.

"Go where?" she asked in alarm and she invo-luntarily stepped back.

"How do I know? I only know it's the sameroad, I know that and nothing more. It's thesame goal!"

She looked at him and understood nothing. Sheknew only that he was terribly, infinitely un-happy.

"No one of them will understand, if you tellthem, but I have understood. I need you, that iswhy I have come to you."

"I don't understand," whispered Sonia.

"You'll understand later. Haven't you done thesame? You, too, have transgressed... have hadthe strength to transgress. You have laid handson yourself, you have destroyed a life... yourown (it's all the same!). You might have lived inspirit and understanding, but you'll end in theHay Market.... But you won't be able to stand it,and if you remain alone you'll go out of yourmind like me. You are like a mad creature al-ready. So we must go together on the sameroad! Let us go!"

"What for? What's all this for?" said Sonia,strangely and violently agitated by his words.

"What for? Because you can't remain like this,that's why! You must look things straight in theface at last, and not weep like a child and crythat God won't allow it. What will happen, ifyou should really be taken to the hospital to-morrow? She is mad and in consumption, she'll

soon die and the children? Do you mean to tellme Polenka won't come to grief? Haven't youseen children here at the street corners sent outby their mothers to beg? I've found out wherethose mothers live and in what surroundings.Children can't remain children there! At seventhe child is vicious and a thief. Yet children,you know, are the image of Christ: 'theirs is thekingdom of Heaven.' He bade us honour andlove them, they are the humanity of the futu-re...."

"What's to be done, what's to be done?" repea-ted Sonia, weeping hysterically and wringingher hands.

"What's to be done? Break what must be bro-ken, once for all, that's all, and take the suffe-ring on oneself. What, you don't understand?You'll understand later.... Freedom and power,and above all, power! Over all trembling crea-tion and all the ant-heap!... That's the goal, re-member that! That's my farewell message. Per-

haps it's the last time I shall speak to you. If Idon't come to-morrow, you'll hear of it all, andthen remember these words. And some daylater on, in years to come, you'll understandperhaps what they meant. If I come to-morrow,I'll tell you who killed Lizaveta.... Good-bye."

Sonia started with terror.

"Why, do you know who killed her?" she as-ked, chilled with horror, looking wildly at him.

"I know and will tell... you, only you. I havechosen you out. I'm not coming to you to askforgiveness, but simply to tell you. I chose youout long ago to hear this, when your father tal-ked of you and when Lizaveta was alive, Ithought of it. Good-bye, don't shake hands. To-morrow!"

He went out. Sonia gazed at him as at a mad-man. But she herself was like one insane andfelt it. Her head was going round.

"Good heavens, how does he know who killedLizaveta? What did those words mean? It's aw-ful!" But at the same time the idea did not enterher head, not for a moment! "Oh, he must beterribly unhappy!... He has abandoned his mot-her and sister.... What for? What has happened?And what had he in his mind? What did he sayto her? He had kissed her foot and said... said(yes, he had said it clearly) that he could notlive without her.... Oh, merciful heavens!"

Sonia spent the whole night feverish and deli-rious. She jumped up from time to time, weptand wrung her hands, then sank again intofeverish sleep and dreamt of Polenka, KaterinaIvanovna and Lizaveta, of reading the gospeland him... him with pale face, with burningeyes... kissing her feet, weeping.

On the other side of the door on the right,which divided Sonia's room from MadameResslich's flat, was a room which had longstood empty. A card was fixed on the gate and

a notice stuck in the windows over the canaladvertising it to let. Sonia had long been accus-tomed to the room's being uninhabited. But allthat time Mr. Svidrigaïlov had been standing,listening at the door of the empty room. WhenRaskolnikov went out he stood still, thought amoment, went on tiptoe to his own room whichadjoined the empty one, brought a chair andnoiselessly carried it to the door that led to So-nia's room. The conversation had struck him asinteresting and remarkable, and he had greatlyenjoyed it—so much so that he brought a chairthat he might not in the future, to-morrow, forinstance, have to endure the inconvenience ofstanding a whole hour, but might listen in com-fort.

CHAPTER V

When next morning at eleven o'clock punctua-lly Raskolnikov went into the department ofthe investigation of criminal causes and sent hisname in to Porfiry Petrovitch, he was surprisedat being kept waiting so long: it was at least tenminutes before he was summoned. He had ex-pected that they would pounce upon him. Buthe stood in the waiting-room, and people, whoapparently had nothing to do with him, werecontinually passing to and fro before him. Inthe next room which looked like an office, seve-ral clerks were sitting writing and obviouslythey had no notion who or what Raskolnikovmight be. He looked uneasily and suspiciouslyabout him to see whether there was not someguard, some mysterious watch being kept onhim to prevent his escape. But there was not-hing of the sort: he saw only the faces of clerksabsorbed in petty details, then other people, no

one seemed to have any concern with him. Hemight go where he liked for them. The convic-tion grew stronger in him that if that enigmaticman of yesterday, that phantom sprung out ofthe earth, had seen everything, they would nothave let him stand and wait like that. Andwould they have waited till he elected to ap-pear at eleven? Either the man had not yet gi-ven information, or... or simply he knew not-hing, had seen nothing (and how could he haveseen anything?) and so all that had happenedto him the day before was again a phantomexaggerated by his sick and overstrained ima-gination. This conjecture had begun to growstrong the day before, in the midst of all hisalarm and despair. Thinking it all over nowand preparing for a fresh conflict, he was sud-denly aware that he was trembling—and he felta rush of indignation at the thought that he wastrembling with fear at facing that hateful Porfi-ry Petrovitch. What he dreaded above all wasmeeting that man again; he hated him with an

intense, unmitigated hatred and was afraid hishatred might betray him. His indignation wassuch that he ceased trembling at once; he madeready to go in with a cold and arrogant bearingand vowed to himself to keep as silent as pos-sible, to watch and listen and for once at least tocontrol his overstrained nerves. At that mo-ment 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 stoodbefore a sofa, upholstered in checked material,a bureau, a bookcase in the corner and severalchairs—all government furniture, of polishedyellow wood. In the further wall there was aclosed door, beyond it there were no doubtother rooms. On Raskolnikov's entrance PorfiryPetrovitch had at once closed the door bywhich he had come in and they remained alo-ne. He met his visitor with an apparently genialand good-tempered air, and it was only after a

few minutes that Raskolnikov saw signs of acertain awkwardness in him, as though he hadbeen thrown out of his reckoning or caught insomething very secret.

"Ah, my dear fellow! Here you are... in our do-main"... began Porfiry, holding out both handsto him. "Come, sit down, old man... or perhapsyou don't like to be called 'my dear fellow' and'old man!'—tout court? Please don't think it toofamiliar.... Here, on the sofa."

Raskolnikov sat down, keeping his eyes fixedon him. "In our domain," the apologies for fa-miliarity, the French phrase tout court, were allcharacteristic signs.

"He held out both hands to me, but he did notgive me one—he drew it back in time," struckhim suspiciously. Both were watching eachother, but when their eyes met, quick as light-ning 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'sall right," Porfiry Petrovitch said as though inhaste, and after he had said it he took the paperand looked at it. "Yes, it's all right. Nothingmore is needed," he declared with the samerapidity and he laid the paper on the table.

A minute later when he was talking of somet-hing else he took it from the table and put it onhis bureau.

"I believe you said yesterday you would like toquestion me... formally... about my acquaintan-ce with the murdered woman?" Raskolnikovwas beginning again. "Why did I put in 'I belie-ve'" passed through his mind in a flash. "Whyam I so uneasy at having put in that 'I believe'?"came in a second flash. And he suddenly feltthat his uneasiness at the mere contact withPorfiry, at the first words, at the first looks, had

grown in an instant to monstrous proportions,and that this was fearfully dangerous. His ner-ves were quivering, his emotion was increa-sing. "It's bad, it's bad! I shall say too muchagain."

"Yes, yes, yes! There's no hurry, there's nohurry," muttered Porfiry Petrovitch, moving toand fro about the table without any apparentaim, as it were making dashes towards the win-dow, the bureau and the table, at one momentavoiding Raskolnikov's suspicious glance, thenagain standing still and looking him straight inthe face.

His fat round little figure looked very strange,like a ball rolling from one side to the other andrebounding back.

"We've plenty of time. Do you smoke? haveyou your own? Here, a cigarette!" he went on,offering his visitor a cigarette. "You know I amreceiving you here, but my own quarters are

through there, you know, my governmentquarters. But I am living outside for the time, Ihad to have some repairs done here. It's almostfinished now.... Government quarters, youknow, are a capital thing. Eh, what do youthink?"

"Yes, a capital thing," answered Raskolnikov,looking at him almost ironically.

"A capital thing, a capital thing," repeated Por-firy Petrovitch, as though he had just thoughtof something quite different. "Yes, a capitalthing," he almost shouted at last, suddenly sta-ring at Raskolnikov and stopping short twosteps from him.

This stupid repetition was too incongruous inits ineptitude with the serious, brooding andenigmatic glance he turned upon his visitor.

But this stirred Raskolnikov's spleen more thanever and he could not resist an ironical andrather incautious challenge.

"Tell me, please," he asked suddenly, lookingalmost insolently at him and taking a kind ofpleasure in his own insolence. "I believe it's asort of legal rule, a sort of legal tradition—forall investigating lawyers—to begin their attackfrom afar, with a trivial, or at least an irrelevantsubject, so as to encourage, or rather, to divertthe man they are cross-examining, to disarmhis caution and then all at once to give him anunexpected knock-down blow with some fatalquestion. Isn't that so? It's a sacred tradition,mentioned, I fancy, in all the manuals of theart?"

"Yes, yes.... Why, do you imagine that was whyI spoke about government quarters... eh?"

And as he said this Porfiry Petrovitch screwedup his eyes and winked; a good-humoured,

crafty look passed over his face. The wrinkleson his forehead were smoothed out, his eyescontracted, his features broadened and he sud-denly went off into a nervous prolonged laugh,shaking all over and looking Raskolnikovstraight in the face. The latter forced himself tolaugh, too, but when Porfiry, seeing that he waslaughing, broke into such a guffaw that he tur-ned almost crimson, Raskolnikov's repulsionovercame all precaution; he left off laughing,scowled and stared with hatred at Porfiry, kee-ping his eyes fixed on him while his intentiona-lly prolonged laughter lasted. There was lack ofprecaution on both sides, however, for PorfiryPetrovitch seemed to be laughing in his visitor'sface and to be very little disturbed at the anno-yance with which the visitor received it. Thelatter fact was very significant in Raskolnikov'seyes: he saw that Porfiry Petrovitch had notbeen embarrassed just before either, but thathe, Raskolnikov, had perhaps fallen into a trap;that there must be something, some motive

here unknown to him; that, perhaps, everyt-hing was in readiness and in another momentwould break upon him...

He went straight to the point at once, rose fromhis seat and took his cap.

"Porfiry Petrovitch," he began resolutely,though with considerable irritation, "yesterdayyou expressed a desire that I should come toyou for some inquiries" (he laid special stresson the word "inquiries"). "I have come and ifyou have anything to ask me, ask it, and if not,allow me to withdraw. I have no time to spa-re.... I have to be at the funeral of that man whowas run over, of whom you... know also," headded, feeling angry at once at having madethis addition and more irritated at his anger. "Iam sick of it all, do you hear? and have longbeen. It's partly what made me ill. In short," heshouted, feeling that the phrase about his ill-ness was still more out of place, "in short, kind-ly examine me or let me go, at once. And if you

must examine me, do so in the proper form! Iwill not allow you to do so otherwise, and someanwhile, good-bye, as we have evidentlynothing to keep us now."

"Good heavens! What do you mean? What shallI question you about?" cackled Porfiry Petro-vitch with a change of tone, instantly leavingoff laughing. "Please don't disturb yourself," hebegan fidgeting from place to place and fussilymaking Raskolnikov sit down. "There's nohurry, there's no hurry, it's all nonsense. Oh,no, I'm very glad you've come to see me atlast... I look upon you simply as a visitor. Andas for my confounded laughter, please excuseit, Rodion Romanovitch. Rodion Romanovitch?That is your name?... It's my nerves, you tickledme so with your witty observation; I assureyou, sometimes I shake with laughter like anindia-rubber ball for half an hour at a time....I'm often afraid of an attack of paralysis. Do sit

down. Please do, or I shall think you are an-gry..."

Raskolnikov did not speak; he listened, wat-ching him, still frowning angrily. He did sitdown, but still held his cap.

"I must tell you one thing about myself, mydear Rodion Romanovitch," Porfiry Petrovitchcontinued, moving about the room and againavoiding his visitor's eyes. "You see, I'm a ba-chelor, a man of no consequence and not usedto society; besides, I have nothing before me,I'm set, I'm running to seed and... and have younoticed, Rodion Romanovitch, that in our Pe-tersburg circles, if two clever men meet who arenot intimate, but respect each other, like youand me, it takes them half an hour before theycan find a subject for conversation—they aredumb, they sit opposite each other and feelawkward. Everyone has subjects of conversa-tion, ladies for instance... people in high societyalways have their subjects of conversation, c'est

de rigueur, but people of the middle sort like us,thinking people that is, are always tongue-tiedand awkward. What is the reason of it? Whet-her it is the lack of public interest, or whether itis we are so honest we don't want to deceiveone another, I don't know. What do you think?Do put down your cap, it looks as if you werejust going, it makes me uncomfortable... I am sodelighted..."

Raskolnikov put down his cap and continuedlistening in silence with a serious frowning faceto the vague and empty chatter of Porfiry Pe-trovitch. "Does he really want to distract myattention with his silly babble?"

"I can't offer you coffee here; but why notspend five minutes with a friend?" Porfiry pat-tered on, "and you know all these official du-ties... please don't mind my running up anddown, excuse it, my dear fellow, I am verymuch afraid of offending you, but exercise isabsolutely indispensable for me. I'm always

sitting and so glad to be moving about for fiveminutes... I suffer from my sedentary life... Ialways intend to join a gymnasium; they saythat officials of all ranks, even Privy Counci-llors, may be seen skipping gaily there; thereyou have it, modern science... yes, yes.... But asfor my duties here, inquiries and all such for-malities... you mentioned inquiries yourself justnow... I assure you these interrogations are so-metimes more embarrassing for the interroga-tor than for the interrogated.... You made theobservation yourself just now very aptly andwittily." (Raskolnikov had made no observationof the kind.) "One gets into a muddle! A regularmuddle! One keeps harping on the same note,like a drum! There is to be a reform and weshall be called by a different name, at least, he-he-he! And as for our legal tradition, as you sowittily called it, I thoroughly agree with you.Every prisoner on trial, even the rudest pea-sant, knows that they begin by disarming himwith 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 'go-vernment quarters'... he-he! You are an ironicalperson. Come. I won't go on! Ah, by the way,yes! One word leads to another. You spoke offormality just now, apropos of the inquiry, youknow. But what's the use of formality? In manycases it's nonsense. Sometimes one has a friend-ly chat and gets a good deal more out of it. Onecan always fall back on formality, allow me toassure you. And after all, what does it amountto? An examining lawyer cannot be boundedby formality at every step. The work of investi-gation is, so to speak, a free art in its own way,he-he-he!"

Porfiry Petrovitch took breath a moment. Hehad simply babbled on uttering empty phrases,letting slip a few enigmatic words and againreverting to incoherence. He was almost run-ning about the room, moving his fat little legs

quicker and quicker, looking at the ground,with his right hand behind his back, while withhis left making gesticulations that were ex-traordinarily incongruous with his words. Ras-kolnikov suddenly noticed that as he ran aboutthe room he seemed twice to stop for a momentnear the door, as though he were listening.

"Is he expecting anything?"

"You are certainly quite right about it," Porfirybegan gaily, looking with extraordinary simpli-city at Raskolnikov (which startled him andinstantly put him on his guard); "certainly quiteright in laughing so wittily at our legal forms,he-he! Some of these elaborate psychologicalmethods are exceedingly ridiculous and per-haps useless, if one adheres too closely to theforms. Yes... I am talking of forms again. Well,if I recognise, or more strictly speaking, if Isuspect someone or other to be a criminal inany case entrusted to me... you're reading forthe law, of course, Rodion Romanovitch?"

"Yes, I was..."

"Well, then it is a precedent for you for the fu-ture—though don't suppose I should venture toinstruct you after the articles you publish aboutcrime! No, I simply make bold to state it byway of fact, if I took this man or that for a cri-minal, why, I ask, should I worry him prematu-rely, even though I had evidence against him?In one case I may be bound, for instance, toarrest a man at once, but another may be inquite a different position, you know, so whyshouldn't I let him walk about the town a bit?he-he-he! But I see you don't quite understand,so I'll give you a clearer example. If I put him inprison too soon, I may very likely give him, soto speak, moral support, he-he! You're laug-hing?"

Raskolnikov had no idea of laughing. He wassitting with compressed lips, his feverish eyesfixed on Porfiry Petrovitch's.

"Yet that is the case, with some types especially,for men are so different. You say 'evidence'.Well, there may be evidence. But evidence, youknow, can generally be taken two ways. I aman examining lawyer and a weak man, I confessit. I should like to make a proof, so to say, mat-hematically clear. I should like to make a chainof evidence such as twice two are four, it oughtto be a direct, irrefutable proof! And if I shuthim up too soon—even though I might be con-vinced he was the man, I should very likely bedepriving myself of the means of getting furt-her evidence against him. And how? By givinghim, so to speak, a definite position, I shall puthim out of suspense and set his mind at rest, sothat he will retreat into his shell. They say thatat Sevastopol, soon after Alma, the clever peo-ple were in a terrible fright that the enemywould attack openly and take Sevastopol atonce. But when they saw that the enemy prefe-rred a regular siege, they were delighted, I amtold and reassured, for the thing would drag on

for two months at least. You're laughing, youdon't believe me again? Of course, you're right,too. You're right, you're right. These are specialcases, I admit. But you must observe this, mydear Rodion Romanovitch, the general case, thecase for which all legal forms and rules are in-tended, for which they are calculated and laiddown in books, does not exist at all, for the rea-son that every case, every crime, for instance,so soon as it actually occurs, at once becomes athoroughly special case and sometimes a caseunlike any that's gone before. Very comic casesof that sort sometimes occur. If I leave one manquite alone, if I don't touch him and don't wo-rry him, but let him know or at least suspectevery moment that I know all about it and amwatching him day and night, and if he is incontinual suspicion and terror, he'll be boundto lose his head. He'll come of himself, or may-be do something which will make it as plain astwice two are four—it's delightful. It may be sowith a simple peasant, but with one of our sort,

an intelligent man cultivated on a certain side,it's a dead certainty. For, my dear fellow, it's avery important matter to know on what side aman is cultivated. And then there are nerves,there are nerves, you have overlooked them!Why, they are all sick, nervous and irritable!...And then how they all suffer from spleen! ThatI assure you is a regular gold-mine for us. Andit's no anxiety to me, his running about thetown free! Let him, let him walk about for a bit!I know well enough that I've caught him andthat he won't escape me. Where could he esca-pe to, he-he? Abroad, perhaps? A Pole will es-cape abroad, but not here, especially as I amwatching and have taken measures. Will heescape into the depths of the country perhaps?But you know, peasants live there, real rudeRussian peasants. A modern cultivated manwould prefer prison to living with such stran-gers as our peasants. He-he! But that's all non-sense, and on the surface. It's not merely that hehas nowhere to run to, he is psychologically una-

ble to escape me, he-he! What an expression!Through a law of nature he can't escape me ifhe had anywhere to go. Have you seen a but-terfly round a candle? That's how he will keepcircling and circling round me. Freedom willlose its attractions. He'll begin to brood, he'llweave a tangle round himself, he'll worry him-self to death! What's more he will provide mewith a mathematical proof—if I only give himlong enough interval.... And he'll keep circlinground me, getting nearer and nearer andthen—flop! He'll fly straight into my mouthand I'll swallow him, and that will be veryamusing, he-he-he! You don't believe me?"

Raskolnikov made no reply; he sat pale andmotionless, still gazing with the same intensityinto Porfiry's face.

"It's a lesson," he thought, turning cold. "This isbeyond the cat playing with a mouse, like yes-terday. He can't be showing off his power withno motive... prompting me; he is far too clever

for that... he must have another object. What isit? It's all nonsense, my friend, you are preten-ding, to scare me! You've no proofs and theman I saw had no real existence. You simplywant to make me lose my head, to work me upbeforehand and so to crush me. But you arewrong, you won't do it! But why give me sucha hint? Is he reckoning on my shattered nerves?No, my friend, you are wrong, you won't do iteven though you have some trap for me... let ussee what you have in store for me."

And he braced himself to face a terrible andunknown ordeal. At times he longed to fall onPorfiry and strangle him. This anger was whathe dreaded from the beginning. He felt that hisparched lips were flecked with foam, his heartwas throbbing. But he was still determined notto speak till the right moment. He realised thatthis was the best policy in his position, becauseinstead of saying too much he would be irrita-ting his enemy by his silence and provoking

him into speaking too freely. Anyhow, this waswhat he hoped for.

"No, I see you don't believe me, you think I amplaying a harmless joke on you," Porfiry beganagain, getting more and more lively, chucklingat every instant and again pacing round theroom. "And to be sure you're right: God hasgiven me a figure that can awaken none butcomic ideas in other people; a buffoon; but letme tell you, and I repeat it, excuse an old man,my dear Rodion Romanovitch, you are a manstill young, so to say, in your first youth and soyou put intellect above everything, like allyoung people. Playful wit and abstract argu-ments fascinate you and that's for all the worldlike the old Austrian Hof-kriegsrath, as far as Ican judge of military matters, that is: on paperthey'd beaten Napoleon and taken him priso-ner, and there in their study they worked it allout in the cleverest fashion, but look you, Ge-neral Mack surrendered with all his army, he-

he-he! I see, I see, Rodion Romanovitch, you arelaughing at a civilian like me, taking examplesout of military history! But I can't help it, it'smy weakness. I am fond of military science.And I'm ever so fond of reading all militaryhistories. I've certainly missed my proper ca-reer. I ought to have been in the army, upon myword I ought. I shouldn't have been a Napo-leon, but I might have been a major, he-he!Well, I'll tell you the whole truth, my dear fe-llow, about this special case, I mean: actual factand a man's temperament, my dear sir, areweighty matters and it's astonishing how theysometimes deceive the sharpest calculation! I—listen to an old man—am speaking seriously,Rodion Romanovitch" (as he said this PorfiryPetrovitch, who was scarcely five-and-thirty,actually seemed to have grown old; even hisvoice changed and he seemed to shrink toget-her) "Moreover, I'm a candid man... am I a can-did man or not? What do you say? I fancy Ireally am: I tell you these things for nothing

and don't even expect a reward for it, he-he!Well, to proceed, wit in my opinion is a splen-did thing, it is, so to say, an adornment of natu-re and a consolation of life, and what tricks itcan play! So that it sometimes is hard for a poorexamining lawyer to know where he is, espe-cially when he's liable to be carried away by hisown fancy, too, for you know he is a man afterall! But the poor fellow is saved by the crimi-nal's temperament, worse luck for him! Butyoung people carried away by their own witdon't think of that 'when they overstep all obs-tacles,' as you wittily and cleverly expressed ityesterday. He will lie—that is, the man who is aspecial case, the incognito, and he will lie well, inthe cleverest fashion; you might think he wouldtriumph and enjoy the fruits of his wit, but atthe most interesting, the most flagrant momenthe will faint. Of course there may be illness anda stuffy room as well, but anyway! Anywayhe's given us the idea! He lied incomparably,but he didn't reckon on his temperament. That's

what betrays him! Another time he will be ca-rried away by his playful wit into making funof the man who suspects him, he will turn paleas it were on purpose to mislead, but his pale-ness will be too natural, too much like the realthing, again he has given us an idea! Thoughhis questioner may be deceived at first, he willthink differently next day if he is not a fool,and, of course, it is like that at every step! Heputs himself forward where he is not wanted,speaks continually when he ought to keep si-lent, brings in all sorts of allegorical allusions,he-he! Comes and asks why didn't you take melong ago? he-he-he! And that can happen, youknow, with the cleverest man, the psychologist,the literary man. The temperament reflects eve-rything like a mirror! Gaze into it and admirewhat you see! But why are you so pale, RodionRomanovitch? Is the room stuffy? Shall I openthe window?"

"Oh, don't trouble, please," cried Raskolnikovand he suddenly broke into a laugh. "Pleasedon't trouble."

Porfiry stood facing him, paused a moment andsuddenly he too laughed. Raskolnikov got upfrom the sofa, abruptly checking his hystericallaughter.

"Porfiry Petrovitch," he began, speaking loudlyand distinctly, though his legs trembled and hecould scarcely stand. "I see clearly at last thatyou actually suspect me of murdering that oldwoman and her sister Lizaveta. Let me tell youfor my part that I am sick of this. If you findthat you have a right to prosecute me legally, toarrest me, then prosecute me, arrest me. But Iwill not let myself be jeered at to my face andworried..."

His lips trembled, his eyes glowed with furyand he could not restrain his voice.

"I won't allow it!" he shouted, bringing his fistdown on the table. "Do you hear that, PorfiryPetrovitch? I won't allow it."

"Good heavens! What does it mean?" cried Por-firy Petrovitch, apparently quite frightened."Rodion Romanovitch, my dear fellow, what isthe matter with you?"

"I won't allow it," Raskolnikov shouted again.

"Hush, my dear man! They'll hear and come in.Just think, what could we say to them?" PorfiryPetrovitch whispered in horror, bringing hisface close to Raskolnikov's.

"I won't allow it, I won't allow it," Raskolnikovrepeated mechanically, but he too spoke in asudden whisper.

Porfiry turned quickly and ran to open the win-dow.

"Some fresh air! And you must have some wa-ter, my dear fellow. You're ill!" and he was run-ning to the door to call for some when he founda decanter of water in the corner. "Come, drinka little," he whispered, rushing up to him withthe decanter. "It will be sure to do you good."

Porfiry Petrovitch's alarm and sympathy wereso natural that Raskolnikov was silent and be-gan looking at him with wild curiosity. He didnot take the water, however.

"Rodion Romanovitch, my dear fellow, you'lldrive yourself out of your mind, I assure you,ach, ach! Have some water, do drink a little."

He forced him to take the glass. Raskolnikovraised it mechanically to his lips, but set it onthe table again with disgust.

"Yes, you've had a little attack! You'll bringback your illness again, my dear fellow," Porfi-ry Petrovitch cackled with friendly sympathy,

though he still looked rather disconcerted."Good heavens, you must take more care ofyourself! Dmitri Prokofitch was here, came tosee me yesterday—I know, I know, I've a nasty,ironical temper, but what they made of it!...Good heavens, he came yesterday after you'dbeen. We dined and he talked and talked away,and I could only throw up my hands in des-pair! Did he come from you? But do sit down,for mercy's sake, sit down!"

"No, not from me, but I knew he went to youand why he went," Raskolnikov answered shar-ply.

"You knew?"

"I knew. What of it?"

"Why this, Rodion Romanovitch, that I knowmore than that about you; I know about eve-rything. I know how you went to take a flat atnight when it was dark and how you rang the

bell and asked about the blood, so that theworkmen and the porter did not know what tomake of it. Yes, I understand your state of mindat that time... but you'll drive yourself mad likethat, upon my word! You'll lose your head!You're full of generous indignation at thewrongs you've received, first from destiny, andthen from the police officers, and so you rushfrom one thing to another to force them tospeak out and make an end of it all, becauseyou are sick of all this suspicion and foolish-ness. That's so, isn't it? I have guessed how youfeel, haven't I? Only in that way you'll lose yourhead and Razumihin's, too; he's too good a manfor such a position, you must know that. Youare ill and he is good and your illness is infec-tious for him... I'll tell you about it when youare more yourself.... But do sit down, for good-ness' sake. Please rest, you look shocking, do sitdown."

Raskolnikov sat down; he no longer shivered,he was hot all over. In amazement he listenedwith strained attention to Porfiry Petrovitchwho still seemed frightened as he looked afterhim with friendly solicitude. But he did notbelieve a word he said, though he felt a strangeinclination to believe. Porfiry's unexpectedwords about the flat had utterly overwhelmedhim. "How can it be, he knows about the flatthen," he thought suddenly, "and he tells it mehimself!"

"Yes, in our legal practice there was a case al-most exactly similar, a case of morbid psycho-logy," Porfiry went on quickly. "A man confes-sed to murder and how he kept it up! It was aregular hallucination; he brought forward facts,he imposed upon everyone and why? He hadbeen partly, but only partly, unintentionally thecause of a murder and when he knew that hehad given the murderers the opportunity, hesank into dejection, it got on his mind and tur-

ned his brain, he began imagining things andhe persuaded himself that he was the murde-rer. But at last the High Court of Appeal wentinto it and the poor fellow was acquitted andput under proper care. Thanks to the Court ofAppeal! Tut-tut-tut! Why, my dear fellow, youmay drive yourself into delirium if you havethe impulse to work upon your nerves, to goringing bells at night and asking about blood!I've studied all this morbid psychology in mypractice. A man is sometimes tempted to jumpout of a window or from a belfry. Just the samewith bell-ringing.... It's all illness, Rodion Ro-manovitch! You have begun to neglect yourillness. You should consult an experienced doc-tor, what's the good of that fat fellow? You arelightheaded! You were delirious when you didall this!"

For a moment Raskolnikov felt everythinggoing round.

"Is it possible, is it possible," flashed throughhis mind, "that he is still lying? He can't be, hecan't be." He rejected that idea, feeling to whata degree of fury it might drive him, feeling thatthat fury might drive him mad.

"I was not delirious. I knew what I was doing,"he cried, straining every faculty to penetratePorfiry's game, "I was quite myself, do youhear?"

"Yes, I hear and understand. You said yester-day you were not delirious, you were particu-larly emphatic about it! I understand all youcan tell me! A-ach!... Listen, Rodion Romano-vitch, my dear fellow. If you were actually acriminal, or were somehow mixed up in thisdamnable business, would you insist that youwere not delirious but in full possession of yourfaculties? And so emphatically and persisten-tly? Would it be possible? Quite impossible, tomy thinking. If you had anything on your cons-

cience, you certainly ought to insist that youwere delirious. That's so, isn't it?"

There was a note of slyness in this inquiry. Ras-kolnikov drew back on the sofa as Porfiry bentover him and stared in silent perplexity at him.

"Another thing about Razumihin—you certain-ly ought to have said that he came of his ownaccord, to have concealed your part in it! Butyou don't conceal it! You lay stress on his co-ming at your instigation."

Raskolnikov had not done so. A chill wentdown his back.

"You keep telling lies," he said slowly and wea-kly, twisting his lips into a sickly smile, "youare trying again to show that you know all mygame, that you know all I shall say before-hand," he said, conscious himself that he wasnot weighing his words as he ought. "You want

to frighten me... or you are simply laughing atme..."

He still stared at him as he said this and againthere was a light of intense hatred in his eyes.

"You keep lying," he said. "You know perfectlywell that the best policy for the criminal is totell the truth as nearly as possible... to concealas little as possible. I don't believe you!"

"What a wily person you are!" Porfiry tittered,"there's no catching you; you've a perfect mo-nomania. So you don't believe me? But still youdo believe me, you believe a quarter; I'll soonmake you believe the whole, because I have asincere liking for you and genuinely wish yougood."

Raskolnikov's lips trembled.

"Yes, I do," went on Porfiry, touching Raskolni-kov's arm genially, "you must take care of your

illness. Besides, your mother and sister are herenow; you must think of them. You must sootheand comfort them and you do nothing butfrighten them..."

"What has that to do with you? How do youknow it? What concern is it of yours? You arekeeping watch on me and want to let me knowit?"

"Good heavens! Why, I learnt it all from youyourself! You don't notice that in your excite-ment you tell me and others everything. FromRazumihin, too, I learnt a number of interestingdetails yesterday. No, you interrupted me, but Imust tell you that, for all your wit, your suspi-ciousness makes you lose the common-senseview of things. To return to bell-ringing, forinstance. I, an examining lawyer, have betrayeda precious thing like that, a real fact (for it is afact worth having), and you see nothing in it!Why, if I had the slightest suspicion of you,should I have acted like that? No, I should first

have disarmed your suspicions and not let yousee I knew of that fact, should have divertedyour attention and suddenly have dealt you aknock-down blow (your expression) saying:'And what were you doing, sir, pray, at ten ornearly eleven at the murdered woman's flatand why did you ring the bell and why did youask about blood? And why did you invite theporters to go with you to the police station, tothe lieutenant?' That's how I ought to have ac-ted if I had a grain of suspicion of you. I oughtto have taken your evidence in due form, sear-ched your lodging and perhaps have arrestedyou, too... so I have no suspicion of you, since Ihave not done that! But you can't look at itnormally and you see nothing, I say again."

Raskolnikov started so that Porfiry Petrovitchcould not fail to perceive it.

"You are lying all the while," he cried, "I don'tknow your object, but you are lying. You did

not speak like that just now and I cannot bemistaken!"

"I am lying?" Porfiry repeated, apparently in-censed, but preserving a good-humoured andironical face, as though he were not in the leastconcerned at Raskolnikov's opinion of him. "Iam lying... but how did I treat you just now, I,the examining lawyer? Prompting you and gi-ving you every means for your defence; illness,I said, delirium, injury, melancholy and thepolice officers and all the rest of it? Ah! He-he-he! Though, indeed, all those psychologicalmeans of defence are not very reliable and cutboth ways: illness, delirium, I don't remem-ber—that's all right, but why, my good sir, inyour illness and in your delirium were youhaunted by just those delusions and not by anyothers? There may have been others, eh? He-he-he!"

Raskolnikov looked haughtily and contemp-tuously at him.

"Briefly," he said loudly and imperiously, risingto his feet and in so doing pushing Porfiry backa little, "briefly, I want to know, do you ack-nowledge me perfectly free from suspicion ornot? Tell me, Porfiry Petrovitch, tell me once forall and make haste!"

"What a business I'm having with you!" criedPorfiry with a perfectly good-humoured, slyand composed face. "And why do you want toknow, why do you want to know so much, sin-ce they haven't begun to worry you? Why, youare like a child asking for matches! And whyare you so uneasy? Why do you force yourselfupon us, eh? He-he-he!"

"I repeat," Raskolnikov cried furiously, "that Ican't put up with it!"

"With what? Uncertainty?" interrupted Porfiry.

"Don't jeer at me! I won't have it! I tell you Iwon't have it. I can't and I won't, do you hear,

do you hear?" he shouted, bringing his fistdown on the table again.

"Hush! Hush! They'll overhear! I warn you se-riously, take care of yourself. I am not joking,"Porfiry whispered, but this time there was notthe look of old womanish good nature andalarm in his face. Now he was peremptory,stern, frowning and for once laying aside allmystification.

But this was only for an instant. Raskolnikov,bewildered, suddenly fell into actual frenzy,but, strange to say, he again obeyed the com-mand to speak quietly, though he was in a per-fect paroxysm of fury.

"I will not allow myself to be tortured," hewhispered, instantly recognising with hatredthat he could not help obeying the commandand driven to even greater fury by the thought."Arrest me, search me, but kindly act in dueform and don't play with me! Don't dare!"

"Don't worry about the form," Porfiry interrup-ted with the same sly smile, as it were, gloatingwith enjoyment over Raskolnikov. "I invitedyou to see me quite in a friendly way."

"I don't want your friendship and I spit on it!Do you hear? And, here, I take my cap and go.What will you say now if you mean to arrestme?"

He took up his cap and went to the door.

"And won't you see my little surprise?" chuc-kled Porfiry, again taking him by the arm andstopping him at the door.

He seemed to become more playful and good-humoured which maddened Raskolnikov.

"What surprise?" he asked, standing still andlooking at Porfiry in alarm.

"My little surprise, it's sitting there behind thedoor, he-he-he!" (He pointed to the locked

door.) "I locked him in that he should not esca-pe."

"What is it? Where? What?..."

Raskolnikov walked to the door and wouldhave opened it, but it was locked.

"It's locked, here is the key!"

And he brought a key out of his pocket.

"You are lying," roared Raskolnikov withoutrestraint, "you lie, you damned punchinello!"and he rushed at Porfiry who retreated to theother door, not at all alarmed.

"I understand it all! You are lying and mockingso that I may betray myself to you..."

"Why, you could not betray yourself any furt-her, my dear Rodion Romanovitch. You are in apassion. Don't shout, I shall call the clerks."

"You are lying! Call the clerks! You knew I wasill and tried to work me into a frenzy to makeme betray myself, that was your object! Produ-ce your facts! I understand it all. You've no evi-dence, you have only wretched rubbishly sus-picions like Zametov's! You knew my charac-ter, you wanted to drive me to fury and then toknock me down with priests and deputies....Are you waiting for them? eh! What are youwaiting for? Where are they? Produce them?"

"Why deputies, my good man? What thingspeople will imagine! And to do so would not beacting in form as you say, you don't know thebusiness, my dear fellow.... And there's no es-caping form, as you see," Porfiry muttered, lis-tening at the door through which a noise couldbe heard.

"Ah, they're coming," cried Raskolnikov. "You'-ve sent for them! You expected them! Well,produce them all: your deputies, your witnes-ses, what you like!... I am ready!"

But at this moment a strange incident occurred,something so unexpected that neither Raskol-nikov nor Porfiry Petrovitch could have lookedfor such a conclusion to their interview.

CHAPTER VI

When he remembered the scene after-wards, this is how Raskolnikov saw it.

The noise behind the door increased, and sud-denly the door was opened a little.

"What is it?" cried Porfiry Petrovitch, annoyed."Why, I gave orders..."

For an instant there was no answer, but it wasevident that there were several persons at the

door, and that they were apparently pushingsomebody back.

"What is it?" Porfiry Petrovitch repeated, unea-sily.

"The prisoner Nikolay has been brought," so-meone answered.

"He is not wanted! Take him away! Let himwait! What's he doing here? How irregular!"cried Porfiry, rushing to the door.

"But he..." began the same voice, and suddenlyceased.

Two seconds, not more, were spent in actualstruggle, then someone gave a violent shove,and then a man, very pale, strode into theroom.

This man's appearance was at first sight verystrange. He stared straight before him, asthough seeing nothing. There was a determined

gleam in his eyes; at the same time there was adeathly pallor in his face, as though he werebeing led to the scaffold. His white lips werefaintly twitching.

He was dressed like a workman and was ofmedium height, very young, slim, his hair cutin round crop, with thin spare features. Theman whom he had thrust back followed himinto the room and succeeded in seizing him bythe shoulder; he was a warder; but Nikolaypulled his arm away.

Several persons crowded inquisitively into thedoorway. Some of them tried to get in. All thistook place almost instantaneously.

"Go away, it's too soon! Wait till you are sentfor!... Why have you brought him so soon?"Porfiry Petrovitch muttered, extremely anno-yed, 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 murde-rer," Nikolay articulated suddenly, ratherbreathless, but speaking fairly loudly.

For ten seconds there was silence as though allhad been struck dumb; even the warder step-ped back, mechanically retreated to the door,and stood immovable.

"What is it?" cried Porfiry Petrovitch, recove-ring from his momentary stupefaction.

"I... am the murderer," repeated Nikolay, after abrief pause.

"What... you... what... whom did you kill?" Por-firy Petrovitch was obviously bewildered.

Nikolay again was silent for a moment.

"Alyona Ivanovna and her sister Lizaveta Iva-novna, I... killed... with an axe. Darkness came

over me," he added suddenly, and was againsilent.

He still remained on his knees. Porfiry Petro-vitch stood for some moments as though medi-tating, but suddenly roused himself and wavedback the uninvited spectators. They instantlyvanished and closed the door. Then he lookedtowards Raskolnikov, who was standing in thecorner, staring wildly at Nikolay and movedtowards him, but stopped short, looked fromNikolay to Raskolnikov and then again at Ni-kolay, and seeming unable to restrain himselfdarted at the latter.

"You're in too great a hurry," he shouted at him,almost angrily. "I didn't ask you what cameover 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?"

"Yes, alone. And Mitka is not guilty and had noshare in it."

"Don't be in a hurry about Mitka! A-ach! Howwas it you ran downstairs like that at the time?The porters met you both!"

"It was to put them off the scent... I ran afterMitka," Nikolay replied hurriedly, as though hehad prepared the answer.

"I knew it!" cried Porfiry, with vexation. "It'snot his own tale he is telling," he muttered asthough to himself, and suddenly his eyes restedon Raskolnikov again.

He was apparently so taken up with Nikolaythat for a moment he had forgotten Raskolni-kov. He was a little taken aback.

"My dear Rodion Romanovitch, excuse me!" heflew up to him, "this won't do; I'm afraid youmust go... it's no good your staying... I will...you see, what a surprise!... Good-bye!"

And taking him by the arm, he showed him tothe door.

"I suppose you didn't expect it?" said Raskolni-kov who, though he had not yet fully graspedthe situation, had regained his courage.

"You did not expect it either, my friend. Seehow your hand is trembling! He-he!"

"You're trembling, too, Porfiry Petrovitch!"

"Yes, I am; I didn't expect it."

They were already at the door; Porfiry was im-patient for Raskolnikov to be gone.

"And your little surprise, aren't you going toshow it to me?" Raskolnikov said, sarcastically.

"Why, his teeth are chattering as he asks, he-he!You are an ironical person! Come, till we meet!"

"I believe we can say good-bye!"

"That's in God's hands," muttered Porfiry, withan unnatural smile.

As he walked through the office, Raskolnikovnoticed that many people were looking at him.Among them he saw the two porters from thehouse, whom he had invited that night to thepolice station. They stood there waiting. But hewas no sooner on the stairs than he heard thevoice of Porfiry Petrovitch behind him. Turninground, he saw the latter running after him, outof breath.

"One word, Rodion Romanovitch; as to all therest, it's in God's hands, but as a matter of formthere are some questions I shall have to askyou... so we shall meet again, shan't we?"

And Porfiry stood still, facing him with a smile.

"Shan't we?" he added again.

He seemed to want to say something more, butcould not speak out.

"You must forgive me, Porfiry Petrovitch, forwhat has just passed... I lost my temper," beganRaskolnikov, who had so far regained his cou-rage that he felt irresistibly inclined to displayhis coolness.

"Don't mention it, don't mention it," Porfiryreplied, almost gleefully. "I myself, too... I havea wicked temper, I admit it! But we shall meetagain. If it's God's will, we may see a great dealof one another."

"And will get to know each other through andthrough?" added Raskolnikov.

"Yes; know each other through and through,"assented Porfiry Petrovitch, and he screwed uphis eyes, looking earnestly at Raskolnikov."Now you're going to a birthday party?"

"To a funeral."

"Of course, the funeral! Take care of yourself,and get well."

"I don't know what to wish you," said Raskol-nikov, who had begun to descend the stairs,but looked back again. "I should like to wishyou success, but your office is such a comicalone."

"Why comical?" Porfiry Petrovitch had turnedto go, but he seemed to prick up his ears at this.

"Why, how you must have been torturing andharassing that poor Nikolay psychologically,

after your fashion, till he confessed! You musthave been at him day and night, proving to himthat he was the murderer, and now that he hasconfessed, you'll begin vivisecting him again.'You are lying,' you'll say. 'You are not the mur-derer! You can't be! It's not your own tale youare telling!' You must admit it's a comical busi-ness!"

"He-he-he! You noticed then that I said to Niko-lay just now that it was not his own tale he wastelling?"

"How could I help noticing it!"

"He-he! You are quick-witted. You notice eve-rything! You've really a playful mind! And youalways fasten on the comic side... he-he! Theysay that was the marked characteristic of Go-gol, among the writers."

"Yes, of Gogol."

"Yes, of Gogol.... I shall look forward to mee-ting you."

"So shall I."

Raskolnikov walked straight home. He was somuddled and bewildered that on getting homehe sat for a quarter of an hour on the sofa,trying to collect his thoughts. He did not at-tempt to think about Nikolay; he was stupefied;he felt that his confession was something inex-plicable, amazing—something beyond his un-derstanding. But Nikolay's confession was anactual fact. The consequences of this fact wereclear to him at once, its falsehood could not failto be discovered, and then they would be afterhim again. Till then, at least, he was free andmust do something for himself, for the dangerwas imminent.

But how imminent? His position gradually be-came clear to him. Remembering, sketchily, themain outlines of his recent scene with Porfiry,

he could not help shuddering again withhorror. Of course, he did not yet know all Porfi-ry's aims, he could not see into all his calcula-tions. But he had already partly shown hishand, and no one knew better than Raskolni-kov how terrible Porfiry's "lead" had been forhim. A little more and he might have givenhimself away completely, circumstantially.Knowing his nervous temperament and fromthe first glance seeing through him, Porfiry,though playing a bold game, was bound towin. There's no denying that Raskolnikov hadcompromised himself seriously, but no factshad come to light as yet; there was nothing po-sitive. But was he taking a true view of the po-sition? Wasn't he mistaken? What had Porfirybeen trying to get at? Had he really some sur-prise prepared for him? And what was it? Hadhe really been expecting something or not?How would they have parted if it had not beenfor the unexpected appearance of Nikolay?

Porfiry had shown almost all his cards—ofcourse, he had risked something in showingthem—and if he had really had anything up hissleeve (Raskolnikov reflected), he would haveshown that, too. What was that "surprise"? Wasit a joke? Had it meant anything? Could it haveconcealed anything like a fact, a piece of positi-ve evidence? His yesterday's visitor? What hadbecome of him? Where was he to-day? If Porfi-ry really had any evidence, it must be connec-ted with him....

He sat on the sofa with his elbows on his kneesand his face hidden in his hands. He was stillshivering nervously. At last he got up, took hiscap, thought a minute, and went to the door.

He had a sort of presentiment that for to-day, atleast, he might consider himself out of danger.He had a sudden sense almost of joy; he wan-ted to make haste to Katerina Ivanovna's. Hewould 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 suffe-ring smile came for a moment on to his lips.

"To-day! To-day," he repeated to himself. "Yes,to-day! So it must be...."

But as he was about to open the door, it beganopening of itself. He started and moved back.The door opened gently and slowly, and theresuddenly appeared a figure—yesterday's visi-tor from underground.

The man stood in the doorway, looked at Ras-kolnikov without speaking, and took a stepforward into the room. He was exactly the sa-me as yesterday; the same figure, the samedress, but there was a great change in his face;he looked dejected and sighed deeply. If he hadonly put his hand up to his cheek and leaned

his head on one side he would have lookedexactly like a peasant woman.

"What do you want?" asked Raskolnikov, numbwith terror. The man was still silent, but sud-denly he bowed down almost to the ground,touching it with his finger.

"What is it?" cried Raskolnikov.

"I have sinned," the man articulated softly.

"How?"

"By evil thoughts."

They looked at one another.

"I was vexed. When you came, perhaps indrink, and bade the porters go to the policestation and asked about the blood, I was vexedthat they let you go and took you for drunken. Iwas so vexed that I lost my sleep. And remem-

bering the address we came here yesterday andasked for you...."

"Who came?" Raskolnikov interrupted, instan-tly beginning to recollect.

"I did, I've wronged you."

"Then you come from that house?"

"I was standing at the gate with them... don'tyou remember? We have carried on our tradein that house for years past. We cure and pre-pare hides, we take work home... most of all Iwas vexed...."

And the whole scene of the day before yester-day in the gateway came clearly before Raskol-nikov's mind; he recollected that there had beenseveral people there besides the porters, wo-men among them. He remembered one voicehad suggested taking him straight to the police-station. He could not recall the face of the spea-

ker, and even now he did not recognise it, buthe remembered that he had turned round andmade him some answer....

So this was the solution of yesterday's horror.The most awful thought was that he had beenactually almost lost, had almost done for him-self on account of such a trivial circumstance. Sothis man could tell nothing except his askingabout the flat and the blood stains. So Porfiry,too, had nothing but that delirium, no facts butthis psychology which cuts both ways, nothingpositive. So if no more facts come to light (andthey must not, they must not!) then... then whatcan they do to him? How can they convict him,even if they arrest him? And Porfiry then hadonly just heard about the flat and had notknown about it before.

"Was it you who told Porfiry... that I'd beenthere?" he cried, struck by a sudden idea.

"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 Iheard, I heard it all, how he worried you."

"Where? What? When?"

"Why, in the next room. I was sitting there allthe time."

"What? Why, then you were the surprise? Buthow could it happen? Upon my word!"

"I saw that the porters did not want to do whatI said," began the man; "for it's too late, saidthey, and maybe he'll be angry that we did notcome at the time. I was vexed and I lost mysleep, and I began making inquiries. And fin-ding 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 wentthe third time, and they showed me in. I infor-med him of everything, just as it happened, andhe began skipping about the room and pun-ching himself on the chest. 'What do youscoundrels mean by it? If I'd known about it Ishould have arrested him!' Then he ran out,called somebody and began talking to him inthe corner, then he turned to me, scolding andquestioning me. He scolded me a great deal;and I told him everything, and I told him thatyou didn't dare to say a word in answer to meyesterday and that you didn't recognise me.And he fell to running about again and kepthitting himself on the chest, and getting angryand running about, and when you were an-nounced he told me to go into the next room.'Sit there a bit,' he said. 'Don't move, whateveryou may hear.' And he set a chair there for meand locked me in. 'Perhaps,' he said, 'I may callyou.' And when Nikolay'd been brought he let

me out as soon as you were gone. 'I shall sendfor you again and question you,' he said."

"And did he question Nikolay while you werethere?"

"He got rid of me as he did of you, before hespoke to Nikolay."

The man stood still, and again suddenly boweddown, touching the ground with his finger.

"Forgive me for my evil thoughts, and my slan-der."

"May God forgive you," answered Raskolnikov.

And as he said this, the man bowed downagain, but not to the ground, turned slowly andwent out of the room.

"It all cuts both ways, now it all cuts bothways," repeated Raskolnikov, and he went outmore confident than ever.

"Now we'll make a fight for it," he said, with amalicious smile, as he went down the stairs.His malice was aimed at himself; with shameand contempt he recollected his "cowardice."

PART V

CHAPTER I

The morning that followed the fateful interviewwith Dounia and her mother brought soberinginfluences to bear on Pyotr Petrovitch. Intense-ly unpleasant as it was, he was forced little by

little to accept as a fact beyond recall what hadseemed to him only the day before fantasticand incredible. The black snake of woundedvanity had been gnawing at his heart all night.When he got out of bed, Pyotr Petrovitch im-mediately looked in the looking-glass. He wasafraid that he had jaundice. However his healthseemed unimpaired so far, and looking at hisnoble, clear-skinned countenance which hadgrown fattish of late, Pyotr Petrovitch for aninstant was positively comforted in the convic-tion that he would find another bride and, per-haps, even a better one. But coming back to thesense of his present position, he turned asideand spat vigorously, which excited a sarcasticsmile in Andrey Semyonovitch Lebeziatnikov,the young friend with whom he was staying.That smile Pyotr Petrovitch noticed, and at on-ce set it down against his young friend's ac-count. He had set down a good many pointsagainst him of late. His anger was redoubledwhen he reflected that he ought not to have

told Andrey Semyonovitch about the result ofyesterday's interview. That was the second mis-take he had made in temper, through impulsi-veness and irritability.... Moreover, all thatmorning one unpleasantness followed another.He even found a hitch awaiting him in his legalcase in the senate. He was particularly irritatedby the owner of the flat which had been takenin view of his approaching marriage and wasbeing redecorated at his own expense; the ow-ner, a rich German tradesman, would not enter-tain the idea of breaking the contract which hadjust been signed and insisted on the full forfeitmoney, though Pyotr Petrovitch would be gi-ving him back the flat practically redecorated.In the same way the upholsterers refused toreturn a single rouble of the instalment paid forthe furniture purchased but not yet removed tothe flat.

"Am I to get married simply for the sake of thefurniture?" Pyotr Petrovitch ground his teeth

and at the same time once more he had a gleamof desperate hope. "Can all that be really soirrevocably over? Is it no use to make anothereffort?" The thought of Dounia sent a volup-tuous pang through his heart. He endured an-guish at that moment, and if it had been possi-ble to slay Raskolnikov instantly by wishing it,Pyotr Petrovitch would promptly have utteredthe wish.

"It was my mistake, too, not to have given themmoney," he thought, as he returned dejectedlyto Lebeziatnikov's room, "and why on earthwas I such a Jew? It was false economy! I meantto keep them without a penny so that theyshould turn to me as their providence, and lookat them! foo! If I'd spent some fifteen hundredroubles on them for the trousseau and presents,on knick-knacks, dressing-cases, jewellery, ma-terials, and all that sort of trash from Knopp'sand the English shop, my position would havebeen better and... stronger! They could not have

refused me so easily! They are the sort of peo-ple that would feel bound to return money andpresents if they broke it off; and they wouldfind it hard to do it! And their consciencewould prick them: how can we dismiss a manwho has hitherto been so generous and delica-te?.... H'm! I've made a blunder."

And grinding his teeth again, Pyotr Petrovitchcalled himself a fool—but not aloud, of course.

He returned home, twice as irritated and angryas before. The preparations for the funeral din-ner at Katerina Ivanovna's excited his curiosityas he passed. He had heard about it the daybefore; he fancied, indeed, that he had beeninvited, but absorbed in his own cares he hadpaid no attention. Inquiring of Madame Lippe-vechsel who was busy laying the table whileKaterina Ivanovna was away at the cemetery,he heard that the entertainment was to be agreat affair, that all the lodgers had been invi-ted, among them some who had not known the

dead man, that even Andrey SemyonovitchLebeziatnikov was invited in spite of his pre-vious quarrel with Katerina Ivanovna, that he,Pyotr Petrovitch, was not only invited, but waseagerly expected as he was the most importantof the lodgers. Amalia Ivanovna herself hadbeen invited with great ceremony in spite of therecent unpleasantness, and so she was verybusy with preparations and was taking a posi-tive pleasure in them; she was moreover dres-sed up to the nines, all in new black silk, andshe was proud of it. All this suggested an ideato Pyotr Petrovitch and he went into his room,or rather Lebeziatnikov's, somewhat thought-ful. He had learnt that Raskolnikov was to beone of the guests.

Andrey Semyonovitch had been at home all themorning. The attitude of Pyotr Petrovitch tothis gentleman was strange, though perhapsnatural. Pyotr Petrovitch had despised andhated him from the day he came to stay with

him and at the same time he seemed somewhatafraid of him. He had not come to stay withhim on his arrival in Petersburg simply fromparsimony, though that had been perhaps hischief object. He had heard of Andrey Semyo-novitch, who had once been his ward, as a lea-ding young progressive who was taking animportant part in certain interesting circles, thedoings of which were a legend in the provinces.It had impressed Pyotr Petrovitch. These po-werful omniscient circles who despised ever-yone and showed everyone up had long inspi-red in him a peculiar but quite vague alarm. Hehad not, of course, been able to form even anapproximate notion of what they meant. He,like everyone, had heard that there were, espe-cially in Petersburg, progressives of some sort,nihilists and so on, and, like many people, heexaggerated and distorted the significance ofthose words to an absurd degree. What for ma-ny years past he had feared more than anythingwas being shown up and this was the chief

ground for his continual uneasiness at thethought of transferring his business to Peters-burg. He was afraid of this as little children aresometimes panic-stricken. Some years before,when he was just entering on his own career,he had come upon two cases in which ratherimportant personages in the province, patronsof his, had been cruelly shown up. One instancehad ended in great scandal for the person at-tacked and the other had very nearly ended inserious trouble. For this reason Pyotr Petrovitchintended to go into the subject as soon as hereached Petersburg and, if necessary, to antici-pate contingencies by seeking the favour of"our younger generation." He relied on AndreySemyonovitch for this and before his visit toRaskolnikov he had succeeded in picking upsome current phrases. He soon discovered thatAndrey Semyonovitch was a commonplacesimpleton, but that by no means reassuredPyotr Petrovitch. Even if he had been certainthat all the progressives were fools like him, it

would not have allayed his uneasiness. All thedoctrines, the ideas, the systems, with whichAndrey Semyonovitch pestered him had nointerest for him. He had his own object—hesimply wanted to find out at once what washappening here. Had these people any power ornot? Had he anything to fear from them?Would they expose any enterprise of his? Andwhat precisely was now the object of their at-tacks? Could he somehow make up to themand get round them if they really were power-ful? Was this the thing to do or not? Couldn'the gain something through them? In fact hun-dreds of questions presented themselves.

Andrey Semyonovitch was an anæmic, scrofu-lous little man, with strangely flaxen mutton-chop whiskers of which he was very proud. Hewas a clerk and had almost always somethingwrong with his eyes. He was rather soft-hearted, but self-confident and sometimes ex-tremely conceited in speech, which had an ab-

surd effect, incongruous with his little figure.He was one of the lodgers most respected byAmalia Ivanovna, for he did not get drunk andpaid regularly for his lodgings. Andrey Sem-yonovitch really was rather stupid; he attachedhimself to the cause of progress and "our youn-ger generation" from enthusiasm. He was oneof the numerous and varied legion of dullards,of half-animate abortions, conceited, half-educated coxcombs, who attach themselves tothe idea most in fashion only to vulgarise it andwho caricature every cause they serve, howeversincerely.

Though Lebeziatnikov was so good-natured,he, too, was beginning to dislike Pyotr Petro-vitch. This happened on both sides uncons-ciously. However simple Andrey Semyono-vitch might be, he began to see that Pyotr Pe-trovitch was duping him and secretly despisinghim, and that "he was not the right sort ofman." He had tried expounding to him the sys-

tem of Fourier and the Darwinian theory, but oflate Pyotr Petrovitch began to listen too sarcas-tically and even to be rude. The fact was he hadbegun instinctively to guess that Lebeziatnikovwas not merely a commonplace simpleton, but,perhaps, a liar, too, and that he had no connec-tions of any consequence even in his own circle,but had simply picked things up third-hand;and that very likely he did not even knowmuch about his own work of propaganda, forhe was in too great a muddle. A fine person hewould be to show anyone up! It must be noted,by the way, that Pyotr Petrovitch had duringthose ten days eagerly accepted the strangestpraise from Andrey Semyonovitch; he had notprotested, for instance, when Andrey Semyo-novitch belauded him for being ready to con-tribute to the establishment of the new "com-mune," or to abstain from christening his futurechildren, or to acquiesce if Dounia were to takea lover a month after marriage, and so on.Pyotr Petrovitch so enjoyed hearing his own

praises that he did not disdain even such vir-tues when they were attributed to him.

Pyotr Petrovitch had had occasion that mor-ning to realise some five-per-cent bonds andnow he sat down to the table and counted overbundles of notes. Andrey Semyonovitch whohardly ever had any money walked about theroom pretending to himself to look at all thosebank notes with indifference and even con-tempt. Nothing would have convinced PyotrPetrovitch that Andrey Semyonovitch couldreally look on the money unmoved, and thelatter, on his side, kept thinking bitterly thatPyotr Petrovitch was capable of entertainingsuch an idea about him and was, perhaps, gladof the opportunity of teasing his young friendby reminding him of his inferiority and thegreat difference between them.

He found him incredibly inattentive and irrita-ble, though he, Andrey Semyonovitch, beganenlarging on his favourite subject, the founda-

tion of a new special "commune." The brief re-marks that dropped from Pyotr Petrovitch bet-ween the clicking of the beads on the reckoningframe betrayed unmistakable and discourteousirony. But the "humane" Andrey Semyonovitchascribed Pyotr Petrovitch's ill-humour to hisrecent breach with Dounia and he was burningwith impatience to discourse on that theme. Hehad something progressive to say on the sub-ject which might console his worthy friend and"could not fail" to promote his development.

"There is some sort of festivity being preparedat that... at the widow's, isn't there?" Pyotr Pe-trovitch asked suddenly, interrupting AndreySemyonovitch at the most interesting passage.

"Why, don't you know? Why, I was telling youlast night what I think about all such ceremo-nies. And she invited you too, I heard. You we-re talking to her yesterday..."

"I should never have expected that beggarlyfool would have spent on this feast all the mo-ney she got from that other fool, Raskolnikov. Iwas surprised just now as I came through at thepreparations there, the wines! Several peopleare invited. It's beyond everything!" continuedPyotr Petrovitch, who seemed to have someobject in pursuing the conversation. "What?You say I am asked too? When was that? I don'tremember. But I shan't go. Why should I? I onlysaid a word to her in passing yesterday of thepossibility of her obtaining a year's salary as adestitute widow of a government clerk. I sup-pose she has invited me on that account, hasn'tshe? He-he-he!"

"I don't intend to go either," said Lebeziatnikov.

"I should think not, after giving her a thrashing!You might well hesitate, he-he!"

"Who thrashed? Whom?" cried Lebeziatnikov,flustered and blushing.

"Why, you thrashed Katerina Ivanovna amonth ago. I heard so yesterday... so that'swhat your convictions amount to... and thewoman question, too, wasn't quite sound, he-he-he!" and Pyotr Petrovitch, as though comfor-ted, went back to clicking his beads.

"It's all slander and nonsense!" cried Lebeziat-nikov, who was always afraid of allusions tothe subject. "It was not like that at all, it wasquite different. You've heard it wrong; it's alibel. I was simply defending myself. She rus-hed at me first with her nails, she pulled out allmy whiskers.... It's permissable for anyone, Ishould hope, to defend himself and I neverallow anyone to use violence to me on princi-ple, for it's an act of despotism. What was I todo? I simply pushed her back."

"He-he-he!" Luzhin went on laughing mali-ciously.

"You keep on like that because you are out ofhumour yourself.... But that's nonsense and ithas nothing, nothing whatever to do with thewoman question! You don't understand; I usedto think, indeed, that if women are equal tomen in all respects, even in strength (as is main-tained now) there ought to be equality in that,too. Of course, I reflected afterwards that such aquestion ought not really to arise, for thereought not to be fighting and in the future socie-ty fighting is unthinkable... and that it would bea queer thing to seek for equality in fighting. Iam not so stupid... though, of course, there isfighting... there won't be later, but at presentthere is... confound it! How muddled one getswith you! It's not on that account that I am notgoing. I am not going on principle, not to takepart in the revolting convention of memorialdinners, that's why! Though, of course, onemight go to laugh at it.... I am sorry there won'tbe any priests at it. I should certainly go if therewere."

"Then you would sit down at another man'stable and insult it and those who invited you.Eh?"

"Certainly not insult, but protest. I should do itwith a good object. I might indirectly assist thecause of enlightenment and propaganda. It's aduty of every man to work for enlightenmentand propaganda and the more harshly, per-haps, the better. I might drop a seed, an idea....And something might grow up from that seed.How should I be insulting them? They mightbe offended at first, but afterwards they'd seeI'd done them a service. You know, Terebyeva(who is in the community now) was blamedbecause when she left her family and... devo-ted... herself, she wrote to her father and mot-her that she wouldn't go on living conventiona-lly and was entering on a free marriage and itwas said that that was too harsh, that she mighthave spared them and have written more kind-ly. I think that's all nonsense and there's no

need of softness; on the contrary, what's wan-ted is protest. Varents had been married sevenyears, she abandoned her two children, she toldher husband straight out in a letter: 'I have rea-lised that I cannot be happy with you. I cannever forgive you that you have deceived meby concealing from me that there is anotherorganisation of society by means of the com-munities. I have only lately learned it from agreat-hearted man to whom I have given my-self and with whom I am establishing a com-munity. I speak plainly because I consider itdishonest to deceive you. Do as you think best.Do not hope to get me back, you are too late. Ihope you will be happy.' That's how letters likethat ought to be written!"

"Is that Terebyeva the one you said had made athird free marriage?"

"No, it's only the second, really! But what if itwere 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 Isometimes think if my parents were livingwhat a protest I would have aimed at them! Iwould have done something on purpose... Iwould have shown them! I would have asto-nished 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 de-licate-looking little thing? It's true what theysay about her, isn't it?"

"What of it? I think, that is, it is my own perso-nal conviction that this is the normal conditionof women. Why not? I mean, distinguons. In ourpresent society it is not altogether normal, be-cause it is compulsory, but in the future societyit will be perfectly normal, because it will bevoluntary. Even as it is, she was quite right: shewas suffering and that was her asset, so tospeak, her capital which she had a perfect rightto dispose of. Of course, in the future society

there will be no need of assets, but her part willhave another significance, rational and in har-mony with her environment. As to Sofya Sem-yonovna personally, I regard her action as avigorous protest against the organisation ofsociety, and I respect her deeply for it; I rejoiceindeed when I look at her!"

"I was told that you got her turned out of theselodgings."

Lebeziatnikov was enraged.

"That's another slander," he yelled. "It was notso at all! That was all Katerina Ivanovna's in-vention, for she did not understand! And I ne-ver made love to Sofya Semyonovna! I wassimply developing her, entirely disinterestedly,trying to rouse her to protest.... All I wantedwas her protest and Sofya Semyonovna couldnot have remained here anyway!"

"Have you asked her to join your community?"

"You keep on laughing and very inappropriate-ly, allow me to tell you. You don't understand!There is no such rôle in a community. Thecommunity is established that there should beno such rôles. In a community, such a rôle isessentially transformed and what is stupid hereis sensible there, what, under present condi-tions, is unnatural becomes perfectly natural inthe community. It all depends on the environ-ment. It's all the environment and man himselfis nothing. And I am on good terms with SofyaSemyonovna to this day, which is a proof thatshe never regarded me as having wronged her.I am trying now to attract her to the communi-ty, but on quite, quite a different footing. Whatare you laughing at? We are trying to establisha community of our own, a special one, on abroader basis. We have gone further in ourconvictions. We reject more! And meanwhileI'm still developing Sofya Semyonovna. She hasa beautiful, beautiful character!"

"And you take advantage of her fine character,eh? He-he!"

"No, no! Oh, no! On the contrary."

"Oh, on the contrary! He-he-he! A queer thingto say!"

"Believe me! Why should I disguise it? In fact, Ifeel it strange myself how timid, chaste andmodern she is with me!"

"And you, of course, are developing her... he-he! trying to prove to her that all that modestyis nonsense?"

"Not at all, not at all! How coarsely, how stu-pidly—excuse me saying so—you misunders-tand the word development! Good heavens,how... crude you still are! We are striving forthe freedom of women and you have only oneidea in your head.... Setting aside the generalquestion of chastity and feminine modesty as

useless in themselves and indeed prejudices, Ifully accept her chastity with me, because that'sfor her to decide. Of course if she were to tellme herself that she wanted me, I should thinkmyself very lucky, because I like the girl verymuch; but as it is, no one has ever treated hermore courteously than I, with more respect forher dignity... I wait in hopes, that's all!"

"You had much better make her a present ofsomething. I bet you never thought of that."

"You don't understand, as I've told you already!Of course, she is in such a position, but it'sanother question. Quite another question! Yousimply despise her. Seeing a fact which youmistakenly consider deserving of contempt,you refuse to take a humane view of a fellowcreature. You don't know what a character sheis! I am only sorry that of late she has quite gi-ven up reading and borrowing books. I used tolend them to her. I am sorry, too, that with allthe energy and resolution in protesting—which

she has already shown once—she has little self-reliance, little, so to say, independence, so as tobreak free from certain prejudices and certainfoolish ideas. Yet she thoroughly understandssome questions, for instance about kissing ofhands, that is, that it's an insult to a woman fora man to kiss her hand, because it's a sign ofinequality. We had a debate about it and I des-cribed it to her. She listened attentively to anaccount of the workmen's associations in Fran-ce, too. Now I am explaining the question ofcoming into the room in the future society."

"And what's that, pray?"

"We had a debate lately on the question: Has amember of the community the right to enteranother member's room, whether man or wo-man, at any time... and we decided that he has!"

"It might be at an inconvenient moment, he-he!"

Lebeziatnikov was really angry.

"You are always thinking of something unplea-sant," he cried with aversion. "Tfoo! How vexedI am that when I was expounding our system, Ireferred prematurely to the question of perso-nal privacy! It's always a stumbling-block topeople like you, they turn it into ridicule beforethey understand it. And how proud they are ofit, too! Tfoo! I've often maintained that thatquestion should not be approached by a novicetill he has a firm faith in the system. And tellme, please, what do you find so shameful evenin cesspools? I should be the first to be ready toclean out any cesspool you like. And it's not aquestion of self-sacrifice, it's simply work,honourable, useful work which is as good asany other and much better than the work of aRaphael and a Pushkin, because it is more use-ful."

"And more honourable, more honourable, he-he-he!"

"What do you mean by 'more honourable'? Idon't understand such expressions to describehuman activity. 'More honourable,' 'nobler'—allthose are old-fashioned prejudices which I re-ject. Everything which is of use to mankind ishonourable. I only understand one word: use-ful! You can snigger as much as you like, butthat's so!"

Pyotr Petrovitch laughed heartily. He had fi-nished counting the money and was putting itaway. But some of the notes he left on the table.The "cesspool question" had already been asubject of dispute between them. What wasabsurd was that it made Lebeziatnikov reallyangry, while it amused Luzhin and at that mo-ment he particularly wanted to anger his youngfriend.

"It's your ill-luck yesterday that makes you soill-humoured and annoying," blurted out Lebe-ziatnikov, who in spite of his "independence"and his "protests" did not venture to oppose

Pyotr Petrovitch and still behaved to him withsome of the respect habitual in earlier years.

"You'd better tell me this," Pyotr Petrovitchinterrupted with haughty displeasure, "canyou... or rather are you really friendly enoughwith that young person to ask her to step inhere for a minute? I think they've all come backfrom the cemetery... I heard the sound ofsteps... I want to see her, that young person."

"What for?" Lebeziatnikov asked with surprise.

"Oh, I want to. I am leaving here to-day or to-morrow and therefore I wanted to speak to herabout... However, you may be present duringthe interview. It's better you should be, indeed.For there's no knowing what you might imagi-ne."

"I shan't imagine anything. I only asked and, ifyou've anything to say to her, nothing is easier

than to call her in. I'll go directly and you maybe sure I won't be in your way."

Five minutes later Lebeziatnikov came in withSonia. She came in very much surprised andovercome with shyness as usual. She was al-ways shy in such circumstances and was al-ways afraid of new people, she had been as achild and was even more so now.... Pyotr Pe-trovitch met her "politely and affably," but witha certain shade of bantering familiarity whichin his opinion was suitable for a man of his res-pectability and weight in dealing with a creatu-re so young and so interesting as she. He haste-ned to "reassure" her and made her sit downfacing him at the table. Sonia sat down, lookedabout her—at Lebeziatnikov, at the notes lyingon the table and then again at Pyotr Petrovitchand her eyes remained riveted on him. Lebe-ziatnikov was moving to the door. Pyotr Petro-vitch signed to Sonia to remain seated andstopped Lebeziatnikov.

"Is Raskolnikov in there? Has he come?" heasked him in a whisper.

"Raskolnikov? Yes. Why? Yes, he is there. I sawhim just come in.... Why?"

"Well, I particularly beg you to remain herewith us and not to leave me alone with this...young woman. I only want a few words withher, but God knows what they may make of it. Ishouldn't like Raskolnikov to repeat anyt-hing.... You understand what I mean?"

"I understand!" Lebeziatnikov saw the point."Yes, you are right.... Of course, I am convincedpersonally that you have no reason to be unea-sy, but... still, you are right. Certainly I'll stay.I'll stand here at the window and not be in yourway... I think you are right..."

Pyotr Petrovitch returned to the sofa, sat downopposite Sonia, looked attentively at her andassumed an extremely dignified, even severe

expression, as much as to say, "don't you makeany mistake, madam." Sonia was overwhelmedwith embarrassment.

"In the first place, Sofya Semyonovna, will youmake my excuses to your respected mamma....That's right, isn't it? Katerina Ivanovna standsin the place of a mother to you?" Pyotr Petro-vitch began with great dignity, though affably.

It was evident that his intentions were friendly.

"Quite so, yes; the place of a mother," Soniaanswered, timidly and hurriedly.

"Then will you make my apologies to her?Through inevitable circumstances I am forcedto be absent and shall not be at the dinner inspite of your mamma's kind invitation."

"Yes... I'll tell her... at once."

And Sonia hastily jumped up from her seat.

"Wait, that's not all," Pyotr Petrovitch detainedher, smiling at her simplicity and ignorance ofgood manners, "and you know me little, mydear Sofya Semyonovna, if you suppose Iwould have ventured to trouble a person likeyou for a matter of so little consequence affec-ting myself only. I have another object."

Sonia sat down hurriedly. Her eyes restedagain for an instant on the grey-and-rainbow-coloured notes that remained on the table, butshe quickly looked away and fixed her eyes onPyotr Petrovitch. She felt it horribly indecorous,especially for her, to look at another person'smoney. She stared at the gold eye-glass whichPyotr Petrovitch held in his left hand and at themassive and extremely handsome ring with ayellow stone on his middle finger. But sudden-ly she looked away and, not knowing where toturn, ended by staring Pyotr Petrovitch againstraight in the face. After a pause of still greaterdignity he continued.

"I chanced yesterday in passing to exchange acouple of words with Katerina Ivanovna, poorwoman. That was sufficient to enable me toascertain that she is in a position—preternatural, if one may so express it."

"Yes... preternatural..." Sonia hurriedly assen-ted.

"Or it would be simpler and more comprehen-sible to say, ill."

"Yes, simpler and more comprehen... yes, ill."

"Quite so. So then from a feeling of humanityand so to speak compassion, I should be glad tobe of service to her in any way, foreseeing herunfortunate position. I believe the whole of thispoverty-stricken family depends now entirelyon you?"

"Allow me to ask," Sonia rose to her feet, "didyou say something to her yesterday of the pos-

sibility of a pension? Because she told me youhad undertaken to get her one. Was that true?"

"Not in the slightest, and indeed it's an absurdi-ty! I merely hinted at her obtaining temporaryassistance as the widow of an official who haddied in the service—if only she has patronage...but apparently your late parent had not servedhis full term and had not indeed been in theservice at all of late. In fact, if there could beany hope, it would be very ephemeral, becausethere would be no claim for assistance in thatcase, far from it.... And she is dreaming of apension already, he-he-he!... A go-ahead lady!"

"Yes, she is. For she is credulous and good-hearted, and she believes everything from thegoodness of her heart and... and... and she islike that... yes... You must excuse her," said So-nia, and again she got up to go.

"But you haven't heard what I have to say."

"No, I haven't heard," muttered Sonia.

"Then sit down." She was terribly confused; shesat down again a third time.

"Seeing her position with her unfortunate littleones, I should be glad, as I have said before, sofar as lies in my power, to be of service, that is,so far as is in my power, not more. One mightfor instance get up a subscription for her, or alottery, something of the sort, such as is alwaysarranged in such cases by friends or even out-siders desirous of assisting people. It was ofthat I intended to speak to you; it might be do-ne."

"Yes, yes... God will repay you for it," falteredSonia, gazing intently at Pyotr Petrovitch.

"It might be, but we will talk of it later. Wemight begin it to-day, we will talk it over thisevening and lay the foundation so to speak.Come to me at seven o'clock. Mr. Lebeziatni-

kov, I hope, will assist us. But there is one cir-cumstance of which I ought to warn you befo-rehand and for which I venture to trouble you,Sofya Semyonovna, to come here. In my opi-nion money cannot be, indeed it's unsafe to putit into Katerina Ivanovna's own hands. Thedinner to-day is a proof of that. Though she hasnot, so to speak, a crust of bread for to-morrowand... well, boots or shoes, or anything; she hasbought to-day Jamaica rum, and even, I believe,Madeira and... and coffee. I saw it as I passedthrough. To-morrow it will all fall upon youagain, they won't have a crust of bread. It's ab-surd, really, and so, to my thinking, a subscrip-tion ought to be raised so that the unhappywidow should not know of the money, but onlyyou, for instance. Am I right?"

"I don't know... this is only to-day, once in herlife.... She was so anxious to do honour, to cele-brate the memory.... And she is very sensible...but just as you think and I shall be very, very...

they will all be... and God will reward... and theorphans..."

Sonia burst into tears.

"Very well, then, keep it in mind; and now willyou accept for the benefit of your relation thesmall sum that I am able to spare, from me per-sonally. I am very anxious that my nameshould not be mentioned in connection with it.Here... having so to speak anxieties of my own,I cannot do more..."

And Pyotr Petrovitch held out to Sonia a ten-rouble note carefully unfolded. Sonia took it,flushed crimson, jumped up, muttered somet-hing and began taking leave. Pyotr Petrovitchaccompanied her ceremoniously to the door.She got out of the room at last, agitated anddistressed, and returned to Katerina Ivanovna,overwhelmed with confusion.

All this time Lebeziatnikov had stood at thewindow or walked about the room, anxious notto interrupt the conversation; when Sonia hadgone he walked up to Pyotr Petrovitch and so-lemnly held out his hand.

"I heard and saw everything," he said, layingstress on the last verb. "That is honourable, Imean to say, it's humane! You wanted to avoidgratitude, I saw! And although I cannot, I con-fess, in principle sympathise with private chari-ty, for it not only fails to eradicate the evil buteven promotes it, yet I must admit that I sawyour action with pleasure—yes, yes, I like it."

"That's all nonsense," muttered Pyotr Petro-vitch, somewhat disconcerted, looking carefullyat Lebeziatnikov.

"No, it's not nonsense! A man who has suffereddistress and annoyance as you did yesterdayand who yet can sympathise with the misery ofothers, such a man... even though he is making

a social mistake—is still deserving of respect! Idid not expect it indeed of you, Pyotr Petro-vitch, especially as according to your ideas...oh, what a drawback your ideas are to you!How distressed you are for instance by your ill-luck yesterday," cried the simple-hearted Lebe-ziatnikov, who felt a return of affection forPyotr Petrovitch. "And, what do you want withmarriage, with legal marriage, my dear, noblePyotr Petrovitch? Why do you cling to this lega-lity of marriage? Well, you may beat me if youlike, but I am glad, positively glad it hasn't co-me off, that you are free, that you are not quitelost for humanity.... you see, I've spoken mymind!"

"Because I don't want in your free marriage tobe made a fool of and to bring up anotherman's children, that's why I want legal marria-ge," Luzhin replied in order to make someanswer.

He seemed preoccupied by something.

"Children? You referred to children," Lebeziat-nikov started off like a warhorse at the trumpetcall. "Children are a social question and a ques-tion of first importance, I agree; but the ques-tion of children has another solution. Somerefuse to have children altogether, because theysuggest the institution of the family. We'llspeak of children later, but now as to the ques-tion of honour, I confess that's my weak point.That horrid, military, Pushkin expression isunthinkable in the dictionary of the future.What does it mean indeed? It's nonsense, therewill be no deception in a free marriage! That isonly the natural consequence of a legal marria-ge, so to say, its corrective, a protest. So thatindeed it's not humiliating... and if I ever, tosuppose an absurdity, were to be legally ma-rried, I should be positively glad of it. I shouldsay to my wife: 'My dear, hitherto I have lovedyou, now I respect you, for you've shown youcan protest!' You laugh! That's because you areof incapable of getting away from prejudices.

Confound it all! I understand now where theunpleasantness is of being deceived in a legalmarriage, but it's simply a despicable conse-quence of a despicable position in which bothare humiliated. When the deception is open, asin a free marriage, then it does not exist, it'sunthinkable. Your wife will only prove howshe respects you by considering you incapableof opposing her happiness and avenging your-self on her for her new husband. Damn it all! Isometimes dream if I were to be married, pfoo!I mean if I were to marry, legally or not, it's justthe same, I should present my wife with a loverif she had not found one for herself. 'My dear,' Ishould say, 'I love you, but even more than thatI desire you to respect me. See!' Am I notright?"

Pyotr Petrovitch sniggered as he listened, butwithout much merriment. He hardly heard itindeed. He was preoccupied with somethingelse and even Lebeziatnikov at last noticed it.

Pyotr Petrovitch seemed excited and rubbed hishands. Lebeziatnikov remembered all this andreflected upon it afterwards.

CHAPTER II

It would be difficult to explain exactly whatcould have originated the idea of that senselessdinner in Katerina Ivanovna's disordered brain.Nearly ten of the twenty roubles, given by Ras-kolnikov for Marmeladov's funeral, were was-ted upon it. Possibly Katerina Ivanovna feltobliged to honour the memory of the deceased"suitably," that all the lodgers, and still moreAmalia Ivanovna, might know "that he was inno way their inferior, and perhaps very muchtheir superior," and that no one had the right"to turn up his nose at him." Perhaps the chief

element was that peculiar "poor man's pride,"which compels many poor people to spendtheir last savings on some traditional socialceremony, simply in order to do "like otherpeople," and not to "be looked down upon." Itis very probable, too, that Katerina Ivanovnalonged on this occasion, at the moment whenshe seemed to be abandoned by everyone, toshow those "wretched contemptible lodgers"that she knew "how to do things, how to enter-tain" and that she had been brought up "in agenteel, she might almost say aristocratic colo-nel's family" and had not been meant for swee-ping floors and washing the children's rags atnight. Even the poorest and most broken-spirited people are sometimes liable to theseparoxysms of pride and vanity which take theform of an irresistible nervous craving. AndKaterina Ivanovna was not broken-spirited; shemight have been killed by circumstance, buther spirit could not have been broken, that is,she could not have been intimidated, her will

could not be crushed. Moreover Sonia had saidwith good reason that her mind was unhinged.She could not be said to be insane, but for ayear past she had been so harassed that hermind might well be overstrained. The later sta-ges of consumption are apt, doctors tell us, toaffect the intellect.

There was no great variety of wines, nor wasthere Madeira; but wine there was. There wasvodka, rum and Lisbon wine, all of the poorestquality but in sufficient quantity. Besides thetraditional rice and honey, there were three orfour dishes, one of which consisted of panca-kes, all prepared in Amalia Ivanovna's kitchen.Two samovars were boiling, that tea and punchmight be offered after dinner. Katerina Ivanov-na had herself seen to purchasing the provi-sions, with the help of one of the lodgers, anunfortunate little Pole who had somehow beenstranded at Madame Lippevechsel's. Hepromptly put himself at Katerina Ivanovna's

disposal and had been all that morning and allthe day before running about as fast as his legscould carry him, and very anxious that everyo-ne should be aware of it. For every trifle he ranto Katerina Ivanovna, even hunting her out atthe bazaar, at every instant called her "Pani."She was heartily sick of him before the end,though she had declared at first that she couldnot have got on without this "serviceable andmagnanimous man." It was one of KaterinaIvanovna's characteristics to paint everyone shemet in the most glowing colours. Her praiseswere so exaggerated as sometimes to be emba-rrassing; she would invent various circumstan-ces to the credit of her new acquaintance andquite genuinely believe in their reality. Then allof a sudden she would be disillusioned andwould rudely and contemptuously repulse theperson she had only a few hours before beenliterally adoring. She was naturally of a gay,lively and peace-loving disposition, but fromcontinual failures and misfortunes she had co-

me to desire so keenly that all should live inpeace and joy and should not dare to break thepeace, that the slightest jar, the smallest disasterreduced her almost to frenzy, and she wouldpass in an instant from the brightest hopes andfancies to cursing her fate and raving, andknocking her head against the wall.

Amalia Ivanovna, too, suddenly acquired ex-traordinary importance in Katerina Ivanovna'seyes and was treated by her with extraordinaryrespect, probably only because Amalia Ivanov-na had thrown herself heart and soul into thepreparations. She had undertaken to lay thetable, to provide the linen, crockery, etc., and tocook the dishes in her kitchen, and KaterinaIvanovna had left it all in her hands and goneherself to the cemetery. Everything had beenwell done. Even the table-cloth was nearlyclean; the crockery, knives, forks and glasseswere, of course, of all shapes and patterns, lentby different lodgers, but the table was properly

laid at the time fixed, and Amalia Ivanovna,feeling she had done her work well, had put ona black silk dress and a cap with new mourningribbons and met the returning party with somepride. This pride, though justifiable, displeasedKaterina Ivanovna for some reason: "as thoughthe table could not have been laid except byAmalia Ivanovna!" She disliked the cap withnew ribbons, too. "Could she be stuck up, thestupid German, because she was mistress of thehouse, and had consented as a favour to helpher poor lodgers! As a favour! Fancy that! Kate-rina Ivanovna's father who had been a coloneland almost a governor had sometimes had thetable set for forty persons, and then anyone likeAmalia Ivanovna, or rather Ludwigovna,would not have been allowed into the kitchen."

Katerina Ivanovna, however, put off expressingher feelings for the time and contented herselfwith treating her coldly, though she decidedinwardly that she would certainly have to put

Amalia Ivanovna down and set her in her pro-per place, for goodness only knew what shewas fancying herself. Katerina Ivanovna wasirritated too by the fact that hardly any of thelodgers invited had come to the funeral, exceptthe Pole who had just managed to run into thecemetery, while to the memorial dinner thepoorest and most insignificant of them hadturned up, the wretched creatures, many ofthem not quite sober. The older and more res-pectable of them all, as if by common consent,stayed away. Pyotr Petrovitch Luzhin, for ins-tance, who might be said to be the most respec-table of all the lodgers, did not appear, thoughKaterina Ivanovna had the evening before toldall the world, that is Amalia Ivanovna, Polenka,Sonia and the Pole, that he was the most gene-rous, noble-hearted man with a large propertyand vast connections, who had been a friend ofher first husband's, and a guest in her father'shouse, and that he had promised to use all hisinfluence to secure her a considerable pension.

It must be noted that when Katerina Ivanovnaexalted anyone's connections and fortune, itwas without any ulterior motive, quite disinte-restedly, for the mere pleasure of adding to theconsequence of the person praised. Probably"taking his cue" from Luzhin, "that contempti-ble wretch Lebeziatnikov had not turned upeither. What did he fancy himself? He was onlyasked out of kindness and because he was sha-ring the same room with Pyotr Petrovitch andwas a friend of his, so that it would have beenawkward not to invite him."

Among those who failed to appear were "thegenteel lady and her old-maidish daughter,"who had only been lodgers in the house for thelast fortnight, but had several times complainedof the noise and uproar in Katerina Ivanovna'sroom, especially when Marmeladov had comeback drunk. Katerina Ivanovna heard this fromAmalia Ivanovna who, quarrelling with Kateri-na Ivanovna, and threatening to turn the whole

family out of doors, had shouted at her thatthey "were not worth the foot" of the honoura-ble lodgers whom they were disturbing. Kate-rina Ivanovna determined now to invite thislady and her daughter, "whose foot she was notworth," and who had turned away haughtilywhen she casually met them, so that they mightknow that "she was more noble in her thoughtsand feelings and did not harbour malice," andmight see that she was not accustomed to herway of living. She had proposed to make thisclear to them at dinner with allusions to her latefather's governorship, and also at the same timeto hint that it was exceedingly stupid of them toturn away on meeting her. The fat colonel-major (he was really a discharged officer of lowrank) was also absent, but it appeared that hehad been "not himself" for the last two days.The party consisted of the Pole, a wretchedlooking clerk with a spotty face and a greasycoat, who had not a word to say for himself,and smelt abominably, a deaf and almost blind

old man who had once been in the post officeand who had been from immemorial agesmaintained by someone at Amalia Ivanovna's.

A retired clerk of the commissariat departmentcame, too; he was drunk, had a loud and mostunseemly laugh and only fancy—was without awaistcoat! One of the visitors sat straight downto the table without even greeting Katerina Iva-novna. Finally one person having no suit ap-peared in his dressing-gown, but this was toomuch, and the efforts of Amalia Ivanovna andthe Pole succeeded in removing him. The Polebrought with him, however, two other Poleswho did not live at Amalia Ivanovna's andwhom no one had seen here before. All thisirritated Katerina Ivanovna intensely. "Forwhom had they made all these preparationsthen?" To make room for the visitors the chil-dren had not even been laid for at the table; butthe two little ones were sitting on a bench in thefurthest corner with their dinner laid on a box,

while Polenka as a big girl had to look afterthem, feed them, and keep their noses wipedlike well-bred children's.

Katerina Ivanovna, in fact, could hardly helpmeeting her guests with increased dignity, andeven haughtiness. She stared at some of themwith special severity, and loftily invited themto take their seats. Rushing to the conclusionthat Amalia Ivanovna must be responsible forthose who were absent, she began treating herwith extreme nonchalance, which the latterpromptly observed and resented. Such a begin-ning was no good omen for the end. All wereseated at last.

Raskolnikov came in almost at the moment oftheir return from the cemetery. Katerina Iva-novna was greatly delighted to see him, in thefirst place, because he was the one "educatedvisitor, and, as everyone knew, was in twoyears to take a professorship in the university,"and secondly because he immediately and res-

pectfully apologised for having been unable tobe at the funeral. She positively pounced uponhim, and made him sit on her left hand (AmaliaIvanovna was on her right). In spite of her con-tinual anxiety that the dishes should be passedround correctly and that everyone should tastethem, in spite of the agonising cough whichinterrupted her every minute and seemed tohave grown worse during the last few days, shehastened to pour out in a half whisper to Ras-kolnikov all her suppressed feelings and herjust indignation at the failure of the dinner,interspersing her remarks with lively and un-controllable laughter at the expense of her visi-tors and especially of her landlady.

"It's all that cuckoo's fault! You know whom Imean? Her, her!" Katerina Ivanovna noddedtowards the landlady. "Look at her, she's ma-king round eyes, she feels that we are talkingabout her and can't understand. Pfoo, the owl!Ha-ha! (Cough-cough-cough.) And what does

she put on that cap for? (Cough-cough-cough.)Have you noticed that she wants everyone toconsider that she is patronising me and doingme an honour by being here? I asked her like asensible woman to invite people, especiallythose who knew my late husband, and look atthe set of fools she has brought! The sweeps!Look at that one with the spotty face. And tho-se wretched Poles, ha-ha-ha! (Cough-cough-cough.) Not one of them has ever poked hisnose in here, I've never set eyes on them. Whathave they come here for, I ask you? There theysit in a row. Hey, pan!" she cried suddenly toone of them, "have you tasted the pancakes?Take some more! Have some beer! Won't youhave some vodka? Look, he's jumped up and ismaking his bows, they must be quite starved,poor things. Never mind, let them eat! Theydon't make a noise, anyway, though I'm reallyafraid for our landlady's silver spoons... AmaliaIvanovna!" she addressed her suddenly, almostaloud, "if your spoons should happen to be

stolen, I won't be responsible, I warn you! Ha-ha-ha!" She laughed turning to Raskolnikov,and again nodding towards the landlady, inhigh glee at her sally. "She didn't understand,she didn't understand again! Look how she sitswith her mouth open! An owl, a real owl! Anowl in new ribbons, ha-ha-ha!"

Here her laugh turned again to an insufferablefit of coughing that lasted five minutes. Dropsof perspiration stood out on her forehead andher handkerchief was stained with blood. Sheshowed Raskolnikov the blood in silence, andas soon as she could get her breath began whis-pering to him again with extreme animationand a hectic flush on her cheeks.

"Do you know, I gave her the most delicateinstructions, so to speak, for inviting that ladyand her daughter, you understand of whom Iam speaking? It needed the utmost delicacy,the greatest nicety, but she has managed thingsso that that fool, that conceited baggage, that

provincial nonentity, simply because she is thewidow of a major, and has come to try and geta pension and to fray out her skirts in the go-vernment offices, because at fifty she paints herface (everybody knows it)... a creature like thatdid not think fit to come, and has not even ans-wered the invitation, which the most ordinarygood manners required! I can't understand whyPyotr Petrovitch has not come? But where'sSonia? Where has she gone? Ah, there she is atlast! what is it, Sonia, where have you been? It'sodd that even at your father's funeral youshould be so unpunctual. Rodion Romanovitch,make room for her beside you. That's your pla-ce, Sonia... take what you like. Have some ofthe cold entrée with jelly, that's the best. They'llbring the pancakes directly. Have they giventhe children some? Polenka, have you got eve-rything? (Cough-cough-cough.) That's all right.Be a good girl, Lida, and, Kolya, don't fidgetwith your feet; sit like a little gentleman. Whatare you saying, Sonia?"

Sonia hastened to give her Pyotr Petrovitch'sapologies, trying to speak loud enough foreveryone to hear and carefully choosing themost respectful phrases which she attributed toPyotr Petrovitch. She added that Pyotr Petro-vitch had particularly told her to say that, assoon as he possibly could, he would come im-mediately to discuss business alone with herand to consider what could be done for her,etc., etc.

Sonia knew that this would comfort KaterinaIvanovna, would flatter her and gratify herpride. She sat down beside Raskolnikov; shemade him a hurried bow, glancing curiously athim. But for the rest of the time she seemed toavoid looking at him or speaking to him. Sheseemed absent-minded, though she kept loo-king at Katerina Ivanovna, trying to please her.Neither she nor Katerina Ivanovna had beenable to get mourning; Sonia was wearing dark

brown, and Katerina Ivanovna had on her onlydress, a dark striped cotton one.

The message from Pyotr Petrovitch was verysuccessful. Listening to Sonia with dignity, Ka-terina Ivanovna inquired with equal dignityhow Pyotr Petrovitch was, then at once whispe-red almost aloud to Raskolnikov that it certain-ly would have been strange for a man of PyotrPetrovitch's position and standing to find him-self in such "extraordinary company," in spiteof his devotion to her family and his oldfriendship with her father.

"That's why I am so grateful to you, RodionRomanovitch, that you have not disdained myhospitality, even in such surroundings," sheadded almost aloud. "But I am sure that it wasonly your special affection for my poor hus-band that has made you keep your promise."

Then once more with pride and dignity shescanned her visitors, and suddenly inquired

aloud across the table of the deaf man:"Wouldn't he have some more meat, and hadhe been given some wine?" The old man madeno answer and for a long while could not un-derstand what he was asked, though his neigh-bours amused themselves by poking and sha-king him. He simply gazed about him with hismouth open, which only increased the generalmirth.

"What an imbecile! Look, look! Why was hebrought? But as to Pyotr Petrovitch, I alwayshad confidence in him," Katerina Ivanovna con-tinued, "and, of course, he is not like..." with anextremely stern face she addressed Amalia Iva-novna so sharply and loudly that the latter wasquite disconcerted, "not like your dressed updraggletails whom my father would not havetaken as cooks into his kitchen, and my latehusband would have done them honour if hehad invited them in the goodness of his heart."

"Yes, he was fond of drink, he was fond of it, hedid drink!" cried the commissariat clerk, gul-ping down his twelfth glass of vodka.

"My late husband certainly had that weakness,and everyone knows it," Katerina Ivanovnaattacked him at once, "but he was a kind andhonourable man, who loved and respected hisfamily. The worst of it was his good naturemade him trust all sorts of disreputable people,and he drank with fellows who were not worththe sole of his shoe. Would you believe it, Ro-dion Romanovitch, they found a gingerbreadcock in his pocket; he was dead drunk, but hedid not forget the children!"

"A cock? Did you say a cock?" shouted thecommissariat clerk.

Katerina Ivanovna did not vouchsafe a reply.She sighed, lost in thought.

"No doubt you think, like everyone, that I wastoo severe with him," she went on, addressingRaskolnikov. "But that's not so! He respectedme, he respected me very much! He was akind-hearted man! And how sorry I was forhim sometimes! He would sit in a corner andlook at me, I used to feel so sorry for him, Iused to want to be kind to him and then wouldthink to myself: 'Be kind to him and he willdrink again,' it was only by severity that youcould keep him within bounds."

"Yes, he used to get his hair pulled pretty of-ten," roared the commissariat clerk again, swa-llowing another glass of vodka.

"Some fools would be the better for a gooddrubbing, as well as having their hair pulled. Iam not talking of my late husband now!" Kate-rina Ivanovna snapped at him.

The flush on her cheeks grew more and moremarked, her chest heaved. In another minute

she would have been ready to make a scene.Many of the visitors were sniggering, evidentlydelighted. They began poking the commissariatclerk and whispering something to him. Theywere evidently trying to egg him on.

"Allow me to ask what are you alluding to,"began the clerk, "that is to say, whose... aboutwhom... did you say just now... But I don't care!That's nonsense! Widow! I forgive you.... Pass!"

And he took another drink of vodka.

Raskolnikov sat in silence, listening with dis-gust. He only ate from politeness, just tastingthe food that Katerina Ivanovna was continua-lly putting on his plate, to avoid hurting herfeelings. He watched Sonia intently. But Soniabecame more and more anxious and distressed;she, too, foresaw that the dinner would not endpeaceably, and saw with terror Katerina Iva-novna's growing irritation. She knew that she,Sonia, was the chief reason for the 'genteel' la-

dies' contemptuous treatment of Katerina Iva-novna's invitation. She had heard from AmaliaIvanovna that the mother was positively offen-ded at the invitation and had asked the ques-tion: "How could she let her daughter sit downbeside that young person?" Sonia had a feelingthat Katerina Ivanovna had already heard thisand an insult to Sonia meant more to KaterinaIvanovna than an insult to herself, her children,or her father, Sonia knew that Katerina Ivanov-na would not be satisfied now, "till she hadshown those draggletails that they were both..."To make matters worse someone passed Sonia,from the other end of the table, a plate with twohearts pierced with an arrow, cut out of blackbread. Katerina Ivanovna flushed crimson andat once said aloud across the table that the manwho sent it was "a drunken ass!"

Amalia Ivanovna was foreseeing somethingamiss, and at the same time deeply woundedby Katerina Ivanovna's haughtiness, and to

restore the good-humour of the company andraise herself in their esteem she began, aproposof nothing, telling a story about an acquaintan-ce of hers "Karl from the chemist's," who wasdriving one night in a cab, and that "the cab-man wanted him to kill, and Karl very muchbegged him not to kill, and wept and claspedhands, and frightened and from fear pierced hisheart." Though Katerina Ivanovna smiled, sheobserved at once that Amalia Ivanovna oughtnot to tell anecdotes in Russian; the latter wasstill more offended, and she retorted that her"Vater aus Berlin was a very important man, andalways went with his hands in pockets." Kate-rina Ivanovna could not restrain herself andlaughed so much that Amalia Ivanovna lostpatience and could scarcely control herself.

"Listen to the owl!" Katerina Ivanovna whispe-red at once, her good-humour almost restored,"she meant to say he kept his hands in his poc-kets, but she said he put his hands in people's

pockets. (Cough-cough.) And have you noticed,Rodion Romanovitch, that all these Petersburgforeigners, the Germans especially, are all stu-pider than we! Can you fancy anyone of ustelling how 'Karl from the chemist's' 'piercedhis heart from fear' and that the idiot, instead ofpunishing the cabman, 'clasped his hands andwept, and much begged.' Ah, the fool! And youknow she fancies it's very touching and doesnot suspect how stupid she is! To my thinkingthat drunken commissariat clerk is a great dealcleverer, anyway one can see that he has add-led his brains with drink, but you know, theseforeigners are always so well behaved and se-rious.... Look how she sits glaring! She is angry,ha-ha! (Cough-cough-cough.)"

Regaining her good-humour, Katerina Ivanov-na began at once telling Raskolnikov that whenshe had obtained her pension, she intended toopen a school for the daughters of gentlemen inher native town T——. This was the first time

she had spoken to him of the project, and shelaunched out into the most alluring details. Itsuddenly appeared that Katerina Ivanovna hadin her hands the very certificate of honour ofwhich Marmeladov had spoken to Raskolnikovin the tavern, when he told him that KaterinaIvanovna, his wife, had danced the shawl dan-ce before the governor and other great perso-nages on leaving school. This certificate ofhonour was obviously intended now to proveKaterina Ivanovna's right to open a boarding-school; but she had armed herself with it chie-fly with the object of overwhelming "those twostuck-up draggletails" if they came to the din-ner, and proving incontestably that KaterinaIvanovna was of the most noble, "she mighteven say aristocratic family, a colonel's daugh-ter and was far superior to certain adventures-ses who have been so much to the fore of late."The certificate of honour immediately passedinto the hands of the drunken guests, and Kate-rina Ivanovna did not try to retain it, for it ac-

tually contained the statement en toutes lettres,that her father was of the rank of a major, andalso a companion of an order, so that she reallywas almost the daughter of a colonel.

Warming up, Katerina Ivanovna proceeded toenlarge on the peaceful and happy life theywould lead in T——, on the gymnasium tea-chers whom she would engage to give lessonsin her boarding-school, one a most respectableold Frenchman, one Mangot, who had taughtKaterina Ivanovna herself in old days and wasstill living in T——, and would no doubt teachin her school on moderate terms. Next she spo-ke of Sonia who would go with her to T——and help her in all her plans. At this someone atthe further end of the table gave a sudden guf-faw.

Though Katerina Ivanovna tried to appear to bedisdainfully unaware of it, she raised her voiceand began at once speaking with conviction ofSonia's undoubted ability to assist her, of "her

gentleness, patience, devotion, generosity andgood education," tapping Sonia on the cheekand kissing her warmly twice. Sonia flushedcrimson, and Katerina Ivanovna suddenlyburst into tears, immediately observing that shewas "nervous and silly, that she was too muchupset, that it was time to finish, and as the din-ner was over, it was time to hand round thetea."

At that moment, Amalia Ivanovna, deeply ag-grieved at taking no part in the conversation,and not being listened to, made one last effort,and with secret misgivings ventured on an ex-ceedingly deep and weighty observation, that"in the future boarding-school she would haveto pay particular attention to die Wäsche, andthat there certainly must be a good dame to lookafter the linen, and secondly that the youngladies must not novels at night read."

Katerina Ivanovna, who certainly was upsetand very tired, as well as heartily sick of the

dinner, at once cut short Amalia Ivanovna, sa-ying "she knew nothing about it and was tal-king nonsense, that it was the business of thelaundry maid, and not of the directress of ahigh-class boarding-school to look after dieWäsche, and as for novel-reading, that was sim-ply rudeness, and she begged her to be silent."Amalia Ivanovna fired up and getting angryobserved that she only "meant her good," andthat "she had meant her very good," and that "itwas long since she had paid her gold for thelodgings."

Katerina Ivanovna at once "set her down," sa-ying that it was a lie to say she wished hergood, because only yesterday when her deadhusband was lying on the table, she had wo-rried her about the lodgings. To this AmaliaIvanovna very appropriately observed that shehad invited those ladies, but "those ladies hadnot come, because those ladies are ladies andcannot come to a lady who is not a lady." Kate-

rina Ivanovna at once pointed out to her, thatas she was a slut she could not judge what ma-de one really a lady. Amalia Ivanovna at oncedeclared that her "Vater aus Berlin was a very,very important man, and both hands in pocketswent, and always used to say: 'Poof! poof!'" andshe leapt up from the table to represent herfather, sticking her hands in her pockets, puf-fing her cheeks, and uttering vague soundsresembling "poof! poof!" amid loud laughterfrom all the lodgers, who purposely encoura-ged Amalia Ivanovna, hoping for a fight.

But this was too much for Katerina Ivanovna,and she at once declared, so that all could hear,that Amalia Ivanovna probably never had afather, but was simply a drunken PetersburgFinn, and had certainly once been a cook andprobably something worse. Amalia Ivanovnaturned as red as a lobster and squealed thatperhaps Katerina Ivanovna never had a father,

"but she had a Vater aus Berlin and that he worea long coat and always said poof-poof-poof!"

Katerina Ivanovna observed contemptuouslythat all knew what her family was and that onthat very certificate of honour it was stated inprint that her father was a colonel, while Ama-lia Ivanovna's father—if she really had one—was probably some Finnish milkman, but thatprobably she never had a father at all, since itwas still uncertain whether her name was Ama-lia Ivanovna or Amalia Ludwigovna.

At this Amalia Ivanovna, lashed to fury, struckthe table with her fist, and shrieked that shewas Amalia Ivanovna, and not Ludwigovna,"that her Vater was named Johann and that hewas a burgomeister, and that Katerina Ivanov-na's Vater was quite never a burgomeister."Katerina Ivanovna rose from her chair, andwith a stern and apparently calm voice (thoughshe was pale and her chest was heaving) obser-ved that "if she dared for one moment to set her

contemptible wretch of a father on a level withher papa, she, Katerina Ivanovna, would tearher cap off her head and trample it under foot."Amalia Ivanovna ran about the room, shoutingat the top of her voice, that she was mistress ofthe house and that Katerina Ivanovna shouldleave the lodgings that minute; then she rushedfor some reason to collect the silver spoonsfrom the table. There was a great outcry anduproar, the children began crying. Sonia ran torestrain Katerina Ivanovna, but when AmaliaIvanovna shouted something about "the yellowticket," Katerina Ivanovna pushed Sonia away,and rushed at the landlady to carry out herthreat.

At that minute the door opened, and Pyotr Pe-trovitch Luzhin appeared on the threshold. Hestood scanning the party with severe and vigi-lant eyes. Katerina Ivanovna rushed to him.

CHAPTER III

"Pyotr Petrovitch," she cried, "protect me... youat least! Make this foolish woman understandthat she can't behave like this to a lady in mis-fortune... that there is a law for such things....I'll go to the governor-general himself.... Sheshall answer for it.... Remembering my father'shospitality protect these orphans."

"Allow me, madam.... Allow me." Pyotr Petro-vitch waved her off. "Your papa as you are wellaware I had not the honour of knowing" (so-meone laughed aloud) "and I do not intend totake part in your everlasting squabbles withAmalia Ivanovna.... I have come here to speakof my own affairs... and I want to have a word

with your stepdaughter, Sofya... Ivanovna, Ithink it is? Allow me to pass."

Pyotr Petrovitch, edging by her, went to theopposite corner where Sonia was.

Katerina Ivanovna remained standing whereshe was, as though thunderstruck. She couldnot understand how Pyotr Petrovitch coulddeny having enjoyed her father's hospitality.Though she had invented it herself, she belie-ved in it firmly by this time. She was struck tooby the businesslike, dry and even contemp-tuous menacing tone of Pyotr Petrovitch. Allthe clamour gradually died away at his entran-ce. Not only was this "serious business man"strikingly incongruous with the rest of the par-ty, but it was evident, too, that he had comeupon some matter of consequence, that someexceptional cause must have brought him andthat therefore something was going to happen.Raskolnikov, standing beside Sonia, movedaside to let him pass; Pyotr Petrovitch did not

seem to notice him. A minute later Lebeziatni-kov, too, appeared in the doorway; he did notcome in, but stood still, listening with markedinterest, almost wonder, and seemed for a timeperplexed.

"Excuse me for possibly interrupting you, butit's a matter of some importance," Pyotr Petro-vitch observed, addressing the company gene-rally. "I am glad indeed to find other personspresent. Amalia Ivanovna, I humbly beg you asmistress of the house to pay careful attention towhat I have to say to Sofya Ivanovna. SofyaIvanovna," he went on, addressing Sonia, whowas very much surprised and already alarmed,"immediately after your visit I found that ahundred-rouble note was missing from mytable, in the room of my friend Mr. Lebeziatni-kov. If in any way whatever you know and willtell us where it is now, I assure you on myword of honour and call all present to witnessthat the matter shall end there. In the opposite

case I shall be compelled to have recourse tovery serious measures and then... you mustblame yourself."

Complete silence reigned in the room. Even thecrying children were still. Sonia stood deadlypale, staring at Luzhin and unable to say aword. She seemed not to understand. Someseconds passed.

"Well, how is it to be then?" asked Luzhin, loo-king intently at her.

"I don't know.... I know nothing about it," Soniaarticulated faintly at last.

"No, you know nothing?" Luzhin repeated andagain he paused for some seconds. "Think amoment, mademoiselle," he began severely, butstill, as it were, admonishing her. "Reflect, I amprepared to give you time for consideration.Kindly observe this: if I were not so entirelyconvinced I should not, you may be sure, with

my experience venture to accuse you so direc-tly. Seeing that for such direct accusation beforewitnesses, if false or even mistaken, I shouldmyself in a certain sense be made responsible, Iam aware of that. This morning I changed formy own purposes several five-per-cent securi-ties for the sum of approximately three thou-sand roubles. The account is noted down in mypocket-book. On my return home I proceededto count the money—as Mr. Lebeziatnikov willbear witness—and after counting two thousandthree hundred roubles I put the rest in my poc-ket-book in my coat pocket. About five hun-dred roubles remained on the table and amongthem three notes of a hundred roubles each. Atthat moment you entered (at my invitation)—and all the time you were present you wereexceedingly embarrassed; so that three timesyou jumped up in the middle of the conversa-tion and tried to make off. Mr. Lebeziatnikovcan bear witness to this. You yourself, made-moiselle, probably will not refuse to confirm

my statement that I invited you through Mr.Lebeziatnikov, solely in order to discuss withyou the hopeless and destitute position of yourrelative, Katerina Ivanovna (whose dinner Iwas unable to attend), and the advisability ofgetting up something of the nature of a subs-cription, lottery or the like, for her benefit. Youthanked me and even shed tears. I describe allthis as it took place, primarily to recall it toyour mind and secondly to show you that notthe slightest detail has escaped my recollection.Then I took a ten-rouble note from the tableand handed it to you by way of first instalmenton my part for the benefit of your relative. Mr.Lebeziatnikov saw all this. Then I accompaniedyou to the door—you being still in the samestate of embarrassment—after which, being leftalone with Mr. Lebeziatnikov I talked to himfor ten minutes—then Mr. Lebeziatnikov wentout and I returned to the table with the moneylying on it, intending to count it and to put itaside, as I proposed doing before. To my sur-

prise one hundred-rouble note had disappea-red. Kindly consider the position. Mr. Lebe-ziatnikov I cannot suspect. I am ashamed toallude to such a supposition. I cannot have ma-de a mistake in my reckoning, for the minutebefore your entrance I had finished my ac-counts and found the total correct. You willadmit that recollecting your embarrassment,your eagerness to get away and the fact thatyou kept your hands for some time on the ta-ble, and taking into consideration your socialposition and the habits associated with it, I was,so to say, with horror and positively against mywill, compelled to entertain a suspicion—a cruel,but justifiable suspicion! I will add further andrepeat that in spite of my positive conviction, Irealise that I run a certain risk in making thisaccusation, but as you see, I could not let itpass. I have taken action and I will tell youwhy: solely, madam, solely, owing to yourblack ingratitude! Why! I invite you for the be-nefit of your destitute relative, I present you

with my donation of ten roubles and you, onthe spot, repay me for all that with such an ac-tion. It is too bad! You need a lesson. Reflect!Moreover, like a true friend I beg you—andyou could have no better friend at this mo-ment—think what you are doing, otherwise Ishall be immovable! Well, what do you say?"

"I have taken nothing," Sonia whispered in te-rror, "you gave me ten roubles, here it is, takeit."

Sonia pulled her handkerchief out of her poc-ket, untied a corner of it, took out the ten-rouble note and gave it to Luzhin.

"And the hundred roubles you do not confessto taking?" he insisted reproachfully, not takingthe note.

Sonia looked about her. All were looking at herwith such awful, stern, ironical, hostile eyes.She looked at Raskolnikov... he stood against

the wall, with his arms crossed, looking at herwith glowing eyes.

"Good God!" broke from Sonia.

"Amalia Ivanovna, we shall have to send wordto the police and therefore I humbly beg youmeanwhile to send for the house porter," Luz-hin said softly and even kindly.

"Gott der Barmherzige! I knew she was the thief,"cried Amalia Ivanovna, throwing up her hands.

"You knew it?" Luzhin caught her up, "then Isuppose you had some reason before this forthinking so. I beg you, worthy Amalia Ivanov-na, to remember your words which have beenuttered before witnesses."

There was a buzz of loud conversation on allsides. All were in movement.

"What!" cried Katerina Ivanovna, suddenlyrealising the position, and she rushed at Luz-

hin. "What! You accuse her of stealing? Sonia?Ah, the wretches, the wretches!"

And running to Sonia she flung her wastedarms round her and held her as in a vise.

"Sonia! how dared you take ten roubles fromhim? Foolish girl! Give it to me! Give me theten roubles at once—here!"

And snatching the note from Sonia, KaterinaIvanovna crumpled it up and flung it straightinto Luzhin's face. It hit him in the eye and fellon the ground. Amalia Ivanovna hastened topick it up. Pyotr Petrovitch lost his temper.

"Hold that mad woman!" he shouted.

At that moment several other persons, besidesLebeziatnikov, appeared in the doorway,among them the two ladies.

"What! Mad? Am I mad? Idiot!" shrieked Kate-rina Ivanovna. "You are an idiot yourself, petti-

fogging lawyer, base man! Sonia, Sonia take hismoney! Sonia a thief! Why, she'd give away herlast penny!" and Katerina Ivanovna broke intohysterical laughter. "Did you ever see such anidiot?" she turned from side to side. "And youtoo?" she suddenly saw the landlady, "and youtoo, sausage eater, you declare that she is athief, you trashy Prussian hen's leg in a crinoli-ne! She hasn't been out of this room: she camestraight from you, you wretch, and sat downbeside me, everyone saw her. She sat here, byRodion Romanovitch. Search her! Since she'snot left the room, the money would have to beon her! Search her, search her! But if you don'tfind it, then excuse me, my dear fellow, you'llanswer for it! I'll go to our Sovereign, to ourSovereign, to our gracious Tsar himself, andthrow myself at his feet, to-day, this minute! Iam alone in the world! They would let me in!Do you think they wouldn't? You're wrong, Iwill get in! I will get in! You reckoned on hermeekness! You relied upon that! But I am not

so submissive, let me tell you! You've gone toofar yourself. Search her, search her!"

And Katerina Ivanovna in a frenzy shook Luz-hin and dragged him towards Sonia.

"I am ready, I'll be responsible... but calm your-self, madam, calm yourself. I see that you arenot so submissive!... Well, well, but as to that..."Luzhin muttered, "that ought to be before thepolice... though indeed there are witnessesenough as it is.... I am ready.... But in any caseit'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.... Howis it to be done?"

"As you will! Let anyone who likes search her!"cried Katerina Ivanovna. "Sonia, turn out yourpockets! See! Look, monster, the pocket is emp-ty, here was her handkerchief! Here is the otherpocket, look! D'you see, d'you see?"

And Katerina Ivanovna turned—or rather snat-ched—both pockets inside out. But from theright pocket a piece of paper flew out and des-cribing a parabola in the air fell at Luzhin's feet.Everyone saw it, several cried out. Pyotr Petro-vitch stooped down, picked up the paper intwo fingers, lifted it where all could see it andopened it. It was a hundred-rouble note foldedin eight. Pyotr Petrovitch held up the noteshowing it to everyone.

"Thief! Out of my lodging. Police, police!" ye-lled Amalia Ivanovna. "They must to Siberia besent! Away!"

Exclamations arose on all sides. Raskolnikovwas silent, keeping his eyes fixed on Sonia, ex-cept for an occasional rapid glance at Luzhin.Sonia stood still, as though unconscious. Shewas hardly able to feel surprise. Suddenly thecolour rushed to her cheeks; she uttered a cryand hid her face in her hands.

"No, it wasn't I! I didn't take it! I know nothingabout it," she cried with a heartrending wail,and she ran to Katerina Ivanovna, who claspedher tightly in her arms, as though she wouldshelter her from all the world.

"Sonia! Sonia! I don't believe it! You see, I don'tbelieve it!" she cried in the face of the obviousfact, swaying her to and fro in her arms like ababy, kissing her face continually, then snat-ching at her hands and kissing them, too, "youtook it! How stupid these people are! Oh dear!You are fools, fools," she cried, addressing thewhole room, "you don't know, you don't knowwhat a heart she has, what a girl she is! Shetake it, she? She'd sell her last rag, she'd go ba-refoot to help you if you needed it, that's whatshe is! She has the yellow passport because mychildren were starving, she sold herself for us!Ah, husband, husband! Do you see? Do yousee? What a memorial dinner for you! Mercifulheavens! Defend her, why are you all standing

still? Rodion Romanovitch, why don't youstand up for her? Do you believe it, too? Youare not worth her little finger, all of you toget-her! Good God! Defend her now, at least!"

The wail of the poor, consumptive, helplesswoman seemed to produce a great effect on heraudience. The agonised, wasted, consumptiveface, the parched blood-stained lips, the hoarsevoice, the tears unrestrained as a child's, thetrustful, childish and yet despairing prayer forhelp were so piteous that everyone seemed tofeel for her. Pyotr Petrovitch at any rate was atonce moved to compassion.

"Madam, madam, this incident does not reflectupon you!" he cried impressively, "no onewould take upon himself to accuse you of beingan instigator or even an accomplice in it, espe-cially as you have proved her guilt by turningout her pockets, showing that you had no pre-vious idea of it. I am most ready, most ready toshow compassion, if poverty, so to speak, dro-

ve Sofya Semyonovna to it, but why did yourefuse to confess, mademoiselle? Were youafraid of the disgrace? The first step? You lostyour head, perhaps? One can quite understandit.... But how could you have lowered yourselfto such an action? Gentlemen," he addressedthe whole company, "gentlemen! Compassiona-te and, so to say, commiserating these people, Iam ready to overlook it even now in spite of thepersonal insult lavished upon me! And maythis disgrace be a lesson to you for the future,"he said, addressing Sonia, "and I will carry thematter no further. Enough!"

Pyotr Petrovitch stole a glance at Raskolnikov.Their eyes met, and the fire in Raskolnikov'sseemed ready to reduce him to ashes. Meanw-hile Katerina Ivanovna apparently heard not-hing. She was kissing and hugging Sonia like amadwoman. The children, too, were embracingSonia on all sides, and Polenka—though shedid not fully understand what was wrong—

was drowned in tears and shaking with sobs, asshe hid her pretty little face, swollen with wee-ping, on Sonia's shoulder.

"How vile!" a loud voice cried suddenly in thedoorway.

Pyotr Petrovitch looked round quickly.

"What vileness!" Lebeziatnikov repeated, sta-ring him straight in the face.

Pyotr Petrovitch gave a positive start—all noti-ced it and recalled it afterwards. Lebeziatnikovstrode into the room.

"And you dared to call me as witness?" he said,going up to Pyotr Petrovitch.

"What do you mean? What are you talkingabout?" muttered Luzhin.

"I mean that you... are a slanderer, that's whatmy words mean!" Lebeziatnikov said hotly,

looking sternly at him with his short-sightedeyes.

He was extremely angry. Raskolnikov gazedintently at him, as though seizing and weighingeach word. Again there was a silence. PyotrPetrovitch indeed seemed almost dumbfoun-ded for the first moment.

"If you mean that for me,..." he began, stamme-ring. "But what's the matter with you? Are youout of your mind?"

"I'm in my mind, but you are a scoundrel! Ah,how vile! I have heard everything. I kept wai-ting on purpose to understand it, for I mustown even now it is not quite logical.... Whatyou have done it all for I can't understand."

"Why, what have I done then? Give over tal-king in your nonsensical riddles! Or maybe youare drunk!"

"You may be a drunkard, perhaps, vile man,but I am not! I never touch vodka, for it'sagainst my convictions. Would you believe it,he, he himself, with his own hands gave SofyaSemyonovna that hundred-rouble note—I sawit, I was a witness, I'll take my oath! He did it,he!" repeated Lebeziatnikov, addressing all.

"Are you crazy, milksop?" squealed Luzhin."She is herself before you—she herself heredeclared just now before everyone that I gaveher only ten roubles. How could I have given itto her?"

"I saw it, I saw it," Lebeziatnikov repeated, "andthough it is against my principles, I am readythis very minute to take any oath you like befo-re the court, for I saw how you slipped it in herpocket. Only like a fool I thought you did it outof kindness! When you were saying good-byeto her at the door, while you held her hand inone hand, with the other, the left, you slippedthe note into her pocket. I saw it, I saw it!"

Luzhin turned pale.

"What lies!" he cried impudently, "why, howcould you, standing by the window, see thenote? You fancied it with your short-sightedeyes. You are raving!"

"No, I didn't fancy it. And though I was stan-ding some way off, I saw it all. And though itcertainly would be hard to distinguish a notefrom the window—that's true—I knew for cer-tain that it was a hundred-rouble note, because,when you were going to give Sofya Semyonov-na ten roubles, you took up from the table ahundred-rouble note (I saw it because I wasstanding near then, and an idea struck me atonce, so that I did not forget you had it in yourhand). You folded it and kept it in your handall the time. I didn't think of it again until,when you were getting up, you changed it fromyour right hand to your left and nearly drop-ped it! I noticed it because the same idea struckme again, that you meant to do her a kindness

without my seeing. You can fancy how I wat-ched you and I saw how you succeeded in slip-ping it into her pocket. I saw it, I saw it, I'll takemy oath."

Lebeziatnikov was almost breathless. Exclama-tions arose on all hands chiefly expressive ofwonder, but some were menacing in tone. Theyall crowded round Pyotr Petrovitch. KaterinaIvanovna flew to Lebeziatnikov.

"I was mistaken in you! Protect her! You are theonly one to take her part! She is an orphan. Godhas sent you!"

Katerina Ivanovna, hardly knowing what shewas doing, sank on her knees before him.

"A pack of nonsense!" yelled Luzhin, roused tofury, "it's all nonsense you've been talking! 'Anidea struck you, you didn't think, you noti-ced'—what does it amount to? So I gave it to

her on the sly on purpose? What for? Withwhat object? What have I to do with this...?"

"What for? That's what I can't understand, butthat what I am telling you is the fact, that's cer-tain! So far from my being mistaken, you infa-mous criminal man, I remember how, on ac-count of it, a question occurred to me at once,just when I was thanking you and pressingyour hand. What made you put it secretly inher pocket? Why you did it secretly, I mean?Could it be simply to conceal it from me, kno-wing that my convictions are opposed to yoursand that I do not approve of private benevolen-ce, which effects no radical cure? Well, I deci-ded that you really were ashamed of givingsuch a large sum before me. Perhaps, too, Ithought, he wants to give her a surprise, whenshe finds a whole hundred-rouble note in herpocket. (For I know, some benevolent peopleare very fond of decking out their charitableactions in that way.) Then the idea struck me,

too, that you wanted to test her, to see whether,when she found it, she would come to thankyou. Then, too, that you wanted to avoidthanks and that, as the saying is, your righthand should not know... something of that sort,in fact. I thought of so many possibilities that Iput off considering it, but still thought it indeli-cate to show you that I knew your secret. Butanother idea struck me again that Sofya Sem-yonovna might easily lose the money beforeshe noticed it, that was why I decided to comein here to call her out of the room and to tell herthat you put a hundred roubles in her pocket.But on my way I went first to Madame Kobilat-nikov's to take them the 'General Treatise onthe Positive Method' and especially to recom-mend Piderit's article (and also Wagner's); thenI come on here and what a state of things I find!Now could I, could I, have all these ideas andreflections if I had not seen you put the hun-dred-rouble note in her pocket?"

When Lebeziatnikov finished his long-windedharangue with the logical deduction at the end,he was quite tired, and the perspiration strea-med from his face. He could not, alas, evenexpress himself correctly in Russian, though heknew no other language, so that he was quiteexhausted, almost emaciated after this heroicexploit. But his speech produced a powerfuleffect. He had spoken with such vehemence,with such conviction that everyone obviouslybelieved him. Pyotr Petrovitch felt that thingswere going badly with him.

"What is it to do with me if silly ideas did occurto you?" he shouted, "that's no evidence. Youmay have dreamt it, that's all! And I tell you,you are lying, sir. You are lying and slanderingfrom some spite against me, simply from pique,because I did not agree with your free-thinking,godless, social propositions!"

But this retort did not benefit Pyotr Petrovitch.Murmurs of disapproval were heard on all si-des.

"Ah, that's your line now, is it!" cried Lebeziat-nikov, "that's nonsense! Call the police and I'lltake my oath! There's only one thing I can'tunderstand: what made him risk such a con-temptible action. Oh, pitiful, despicable man!"

"I can explain why he risked such an action,and if necessary, I, too, will swear to it," Ras-kolnikov said at last in a firm voice, and hestepped forward.

He appeared to be firm and composed. Ever-yone felt clearly, from the very look of him thathe really knew about it and that the mysterywould be solved.

"Now I can explain it all to myself," said Ras-kolnikov, addressing Lebeziatnikov. "From thevery beginning of the business, I suspected that

there was some scoundrelly intrigue at the bot-tom of it. I began to suspect it from some spe-cial circumstances known to me only, which Iwill explain at once to everyone: they accountfor everything. Your valuable evidence hasfinally made everything clear to me. I beg all,all to listen. This gentleman (he pointed to Luz-hin) was recently engaged to be married to ayoung lady—my sister, Avdotya RomanovnaRaskolnikov. But coming to Petersburg he qua-rrelled with me, the day before yesterday, atour first meeting and I drove him out of myroom—I have two witnesses to prove it. He is avery spiteful man.... The day before yesterday Idid not know that he was staying here, in yourroom, and that consequently on the very daywe quarrelled—the day before yesterday—hesaw me give Katerina Ivanovna some moneyfor the funeral, as a friend of the late Mr. Mar-meladov. He at once wrote a note to my motherand informed her that I had given away all mymoney, not to Katerina Ivanovna but to Sofya

Semyonovna, and referred in a most contemp-tible way to the... character of Sofya Semyo-novna, that is, hinted at the character of myattitude to Sofya Semyonovna. All this you un-derstand was with the object of dividing mefrom my mother and sister, by insinuating thatI was squandering on unworthy objects themoney which they had sent me and which wasall they had. Yesterday evening, before mymother and sister and in his presence, I decla-red that I had given the money to Katerina Iva-novna for the funeral and not to Sofya Semyo-novna and that I had no acquaintance with Sof-ya Semyonovna and had never seen her before,indeed. At the same time I added that he, PyotrPetrovitch Luzhin, with all his virtues, was notworth Sofya Semyonovna's little finger, thoughhe spoke so ill of her. To his question—would Ilet Sofya Semyonovna sit down beside my sis-ter, I answered that I had already done so thatday. Irritated that my mother and sister wereunwilling to quarrel with me at his insinua-

tions, he gradually began being unpardonablyrude to them. A final rupture took place and hewas turned out of the house. All this happenedyesterday evening. Now I beg your special at-tention: consider: if he had now succeeded inproving that Sofya Semyonovna was a thief, hewould have shown to my mother and sisterthat he was almost right in his suspicions, thathe had reason to be angry at my putting mysister on a level with Sofya Semyonovna, that,in attacking me, he was protecting and preser-ving the honour of my sister, his betrothed. Infact he might even, through all this, have beenable to estrange me from my family, and nodoubt he hoped to be restored to favour withthem; to say nothing of revenging himself onme personally, for he has grounds for suppo-sing that the honour and happiness of SofyaSemyonovna are very precious to me. That waswhat he was working for! That's how I unders-tand it. That's the whole reason for it and therecan be no other!"

It was like this, or somewhat like this, that Ras-kolnikov wound up his speech which was fo-llowed very attentively, though often interrup-ted by exclamations from his audience. But inspite of interruptions he spoke clearly, calmly,exactly, firmly. His decisive voice, his tone ofconviction and his stern face made a great im-pression on everyone.

"Yes, yes, that's it," Lebeziatnikov assentedgleefully, "that must be it, for he asked me, assoon as Sofya Semyonovna came into ourroom, whether you were here, whether I hadseen you among Katerina Ivanovna's guests.He called me aside to the window and askedme in secret. It was essential for him that youshould be here! That's it, that's it!"

Luzhin smiled contemptuously and did notspeak. But he was very pale. He seemed to bedeliberating on some means of escape. Perhapshe would have been glad to give up everythingand get away, but at the moment this was scar-

cely possible. It would have implied admittingthe truth of the accusations brought againsthim. Moreover, the company, which had alrea-dy been excited by drink, was now too muchstirred to allow it. The commissariat clerk,though indeed he had not grasped the wholeposition, was shouting louder than anyone andwas making some suggestions very unpleasantto Luzhin. But not all those present weredrunk; lodgers came in from all the rooms. Thethree Poles were tremendously excited andwere continually shouting at him: "The pan is alajdak!" and muttering threats in Polish. Soniahad been listening with strained attention,though she too seemed unable to grasp it all;she seemed as though she had just returned toconsciousness. She did not take her eyes offRaskolnikov, feeling that all her safety lay inhim. Katerina Ivanovna breathed hard andpainfully and seemed fearfully exhausted.Amalia Ivanovna stood looking more stupidthan anyone, with her mouth wide open, una-

ble to make out what had happened. She onlysaw that Pyotr Petrovitch had somehow cometo grief.

Raskolnikov was attempting to speak again,but they did not let him. Everyone was crow-ding round Luzhin with threats and shouts ofabuse. But Pyotr Petrovitch was not intimida-ted. Seeing that his accusation of Sonia hadcompletely failed, he had recourse to insolence:

"Allow me, gentlemen, allow me! Don't squee-ze, let me pass!" he said, making his waythrough the crowd. "And no threats, if youplease! I assure you it will be useless, you willgain nothing by it. On the contrary, you'll haveto answer, gentlemen, for violently obstructingthe course of justice. The thief has been morethan unmasked, and I shall prosecute. Our jud-ges are not so blind and... not so drunk, andwill not believe the testimony of two notoriousinfidels, agitators, and atheists, who accuse mefrom motives of personal revenge which they

are foolish enough to admit.... Yes, allow me topass!"

"Don't let me find a trace of you in my room!Kindly leave at once, and everything is at anend between us! When I think of the troubleI've been taking, the way I've been expoun-ding... all this fortnight!"

"I told you myself to-day that I was going,when you tried to keep me; now I will simplyadd that you are a fool. I advise you to see adoctor for your brains and your short sight. Letme pass, gentlemen!"

He forced his way through. But the commissa-riat clerk was unwilling to let him off so easily:he picked up a glass from the table, brandishedit in the air and flung it at Pyotr Petrovitch; butthe glass flew straight at Amalia Ivanovna. Shescreamed, and the clerk, overbalancing, fellheavily under the table. Pyotr Petrovitch madehis way to his room and half an hour later had

left the house. Sonia, timid by nature, had feltbefore that day that she could be ill-treatedmore easily than anyone, and that she could bewronged with impunity. Yet till that momentshe had fancied that she might escape misfor-tune by care, gentleness and submissivenessbefore everyone. Her disappointment was toogreat. She could, of course, bear with patienceand almost without murmur anything, eventhis. But for the first minute she felt it too bitter.In spite of her triumph and her justification—when her first terror and stupefaction had pas-sed and she could understand it all clearly—thefeeling of her helplessness and of the wrongdone to her made her heart throb with anguishand she was overcome with hysterical weeping.At last, unable to bear any more, she rushedout of the room and ran home, almost imme-diately after Luzhin's departure. When amidstloud laughter the glass flew at Amalia Ivanov-na, it was more than the landlady could endu-re. With a shriek she rushed like a fury at Kate-

rina Ivanovna, considering her to blame foreverything.

"Out of my lodgings! At once! Quick march!"

And with these words she began snatching upeverything she could lay her hands on that be-longed to Katerina Ivanovna, and throwing iton the floor. Katerina Ivanovna, pale, almostfainting, and gasping for breath, jumped upfrom the bed where she had sunk in exhaustionand darted at Amalia Ivanovna. But the battlewas too unequal: the landlady waved her awaylike a feather.

"What! As though that godless calumny wasnot enough—this vile creature attacks me!What! On the day of my husband's funeral I amturned out of my lodging! After eating mybread and salt she turns me into the street, withmy orphans! Where am I to go?" wailed thepoor woman, sobbing and gasping. "GoodGod!" she cried with flashing eyes, "is there no

justice upon earth? Whom should you protect ifnot us orphans? We shall see! There is law andjustice on earth, there is, I will find it! Wait abit, godless creature! Polenka, stay with thechildren, I'll come back. Wait for me, if youhave to wait in the street. We will see whetherthere is justice on earth!"

And throwing over her head that green shawlwhich Marmeladov had mentioned to Raskol-nikov, Katerina Ivanovna squeezed her waythrough the disorderly and drunken crowd oflodgers who still filled the room, and, wailingand tearful, she ran into the street—with a va-gue intention of going at once somewhere tofind justice. Polenka with the two little ones inher arms crouched, terrified, on the trunk in thecorner of the room, where she waited tremblingfor her mother to come back. Amalia Ivanovnaraged about the room, shrieking, lamenting andthrowing everything she came across on thefloor. The lodgers talked incoherently, some

commented to the best of their ability on whathad happened, others quarrelled and swore atone another, while others struck up a song....

"Now it's time for me to go," thought Raskolni-kov. "Well, Sofya Semyonovna, we shall seewhat you'll say now!"

And he set off in the direction of Sonia's lod-gings.

CHAPTER IV

Raskolnikov had been a vigorous and activechampion of Sonia against Luzhin, although hehad such a load of horror and anguish in hisown heart. But having gone through so muchin the morning, he found a sort of relief in a

change of sensations, apart from the strongpersonal feeling which impelled him to defendSonia. He was agitated too, especially at somemoments, by the thought of his approachinginterview with Sonia: he had to tell her who hadkilled Lizaveta. He knew the terrible sufferingit would be to him and, as it were, brushedaway the thought of it. So when he cried as heleft Katerina Ivanovna's, "Well, Sofya Semyo-novna, we shall see what you'll say now!" hewas still superficially excited, still vigorous anddefiant from his triumph over Luzhin. But,strange to say, by the time he reached Sonia'slodging, he felt a sudden impotence and fear.He stood still in hesitation at the door, askinghimself the strange question: "Must he tell herwho killed Lizaveta?" It was a strange questionbecause he felt at the very time not only that hecould not help telling her, but also that hecould not put off the telling. He did not yetknow why it must be so, he only felt it, and theagonising sense of his impotence before the

inevitable almost crushed him. To cut short hishesitation and suffering, he quickly opened thedoor and looked at Sonia from the doorway.She was sitting with her elbows on the tableand her face in her hands, but seeing Raskolni-kov she got up at once and came to meet him asthough she were expecting him.

"What would have become of me but for you?"she said quickly, meeting him in the middle ofthe room.

Evidently she was in haste to say this to him. Itwas what she had been waiting for.

Raskolnikov went to the table and sat down onthe chair from which she had only just risen.She stood facing him, two steps away, just asshe had done the day before.

"Well, Sonia?" he said, and felt that his voicewas trembling, "it was all due to 'your social

position and the habits associated with it.' Didyou understand that just now?"

Her face showed her distress.

"Only don't talk to me as you did yesterday,"she interrupted him. "Please don't begin it. The-re is misery enough without that."

She made haste to smile, afraid that he mightnot like the reproach.

"I was silly to come away from there. What ishappening there now? I wanted to go back di-rectly, but I kept thinking that... you wouldcome."

He told her that Amalia Ivanovna was turningthem out of their lodging and that KaterinaIvanovna had run off somewhere "to seek justi-ce."

"My God!" cried Sonia, "let's go at once...."

And she snatched up her cape.

"It's everlastingly the same thing!" said Raskol-nikov, irritably. "You've no thought except forthem! Stay a little with me."

"But... Katerina Ivanovna?"

"You won't lose Katerina Ivanovna, you may besure, she'll come to you herself since she hasrun out," he added peevishly. "If she doesn'tfind you here, you'll be blamed for it...."

Sonia sat down in painful suspense. Raskolni-kov was silent, gazing at the floor and delibera-ting.

"This time Luzhin did not want to prosecuteyou," he began, not looking at Sonia, "but if hehad wanted to, if it had suited his plans, hewould have sent you to prison if it had notbeen for Lebeziatnikov and me. Ah?"

"Yes," she assented in a faint voice. "Yes," sherepeated, preoccupied and distressed.

"But I might easily not have been there. And itwas quite an accident Lebeziatnikov's turningup."

Sonia was silent.

"And if you'd gone to prison, what then? Doyou remember what I said yesterday?"

Again she did not answer. He waited.

"I thought you would cry out again 'don't speakof it, leave off.'" Raskolnikov gave a laugh, butrather a forced one. "What, silence again?" heasked a minute later. "We must talk about so-mething, you know. It would be interesting forme to know how you would decide a certain'problem' as Lebeziatnikov would say." (Hewas beginning to lose the thread.) "No, really, Iam serious. Imagine, Sonia, that you had

known all Luzhin's intentions beforehand.Known, that is, for a fact, that they would bethe ruin of Katerina Ivanovna and the childrenand yourself thrown in—since you don't countyourself for anything—Polenka too... for she'llgo the same way. Well, if suddenly it all de-pended on your decision whether he or theyshould go on living, that is whether Luzhinshould go on living and doing wicked things,or Katerina Ivanovna should die? How wouldyou decide which of them was to die? I askyou?"

Sonia looked uneasily at him. There was so-mething peculiar in this hesitating question,which seemed approaching something in aroundabout way.

"I felt that you were going to ask some questionlike that," she said, looking inquisitively at him.

"I dare say you did. But how is it to be answe-red?"

"Why do you ask about what could not hap-pen?" said Sonia reluctantly.

"Then it would be better for Luzhin to go onliving and doing wicked things? You haven'tdared to decide even that!"

"But I can't know the Divine Providence.... Andwhy do you ask what can't be answered?What's the use of such foolish questions? Howcould it happen that it should depend on mydecision—who has made me a judge to decidewho is to live and who is not to live?"

"Oh, if the Divine Providence is to be mixed upin it, there is no doing anything," Raskolnikovgrumbled morosely.

"You'd better say straight out what you want!"Sonia cried in distress. "You are leading up tosomething again.... Can you have come simplyto torture me?"

She could not control herself and began cryingbitterly. He looked at her in gloomy misery.Five minutes passed.

"Of course you're right, Sonia," he said softly atlast. He was suddenly changed. His tone ofassumed arrogance and helpless defiance wasgone. Even his voice was suddenly weak. "Itold you yesterday that I was not coming to askforgiveness and almost the first thing I've saidis to ask forgiveness.... I said that about Luzhinand Providence for my own sake. I was askingforgiveness, Sonia...."

He tried to smile, but there was something hel-pless and incomplete in his pale smile. He bo-wed his head and hid his face in his hands.

And suddenly a strange, surprising sensationof a sort of bitter hatred for Sonia passedthrough his heart. As it were wondering andfrightened of this sensation, he raised his headand looked intently at her; but he met her

uneasy and painfully anxious eyes fixed onhim; there was love in them; his hatred vanis-hed like a phantom. It was not the real feeling;he had taken the one feeling for the other. Itonly meant that that minute had come.

He hid his face in his hands again and bowedhis head. Suddenly he turned pale, got up fromhis chair, looked at Sonia, and without utteringa word sat down mechanically on her bed.

His sensations that moment were terribly likethe moment when he had stood over the oldwoman with the axe in his hand and felt that"he must not lose another minute."

"What's the matter?" asked Sonia, dreadfullyfrightened.

He could not utter a word. This was not at all,not at all the way he had intended to "tell" andhe did not understand what was happening tohim now. She went up to him, softly, sat down

on the bed beside him and waited, not takingher eyes off him. Her heart throbbed and sank.It was unendurable; he turned his deadly paleface to her. His lips worked, helplessly strug-gling to utter something. A pang of terror pas-sed through Sonia's heart.

"What's the matter?" she repeated, drawing alittle away from him.

"Nothing, Sonia, don't be frightened.... It's non-sense. It really is nonsense, if you think of it,"he muttered, like a man in delirium. "Why haveI come to torture you?" he added suddenly,looking at her. "Why, really? I keep asking my-self that question, Sonia...."

He had perhaps been asking himself that ques-tion a quarter of an hour before, but now hespoke helplessly, hardly knowing what he saidand feeling a continual tremor all over.

"Oh, how you are suffering!" she muttered indistress, looking intently at him.

"It's all nonsense.... Listen, Sonia." He suddenlysmiled, a pale helpless smile for two seconds."You remember what I meant to tell you yes-terday?"

Sonia waited uneasily.

"I said as I went away that perhaps I was sa-ying good-bye for ever, but that if I came to-day I would tell you who... who killed Lizave-ta."

She began trembling all over.

"Well, here I've come to tell you."

"Then you really meant it yesterday?" she whis-pered with difficulty. "How do you know?" sheasked quickly, as though suddenly regainingher reason.

Sonia's face grew paler and paler, and shebreathed painfully.

"I know."

She paused a minute.

"Have they found him?" she asked timidly.

"No."

"Then how do you know about it?" she askedagain, hardly audibly and again after a minu-te's pause.

He turned to her and looked very intently ather.

"Guess," he said, with the same distorted hel-pless smile.

A shudder passed over her.

"But you... why do you frighten me like this?"she said, smiling like a child.

"I must be a great friend of his... since I know,"Raskolnikov went on, still gazing into her face,as though he could not turn his eyes away."He... did not mean to kill that Lizaveta... he...killed her accidentally.... He meant to kill theold woman when she was alone and he wentthere... and then Lizaveta came in... he killedher too."

Another awful moment passed. Both still gazedat one another.

"You can't guess, then?" he asked suddenly,feeling as though he were flinging himselfdown from a steeple.

"N-no..." whispered Sonia.

"Take a good look."

As soon as he had said this again, the samefamiliar sensation froze his heart. He looked ather and all at once seemed to see in her face theface of Lizaveta. He remembered clearly theexpression in Lizaveta's face, when he approa-ched her with the axe and she stepped back tothe wall, putting out her hand, with childishterror in her face, looking as little children dowhen they begin to be frightened of something,looking intently and uneasily at what frightensthem, shrinking back and holding out theirlittle hands on the point of crying. Almost thesame thing happened now to Sonia. With thesame helplessness and the same terror, she loo-ked at him for a while and, suddenly puttingout her left hand, pressed her fingers faintlyagainst his breast and slowly began to get upfrom the bed, moving further from him andkeeping her eyes fixed even more immovablyon him. Her terror infected him. The same fearshowed itself on his face. In the same way he

stared at her and almost with the same childishsmile.

"Have you guessed?" he whispered at last.

"Good God!" broke in an awful wail from herbosom.

She sank helplessly on the bed with her face inthe pillows, but a moment later she got up,moved quickly to him, seized both his handsand, gripping them tight in her thin fingers,began looking into his face again with the sameintent stare. In this last desperate look she triedto look into him and catch some last hope. Butthere was no hope; there was no doubt remai-ning; it was all true! Later on, indeed, when sherecalled that moment, she thought it strangeand wondered why she had seen at once thatthere was no doubt. She could not have said,for instance, that she had foreseen something ofthe sort—and yet now, as soon as he told her,

she suddenly fancied that she had really fore-seen this very thing.

"Stop, Sonia, enough! don't torture me," hebegged her miserably.

It was not at all, not at all like this he hadthought of telling her, but this is how it happe-ned.

She jumped up, seeming not to know what shewas doing, and, wringing her hands, walkedinto the middle of the room; but quickly wentback and sat down again beside him, her shoul-der almost touching his. All of a sudden shestarted as though she had been stabbed, uttereda cry and fell on her knees before him, she didnot know why.

"What have you done—what have you done toyourself?" she said in despair, and, jumping up,she flung herself on his neck, threw her armsround him, and held him tightly.

Raskolnikov drew back and looked at her witha mournful smile.

"You are a strange girl, Sonia—you kiss me andhug me when I tell you about that.... You don'tthink what you are doing."

"There is no one—no one in the whole worldnow so unhappy as you!" she cried in a frenzy,not hearing what he said, and she suddenlybroke into violent hysterical weeping.

A feeling long unfamiliar to him flooded hisheart and softened it at once. He did not strug-gle against it. Two tears started into his eyesand hung on his eyelashes.

"Then you won't leave me, Sonia?" he said, loo-king at her almost with hope.

"No, no, never, nowhere!" cried Sonia. "I willfollow you, I will follow you everywhere. Oh,my God! Oh, how miserable I am!... Why, why

didn't I know you before! Why didn't you comebefore? Oh, dear!"

"Here I have come."

"Yes, now! What's to be done now?... Together,together!" she repeated as it were unconscious-ly, and she hugged him again. "I'll follow youto Siberia!"

He recoiled at this, and the same hostile, almosthaughty smile came to his lips.

"Perhaps I don't want to go to Siberia yet, So-nia," he said.

Sonia looked at him quickly.

Again after her first passionate, agonising sym-pathy for the unhappy man the terrible idea ofthe murder overwhelmed her. In his changedtone she seemed to hear the murderer spea-king. She looked at him bewildered. She knewnothing as yet, why, how, with what object it

had been. Now all these questions rushed atonce into her mind. And again she could notbelieve it: "He, he is a murderer! Could it betrue?"

"What's the meaning of it? Where am I?" shesaid in complete bewilderment, as though stillunable to recover herself. "How could you, you,a man like you.... How could you bring your-self to it?... What does it mean?"

"Oh, well—to plunder. Leave off, Sonia," heanswered wearily, almost with vexation.

Sonia stood as though struck dumb, but sud-denly she cried:

"You were hungry! It was... to help your mot-her? Yes?"

"No, Sonia, no," he muttered, turning away andhanging his head. "I was not so hungry.... I cer-tainly did want to help my mother, but... that's

not the real thing either.... Don't torture me,Sonia."

Sonia clasped her hands.

"Could it, could it all be true? Good God, whata truth! Who could believe it? And how couldyou give away your last farthing and yet roband murder! Ah," she cried suddenly, "thatmoney you gave Katerina Ivanovna... that mo-ney.... Can that money..."

"No, Sonia," he broke in hurriedly, "that moneywas not it. Don't worry yourself! That moneymy mother sent me and it came when I was ill,the day I gave it to you.... Razumihin saw it...he received it for me.... That money was mine—my own."

Sonia listened to him in bewilderment and didher utmost to comprehend.

"And that money.... I don't even know reallywhether there was any money," he added sof-tly, as though reflecting. "I took a purse off herneck, made of chamois leather... a purse stuffedfull of something... but I didn't look in it; I sup-pose I hadn't time.... And the things—chainsand trinkets—I buried under a stone with thepurse next morning in a yard off the V——Prospect. They are all there now...."

Sonia strained every nerve to listen.

"Then why... why, you said you did it to rob,but you took nothing?" she asked quickly, cat-ching at a straw.

"I don't know.... I haven't yet decided whetherto take that money or not," he said, musingagain; and, seeming to wake up with a start, hegave a brief ironical smile. "Ach, what silly stuffI 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 makenothing of it, nothing.

"Do you know, Sonia," he said suddenly withconviction, "let me tell you: if I'd simply killedbecause I was hungry," laying stress on everyword and looking enigmatically but sincerelyat her, "I should be happy now. You must belie-ve that! What would it matter to you," he crieda moment later with a sort of despair, "whatwould it matter to you if I were to confess that Idid wrong? What do you gain by such a stupidtriumph over me? Ah, Sonia, was it for that I'vecome to you to-day?"

Again Sonia tried to say something, but did notspeak.

"I asked you to go with me yesterday becauseyou are all I have left."

"Go where?" asked Sonia timidly.

"Not to steal and not to murder, don't beanxious," he smiled bitterly. "We are so diffe-rent.... And you know, Sonia, it's only now,only this moment that I understand where I as-ked you to go with me yesterday! Yesterdaywhen I said it I did not know where. I askedyou 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 herknow?" he cried a minute later in despair, loo-king with infinite anguish at her. "Here youexpect an explanation from me, Sonia; you aresitting and waiting for it, I see that. But whatcan I tell you? You won't understand and willonly suffer misery... on my account! Well, youare crying and embracing me again. Why doyou do it? Because I couldn't bear my burdenand have come to throw it on another: you suf-

fer too, and I shall feel better! And can you lovesuch a mean wretch?"

"But aren't you suffering, too?" cried Sonia.

Again a wave of the same feeling surged intohis heart, and again for an instant softened it.

"Sonia, I have a bad heart, take note of that. Itmay explain a great deal. I have come because Iam bad. There are men who wouldn't have co-me. But I am a coward and... a mean wretch.But... never mind! That's not the point. I mustspeak now, but I don't know how to begin."

He paused and sank into thought.

"Ach, we are so different," he cried again, "weare not alike. And why, why did I come? I shallnever forgive myself that."

"No, no, it was a good thing you came," criedSonia. "It's better I should know, far better!"

He looked at her with anguish.

"What if it were really that?" he said, as thoughreaching a conclusion. "Yes, that's what it was! Iwanted to become a Napoleon, that is why Ikilled her.... Do you understand now?"

"N-no," Sonia whispered naïvely and timidly."Only speak, speak, I shall understand, I shallunderstand in myself!" she kept begging him.

"You'll understand? Very well, we shall see!"He paused and was for some time lost in medi-tation.

"It was like this: I asked myself one day thisquestion—what if Napoleon, for instance, hadhappened to be in my place, and if he had nothad Toulon nor Egypt nor the passage of MontBlanc to begin his career with, but instead of allthose picturesque and monumental things, the-re had simply been some ridiculous old hag, apawnbroker, who had to be murdered too to

get money from her trunk (for his career, youunderstand). Well, would he have broughthimself to that if there had been no othermeans? Wouldn't he have felt a pang at itsbeing so far from monumental and... and sinful,too? Well, I must tell you that I worried myselffearfully over that 'question' so that I was awfu-lly ashamed when I guessed at last (all of asudden, somehow) that it would not have gi-ven him the least pang, that it would not evenhave struck him that it was not monumental...that he would not have seen that there wasanything in it to pause over, and that, if he hadhad no other way, he would have strangled herin a minute without thinking about it! Well, Itoo... left off thinking about it... murdered her,following his example. And that's exactly howit was! Do you think it funny? Yes, Sonia, thefunniest thing of all is that perhaps that's justhow it was."

Sonia did not think it at all funny.

"You had better tell me straight out... withoutexamples," she begged, still more timidly andscarcely audibly.

He turned to her, looked sadly at her and tookher hands.

"You are right again, Sonia. Of course that's allnonsense, it's almost all talk! You see, youknow of course that my mother has scarcelyanything, my sister happened to have a goodeducation and was condemned to drudge as agoverness. All their hopes were centered onme. I was a student, but I couldn't keep myselfat the university and was forced for a time toleave it. Even if I had lingered on like that, inten or twelve years I might (with luck) hope tobe some sort of teacher or clerk with a salary ofa thousand roubles" (he repeated it as though itwere a lesson) "and by that time my motherwould be worn out with grief and anxiety and Icould not succeed in keeping her in comfortwhile my sister... well, my sister might well

have fared worse! And it's a hard thing to passeverything by all one's life, to turn one's backupon everything, to forget one's mother anddecorously accept the insults inflicted on one'ssister. Why should one? When one has buriedthem to burden oneself with others—wife andchildren—and to leave them again without afarthing? So I resolved to gain possession of theold woman's money and to use it for my firstyears without worrying my mother, to keepmyself at the university and for a little whileafter leaving it—and to do this all on a broad,thorough scale, so as to build up a completelynew career and enter upon a new life of inde-pendence.... Well... that's all.... Well, of coursein killing the old woman I did wrong.... Well,that's enough."

He struggled to the end of his speech in ex-haustion and let his head sink.

"Oh, that's not it, that's not it," Sonia cried indistress. "How could one... no, that's not right,not right."

"You see yourself that it's not right. But I'vespoken truly, it's the truth."

"As though that could be the truth! Good God!"

"I've only killed a louse, Sonia, a useless, loath-some, harmful creature."

"A human being—a louse!"

"I too know it wasn't a louse," he answered,looking strangely at her. "But I am talking non-sense, Sonia," he added. "I've been talking non-sense a long time.... That's not it, you are rightthere. There were quite, quite other causes forit! I haven't talked to anyone for so long, So-nia.... My head aches dreadfully now."

His eyes shone with feverish brilliance. He wasalmost delirious; an uneasy smile strayed on

his lips. His terrible exhaustion could be seenthrough his excitement. Sonia saw how he wassuffering. She too was growing dizzy. And hetalked so strangely; it seemed somehow com-prehensible, but yet... "But how, how! GoodGod!" And she wrung her hands in despair.

"No, Sonia, that's not it," he began again sud-denly, raising his head, as though a new andsudden train of thought had struck and as itwere roused him—"that's not it! Better... imagi-ne—yes, it's certainly better—imagine that I amvain, envious, malicious, base, vindictive and...well, perhaps with a tendency to insanity. (Let'shave it all out at once! They've talked of mad-ness already, I noticed.) I told you just now Icould not keep myself at the university. But doyou know that perhaps I might have done? Mymother would have sent me what I needed forthe fees and I could have earned enough forclothes, boots and food, no doubt. Lessons hadturned up at half a rouble. Razumihin works!

But I turned sulky and wouldn't. (Yes, sulki-ness, that's the right word for it!) I sat in myroom like a spider. You've been in my den,you've seen it.... And do you know, Sonia, thatlow ceilings and tiny rooms cramp the soul andthe mind? Ah, how I hated that garret! And yetI wouldn't go out of it! I wouldn't on purpose! Ididn't go out for days together, and I wouldn'twork, I wouldn't even eat, I just lay there doingnothing. If Nastasya brought me anything, I ateit, if she didn't, I went all day without; Iwouldn't ask, on purpose, from sulkiness! Atnight I had no light, I lay in the dark and Iwouldn't earn money for candles. I ought tohave studied, but I sold my books; and the dustlies an inch thick on the notebooks on my table.I preferred lying still and thinking. And I keptthinking.... And I had dreams all the time,strange dreams of all sorts, no need to describe!Only then I began to fancy that... No, that's notit! Again I am telling you wrong! You see I keptasking myself then: why am I so stupid that if

others are stupid—and I know they are—yet Iwon't be wiser? Then I saw, Sonia, that if onewaits for everyone to get wiser it will take toolong.... Afterwards I understood that thatwould never come to pass, that men won'tchange and that nobody can alter it and that it'snot worth wasting effort over it. Yes, that's so.That's the law of their nature, Sonia,... that'sso!... And I know now, Sonia, that whoever isstrong in mind and spirit will have power overthem. Anyone who is greatly daring is right intheir eyes. He who despises most things will bea lawgiver among them and he who dares mostof all will be most in the right! So it has been tillnow and so it will always be. A man must beblind not to see it!"

Though Raskolnikov looked at Sonia as he saidthis, he no longer cared whether she unders-tood or not. The fever had complete hold ofhim; he was in a sort of gloomy ecstasy (he cer-tainly had been too long without talking to an-

yone). Sonia felt that his gloomy creed had be-come his faith and code.

"I divined then, Sonia," he went on eagerly,"that power is only vouchsafed to the man whodares to stoop and pick it up. There is only onething, one thing needful: one has only to dare!Then for the first time in my life an idea tookshape in my mind which no one had everthought of before me, no one! I saw clear asdaylight how strange it is that not a single per-son living in this mad world has had the daringto go straight for it all and send it flying to thedevil! I... I wanted to have the daring... and I ki-lled her. I only wanted to have the daring, So-nia! That was the whole cause of it!"

"Oh hush, hush," cried Sonia, clasping herhands. "You turned away from God and Godhas smitten you, has given you over to the de-vil!"

"Then Sonia, when I used to lie there in thedark and all this became clear to me, was it atemptation of the devil, eh?"

"Hush, don't laugh, blasphemer! You don't un-derstand, you don't understand! Oh God! Hewon't understand!"

"Hush, Sonia! I am not laughing. I know myselfthat it was the devil leading me. Hush, Sonia,hush!" he repeated with gloomy insistence. "Iknow it all, I have thought it all over and overand whispered it all over to myself, lying therein the dark.... I've argued it all over with my-self, every point of it, and I know it all, all! Andhow sick, how sick I was then of going over itall! I have kept wanting to forget it and make anew beginning, Sonia, and leave off thinking.And you don't suppose that I went into it head-long like a fool? I went into it like a wise man,and that was just my destruction. And youmustn't suppose that I didn't know, for instan-ce, that if I began to question myself whether I

had the right to gain power—I certainly hadn'tthe right—or that if I asked myself whether ahuman being is a louse it proved that it wasn'tso for me, though it might be for a man whowould go straight to his goal without askingquestions.... If I worried myself all those days,wondering whether Napoleon would have do-ne it or not, I felt clearly of course that I wasn'tNapoleon. I had to endure all the agony of thatbattle of ideas, Sonia, and I longed to throw itoff: I wanted to murder without casuistry, tomurder for my own sake, for myself alone! Ididn't want to lie about it even to myself. Itwasn't to help my mother I did the murder—that's nonsense—I didn't do the murder to gainwealth and power and to become a benefactorof mankind. Nonsense! I simply did it; I did themurder for myself, for myself alone, and whet-her I became a benefactor to others, or spent mylife like a spider catching men in my web andsucking the life out of men, I couldn't have ca-red at that moment.... And it was not the mo-

ney I wanted, Sonia, when I did it. It was not somuch the money I wanted, but something el-se.... I know it all now.... Understand me! Per-haps I should never have committed a murderagain. I wanted to find out something else; itwas something else led me on. I wanted to findout then and quickly whether I was a louse likeeverybody else or a man. Whether I can stepover barriers or not, whether I dare stoop topick up or not, whether I am a trembling crea-ture or whether I have the right..."

"To kill? Have the right to kill?" Sonia claspedher hands.

"Ach, Sonia!" he cried irritably and seemedabout to make some retort, but was contemp-tuously silent. "Don't interrupt me, Sonia. Iwant to prove one thing only, that the devil ledme on then and he has shown me since that Ihad not the right to take that path, because I amjust such a louse as all the rest. He was mockingme and here I've come to you now! Welcome

your guest! If I were not a louse, should I havecome to you? Listen: when I went then to theold woman's I only went to try.... You may besure of that!"

"And you murdered her!"

"But how did I murder her? Is that how men domurders? Do men go to commit a murder as Iwent then? I will tell you some day how I went!Did I murder the old woman? I murdered my-self, not her! I crushed myself once for all, forever.... But it was the devil that killed that oldwoman, not I. Enough, enough, Sonia, enough!Let me be!" he cried in a sudden spasm of ago-ny, "let me be!"

He leaned his elbows on his knees and squee-zed his head in his hands as in a vise.

"What suffering!" A wail of anguish broke fromSonia.

"Well, what am I to do now?" he asked, sud-denly raising his head and looking at her with aface hideously distorted by despair.

"What are you to do?" she cried, jumping up,and her eyes that had been full of tears sudden-ly began to shine. "Stand up!" (She seized himby the shoulder, he got up, looking at her al-most bewildered.) "Go at once, this very minu-te, stand at the cross-roads, bow down, firstkiss the earth which you have defiled and thenbow down to all the world and say to all menaloud, 'I am a murderer!' Then God will sendyou life again. Will you go, will you go?" sheasked him, trembling all over, snatching histwo hands, squeezing them tight in hers andgazing at him with eyes full of fire.

He was amazed at her sudden ecstasy.

"You mean Siberia, Sonia? I must give myselfup?" he asked gloomily.

"Suffer and expiate your sin by it, that's whatyou must do."

"No! I am not going to them, Sonia!"

"But how will you go on living? What will youlive 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 Isaying? You have abandoned your mother andyour sister already. He has abandoned themalready! Oh, God!" she cried, "why, he knows itall himself. How, how can he live by himself!What will become of you now?"

"Don't be a child, Sonia," he said softly. "Whatwrong have I done them? Why should I go tothem? What should I say to them? That's only aphantom.... They destroy men by millionsthemselves and look on it as a virtue. They areknaves and scoundrels, Sonia! I am not going tothem. And what should I say to them—that Imurdered her, but did not dare to take the mo-

ney and hid it under a stone?" he added with abitter smile. "Why, they would laugh at me,and would call me a fool for not getting it. Acoward and a fool! They wouldn't understandand they don't deserve to understand. Whyshould 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 despai-ring supplication.

"Perhaps I've been unfair to myself," he obser-ved gloomily, pondering, "perhaps after all Iam a man and not a louse and I've been in toogreat a hurry to condemn myself. I'll makeanother fight for it."

A haughty smile appeared on his lips.

"What a burden to bear! And your whole life,your whole life!"

"I shall get used to it," he said grimly andthoughtfully. "Listen," he began a minute later,"stop crying, it's time to talk of the facts: I'vecome to tell you that the police are after me, onmy track...."

"Ach!" Sonia cried in terror.

"Well, why do you cry out? You want me to goto Siberia and now you are frightened? But letme tell you: I shall not give myself up. I shallmake a struggle for it and they won't do anyt-hing to me. They've no real evidence. YesterdayI was in great danger and believed I was lost;but to-day things are going better. All the factsthey know can be explained two ways, that's tosay I can turn their accusations to my credit, doyou understand? And I shall, for I've learnt mylesson. But they will certainly arrest me. If ithad not been for something that happened,they would have done so to-day for certain;perhaps even now they will arrest me to-day....But that's no matter, Sonia; they'll let me out

again... for there isn't any real proof against me,and there won't be, I give you my word for it.And they can't convict a man on what theyhave against me. Enough.... I only tell you thatyou may know.... I will try to manage somehowto put it to my mother and sister so that theywon't be frightened.... My sister's future is secu-re, however, now, I believe... and my mother'smust be too.... Well, that's all. Be careful,though. Will you come and see me in prisonwhen I am there?"

"Oh, I will, I will."

They sat side by side, both mournful and dejec-ted, as though they had been cast up by thetempest alone on some deserted shore. He loo-ked at Sonia and felt how great was her love forhim, and strange to say he felt it suddenly bur-densome and painful to be so loved. Yes, it wasa strange and awful sensation! On his way tosee Sonia he had felt that all his hopes rested onher; he expected to be rid of at least part of his

suffering, and now, when all her heart turnedtowards him, he suddenly felt that he was im-measurably unhappier than before.

"Sonia," he said, "you'd better not come and seeme when I am in prison."

Sonia did not answer, she was crying. Severalminutes passed.

"Have you a cross on you?" she asked, asthough suddenly thinking of it.

He did not at first understand the question.

"No, of course not. Here, take this one, of cy-press wood. I have another, a copper one thatbelonged to Lizaveta. I changed with Lizaveta:she gave me her cross and I gave her my littleikon. I will wear Lizaveta's now and give youthis. Take it... it's mine! It's mine, you know,"she begged him. "We will go to suffer together,and together we will bear our cross!"

"Give it me," said Raskolnikov.

He did not want to hurt her feelings. But im-mediately he drew back the hand he held outfor the cross.

"Not now, Sonia. Better later," he added to com-fort her.

"Yes, yes, better," she repeated with conviction,"when you go to meet your suffering, then putit on. You will come to me, I'll put it on you, wewill pray and go together."

At that moment someone knocked three timesat the door.

"Sofya Semyonovna, may I come in?" theyheard in a very familiar and polite voice.

Sonia rushed to the door in a fright. The flaxenhead of Mr. Lebeziatnikov appeared at thedoor.

CHAPTER V

Lebeziatnikov looked perturbed.

"I've come to you, Sofya Semyonovna," he be-gan. "Excuse me... I thought I should find you,"he said, addressing Raskolnikov suddenly,"that is, I didn't mean anything... of that sort...But I just thought... Katerina Ivanovna has goneout of her mind," he blurted out suddenly, tur-ning from Raskolnikov to Sonia.

Sonia screamed.

"At least it seems so. But... we don't know whatto do, you see! She came back—she seems tohave been turned out somewhere, perhaps bea-ten.... So it seems at least,... She had run to your

father's former chief, she didn't find him athome: he was dining at some other general's....Only fancy, she rushed off there, to the othergeneral's, and, imagine, she was so persistentthat she managed to get the chief to see her,had him fetched out from dinner, it seems. Youcan imagine what happened. She was turnedout, of course; but, according to her own story,she abused him and threw something at him.One may well believe it.... How it is she wasn'ttaken up, I can't understand! Now she is tellingeveryone, including Amalia Ivanovna; but it'sdifficult to understand her, she is screamingand flinging herself about.... Oh yes, she shoutsthat since everyone has abandoned her, she willtake the children and go into the street with abarrel-organ, and the children will sing anddance, and she too, and collect money, and willgo every day under the general's window... 'tolet everyone see well-born children, whose fat-her was an official, begging in the street.' Shekeeps beating the children and they are all

crying. She is teaching Lida to sing 'My Village,'the boy to dance, Polenka the same. She is tea-ring up all the clothes, and making them littlecaps like actors; she means to carry a tin basinand make it tinkle, instead of music.... Shewon't listen to anything.... Imagine the state ofthings! It's beyond anything!"

Lebeziatnikov would have gone on, but Sonia,who had heard him almost breathless, snatchedup her cloak and hat, and ran out of the room,putting on her things as she went. Raskolnikovfollowed her and Lebeziatnikov came afterhim.

"She has certainly gone mad!" he said to Ras-kolnikov, as they went out into the street. "Ididn't want to frighten Sofya Semyonovna, so Isaid 'it seemed like it,' but there isn't a doubt ofit. They say that in consumption the tuberclessometimes occur in the brain; it's a pity I knownothing of medicine. I did try to persuade her,but she wouldn't listen."

"Did you talk to her about the tubercles?"

"Not precisely of the tubercles. Besides, shewouldn't have understood! But what I say is,that if you convince a person logically that hehas nothing to cry about, he'll stop crying.That's clear. Is it your conviction that hewon't?"

"Life would be too easy if it were so," answeredRaskolnikov.

"Excuse me, excuse me; of course it would berather difficult for Katerina Ivanovna to un-derstand, but do you know that in Paris theyhave been conducting serious experiments as tothe possibility of curing the insane, simply bylogical argument? One professor there, a scien-tific man of standing, lately dead, believed inthe possibility of such treatment. His idea wasthat there's nothing really wrong with the phy-sical organism of the insane, and that insanityis, so to say, a logical mistake, an error of

judgment, an incorrect view of things. He gra-dually showed the madman his error and,would you believe it, they say he was success-ful? But as he made use of douches too, how farsuccess was due to that treatment remains un-certain.... So it seems at least."

Raskolnikov had long ceased to listen. Rea-ching the house where he lived, he nodded toLebeziatnikov and went in at the gate. Lebe-ziatnikov woke up with a start, looked abouthim and hurried on.

Raskolnikov went into his little room and stoodstill in the middle of it. Why had he come backhere? He looked at the yellow and tattered pa-per, at the dust, at his sofa.... From the yardcame a loud continuous knocking; someoneseemed to be hammering... He went to thewindow, rose on tiptoe and looked out into theyard for a long time with an air of absorbedattention. But the yard was empty and he couldnot see who was hammering. In the house on

the left he saw some open windows; on thewindow-sills were pots of sickly-looking gera-niums. Linen was hung out of the windows...He knew it all by heart. He turned away andsat down on the sofa.

Never, never had he felt himself so fearfullyalone!

Yes, he felt once more that he would perhapscome to hate Sonia, now that he had made hermore miserable.

"Why had he gone to her to beg for her tears?What need had he to poison her life? Oh, themeanness of it!"

"I will remain alone," he said resolutely, "andshe shall not come to the prison!"

Five minutes later he raised his head with astrange smile. That was a strange thought.

"Perhaps it really would be better in Siberia," hethought suddenly.

He could not have said how long he sat therewith vague thoughts surging through his mind.All at once the door opened and Dounia camein. At first she stood still and looked at himfrom the doorway, just as he had done at Sonia;then she came in and sat down in the same pla-ce as yesterday, on the chair facing him. Helooked silently and almost vacantly at her.

"Don't be angry, brother; I've only come for oneminute," said Dounia.

Her face looked thoughtful but not stern. Hereyes were bright and soft. He saw that she toohad come to him with love.

"Brother, now I know all, all. Dmitri Prokofitchhas explained and told me everything. They areworrying and persecuting you through a stupidand contemptible suspicion.... Dmitri Proko-

fitch told me that there is no danger, and thatyou are wrong in looking upon it with suchhorror. I don't think so, and I fully understandhow indignant you must be, and that that in-dignation may have a permanent effect on you.That's what I am afraid of. As for your cuttingyourself off from us, I don't judge you, I don'tventure to judge you, and forgive me forhaving blamed you for it. I feel that I too, if Ihad so great a trouble, should keep away fromeveryone. I shall tell mother nothing of this, butI shall talk about you continually and shall tellher from you that you will come very soon.Don't worry about her; I will set her mind atrest; but don't you try her too much—comeonce at least; remember that she is your mot-her. And now I have come simply to say"(Dounia began to get up) "that if you shouldneed me or should need... all my life or anyt-hing... call me, and I'll come. Good-bye!"

She turned abruptly and went towards thedoor.

"Dounia!" Raskolnikov stopped her and wenttowards her. "That Razumihin, Dmitri Proko-fitch, is a very good fellow."

Dounia flushed slightly.

"Well?" she asked, waiting a moment.

"He is competent, hardworking, honest andcapable of real love.... Good-bye, Dounia."

Dounia flushed crimson, then suddenly shetook alarm.

"But what does it mean, brother? Are we reallyparting for ever that you... give me such a par-ting message?"

"Never mind.... Good-bye."

He turned away, and walked to the window.She stood a moment, looked at him uneasily,and went out troubled.

No, he was not cold to her. There was an ins-tant (the very last one) when he had longed totake her in his arms and say good-bye to her, andeven to tell her, but he had not dared even totouch her hand.

"Afterwards she may shudder when she re-members that I embraced her, and will feel thatI stole her kiss."

"And would she stand that test?" he went on afew minutes later to himself. "No, she wouldn't;girls like that can't stand things! They neverdo."

And he thought of Sonia.

There was a breath of fresh air from the win-dow. The daylight was fading. He took up hiscap and went out.

He could not, of course, and would not consi-der how ill he was. But all this continual anxie-ty and agony of mind could not but affect him.And if he were not lying in high fever it wasperhaps just because this continual inner strainhelped to keep him on his legs and in posses-sion of his faculties. But this artificial excite-ment could not last long.

He wandered aimlessly. The sun was setting. Aspecial form of misery had begun to oppresshim of late. There was nothing poignant, not-hing acute about it; but there was a feeling ofpermanence, of eternity about it; it brought aforetaste of hopeless years of this cold leadenmisery, a foretaste of an eternity "on a squareyard of space." Towards evening this sensationusually began to weigh on him more heavily.

"With this idiotic, purely physical weakness,depending on the sunset or something, onecan't help doing something stupid! You'll go toDounia, as well as to Sonia," he muttered bitter-ly.

He heard his name called. He looked round.Lebeziatnikov rushed up to him.

"Only fancy, I've been to your room looking foryou. Only fancy, she's carried out her plan, andtaken away the children. Sofya Semyonovnaand I have had a job to find them. She is rap-ping on a frying-pan and making the childrendance. The children are crying. They keep stop-ping at the cross-roads and in front of shops;there's a crowd of fools running after them.Come along!"

"And Sonia?" Raskolnikov asked anxiously,hurrying after Lebeziatnikov.

"Simply frantic. That is, it's not Sofya Semyo-novna's frantic, but Katerina Ivanovna, thoughSofya Semyonova's frantic too. But KaterinaIvanovna is absolutely frantic. I tell you she isquite mad. They'll be taken to the police. Youcan fancy what an effect that will have.... Theyare on the canal bank, near the bridge now, notfar from Sofya Semyonovna's, quite close."

On the canal bank near the bridge and not twohouses away from the one where Sonia lodged,there was a crowd of people, consisting princi-pally of gutter children. The hoarse broken voi-ce of Katerina Ivanovna could be heard fromthe bridge, and it certainly was a strange spec-tacle likely to attract a street crowd. KaterinaIvanovna in her old dress with the green shawl,wearing a torn straw hat, crushed in a hideousway on one side, was really frantic. She wasexhausted and breathless. Her wasted con-sumptive face looked more suffering than ever,and indeed out of doors in the sunshine a con-

sumptive always looks worse than at home. Buther excitement did not flag, and every momenther irritation grew more intense. She rushed atthe children, shouted at them, coaxed them,told them before the crowd how to dance andwhat to sing, began explaining to them why itwas necessary, and driven to desperation bytheir not understanding, beat them.... Then shewould make a rush at the crowd; if she noticedany decently dressed person stopping to look,she immediately appealed to him to see whatthese children "from a genteel, one may sayaristocratic, house" had been brought to. If sheheard laughter or jeering in the crowd, shewould rush at once at the scoffers and beginsquabbling with them. Some people laughed,others shook their heads, but everyone felt cu-rious at the sight of the madwoman with thefrightened children. The frying-pan of whichLebeziatnikov had spoken was not there, atleast Raskolnikov did not see it. But instead ofrapping on the pan, Katerina Ivanovna began

clapping her wasted hands, when she madeLida and Kolya dance and Polenka sing. Shetoo joined in the singing, but broke down at thesecond note with a fearful cough, which madeher curse in despair and even shed tears. Whatmade her most furious was the weeping andterror of Kolya and Lida. Some effort had beenmade to dress the children up as street singersare dressed. The boy had on a turban made ofsomething red and white to look like a Turk.There had been no costume for Lida; she sim-ply had a red knitted cap, or rather a night capthat had belonged to Marmeladov, decoratedwith a broken piece of white ostrich feather,which had been Katerina Ivanovna's grand-mother's and had been preserved as a familypossession. Polenka was in her everyday dress;she looked in timid perplexity at her mother,and kept at her side, hiding her tears. She dim-ly realised her mother's condition, and lookeduneasily about her. She was terribly frightenedof the street and the crowd. Sonia followed Ka-

terina Ivanovna, weeping and beseeching herto return home, but Katerina Ivanovna was notto be persuaded.

"Leave off, Sonia, leave off," she shouted, spea-king fast, panting and coughing. "You don'tknow what you ask; you are like a child! I'vetold you before that I am not coming back tothat drunken German. Let everyone, let all Pe-tersburg see the children begging in the streets,though their father was an honourable manwho served all his life in truth and fidelity, andone may say died in the service." (Katerina Iva-novna had by now invented this fantastic storyand thoroughly believed it.) "Let that wretch ofa general see it! And you are silly, Sonia: whathave we to eat? Tell me that. We have worriedyou enough, I won't go on so! Ah, Rodion Ro-manovitch, is that you?" she cried, seeing Ras-kolnikov and rushing up to him. "Explain tothis silly girl, please, that nothing better couldbe done! Even organ-grinders earn their living,

and everyone will see at once that we are diffe-rent, that we are an honourable and bereavedfamily reduced to beggary. And that generalwill lose his post, you'll see! We shall performunder his windows every day, and if the Tsardrives by, I'll fall on my knees, put the childrenbefore me, show them to him, and say 'Defendus father.' He is the father of the fatherless, he ismerciful, he'll protect us, you'll see, and thatwretch of a general.... Lida, tenez vous droite!Kolya, you'll dance again. Why are you whim-pering? Whimpering again! What are youafraid of, stupid? Goodness, what am I to dowith them, Rodion Romanovitch? If you onlyknew how stupid they are! What's one to dowith such children?"

And she, almost crying herself—which did notstop her uninterrupted, rapid flow of talk—pointed to the crying children. Raskolnikovtried to persuade her to go home, and evensaid, hoping to work on her vanity, that it was

unseemly for her to be wandering about thestreets like an organ-grinder, as she was inten-ding to become the principal of a boarding-school.

"A boarding-school, ha-ha-ha! A castle in theair," cried Katerina Ivanovna, her laugh endingin a cough. "No, Rodion Romanovitch, thatdream is over! All have forsaken us!... And thatgeneral.... You know, Rodion Romanovitch, Ithrew an inkpot at him—it happened to bestanding in the waiting-room by the paperwhere you sign your name. I wrote my name,threw it at him and ran away. Oh, the scoun-drels, the scoundrels! But enough of them, nowI'll provide for the children myself, I won't bowdown to anybody! She has had to bear enoughfor us!" she pointed to Sonia. "Polenka, howmuch have you got? Show me! What, only twofarthings! Oh, the mean wretches! They give usnothing, only run after us, putting their ton-gues out. There, what is that blockhead laug-

hing at?" (She pointed to a man in the crowd.)"It's all because Kolya here is so stupid; I havesuch a bother with him. What do you want,Polenka? Tell me in French, parlez-moi français.Why, I've taught you, you know some phrases.Else how are you to show that you are of goodfamily, well brought-up children, and not at alllike other organ-grinders? We aren't going tohave a Punch and Judy show in the street, butto sing a genteel song.... Ah, yes,... What are weto sing? You keep putting me out, but we... yousee, we are standing here, Rodion Romano-vitch, to find something to sing and get money,something Kolya can dance to.... For, as youcan fancy, our performance is all impromptu....We must talk it over and rehearse it all tho-roughly, and then we shall go to Nevsky, whe-re there are far more people of good society,and we shall be noticed at once. Lida knows'My Village' only, nothing but 'My Village,' andeveryone sings that. We must sing somethingfar more genteel.... Well, have you thought of

anything, Polenka? If only you'd help yourmother! My memory's quite gone, or I shouldhave thought of something. We really can't sing'An Hussar.' Ah, let us sing in French, 'Cinqsous,' I have taught it you, I have taught it you.And as it is in French, people will see at oncethat you are children of good family, and thatwill be much more touching.... You might sing'Marlborough s'en va-t-en guerre,' for that'squite a child's song and is sung as a lullaby inall the aristocratic houses.

"Marlborough s'en va-t-en guerre Ne sait quandreviendra..." she began singing. "But no, bettersing 'Cinq sous.' Now, Kolya, your hands onyour hips, make haste, and you, Lida, keep tur-ning the other way, and Polenka and I will singand clap our hands!

"Cinq sous, cinq sous Pour monter notre menage."

(Cough-cough-cough!) "Set your dress straight,Polenka, it's slipped down on your shoulders,"

she observed, panting from coughing. "Now it'sparticularly necessary to behave nicely andgenteelly, that all may see that you are well-born children. I said at the time that the bodiceshould be cut longer, and made of two widths.It was your fault, Sonia, with your advice tomake it shorter, and now you see the child isquite deformed by it.... Why, you're all cryingagain! What's the matter, stupids? Come, Kol-ya, begin. Make haste, make haste! Oh, what anunbearable child!

"Cinq sous, cinq sous.

"A policeman again! What do you want?"

A policeman was indeed forcing his waythrough the crowd. But at that moment a gen-tleman in civilian uniform and an overcoat—asolid-looking official of about fifty with a deco-ration on his neck (which delighted KaterinaIvanovna and had its effect on the police-man)—approached and without a word han-

ded her a green three-rouble note. His face wo-re a look of genuine sympathy. Katerina Iva-novna took it and gave him a polite, even ce-remonious, bow.

"I thank you, honoured sir," she began loftily."The causes that have induced us (take the mo-ney, Polenka: you see there are generous andhonourable people who are ready to help apoor gentlewoman in distress). You see, honou-red sir, these orphans of good family—I mighteven say of aristocratic connections—and thatwretch of a general sat eating grouse... andstamped at my disturbing him. 'Your excellen-cy,' I said, 'protect the orphans, for you knewmy late husband, Semyon Zaharovitch, and onthe very day of his death the basest of scoun-drels slandered his only daughter.'... That poli-ceman again! Protect me," she cried to the offi-cial. "Why is that policeman edging up to me?We have only just run away from one of them.What do you want, fool?"

"It's forbidden in the streets. You mustn't makea disturbance."

"It's you're making a disturbance. It's just thesame as if I were grinding an organ. What bu-siness is it of yours?"

"You have to get a licence for an organ, and youhaven't got one, and in that way you collect acrowd. Where do you lodge?"

"What, a license?" wailed Katerina Ivanovna. "Iburied my husband to-day. What need of alicense?"

"Calm yourself, madam, calm yourself," beganthe official. "Come along; I will escort you....This is no place for you in the crowd. You areill."

"Honoured sir, honoured sir, you don't know,"screamed Katerina Ivanovna. "We are going tothe Nevsky.... Sonia, Sonia! Where is she? She is

crying too! What's the matter with you all?Kolya, Lida, where are you going?" she criedsuddenly in alarm. "Oh, silly children! Kolya,Lida, where are they off to?..."

Kolya and Lida, scared out of their wits by thecrowd, and their mother's mad pranks, sudden-ly seized each other by the hand, and ran off atthe sight of the policeman who wanted to takethem away somewhere. Weeping and wailing,poor Katerina Ivanovna ran after them. Shewas a piteous and unseemly spectacle, as sheran, weeping and panting for breath. Sonia andPolenka rushed after them.

"Bring them back, bring them back, Sonia! Ohstupid, ungrateful children!... Polenka! catchthem.... It's for your sakes I..."

She stumbled as she ran and fell down.

"She's cut herself, she's bleeding! Oh, dear!"cried Sonia, bending over her.

All ran up and crowded around. Raskolnikovand Lebeziatnikov were the first at her side, theofficial too hastened up, and behind him thepoliceman who muttered, "Bother!" with a ges-ture of impatience, feeling that the job wasgoing to be a troublesome one.

"Pass on! Pass on!" he said to the crowd thatpressed forward.

"She's dying," someone shouted.

"She's gone out of her mind," said another.

"Lord have mercy upon us," said a woman,crossing herself. "Have they caught the littlegirl and the boy? They're being brought back,the elder one's got them.... Ah, the naughtyimps!"

When they examined Katerina Ivanovna care-fully, they saw that she had not cut herselfagainst a stone, as Sonia thought, but that the

blood that stained the pavement red was fromher chest.

"I've seen that before," muttered the official toRaskolnikov and Lebeziatnikov; "that's con-sumption; the blood flows and chokes the pa-tient. I saw the same thing with a relative of myown not long ago... nearly a pint of blood, all ina minute.... What's to be done though? She isdying."

"This way, this way, to my room!" Sonia implo-red. "I live here!... See, that house, the secondfrom here.... Come to me, make haste," she tur-ned from one to the other. "Send for the doctor!Oh, dear!"

Thanks to the official's efforts, this plan wasadopted, the policeman even helping to carryKaterina Ivanovna. She was carried to Sonia'sroom, almost unconscious, and laid on the bed.The blood was still flowing, but she seemed tobe coming to herself. Raskolnikov, Lebeziatni-

kov, and the official accompanied Sonia intothe room and were followed by the policeman,who first drove back the crowd which followedto the very door. Polenka came in holding Kol-ya and Lida, who were trembling and weeping.Several persons came in too from the Kaper-naumovs' room; the landlord, a lame one-eyedman of strange appearance with whiskers andhair that stood up like a brush, his wife, a wo-man with an everlastingly scared expression,and several open-mouthed children with won-der-struck faces. Among these, Svidrigaïlovsuddenly made his appearance. Raskolnikovlooked at him with surprise, not understandingwhere he had come from and not having noti-ced him in the crowd. A doctor and priest worespoken of. The official whispered to Raskolni-kov that he thought it was too late now for thedoctor, but he ordered him to be sent for. Ka-pernaumov ran himself.

Meanwhile Katerina Ivanovna had regainedher breath. The bleeding ceased for a time. Shelooked with sick but intent and penetratingeyes at Sonia, who stood pale and trembling,wiping the sweat from her brow with a hand-kerchief. At last she asked to be raised. They sather up on the bed, supporting her on both si-des.

"Where are the children?" she said in a faintvoice. "You've brought them, Polenka? Oh thesillies! Why did you run away.... Och!"

Once more her parched lips were covered withblood. She moved her eyes, looking about her.

"So that's how you live, Sonia! Never once haveI 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 hadenough! The ball is over." (Cough!) "Lay medown, let me die in peace."

They laid her back on the pillow.

"What, the priest? I don't want him. Youhaven't got a rouble to spare. I have no sins.God must forgive me without that. He knowshow I have suffered.... And if He won't forgiveme, I don't care!"

She sank more and more into uneasy delirium.At times she shuddered, turned her eyes fromside to side, recognised everyone for a minute,but at once sank into delirium again. Her breat-hing was hoarse and difficult, there was a sortof rattle in her throat.

"I said to him, your excellency," she ejaculated,gasping after each word. "That Amalia Ludwi-govna, ah! Lida, Kolya, hands on your hips,

make haste! Glissez, glissez! pas de basque! Tapwith your heels, be a graceful child!

"Du hast Diamanten und Perlen

"What next? That's the thing to sing.

"Du hast die schonsten Augen Madchen, was willstdu mehr?

"What an idea! Was willst du mehr? What thingsthe fool invents! Ah, yes!

"In the heat of midday in the vale of Dagestan.

"Ah, how I loved it! I loved that song to distrac-tion, Polenka! Your father, you know, used tosing it when we were engaged.... Oh thosedays! Oh that's the thing for us to sing! Howdoes it go? I've forgotten. Remind me! Howwas it?"

She was violently excited and tried to sit up. Atlast, in a horribly hoarse, broken voice, she be-

gan, shrieking and gasping at every word, witha look of growing terror.

"In the heat of midday!... in the vale!... of Da-gestan!... With lead in my breast!..."

"Your excellency!" she wailed suddenly with aheart-rending scream and a flood of tears, "pro-tect the orphans! You have been their father'sguest... one may say aristocratic...." She started,regaining consciousness, and gazed at all witha sort of terror, but at once recognised Sonia.

"Sonia, Sonia!" she articulated softly and cares-singly, as though surprised to find her there."Sonia darling, are you here, too?"

They lifted her up again.

"Enough! It's over! Farewell, poor thing! I amdone for! I am broken!" she cried with vindicti-ve despair, and her head fell heavily back onthe pillow.

She sank into unconsciousness again, but thistime it did not last long. Her pale, yellow, was-ted face dropped back, her mouth fell open, herleg moved convulsively, she gave a deep, deepsigh and died.

Sonia fell upon her, flung her arms about her,and remained motionless with her head pres-sed to the dead woman's wasted bosom. Polen-ka threw herself at her mother's feet, kissingthem and weeping violently. Though Kolyaand Lida did not understand what had happe-ned, they had a feeling that it was somethingterrible; they put their hands on each other'slittle shoulders, stared straight at one anotherand both at once opened their mouths and be-gan screaming. They were both still in theirfancy dress; one in a turban, the other in thecap with the ostrich feather.

And how did "the certificate of merit" come tobe on the bed beside Katerina Ivanovna? It laythere by the pillow; Raskolnikov saw it.

He walked away to the window. Lebeziatnikovskipped up to him.

"She is dead," he said.

"Rodion Romanovitch, I must have two wordswith you," said Svidrigaïlov, coming up tothem.

Lebeziatnikov at once made room for him anddelicately withdrew. Svidrigaïlov drew Raskol-nikov further away.

"I will undertake all the arrangements, the fu-neral and that. You know it's a question of mo-ney and, as I told you, I have plenty to spare. Iwill put those two little ones and Polenka intosome good orphan asylum, and I will settlefifteen hundred roubles to be paid to each oncoming of age, so that Sofya Semyonovna needhave no anxiety about them. And I will pull herout of the mud too, for she is a good girl, isn't

she? So tell Avdotya Romanovna that that ishow I am spending her ten thousand."

"What is your motive for such benevolence?"asked Raskolnikov.

"Ah! you sceptical person!" laughed Svidrigaï-lov. "I told you I had no need of that money.Won't you admit that it's simply done fromhumanity? She wasn't 'a louse,' you know" (hepointed to the corner where the dead womanlay), "was she, like some old pawnbroker wo-man? Come, you'll agree, is Luzhin to go onliving, and doing wicked things or is she to die?And if I didn't help them, Polenka would gothe same way."

He said this with an air of a sort of gay winkingslyness, keeping his eyes fixed on Raskolnikov,who turned white and cold, hearing his ownphrases, spoken to Sonia. He quickly steppedback and looked wildly at Svidrigaïlov.

"How do you know?" he whispered, hardlyable to breathe.

"Why, I lodge here at Madame Resslich's, theother side of the wall. Here is Kapernaumov,and there lives Madame Resslich, an old anddevoted friend of mine. I am a neighbour."

"You?"

"Yes," continued Svidrigaïlov, shaking withlaughter. "I assure you on my honour, dearRodion Romanovitch, that you have interestedme enormously. I told you we should becomefriends, I foretold it. Well, here we have. Andyou will see what an accommodating person Iam. You'll see that you can get on with me!"

PART VI

CHAPTER I

A strange period began for Raskolnikov: it wasas though a fog had fallen upon him and wrap-ped him in a dreary solitude from which therewas no escape. Recalling that period long after,he believed that his mind had been clouded attimes, and that it had continued so, with inter-vals, till the final catastrophe. He was convin-ced that he had been mistaken about manythings at that time, for instance as to the date ofcertain events. Anyway, when he tried later onto piece his recollections together, he learnt agreat deal about himself from what other peo-

ple told him. He had mixed up incidents andhad explained events as due to circumstanceswhich existed only in his imagination. At timeshe was a prey to agonies of morbid uneasiness,amounting sometimes to panic. But he remem-bered, too, moments, hours, perhaps wholedays, of complete apathy, which came uponhim as a reaction from his previous terror andmight be compared with the abnormal insensi-bility, sometimes seen in the dying. He seemedto be trying in that latter stage to escape from afull and clear understanding of his position.Certain essential facts which required immedia-te consideration were particularly irksome tohim. How glad he would have been to be freefrom some cares, the neglect of which wouldhave threatened him with complete, inevitableruin.

He was particularly worried about Svidrigaï-lov, he might be said to be permanently thin-king of Svidrigaïlov. From the time of Svidri-

gaïlov's too menacing and unmistakable wordsin Sonia's room at the moment of Katerina Iva-novna's death, the normal working of his mindseemed to break down. But although this newfact caused him extreme uneasiness, Raskolni-kov was in no hurry for an explanation of it. Attimes, finding himself in a solitary and remotepart of the town, in some wretched eating-house, sitting alone lost in thought, hardly kno-wing how he had come there, he suddenlythought of Svidrigaïlov. He recognised sudden-ly, clearly, and with dismay that he ought atonce to come to an understanding with thatman and to make what terms he could. Wal-king outside the city gates one day, he positive-ly fancied that they had fixed a meeting there,that he was waiting for Svidrigaïlov. Anothertime he woke up before daybreak lying on theground under some bushes and could not atfirst understand how he had come there.

But during the two or three days after KaterinaIvanovna's death, he had two or three timesmet Svidrigaïlov at Sonia's lodging, where hehad gone aimlessly for a moment. They ex-changed a few words and made no reference tothe vital subject, as though they were tacitlyagreed not to speak of it for a time.

Katerina Ivanovna's body was still lying in thecoffin, Svidrigaïlov was busy making arrange-ments for the funeral. Sonia too was very busy.At their last meeting Svidrigaïlov informedRaskolnikov that he had made an arrangement,and a very satisfactory one, for Katerina Iva-novna's children; that he had, through certainconnections, succeeded in getting hold of cer-tain personages by whose help the three orp-hans could be at once placed in very suitableinstitutions; that the money he had settled onthem had been of great assistance, as it is mucheasier to place orphans with some propertythan destitute ones. He said something too

about Sonia and promised to come himself in aday or two to see Raskolnikov, mentioning that"he would like to consult with him, that therewere things they must talk over...."

This conversation took place in the passage onthe stairs. Svidrigaïlov looked intently at Ras-kolnikov and suddenly, after a brief pause,dropping his voice, asked: "But how is it, Ro-dion Romanovitch; you don't seem yourself?You look and you listen, but you don't seem tounderstand. Cheer up! We'll talk things over; Iam only sorry, I've so much to do of my ownbusiness and other people's. Ah, Rodion Ro-manovitch," he added suddenly, "what all menneed is fresh air, fresh air... more than anyt-hing!"

He moved to one side to make way for thepriest and server, who were coming up thestairs. They had come for the requiem service.By Svidrigaïlov's orders it was sung twice a daypunctually. Svidrigaïlov went his way. Raskol-

nikov stood still a moment, thought, and follo-wed the priest into Sonia's room. He stood atthe door. They began quietly, slowly andmournfully singing the service. From his child-hood the thought of death and the presence ofdeath had something oppressive and myste-riously awful; and it was long since he hadheard the requiem service. And there was so-mething else here as well, too awful and dis-turbing. He looked at the children: they wereall kneeling by the coffin; Polenka was wee-ping. Behind them Sonia prayed, softly and, asit were, timidly weeping.

"These last two days she hasn't said a word tome, she hasn't glanced at me," Raskolnikovthought suddenly. The sunlight was bright inthe room; the incense rose in clouds; the priestread, "Give rest, oh Lord...." Raskolnikov stayedall through the service. As he blessed them andtook his leave, the priest looked round strange-ly. After the service, Raskolnikov went up to

Sonia. She took both his hands and let her headsink on his shoulder. This slight friendly gestu-re bewildered Raskolnikov. It seemed strangeto him that there was no trace of repugnance,no trace of disgust, no tremor in her hand. Itwas the furthest limit of self-abnegation, atleast so he interpreted it.

Sonia said nothing. Raskolnikov pressed herhand and went out. He felt very miserable. If ithad been possible to escape to some solitude,he would have thought himself lucky, even ifhe had to spend his whole life there. But alt-hough he had almost always been by himself oflate, he had never been able to feel alone. Some-times he walked out of the town on to the highroad, once he had even reached a little wood,but the lonelier the place was, the more heseemed to be aware of an uneasy presence nearhim. It did not frighten him, but greatly anno-yed him, so that he made haste to return to thetown, to mingle with the crowd, to enter res-

taurants and taverns, to walk in busy thorough-fares. There he felt easier and even more solita-ry. One day at dusk he sat for an hour listeningto songs in a tavern and he remembered that hepositively enjoyed it. But at last he had sudden-ly felt the same uneasiness again, as though hisconscience smote him. "Here I sit listening tosinging, is that what I ought to be doing?" hethought. Yet he felt at once that that was not theonly cause of his uneasiness; there was somet-hing requiring immediate decision, but it wassomething he could not clearly understand orput into words. It was a hopeless tangle. "No,better the struggle again! Better Porfiry again...or Svidrigaïlov.... Better some challenge again...some attack. Yes, yes!" he thought. He went outof the tavern and rushed away almost at a run.The thought of Dounia and his mother sudden-ly reduced him almost to a panic. That night hewoke up before morning among some bushesin Krestovsky Island, trembling all over withfever; he walked home, and it was early mor-

ning when he arrived. After some hours' sleepthe fever left him, but he woke up late, twoo'clock in the afternoon.

He remembered that Katerina Ivanovna's fune-ral had been fixed for that day, and was gladthat he was not present at it. Nastasya broughthim some food; he ate and drank with appetite,almost with greediness. His head was fresherand he was calmer than he had been for the lastthree days. He even felt a passing wonder at hisprevious attacks of panic.

The door opened and Razumihin came in.

"Ah, he's eating, then he's not ill," said Razu-mihin. He took a chair and sat down at the ta-ble opposite Raskolnikov.

He was troubled and did not attempt to concealit. He spoke with evident annoyance, but wit-hout hurry or raising his voice. He looked as

though he had some special fixed determina-tion.

"Listen," he began resolutely. "As far as I amconcerned, you may all go to hell, but fromwhat I see, it's clear to me that I can't makehead or tail of it; please don't think I've come toask you questions. I don't want to know, hangit! If you begin telling me your secrets, I daresay I shouldn't stay to listen, I should go awaycursing. I have only come to find out once forall whether it's a fact that you are mad? There isa conviction in the air that you are mad or verynearly so. I admit I've been disposed to thatopinion myself, judging from your stupid, re-pulsive and quite inexplicable actions, andfrom your recent behavior to your mother andsister. Only a monster or a madman could treatthem as you have; so you must be mad."

"When did you see them last?"

"Just now. Haven't you seen them since then?What have you been doing with yourself? Tellme, please. I've been to you three times already.Your mother has been seriously ill since yester-day. She had made up her mind to come toyou; Avdotya Romanovna tried to prevent her;she wouldn't hear a word. 'If he is ill, if hismind is giving way, who can look after him likehis mother?' she said. We all came here toget-her, we couldn't let her come alone all the way.We kept begging her to be calm. We came in,you weren't here; she sat down, and stayed tenminutes, while we stood waiting in silence. Shegot up and said: 'If he's gone out, that is, if he iswell, and has forgotten his mother, it's humilia-ting and unseemly for his mother to stand athis door begging for kindness.' She returnedhome and took to her bed; now she is in a fever.'I see,' she said, 'that he has time for his girl.' Shemeans by your girl Sofya Semyonovna, yourbetrothed or your mistress, I don't know. I wentat once to Sofya Semyonovna's, for I wanted to

know what was going on. I looked round, I sawthe coffin, the children crying, and Sofya Sem-yonovna trying them on mourning dresses. Nosign of you. I apologised, came away, and re-ported to Avdotya Romanovna. So that's allnonsense and you haven't got a girl; the mostlikely thing is that you are mad. But here yousit, guzzling boiled beef as though you'd nothad a bite for three days. Though as far as thatgoes, madmen eat too, but though you have notsaid a word to me yet... you are not mad! ThatI'd swear! Above all, you are not mad! So youmay go to hell, all of you, for there's some mys-tery, some secret about it, and I don't intend toworry my brains over your secrets. So I've sim-ply come to swear at you," he finished, gettingup, "to relieve my mind. And I know what todo now."

"What do you mean to do now?"

"What business is it of yours what I mean todo?"

"You are going in for a drinking bout."

"How... how did you know?"

"Why, it's pretty plain."

Razumihin paused for a minute.

"You always have been a very rational personand you've never been mad, never," he obser-ved suddenly with warmth. "You're right: Ishall drink. Good-bye!"

And he moved to go out.

"I was talking with my sister—the day beforeyesterday, I think it was—about you, Razu-mihin."

"About me! But... where can you have seen herthe day before yesterday?" Razumihin stoppedshort and even turned a little pale.

One could see that his heart was throbbingslowly and violently.

"She came here by herself, sat there and talkedto me."

"She did!"

"Yes."

"What did you say to her... I mean, about me?"

"I told her you were a very good, honest, andindustrious man. I didn't tell her you love her,because she knows that herself."

"She knows that herself?"

"Well, it's pretty plain. Wherever I might go,whatever happened to me, you would remainto look after them. I, so to speak, give them intoyour keeping, Razumihin. I say this because Iknow quite well how you love her, and am con-vinced of the purity of your heart. I know that

she too may love you and perhaps does loveyou already. Now decide for yourself, as youknow best, whether you need go in for a drin-king bout or not."

"Rodya! You see... well.... Ach, damn it! Butwhere do you mean to go? Of course, if it's all asecret, never mind.... But I... I shall find out thesecret... and I am sure that it must be some ridi-culous nonsense and that you've made it all up.Anyway you are a capital fellow, a capital fe-llow!..."

"That was just what I wanted to add, only youinterrupted, that that was a very good decisionof yours not to find out these secrets. Leave it totime, don't worry about it. You'll know it all intime when it must be. Yesterday a man said tome that what a man needs is fresh air, fresh air,fresh air. I mean to go to him directly to findout what he meant by that."

Razumihin stood lost in thought and excite-ment, making a silent conclusion.

"He's a political conspirator! He must be. Andhe's on the eve of some desperate step, that'scertain. It can only be that! And... and Douniaknows," he thought suddenly.

"So Avdotya Romanovna comes to see you," hesaid, weighing each syllable, "and you're goingto see a man who says we need more air, andso of course that letter... that too must havesomething to do with it," he concluded to him-self.

"What letter?"

"She got a letter to-day. It upset her verymuch—very much indeed. Too much so. I be-gan speaking of you, she begged me not to.Then... then she said that perhaps we shouldvery soon have to part... then she began warm-

ly thanking me for something; then she went toher room and locked herself in."

"She got a letter?" Raskolnikov asked thought-fully.

"Yes, and you didn't know? hm..."

They were both silent.

"Good-bye, Rodion. There was a time, brother,when I.... Never mind, good-bye. You see, therewas a time.... Well, good-bye! I must be off too.I am not going to drink. There's no need now....That's all stuff!"

He hurried out; but when he had almost closedthe door behind him, he suddenly opened itagain, and said, looking away:

"Oh, by the way, do you remember that mur-der, you know Porfiry's, that old woman? Doyou know the murderer has been found, he hasconfessed and given the proofs. It's one of those

very workmen, the painter, only fancy! Do youremember I defended them here? Would youbelieve it, all that scene of fighting and laug-hing with his companions on the stairs whilethe porter and the two witnesses were goingup, he got up on purpose to disarm suspicion.The cunning, the presence of mind of theyoung dog! One can hardly credit it; but it's hisown explanation, he has confessed it all. Andwhat a fool I was about it! Well, he's simply agenius of hypocrisy and resourcefulness in di-sarming the suspicions of the lawyers—so the-re's nothing much to wonder at, I suppose! Ofcourse people like that are always possible.And the fact that he couldn't keep up the cha-racter, but confessed, makes him easier to be-lieve in. But what a fool I was! I was frantic ontheir side!"

"Tell me, please, from whom did you hear that,and why does it interest you so?" Raskolnikovasked with unmistakable agitation.

"What next? You ask me why it interests me!...Well, I heard it from Porfiry, among others... Itwas from him I heard almost all about it."

"From Porfiry?"

"From Porfiry."

"What... what did he say?" Raskolnikov askedin dismay.

"He gave me a capital explanation of it. Psycho-logically, after his fashion."

"He explained it? Explained it himself?"

"Yes, yes; good-bye. I'll tell you all about itanother time, but now I'm busy. There was atime when I fancied... But no matter, anothertime!... What need is there for me to drink now?You have made me drunk without wine. I amdrunk, Rodya! Good-bye, I'm going. I'll comeagain very soon."

He went out.

"He's a political conspirator, there's not a doubtabout it," Razumihin decided, as he slowly des-cended the stairs. "And he's drawn his sister in;that's quite, quite in keeping with AvdotyaRomanovna's character. There are interviewsbetween them!... She hinted at it too... So manyof her words.... and hints... bear that meaning!And how else can all this tangle be explained?Hm! And I was almost thinking... Good hea-vens, what I thought! Yes, I took leave of mysenses and I wronged him! It was his doing,under the lamp in the corridor that day. Pfoo!What a crude, nasty, vile idea on my part! Ni-kolay is a brick, for confessing.... And how clearit all is now! His illness then, all his strangeactions... before this, in the university, howmorose he used to be, how gloomy.... Butwhat's the meaning now of that letter? There'ssomething in that, too, perhaps. Whom was itfrom? I suspect...! No, I must find out!"

He thought of Dounia, realising all he hadheard and his heart throbbed, and he suddenlybroke into a run.

As soon as Razumihin went out, Raskolnikovgot up, turned to the window, walked into onecorner and then into another, as though forget-ting the smallness of his room, and sat downagain on the sofa. He felt, so to speak, renewed;again the struggle, so a means of escape hadcome.

"Yes, a means of escape had come! It had beentoo stifling, too cramping, the burden had beentoo agonising. A lethargy had come upon himat times. From the moment of the scene withNikolay at Porfiry's he had been suffocating,penned in without hope of escape. After Niko-lay's confession, on that very day had come thescene with Sonia; his behaviour and his lastwords had been utterly unlike anything hecould have imagined beforehand; he hadgrown feebler, instantly and fundamentally!

And he had agreed at the time with Sonia, hehad agreed in his heart he could not go on li-ving alone with such a thing on his mind!

"And Svidrigaïlov was a riddle... He worriedhim, that was true, but somehow not on thesame point. He might still have a struggle tocome with Svidrigaïlov. Svidrigaïlov, too,might be a means of escape; but Porfiry was adifferent matter.

"And so Porfiry himself had explained it to Ra-zumihin, had explained it psychologically. Hehad begun bringing in his damned psychologyagain! Porfiry? But to think that Porfiry shouldfor one moment believe that Nikolay was guil-ty, after what had passed between them beforeNikolay's appearance, after that tête-à-tête in-terview, which could have only one explana-tion? (During those days Raskolnikov had oftenrecalled passages in that scene with Porfiry; hecould not bear to let his mind rest on it.) Suchwords, such gestures had passed between

them, they had exchanged such glances, thingshad been said in such a tone and had reachedsuch a pass, that Nikolay, whom Porfiry hadseen through at the first word, at the first ges-ture, could not have shaken his conviction.

"And to think that even Razumihin had begunto suspect! The scene in the corridor under thelamp had produced its effect then. He had rus-hed to Porfiry.... But what had induced the lat-ter to receive him like that? What had been hisobject in putting Razumihin off with Nikolay?He must have some plan; there was some de-sign, but what was it? It was true that a longtime had passed since that morning—too long atime—and no sight nor sound of Porfiry. Well,that was a bad sign...."

Raskolnikov took his cap and went out of theroom, still pondering. It was the first time for along while that he had felt clear in his mind, atleast. "I must settle Svidrigaïlov," he thought,"and as soon as possible; he, too, seems to be

waiting for me to come to him of my own ac-cord." And at that moment there was such arush of hate in his weary heart that he mighthave killed either of those two—Porfiry or Svi-drigaïlov. At least he felt that he would be ca-pable of doing it later, if not now.

"We shall see, we shall see," he repeated tohimself.

But no sooner had he opened the door than hestumbled upon Porfiry himself in the passage.He was coming in to see him. Raskolnikov wasdumbfounded for a minute, but only for oneminute. Strange to say, he was not very muchastonished at seeing Porfiry and scarcely afraidof him. He was simply startled, but was quic-kly, instantly, on his guard. "Perhaps this willmean the end? But how could Porfiry have ap-proached so quietly, like a cat, so that he hadheard nothing? Could he have been listening atthe door?"

"You didn't expect a visitor, Rodion Romano-vitch," Porfiry explained, laughing. "I've beenmeaning to look in a long time; I was passingby and thought why not go in for five minutes.Are you going out? I won't keep you long. Justlet me have one cigarette."

"Sit down, Porfiry Petrovitch, sit down." Ras-kolnikov gave his visitor a seat with so pleasedand friendly an expression that he would havemarvelled at himself, if he could have seen it.

The last moment had come, the last drops hadto be drained! So a man will sometimes gothrough half an hour of mortal terror with abrigand, yet when the knife is at his throat atlast, he feels no fear.

Raskolnikov seated himself directly facing Por-firy, and looked at him without flinching. Porfi-ry screwed up his eyes and began lighting acigarette.

"Speak, speak," seemed as though it wouldburst from Raskolnikov's heart. "Come, whydon't you speak?"

CHAPTER II

"Ah these cigarettes!" Porfiry Petrovitch ejacu-lated at last, having lighted one. "They are per-nicious, positively pernicious, and yet I can'tgive them up! I cough, I begin to have ticklingin my throat and a difficulty in breathing. Youknow I am a coward, I went lately to Dr. B——n; he always gives at least half an hour to eachpatient. He positively laughed looking at me;he sounded me: 'Tobacco's bad for you,' hesaid, 'your lungs are affected.' But how am I togive it up? What is there to take its place? Idon't drink, that's the mischief, he-he-he, that I

don't. Everything is relative, Rodion Romano-vitch, everything is relative!"

"Why, he's playing his professional tricksagain," Raskolnikov thought with disgust. Allthe circumstances of their last interview sud-denly came back to him, and he felt a rush ofthe feeling that had come upon him then.

"I came to see you the day before yesterday, inthe evening; you didn't know?" Porfiry Petro-vitch went on, looking round the room. "I cameinto this very room. I was passing by, just as Idid to-day, and I thought I'd return your call. Iwalked in as your door was wide open, I loo-ked round, waited and went out without lea-ving my name with your servant. Don't youlock your door?"

Raskolnikov's face grew more and more gloo-my. Porfiry seemed to guess his state of mind.

"I've come to have it out with you, Rodion Ro-manovitch, my dear fellow! I owe you an ex-planation and must give it to you," he conti-nued with a slight smile, just patting Raskolni-kov's knee.

But almost at the same instant a serious andcareworn look came into his face; to his surpri-se Raskolnikov saw a touch of sadness in it. Hehad never seen and never suspected such anexpression in his face.

"A strange scene passed between us last timewe met, Rodion Romanovitch. Our first inter-view, too, was a strange one; but then... andone thing after another! This is the point: I haveperhaps acted unfairly to you; I feel it. Do youremember how we parted? Your nerves wereunhinged and your knees were shaking and sowere mine. And, you know, our behaviour wasunseemly, even ungentlemanly. And yet we aregentlemen, above all, in any case, gentlemen;that must be understood. Do you remember

what we came to?... and it was quite indeco-rous."

"What is he up to, what does he take me for?"Raskolnikov asked himself in amazement, rai-sing his head and looking with open eyes onPorfiry.

"I've decided openness is better between us,"Porfiry Petrovitch went on, turning his headaway and dropping his eyes, as though unwi-lling to disconcert his former victim and asthough disdaining his former wiles. "Yes, suchsuspicions and such scenes cannot continue forlong. Nikolay put a stop to it, or I don't knowwhat we might not have come to. That damnedworkman was sitting at the time in the nextroom—can you realise that? You know that, ofcourse; and I am aware that he came to youafterwards. But what you supposed then wasnot true: I had not sent for anyone, I had madeno kind of arrangements. You ask why Ihadn't? What shall I say to you? it had all come

upon me so suddenly. I had scarcely sent forthe porters (you noticed them as you went out,I dare say). An idea flashed upon me; I wasfirmly convinced at the time, you see, RodionRomanovitch. Come, I thought—even if I letone thing slip for a time, I shall get hold of so-mething else—I shan't lose what I want, any-way. You are nervously irritable, Rodion Ro-manovitch, by temperament; it's out of propor-tion with other qualities of your heart and cha-racter, which I flatter myself I have to someextent divined. Of course I did reflect even thenthat it does not always happen that a man getsup and blurts out his whole story. It does hap-pen sometimes, if you make a man lose all pa-tience, though even then it's rare. I was capableof realising that. If I only had a fact, I thought,the least little fact to go upon, something Icould lay hold of, something tangible, not me-rely psychological. For if a man is guilty, youmust be able to get something substantial out ofhim; one may reckon upon most surprising

results indeed. I was reckoning on your tempe-rament, Rodion Romanovitch, on your tempe-rament above all things! I had great hopes ofyou at that time."

"But what are you driving at now?" Raskolni-kov muttered at last, asking the question wit-hout thinking.

"What is he talking about?" he wondered dis-tractedly, "does he really take me to be inno-cent?"

"What am I driving at? I've come to explainmyself, I consider it my duty, so to speak. Iwant to make clear to you how the whole busi-ness, the whole misunderstanding arose. I'vecaused you a great deal of suffering, RodionRomanovitch. I am not a monster. I understandwhat it must mean for a man who has beenunfortunate, but who is proud, imperious andabove all, impatient, to have to bear suchtreatment! I regard you in any case as a man of

noble character and not without elements ofmagnanimity, though I don't agree with allyour convictions. I wanted to tell you this first,frankly and quite sincerely, for above all I don'twant to deceive you. When I made your ac-quaintance, I felt attracted by you. Perhaps youwill laugh at my saying so. You have a right to.I know you disliked me from the first and inde-ed you've no reason to like me. You may thinkwhat you like, but I desire now to do all I can toefface that impression and to show that I am aman of heart and conscience. I speak sincerely."

Porfiry Petrovitch made a dignified pause. Ras-kolnikov felt a rush of renewed alarm. Thethought that Porfiry believed him to be inno-cent began to make him uneasy.

"It's scarcely necessary to go over everything indetail," Porfiry Petrovitch went on. "Indeed, Icould scarcely attempt it. To begin with therewere rumours. Through whom, how, and whenthose rumours came to me... and how they af-

fected you, I need not go into. My suspicionswere aroused by a complete accident, whichmight just as easily not have happened. Whatwas it? Hm! I believe there is no need to go intothat either. Those rumours and that accidentled to one idea in my mind. I admit it openly—for one may as well make a clean breast of it—Iwas the first to pitch on you. The old woman'snotes on the pledges and the rest of it—that allcame to nothing. Yours was one of a hundred. Ihappened, too, to hear of the scene at the office,from a man who described it capitally, uncons-ciously reproducing the scene with great vivid-ness. It was just one thing after another, RodionRomanovitch, my dear fellow! How could Iavoid being brought to certain ideas? From ahundred rabbits you can't make a horse, a hun-dred suspicions don't make a proof, as the En-glish proverb says, but that's only from the ra-tional point of view—you can't help being par-tial, for after all a lawyer is only human. Ithought, too, of your article in that journal, do

you remember, on your first visit we talked ofit? I jeered at you at the time, but that was onlyto lead you on. I repeat, Rodion Romanovitch,you are ill and impatient. That you were bold,headstrong, in earnest and... had felt a greatdeal I recognised long before. I, too, have feltthe same, so that your article seemed familiar tome. It was conceived on sleepless nights, with athrobbing heart, in ecstasy and suppressed ent-husiasm. And that proud suppressed ent-husiasm in young people is dangerous! I jeeredat you then, but let me tell you that, as a literaryamateur, I am awfully fond of such first essays,full of the heat of youth. There is a mistinessand a chord vibrating in the mist. Your article isabsurd and fantastic, but there's a transparentsincerity, a youthful incorruptible pride and thedaring of despair in it. It's a gloomy article, butthat's what's fine in it. I read your article andput it aside, thinking as I did so 'that man won'tgo the common way.' Well, I ask you, after thatas a preliminary, how could I help being ca-

rried away by what followed? Oh, dear, I amnot saying anything, I am not making any sta-tement now. I simply noted it at the time. Whatis there in it? I reflected. There's nothing in it,that is really nothing and perhaps absolutelynothing. And it's not at all the thing for the pro-secutor to let himself be carried away by no-tions: here I have Nikolay on my hands withactual evidence against him—you may thinkwhat you like of it, but it's evidence. He bringsin his psychology, too; one has to consider him,too, for it's a matter of life and death. Why am Iexplaining this to you? That you may unders-tand, and not blame my malicious behaviouron that occasion. It was not malicious, I assureyou, he-he! Do you suppose I didn't come tosearch your room at the time? I did, I did, he-he! I was here when you were lying ill in bed,not officially, not in my own person, but I washere. Your room was searched to the last threadat the first suspicion; but umsonst! I thought tomyself, now that man will come, will come of

himself and quickly, too; if he's guilty, he's sureto come. Another man wouldn't, but he will.And you remember how Mr. Razumihin begandiscussing the subject with you? We arrangedthat to excite you, so we purposely spread ru-mours, that he might discuss the case with you,and Razumihin is not a man to restrain his in-dignation. Mr. Zametov was tremendouslystruck by your anger and your open daring.Think of blurting out in a restaurant 'I killedher.' It was too daring, too reckless. I thought somyself, if he is guilty he will be a formidableopponent. That was what I thought at the time.I was expecting you. But you simply bowledZametov over and... well, you see, it all lies inthis—that this damnable psychology can betaken two ways! Well, I kept expecting you,and so it was, you came! My heart was fairlythrobbing. Ach!

"Now, why need you have come? Your laugh-ter, too, as you came in, do you remember? I

saw it all plain as daylight, but if I hadn't ex-pected you so specially, I should not have noti-ced anything in your laughter. You see whatinfluence a mood has! Mr. Razumihin then—ah, that stone, that stone under which thethings were hidden! I seem to see it somewherein a kitchen garden. It was in a kitchen garden,you told Zametov and afterwards you repeatedthat in my office? And when we began pickingyour article to pieces, how you explained it!One could take every word of yours in twosenses, as though there were another meaninghidden.

"So in this way, Rodion Romanovitch, I reachedthe furthest limit, and knocking my headagainst a post, I pulled myself up, asking my-self what I was about. After all, I said, you cantake it all in another sense if you like, and it'smore natural so, indeed. I couldn't help admit-ting it was more natural. I was bothered! 'No,I'd better get hold of some little fact' I said. So

when I heard of the bell-ringing, I held mybreath and was all in a tremor. 'Here is my littlefact,' thought I, and I didn't think it over, I sim-ply wouldn't. I would have given a thousandroubles at that minute to have seen you withmy own eyes, when you walked a hundredpaces beside that workman, after he had calledyou murderer to your face, and you did notdare to ask him a question all the way. Andthen what about your trembling, what aboutyour bell-ringing in your illness, in semi-delirium?

"And so, Rodion Romanovitch, can you wonderthat I played such pranks on you? And whatmade you come at that very minute? Someoneseemed to have sent you, by Jove! And if Niko-lay had not parted us... and do you rememberNikolay at the time? Do you remember himclearly? It was a thunderbolt, a regular thun-derbolt! And how I met him! I didn't believe inthe thunderbolt, not for a minute. You could

see it for yourself; and how could I? Even af-terwards, when you had gone and he beganmaking very, very plausible answers on certainpoints, so that I was surprised at him myself,even then I didn't believe his story! You seewhat it is to be as firm as a rock! No, thought I,Morgenfrüh. What has Nikolay got to do withit!"

"Razumihin told me just now that you thinkNikolay guilty and had yourself assured him ofit...."

His voice failed him, and he broke off. He hadbeen listening in indescribable agitation, as thisman who had seen through and through him,went back upon himself. He was afraid of be-lieving it and did not believe it. In those stillambiguous words he kept eagerly looking forsomething more definite and conclusive.

"Mr. Razumihin!" cried Porfiry Petrovitch, see-ming glad of a question from Raskolnikov, who

had till then been silent. "He-he-he! But I had toput Mr. Razumihin off; two is company, threeis none. Mr. Razumihin is not the right man,besides he is an outsider. He came running tome with a pale face.... But never mind him, whybring him in? To return to Nikolay, would youlike to know what sort of a type he is, how Iunderstand him, that is? To begin with, he isstill a child and not exactly a coward, but so-mething by way of an artist. Really, don't laughat my describing him so. He is innocent andresponsive to influence. He has a heart, and is afantastic fellow. He sings and dances, he tellsstories, they say, so that people come from ot-her villages to hear him. He attends school too,and laughs till he cries if you hold up a fingerto him; he will drink himself senseless—not asa regular vice, but at times, when people treathim, like a child. And he stole, too, then, wit-hout knowing it himself, for 'How can it bestealing, if one picks it up?' And do you knowhe is an Old Believer, or rather a dissenter?

There have been Wanderers[*] in his family,and he was for two years in his village underthe spiritual guidance of a certain elder. I learntall this from Nikolay and from his fellow villa-gers. And what's more, he wanted to run intothe wilderness! He was full of fervour, prayedat night, read the old books, 'the true' ones, andread himself crazy.

[*] A religious sect.—TRANSLATOR'S NO-TE.

"Petersburg had a great effect upon him, espe-cially the women and the wine. He responds toeverything and he forgot the elder and all that.I learnt that an artist here took a fancy to him,and used to go and see him, and now this busi-ness came upon him.

"Well, he was frightened, he tried to hang him-self! He ran away! How can one get over theidea the people have of Russian legal procee-dings? The very word 'trial' frightens some ofthem. Whose fault is it? We shall see what the

new juries will do. God grant they do good!Well, in prison, it seems, he remembered thevenerable elder; the Bible, too, made its appea-rance again. Do you know, Rodion Romano-vitch, the force of the word 'suffering' amongsome of these people! It's not a question of suf-fering for someone's benefit, but simply, 'onemust suffer.' If they suffer at the hands of theauthorities, so much the better. In my time the-re was a very meek and mild prisoner whospent a whole year in prison always reading hisBible on the stove at night and he read himselfcrazy, and so crazy, do you know, that one day,apropos of nothing, he seized a brick and flungit at the governor; though he had done him noharm. And the way he threw it too: aimed it ayard on one side on purpose, for fear of hurtinghim. Well, we know what happens to a priso-ner who assaults an officer with a weapon. So'he took his suffering.'

"So I suspect now that Nikolay wants to takehis suffering or something of the sort. I know itfor certain from facts, indeed. Only he doesn'tknow that I know. What, you don't admit thatthere are such fantastic people among the pea-sants? Lots of them. The elder now has beguninfluencing him, especially since he tried tohang himself. But he'll come and tell me allhimself. You think he'll hold out? Wait a bit,he'll take his words back. I am waiting fromhour to hour for him to come and abjure hisevidence. I have come to like that Nikolay andam studying him in detail. And what do youthink? He-he! He answered me very plausiblyon some points, he obviously had collectedsome evidence and prepared himself cleverly.But on other points he is simply at sea, knowsnothing and doesn't even suspect that hedoesn't know!

"No, Rodion Romanovitch, Nikolay doesn'tcome in! This is a fantastic, gloomy business, a

modern case, an incident of to-day when theheart of man is troubled, when the phrase isquoted that blood 'renews,' when comfort ispreached as the aim of life. Here we have boo-kish dreams, a heart unhinged by theories.Here we see resolution in the first stage, butresolution of a special kind: he resolved to do itlike jumping over a precipice or from a belltower and his legs shook as he went to the cri-me. He forgot to shut the door after him, andmurdered two people for a theory. He commit-ted the murder and couldn't take the money,and what he did manage to snatch up he hidunder a stone. It wasn't enough for him to suf-fer agony behind the door while they batteredat the door and rung the bell, no, he had to goto the empty lodging, half delirious, to recallthe bell-ringing, he wanted to feel the cold shi-ver over again.... Well, that we grant, wasthrough illness, but consider this: he is a mur-derer, but looks upon himself as an honestman, despises others, poses as injured innocen-

ce. No, that's not the work of a Nikolay, mydear Rodion Romanovitch!"

All that had been said before had sounded solike a recantation that these words were toogreat a shock. Raskolnikov shuddered asthough he had been stabbed.

"Then... who then... is the murderer?" he askedin a breathless voice, unable to restrain himself.

Porfiry Petrovitch sank back in his chair, asthough he were amazed at the question.

"Who is the murderer?" he repeated, as thoughunable to believe his ears. "Why, you, RodionRomanovitch! You are the murderer," he ad-ded, almost in a whisper, in a voice of genuineconviction.

Raskolnikov leapt from the sofa, stood up for afew seconds and sat down again without utte-ring a word. His face twitched convulsively.

"Your lip is twitching just as it did before," Por-firy Petrovitch observed almost sympathetica-lly. "You've been misunderstanding me, I think,Rodion Romanovitch," he added after a briefpause, "that's why you are so surprised. I cameon purpose to tell you everything and dealopenly with you."

"It was not I murdered her," Raskolnikov whis-pered like a frightened child caught in the act.

"No, it was you, you Rodion Romanovitch, andno one else," Porfiry whispered sternly, withconviction.

They were both silent and the silence lastedstrangely long, about ten minutes. Raskolnikovput his elbow on the table and passed his fin-gers through his hair. Porfiry Petrovitch satquietly waiting. Suddenly Raskolnikov lookedscornfully at Porfiry.

"You are at your old tricks again, Porfiry Petro-vitch! Your old method again. I wonder youdon't get sick of it!"

"Oh, stop that, what does that matter now? Itwould be a different matter if there were wit-nesses present, but we are whispering alone.You see yourself that I have not come to chaseand capture you like a hare. Whether you con-fess it or not is nothing to me now; for myself, Iam convinced without it."

"If so, what did you come for?" Raskolnikovasked irritably. "I ask you the same questionagain: if you consider me guilty, why don't youtake me to prison?"

"Oh, that's your question! I will answer you,point for point. In the first place, to arrest youso directly is not to my interest."

"How so? If you are convinced you ought...."

"Ach, what if I am convinced? That's only mydream for the time. Why should I put you insafety? You know that's it, since you ask me todo it. If I confront you with that workman forinstance and you say to him 'were you drunk ornot? Who saw me with you? I simply took youto be drunk, and you were drunk, too.' Well,what could I answer, especially as your story isa more likely one than his? for there's nothingbut psychology to support his evidence—that'salmost unseemly with his ugly mug, while youhit the mark exactly, for the rascal is an invete-rate drunkard and notoriously so. And I havemyself admitted candidly several times alreadythat that psychology can be taken in two waysand that the second way is stronger and looksfar more probable, and that apart from that Ihave as yet nothing against you. And though Ishall put you in prison and indeed have co-me—quite contrary to etiquette—to inform youof it beforehand, yet I tell you frankly, also con-trary to etiquette, that it won't be to my advan-

tage. Well, secondly, I've come to you becau-se..."

"Yes, yes, secondly?" Raskolnikov was listeningbreathless.

"Because, as I told you just now, I consider Iowe you an explanation. I don't want you tolook upon me as a monster, as I have a genuineliking for you, you may believe me or not. Andin the third place I've come to you with a directand open proposition—that you should su-rrender and confess. It will be infinitely more toyour advantage and to my advantage too, formy task will be done. Well, is this open on mypart or not?"

Raskolnikov thought a minute.

"Listen, Porfiry Petrovitch. You said just nowyou have nothing but psychology to go on, yetnow you've gone on mathematics. Well, what ifyou are mistaken yourself, now?"

"No, Rodion Romanovitch, I am not mistaken. Ihave a little fact even then, Providence sent itme."

"What little fact?"

"I won't tell you what, Rodion Romanovitch.And in any case, I haven't the right to put it offany longer, I must arrest you. So think it over: itmakes no difference to me now and so I speakonly for your sake. Believe me, it will be better,Rodion Romanovitch."

Raskolnikov smiled malignantly.

"That's not simply ridiculous, it's positivelyshameless. Why, even if I were guilty, which Idon't admit, what reason should I have to con-fess, when you tell me yourself that I shall be ingreater safety in prison?"

"Ah, Rodion Romanovitch, don't put too muchfaith in words, perhaps prison will not be alto-

gether a restful place. That's only theory andmy theory, and what authority am I for you?Perhaps, too, even now I am hiding somethingfrom you? I can't lay bare everything, he-he!And how can you ask what advantage? Don'tyou know how it would lessen your sentence?You would be confessing at a moment whenanother man has taken the crime on himselfand so has muddled the whole case. Considerthat! I swear before God that I will so arrangethat your confession shall come as a completesurprise. We will make a clean sweep of allthese psychological points, of a suspicionagainst you, so that your crime will appear tohave been something like an aberration, for intruth it was an aberration. I am an honest man,Rodion Romanovitch, and will keep my word."

Raskolnikov maintained a mournful silenceand let his head sink dejectedly. He pondered along while and at last smiled again, but his smi-le was sad and gentle.

"No!" he said, apparently abandoning all at-tempt to keep up appearances with Porfiry, "it'snot worth it, I don't care about lessening thesentence!"

"That's just what I was afraid of!" Porfiry criedwarmly and, as it seemed, involuntarily. "That'sjust what I feared, that you wouldn't care aboutthe mitigation of sentence."

Raskolnikov looked sadly and expressively athim.

"Ah, don't disdain life!" Porfiry went on. "Youhave a great deal of it still before you. How canyou say you don't want a mitigation of senten-ce? You are an impatient fellow!"

"A great deal of what lies before me?"

"Of life. What sort of prophet are you, do youknow much about it? Seek and ye shall find.

This may be God's means for bringing you toHim. And it's not for ever, the bondage...."

"The time will be shortened," laughed Raskol-nikov.

"Why, is it the bourgeois disgrace you areafraid of? It may be that you are afraid of itwithout knowing it, because you are young!But anyway you shouldn't be afraid of givingyourself up and confessing."

"Ach, hang it!" Raskolnikov whispered withloathing and contempt, as though he did notwant to speak aloud.

He got up again as though he meant to goaway, but sat down again in evident despair.

"Hang it, if you like! You've lost faith and youthink that I am grossly flattering you; but howlong has your life been? How much do youunderstand? You made up a theory and then

were ashamed that it broke down and turnedout to be not at all original! It turned out so-mething base, that's true, but you are not hope-lessly base. By no means so base! At least youdidn't deceive yourself for long, you wentstraight to the furthest point at one bound.How do I regard you? I regard you as one ofthose men who would stand and smile at theirtorturer while he cuts their entrails out, if onlythey have found faith or God. Find it and youwill live. You have long needed a change of air.Suffering, too, is a good thing. Suffer! MaybeNikolay is right in wanting to suffer. I knowyou don't believe in it—but don't be over-wise;fling yourself straight into life, without delibe-ration; don't be afraid—the flood will bear youto the bank and set you safe on your feet again.What bank? How can I tell? I only believe thatyou have long life before you. I know that youtake all my words now for a set speech prepa-red beforehand, but maybe you will rememberthem after. They may be of use some time.

That's why I speak. It's as well that you onlykilled the old woman. If you'd invented anot-her theory you might perhaps have done so-mething a thousand times more hideous. Youought to thank God, perhaps. How do youknow? Perhaps God is saving you for somet-hing. But keep a good heart and have less fear!Are you afraid of the great expiation beforeyou? No, it would be shameful to be afraid of it.Since you have taken such a step, you mustharden your heart. There is justice in it. Youmust fulfil the demands of justice. I know thatyou don't believe it, but indeed, life will bringyou through. You will live it down in time.What you need now is fresh air, fresh air, freshair!"

Raskolnikov positively started.

"But who are you? what prophet are you? Fromthe height of what majestic calm do you pro-claim these words of wisdom?"

"Who am I? I am a man with nothing to hopefor, that's all. A man perhaps of feeling andsympathy, maybe of some knowledge too, butmy day is over. But you are a different matter,there is life waiting for you. Though, whoknows? maybe your life, too, will pass off insmoke and come to nothing. Come, what doesit matter, that you will pass into another classof men? It's not comfort you regret, with yourheart! What of it that perhaps no one will seeyou for so long? It's not time, but yourself thatwill decide that. Be the sun and all will see you.The sun has before all to be the sun. Why areyou smiling again? At my being such a Schi-ller? I bet you're imagining that I am trying toget round you by flattery. Well, perhaps I am,he-he-he! Perhaps you'd better not believe myword, perhaps you'd better never believe italtogether—I'm made that way, I confess it. Butlet me add, you can judge for yourself, I think,how far I am a base sort of man and how far Iam honest."

"When do you mean to arrest me?"

"Well, I can let you walk about another day ortwo. Think it over, my dear fellow, and pray toGod. It's more in your interest, believe me."

"And what if I run away?" asked Raskolnikovwith a strange smile.

"No, you won't run away. A peasant would runaway, a fashionable dissenter would run away,the flunkey of another man's thought, for you'-ve only to show him the end of your little fin-ger and he'll be ready to believe in anything forthe rest of his life. But you've ceased to believein your theory already, what will you run awaywith? And what would you do in hiding? Itwould be hateful and difficult for you, andwhat you need more than anything in life is adefinite position, an atmosphere to suit you.And what sort of atmosphere would you have?If you ran away, you'd come back to yourself.You can't get on without us. And if I put you in

prison—say you've been there a month, or two,or three—remember my word, you'll confess ofyourself and perhaps to your own surprise.You won't know an hour beforehand that youare coming with a confession. I am convincedthat you will decide, 'to take your suffering.'You don't believe my words now, but you'llcome to it of yourself. For suffering, RodionRomanovitch, is a great thing. Never mind myhaving grown fat, I know all the same. Don'tlaugh at it, there's an idea in suffering, Nokolayis right. No, you won't run away, Rodion Ro-manovitch."

Raskolnikov got up and took his cap. PorfiryPetrovitch also rose.

"Are you going for a walk? The evening will befine, if only we don't have a storm. Though itwould be a good thing to freshen the air."

He, too, took his cap.

"Porfiry Petrovitch, please don't take up thenotion that I have confessed to you to-day,"Raskolnikov pronounced with sullen insisten-ce. "You're a strange man and I have listened toyou from simple curiosity. But I have admittednothing, remember that!"

"Oh, I know that, I'll remember. Look at him,he's trembling! Don't be uneasy, my dear fe-llow, have it your own way. Walk about a bit,you won't be able to walk too far. If anythinghappens, I have one request to make of you," headded, dropping his voice. "It's an awkwardone, but important. If anything were to happen(though indeed I don't believe in it and thinkyou quite incapable of it), yet in case you weretaken during these forty or fifty hours with thenotion of putting an end to the business in so-me other way, in some fantastic fashion—laying hands on yourself—(it's an absurd pro-position, but you must forgive me for it) doleave a brief but precise note, only two lines,

and mention the stone. It will be more gene-rous. Come, till we meet! Good thoughts andsound decisions to you!"

Porfiry went out, stooping and avoiding loo-king at Raskolnikov. The latter went to thewindow and waited with irritable impatiencetill he calculated that Porfiry had reached thestreet and moved away. Then he too wenthurriedly out of the room.

CHAPTER III

He hurried to Svidrigaïlov's. What he had tohope from that man he did not know. But thatman had some hidden power over him. Havingonce recognised this, he could not rest, andnow the time had come.

On the way, one question particularly worriedhim: had Svidrigaïlov been to Porfiry's?

As far as he could judge, he would swear to it,that he had not. He pondered again and again,went over Porfiry's visit; no, he hadn't been, ofcourse he hadn't.

But if he had not been yet, would he go?Meanwhile, for the present he fancied hecouldn't. Why? He could not have explained,but if he could, he would not have wastedmuch thought over it at the moment. It all wo-rried him and at the same time he could notattend to it. Strange to say, none would havebelieved it perhaps, but he only felt a faint va-gue anxiety about his immediate future. Anot-her, much more important anxiety tormentedhim—it concerned himself, but in a different,more vital way. Moreover, he was conscious ofimmense moral fatigue, though his mind wasworking better that morning than it had doneof late.

And was it worth while, after all that had hap-pened, to contend with these new trivial diffi-culties? Was it worth while, for instance, tomanoeuvre that Svidrigaïlov should not go toPorfiry's? Was it worth while to investigate, toascertain the facts, to waste time over anyonelike Svidrigaïlov?

Oh, how sick he was of it all!

And yet he was hastening to Svidrigaïlov;could he be expecting something new from him,information, or means of escape? Men willcatch at straws! Was it destiny or some instinctbringing them together? Perhaps it was onlyfatigue, despair; perhaps it was not Svidrigaï-lov but some other whom he needed, and Svi-drigaïlov had simply presented himself bychance. Sonia? But what should he go to Soniafor now? To beg her tears again? He was afraidof Sonia, too. Sonia stood before him as an irre-vocable sentence. He must go his own way orhers. At that moment especially he did not feel

equal to seeing her. No, would it not be betterto try Svidrigaïlov? And he could not help in-wardly owning that he had long felt that hemust see him for some reason.

But what could they have in common? Theirvery evil-doing could not be of the same kind.The man, moreover, was very unpleasant, evi-dently depraved, undoubtedly cunning anddeceitful, possibly malignant. Such stories weretold about him. It is true he was befriendingKaterina Ivanovna's children, but who couldtell with what motive and what it meant? Theman always had some design, some project.

There was another thought which had beencontinually hovering of late about Raskolni-kov's mind, and causing him great uneasiness.It was so painful that he made distinct efforts toget rid of it. He sometimes thought that Svidri-gaïlov was dogging his footsteps. Svidrigaïlovhad found out his secret and had had designson Dounia. What if he had them still? Wasn't it

practically certain that he had? And what if,having learnt his secret and so having gainedpower over him, he were to use it as a weaponagainst Dounia?

This idea sometimes even tormented hisdreams, but it had never presented itself sovividly to him as on his way to Svidrigaïlov.The very thought moved him to gloomy rage.To begin with, this would transform everyt-hing, even his own position; he would have atonce to confess his secret to Dounia. Would hehave to give himself up perhaps to preventDounia from taking some rash step? The letter?This morning Dounia had received a letter.From whom could she get letters in Petersburg?Luzhin, perhaps? It's true Razumihin was thereto protect her, but Razumihin knew nothing ofthe position. Perhaps it was his duty to tell Ra-zumihin? He thought of it with repugnance.

In any case he must see Svidrigaïlov as soon aspossible, he decided finally. Thank God, the

details of the interview were of little conse-quence, if only he could get at the root of thematter; but if Svidrigaïlov were capable... if hewere intriguing against Dounia—then...

Raskolnikov was so exhausted by what he hadpassed through that month that he could onlydecide such questions in one way; "then I shallkill him," he thought in cold despair.

A sudden anguish oppressed his heart, hestood still in the middle of the street and beganlooking about to see where he was and whichway he was going. He found himself in X.Prospect, thirty or forty paces from the HayMarket, through which he had come. The who-le second storey of the house on the left wasused as a tavern. All the windows were wideopen; judging from the figures moving at thewindows, the rooms were full to overflowing.There were sounds of singing, of clarionet andviolin, and the boom of a Turkish drum. Hecould hear women shrieking. He was about to

turn back wondering why he had come to theX. Prospect, when suddenly at one of the endwindows he saw Svidrigaïlov, sitting at a tea-table right in the open window with a pipe inhis mouth. Raskolnikov was dreadfully takenaback, almost terrified. Svidrigaïlov was silen-tly watching and scrutinising him and, whatstruck Raskolnikov at once, seemed to be mea-ning to get up and slip away unobserved. Ras-kolnikov at once pretended not to have seenhim, but to be looking absent-mindedly away,while he watched him out of the corner of hiseye. His heart was beating violently. Yet, it wasevident that Svidrigaïlov did not want to beseen. He took the pipe out of his mouth andwas on the point of concealing himself, but ashe got up and moved back his chair, he seemedto have become suddenly aware that Raskolni-kov had seen him, and was watching him.What had passed between them was much thesame as what happened at their first meeting inRaskolnikov's room. A sly smile came into Svi-

drigaïlov's face and grew broader and broader.Each knew that he was seen and watched bythe other. At last Svidrigaïlov broke into a loudlaugh.

"Well, well, come in if you want me; I am here!"he shouted from the window.

Raskolnikov went up into the tavern. He foundSvidrigaïlov in a tiny back room, adjoining thesaloon in which merchants, clerks and numbersof people of all sorts were drinking tea at twen-ty little tables to the desperate bawling of achorus of singers. The click of billiard ballscould be heard in the distance. On the tablebefore Svidrigaïlov stood an open bottle and aglass half full of champagne. In the room hefound also a boy with a little hand organ, ahealthy-looking red-cheeked girl of eighteen,wearing a tucked-up striped skirt, and a Tyro-lese hat with ribbons. In spite of the chorus inthe other room, she was singing some servants'

hall song in a rather husky contralto, to theaccompaniment of the organ.

"Come, that's enough," Svidrigaïlov stoppedher at Raskolnikov's entrance. The girl at oncebroke off and stood waiting respectfully. Shehad sung her guttural rhymes, too, with a se-rious and respectful expression in her face.

"Hey, Philip, a glass!" shouted Svidrigaïlov.

"I won't drink anything," said Raskolnikov.

"As you like, I didn't mean it for you. Drink,Katia! I don't want anything more to-day, youcan go." He poured her out a full glass, and laiddown a yellow note.

Katia drank off her glass of wine, as women do,without putting it down, in twenty gulps, tookthe note and kissed Svidrigaïlov's hand, whichhe allowed quite seriously. She went out of theroom and the boy trailed after her with the or-

gan. Both had been brought in from the street.Svidrigaïlov had not been a week in Peters-burg, but everything about him was already, soto speak, on a patriarchal footing; the waiter,Philip, was by now an old friend and very ob-sequious.

The door leading to the saloon had a lock on it.Svidrigaïlov was at home in this room and per-haps spent whole days in it. The tavern wasdirty and wretched, not even second-rate.

"I was going to see you and looking for you,"Raskolnikov began, "but I don't know whatmade me turn from the Hay Market into the X.Prospect just now. I never take this turning. Iturn to the right from the Hay Market. And thisisn't the way to you. I simply turned and hereyou are. It is strange!"

"Why don't you say at once 'it's a miracle'?"

"Because it may be only chance."

"Oh, that's the way with all you folk," laughedSvidrigaïlov. "You won't admit it, even if youdo inwardly believe it a miracle! Here you saythat it may be only chance. And what cowardsthey all are here, about having an opinion oftheir own, you can't fancy, Rodion Romano-vitch. I don't mean you, you have an opinion ofyour own and are not afraid to have it. That'show it was you attracted my curiosity."

"Nothing else?"

"Well, that's enough, you know," Svidrigaïlovwas obviously exhilarated, but only slightly so,he had not had more than half a glass of wine.

"I fancy you came to see me before you knewthat I was capable of having what you call anopinion of my own," observed Raskolnikov.

"Oh, well, it was a different matter. Everyonehas his own plans. And apropos of the miraclelet me tell you that I think you have been asleep

for the last two or three days. I told you of thistavern myself, there is no miracle in your co-ming straight here. I explained the way myself,told you where it was, and the hours you couldfind me here. Do you remember?"

"I don't remember," answered Raskolnikovwith surprise.

"I believe you. I told you twice. The address hasbeen stamped mechanically on your memory.You turned this way mechanically and yet pre-cisely according to the direction, though youare not aware of it. When I told you then, Ihardly hoped you understood me. You giveyourself away too much, Rodion Romanovitch.And another thing, I'm convinced there are lotsof people in Petersburg who talk to themselvesas they walk. This is a town of crazy people. Ifonly we had scientific men, doctors, lawyersand philosophers might make most valuableinvestigations in Petersburg each in his ownline. There are few places where there are so

many gloomy, strong and queer influences onthe soul of man as in Petersburg. The mere in-fluences of climate mean so much. And it's theadministrative centre of all Russia and its cha-racter must be reflected on the whole country.But that is neither here nor there now. Thepoint is that I have several times watched you.You walk out of your house—holding yourhead high—twenty paces from home you let itsink, and fold your hands behind your back.You look and evidently see nothing before norbeside you. At last you begin moving your lipsand talking to yourself, and sometimes youwave one hand and declaim, and at last standstill in the middle of the road. That's not at allthe thing. Someone may be watching you besi-des me, and it won't do you any good. It's not-hing really to do with me and I can't cure you,but, of course, you understand me."

"Do you know that I am being followed?" askedRaskolnikov, looking inquisitively at him.

"No, I know nothing about it," said Svidrigaï-lov, seeming surprised.

"Well, then, let us leave me alone," Raskolnikovmuttered, frowning.

"Very good, let us leave you alone."

"You had better tell me, if you come here todrink, and directed me twice to come here toyou, why did you hide, and try to get away justnow when I looked at the window from thestreet? I saw it."

"He-he! And why was it you lay on your sofawith closed eyes and pretended to be asleep,though you were wide awake while I stood inyour doorway? I saw it."

"I may have had... reasons. You know thatyourself."

"And I may have had my reasons, though youdon't know them."

Raskolnikov dropped his right elbow on thetable, leaned his chin in the fingers of his righthand, and stared intently at Svidrigaïlov. For afull minute he scrutinised his face, which hadimpressed him before. It was a strange face, likea 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 ex-pression somehow too heavy and fixed. Therewas something awfully unpleasant in thathandsome face, which looked so wonderfullyyoung for his age. Svidrigaïlov was smartlydressed in light summer clothes and was parti-cularly dainty in his linen. He wore a huge ringwith a precious stone in it.

"Have I got to bother myself about you, too,now?" said Raskolnikov suddenly, coming withnervous impatience straight to the point. "Eventhough perhaps you are the most dangerousman if you care to injure me, I don't want to putmyself out any more. I will show you at once

that I don't prize myself as you probably think Ido. I've come to tell you at once that if you keepto your former intentions with regard to mysister and if you think to derive any benefit inthat direction from what has been discovered oflate, I will kill you before you get me locked up.You can reckon on my word. You know that Ican keep it. And in the second place if youwant to tell me anything—for I keep fancyingall this time that you have something to tellme—make haste and tell it, for time is preciousand very likely it will soon be too late."

"Why in such haste?" asked Svidrigaïlov, loo-king at him curiously.

"Everyone has his plans," Raskolnikov answe-red gloomily and impatiently.

"You urged me yourself to frankness just now,and at the first question you refuse to answer,"Svidrigaïlov observed with a smile. "You keepfancying that I have aims of my own and so

you look at me with suspicion. Of course it'sperfectly natural in your position. But though Ishould like to be friends with you, I shan'ttrouble myself to convince you of the contrary.The game isn't worth the candle and I wasn'tintending to talk to you about anything spe-cial."

"What did you want me, for, then? It was youwho came hanging about me."

"Why, simply as an interesting subject for ob-servation. I liked the fantastic nature of yourposition—that's what it was! Besides you arethe brother of a person who greatly interestedme, and from that person I had in the pastheard a very great deal about you, from which Igathered that you had a great influence overher; isn't that enough? Ha-ha-ha! Still I mustadmit that your question is rather complex, andis difficult for me to answer. Here, you, for ins-tance, have come to me not only for a definiteobject, but for the sake of hearing something

new. Isn't that so? Isn't that so?" persisted Svi-drigaïlov with a sly smile. "Well, can't you fan-cy then that I, too, on my way here in the trainwas reckoning on you, on your telling me so-mething new, and on my making some profitout of you! You see what rich men we are!"

"What profit could you make?"

"How can I tell you? How do I know? You seein what a tavern I spend all my time and it's myenjoyment, that's to say it's no great enjoyment,but one must sit somewhere; that poor Katianow—you saw her?... If only I had been a glut-ton now, a club gourmand, but you see I caneat this."

He pointed to a little table in the corner wherethe remnants of a terrible-looking beef-steakand potatoes lay on a tin dish.

"Have you dined, by the way? I've had somet-hing and want nothing more. I don't drink, for

instance, at all. Except for champagne I nevertouch anything, and not more than a glass ofthat all the evening, and even that is enough tomake my head ache. I ordered it just now towind myself up, for I am just going off somew-here and you see me in a peculiar state of mind.That was why I hid myself just now like aschoolboy, for I was afraid you would hinderme. But I believe," he pulled out his watch, "Ican spend an hour with you. It's half-past fournow. If only I'd been something, a landowner, afather, a cavalry officer, a photographer, a jour-nalist... I am nothing, no specialty, and someti-mes I am positively bored. I really thought youwould tell me something new."

"But what are you, and why have you comehere?"

"What am I? You know, a gentleman, I servedfor two years in the cavalry, then I knockedabout here in Petersburg, then I married Marfa

Petrovna and lived in the country. There youhave my biography!"

"You are a gambler, I believe?"

"No, a poor sort of gambler. A card-sharper—not a gambler."

"You have been a card-sharper then?"

"Yes, I've been a card-sharper too."

"Didn't you get thrashed sometimes?"

"It did happen. Why?"

"Why, you might have challenged them... alto-gether it must have been lively."

"I won't contradict you, and besides I am nohand at philosophy. I confess that I hastenedhere for the sake of the women."

"As soon as you buried Marfa Petrovna?"

"Quite so," Svidrigaïlov smiled with engagingcandour. "What of it? You seem to find somet-hing wrong in my speaking like that aboutwomen?"

"You ask whether I find anything wrong invice?"

"Vice! Oh, that's what you are after! But I'llanswer you in order, first about women in ge-neral; you know I am fond of talking. Tell me,what should I restrain myself for? Why shouldI give up women, since I have a passion forthem? It's an occupation, anyway."

"So you hope for nothing here but vice?"

"Oh, very well, for vice then. You insist on itsbeing vice. But anyway I like a direct question.In this vice at least there is something perma-nent, founded indeed upon nature and not de-pendent on fantasy, something present in theblood like an ever-burning ember, for ever set-

ting one on fire and, maybe, not to be quicklyextinguished, even with years. You'll agree it'san occupation of a sort."

"That's nothing to rejoice at, it's a disease and adangerous one."

"Oh, that's what you think, is it! I agree, that itis a disease like everything that exceeds mode-ration. And, of course, in this one must exceedmoderation. But in the first place, everybodydoes so in one way or another, and in the se-cond place, of course, one ought to be moderateand prudent, however mean it may be, butwhat am I to do? If I hadn't this, I might have toshoot myself. I am ready to admit that a decentman ought to put up with being bored, butyet..."

"And could you shoot yourself?"

"Oh, come!" Svidrigaïlov parried with disgust."Please don't speak of it," he added hurriedly

and with none of the bragging tone he hadshown in all the previous conversation. Hisface quite changed. "I admit it's an unpardona-ble weakness, but I can't help it. I am afraid ofdeath and I dislike its being talked of. Do youknow that I am to a certain extent a mystic?"

"Ah, the apparitions of Marfa Petrovna! Dothey still go on visiting you?"

"Oh, don't talk of them; there have been no mo-re in Petersburg, confound them!" he cried withan air of irritation. "Let's rather talk of that...though... H'm! I have not much time, and can'tstay long with you, it's a pity! I should havefound plenty to tell you."

"What's your engagement, a woman?"

"Yes, a woman, a casual incident.... No, that'snot what I want to talk of."

"And the hideousness, the filthiness of all yoursurroundings, doesn't that affect you? Haveyou lost the strength to stop yourself?"

"And do you pretend to strength, too? He-he-he! You surprised me just now, Rodion Roma-novitch, though I knew beforehand it would beso. You preach to me about vice and æsthetics!You—a Schiller, you—an idealist! Of coursethat's all as it should be and it would be surpri-sing if it were not so, yet it is strange in reali-ty.... Ah, what a pity I have no time, for you're amost interesting type! And, by-the-way, areyou fond of Schiller? I am awfully fond of him."

"But what a braggart you are," Raskolnikovsaid with some disgust.

"Upon my word, I am not," answered Svidrigaï-lov laughing. "However, I won't dispute it, letme be a braggart, why not brag, if it hurts noone? I spent seven years in the country withMarfa Petrovna, so now when I come across an

intelligent person like you—intelligent andhighly interesting—I am simply glad to talkand, besides, I've drunk that half-glass of cham-pagne and it's gone to my head a little. Andbesides, there's a certain fact that has woundme up tremendously, but about that I... willkeep quiet. Where are you off to?" he asked inalarm.

Raskolnikov had begun getting up. He felt op-pressed and stifled and, as it were, ill at ease athaving come here. He felt convinced that Svi-drigaïlov was the most worthless scoundrel onthe face of the earth.

"A-ach! Sit down, stay a little!" Svidrigaïlovbegged. "Let them bring you some tea, anyway.Stay a little, I won't talk nonsense, about my-self, I mean. I'll tell you something. If you likeI'll tell you how a woman tried 'to save' me, asyou would call it? It will be an answer to yourfirst question indeed, for the woman was your

sister. May I tell you? It will help to spend thetime."

"Tell me, but I trust that you..."

"Oh, don't be uneasy. Besides, even in a worth-less low fellow like me, Avdotya Romanovnacan only excite the deepest respect."

CHAPTER IV

"You know perhaps—yes, I told you myself,"began Svidrigaïlov, "that I was in the debtors'prison here, for an immense sum, and had notany expectation of being able to pay it. There'sno need to go into particulars how Marfa Pe-trovna bought me out; do you know to what apoint of insanity a woman can sometimes love?

She was an honest woman, and very sensible,although completely uneducated. Would youbelieve that this honest and jealous woman,after many scenes of hysterics and reproaches,condescended to enter into a kind of contractwith me which she kept throughout our ma-rried life? She was considerably older than I,and besides, she always kept a clove or somet-hing in her mouth. There was so much swi-nishness in my soul and honesty too, of a sort,as to tell her straight out that I couldn't be abso-lutely faithful to her. This confession drove herto frenzy, but yet she seems in a way to haveliked my brutal frankness. She thought it sho-wed I was unwilling to deceive her if I warnedher like this beforehand and for a jealous wo-man, you know, that's the first consideration.After many tears an unwritten contract wasdrawn up between us: first, that I would neverleave Marfa Petrovna and would always be herhusband; secondly, that I would never absentmyself without her permission; thirdly, that I

would never set up a permanent mistress;fourthly, in return for this, Marfa Petrovna ga-ve me a free hand with the maidservants, butonly with her secret knowledge; fifthly, Godforbid my falling in love with a woman of ourclass; sixthly, in case I—which God forbid—should be visited by a great serious passion Iwas bound to reveal it to Marfa Petrovna. Onthis last score, however, Marfa Petrovna wasfairly at ease. She was a sensible woman and soshe could not help looking upon me as a disso-lute profligate incapable of real love. But a sen-sible woman and a jealous woman are two verydifferent things, and that's where the troublecame in. But to judge some people impartiallywe must renounce certain preconceived opi-nions and our habitual attitude to the ordinarypeople about us. I have reason to have faith inyour judgment rather than in anyone's. Perhapsyou have already heard a great deal that wasridiculous and absurd about Marfa Petrovna.She certainly had some very ridiculous ways,

but I tell you frankly that I feel really sorry forthe innumerable woes of which I was the cause.Well, and that's enough, I think, by way of adecorous oraison funèbre for the most tenderwife of a most tender husband. When we qua-rrelled, I usually held my tongue and did notirritate her and that gentlemanly conduct rarelyfailed to attain its object, it influenced her, itpleased her, indeed. These were times whenshe was positively proud of me. But your sistershe couldn't put up with, anyway. And howe-ver she came to risk taking such a beautifulcreature into her house as a governess. My ex-planation is that Marfa Petrovna was an ardentand impressionable woman and simply fell inlove herself—literally fell in love—with yoursister. Well, little wonder—look at AvdotyaRomanovna! I saw the danger at the first glanceand what do you think, I resolved not to look ather even. But Avdotya Romanovna herself ma-de the first step, would you believe it? Wouldyou believe it too that Marfa Petrovna was po-

sitively angry with me at first for my persistentsilence about your sister, for my careless recep-tion of her continual adoring praises of Avdot-ya Romanovna. I don't know what it was shewanted! Well, of course, Marfa Petrovna toldAvdotya Romanovna every detail about me.She had the unfortunate habit of telling literallyeveryone all our family secrets and continuallycomplaining of me; how could she fail to confi-de in such a delightful new friend? I expectthey talked of nothing else but me and nodoubt Avdotya Romanovna heard all thosedark mysterious rumours that were currentabout me.... I don't mind betting that you toohave heard something of the sort already?"

"I have. Luzhin charged you with having cau-sed the death of a child. Is that true?"

"Don't refer to those vulgar tales, I beg," saidSvidrigaïlov with disgust and annoyance. "Ifyou insist on wanting to know about all thatidiocy, I will tell you one day, but now..."

"I was told too about some footman of yours inthe country whom you treated badly."

"I beg you to drop the subject," Svidrigaïlovinterrupted again with obvious impatience.

"Was that the footman who came to you afterdeath to fill your pipe?... you told me about ityourself." Raskolnikov felt more and more irri-tated.

Svidrigaïlov looked at him attentively and Ras-kolnikov fancied he caught a flash of spitefulmockery in that look. But Svidrigaïlov restrai-ned himself and answered very civilly:

"Yes, it was. I see that you, too, are extremelyinterested and shall feel it my duty to satisfyyour curiosity at the first opportunity. Uponmy soul! I see that I really might pass for a ro-mantic figure with some people. Judge howgrateful I must be to Marfa Petrovna for havingrepeated to Avdotya Romanovna such myste-

rious and interesting gossip about me. I darenot guess what impression it made on her, butin any case it worked in my interests. With allAvdotya Romanovna's natural aversion and inspite of my invariably gloomy and repellentaspect—she did at least feel pity for me, pity fora lost soul. And if once a girl's heart is movedto pity, it's more dangerous than anything. Sheis bound to want to 'save him,' to bring him tohis senses, and lift him up and draw him tonobler aims, and restore him to new life andusefulness—well, we all know how far suchdreams can go. I saw at once that the bird wasflying into the cage of herself. And I too madeready. I think you are frowning, Rodion Roma-novitch? There's no need. As you know, it allended in smoke. (Hang it all, what a lot I amdrinking!) Do you know, I always, from thevery beginning, regretted that it wasn't yoursister's fate to be born in the second or thirdcentury A.D., as the daughter of a reigningprince or some governor or pro-consul in Asia

Minor. She would undoubtedly have been oneof those who would endure martyrdom andwould have smiled when they branded herbosom with hot pincers. And she would havegone to it of herself. And in the fourth or fifthcentury she would have walked away into theEgyptian desert and would have stayed therethirty years living on roots and ecstasies andvisions. She is simply thirsting to face sometorture for someone, and if she can't get hertorture, she'll throw herself out of a window.I've heard something of a Mr. Razumihin—he'ssaid to be a sensible fellow; his surname sug-gests it, indeed. He's probably a divinity stu-dent. Well, he'd better look after your sister! Ibelieve I understand her, and I am proud of it.But at the beginning of an acquaintance, as youknow, one is apt to be more heedless and stu-pid. One doesn't see clearly. Hang it all, why isshe so handsome? It's not my fault. In fact, itbegan on my side with a most irresistible phy-sical desire. Avdotya Romanovna is awfully

chaste, incredibly and phenomenally so. Takenote, I tell you this about your sister as a fact.She is almost morbidly chaste, in spite of herbroad 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 ne-ver seen before—she had just come from anot-her village—very pretty, but incredibly stupid:she burst into tears, wailed so that she could beheard all over the place and caused scandal.One day after dinner Avdotya Romanovna fo-llowed me into an avenue in the garden andwith flashing eyes insisted on my leaving poorParasha alone. It was almost our first conversa-tion by ourselves. I, of course, was only toopleased to obey her wishes, tried to appear dis-concerted, embarrassed, in fact played my partnot badly. Then came interviews, mysteriousconversations, exhortations, entreaties, suppli-cations, even tears—would you believe it, eventears? Think what the passion for propagandawill bring some girls to! I, of course, threw it all

on my destiny, posed as hungering and thirs-ting for light, and finally resorted to the mostpowerful weapon in the subjection of the fema-le heart, a weapon which never fails one. It'sthe well-known resource—flattery. Nothing inthe world is harder than speaking the truth andnothing easier than flattery. If there's the hun-dredth 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 isjust as agreeable, and is heard not without sa-tisfaction. It may be a coarse satisfaction, butstill a satisfaction. And however coarse the flat-tery, at least half will be sure to seem true.That's so for all stages of development and clas-ses of society. A vestal virgin might be seducedby flattery. I can never remember withoutlaughter how I once seduced a lady who wasdevoted to her husband, her children, and herprinciples. What fun it was and how little trou-ble! And the lady really had principles—of herown, anyway. All my tactics lay in simply

being utterly annihilated and prostrate beforeher purity. I flattered her shamelessly, and assoon as I succeeded in getting a pressure of thehand, even a glance from her, I would reproachmyself for having snatched it by force, andwould declare that she had resisted, so that Icould never have gained anything but for mybeing so unprincipled. I maintained that shewas so innocent that she could not foresee mytreachery, and yielded to me unconsciously,unawares, and so on. In fact, I triumphed, whi-le my lady remained firmly convinced that shewas innocent, chaste, and faithful to all her du-ties and obligations and had succumbed quiteby accident. And how angry she was with mewhen I explained to her at last that it was mysincere conviction that she was just as eager asI. Poor Marfa Petrovna was awfully weak onthe side of flattery, and if I had only cared to, Imight have had all her property settled on meduring her lifetime. (I am drinking an awful lotof wine now and talking too much.) I hope you

won't be angry if I mention now that I was be-ginning to produce the same effect on AvdotyaRomanovna. But I was stupid and impatientand spoiled it all. Avdotya Romanovna hadseveral times—and one time in particular—been greatly displeased by the expression ofmy eyes, would you believe it? There was so-metimes a light in them which frightened herand grew stronger and stronger and more un-guarded till it was hateful to her. No need to gointo detail, but we parted. There I acted stupid-ly again. I fell to jeering in the coarsest way atall such propaganda and efforts to convert me;Parasha came on to the scene again, and not shealone; in fact there was a tremendous to-do.Ah, Rodion Romanovitch, if you could only seehow your sister's eyes can flash sometimes!Never mind my being drunk at this momentand having had a whole glass of wine. I amspeaking the truth. I assure you that this glancehas haunted my dreams; the very rustle of herdress was more than I could stand at last. I rea-

lly began to think that I might become epileptic.I could never have believed that I could be mo-ved to such a frenzy. It was essential, indeed, tobe reconciled, but by then it was impossible.And imagine what I did then! To what a pitchof stupidity a man can be brought by frenzy!Never undertake anything in a frenzy, RodionRomanovitch. I reflected that Avdotya Roma-novna was after all a beggar (ach, excuse me,that's not the word... but does it matter if it ex-presses the meaning?), that she lived by herwork, that she had her mother and you to keep(ach, hang it, you are frowning again), and Iresolved to offer her all my money—thirtythousand roubles I could have realised then—ifshe would run away with me here, to Peters-burg. Of course I should have vowed eternallove, rapture, and so on. Do you know, I was sowild about her at that time that if she had toldme to poison Marfa Petrovna or to cut herthroat and to marry herself, it would have beendone at once! But it ended in the catastrophe of

which you know already. You can fancy howfrantic I was when I heard that Marfa Petrovnahad got hold of that scoundrelly attorney, Luz-hin, and had almost made a match betweenthem—which would really have been just thesame thing as I was proposing. Wouldn't it?Wouldn't it? I notice that you've begun to bevery attentive... you interesting young man...."

Svidrigaïlov struck the table with his fist impa-tiently. He was flushed. Raskolnikov saw clear-ly that the glass or glass and a half of cham-pagne that he had sipped almost unconsciouslywas affecting him—and he resolved to takeadvantage of the opportunity. He felt very sus-picious of Svidrigaïlov.

"Well, after what you have said, I am fully con-vinced that you have come to Petersburg withdesigns on my sister," he said directly to Svi-drigaïlov, in order to irritate him further.

"Oh, nonsense," said Svidrigaïlov, seeming torouse himself. "Why, I told you... besides yoursister can't endure me."

"Yes, I am certain that she can't, but that's notthe point."

"Are you so sure that she can't?" Svidrigaïlovscrewed up his eyes and smiled mockingly."You are right, she doesn't love me, but you cannever be sure of what has passed between hus-band and wife or lover and mistress. There'salways a little corner which remains a secret tothe world and is only known to those two. Willyou answer for it that Avdotya Romanovnaregarded me with aversion?"

"From some words you've dropped, I noticethat you still have designs—and of course evilones—on Dounia and mean to carry them outpromptly."

"What, have I dropped words like that?" Svi-drigaïlov asked in naïve dismay, taking not theslightest notice of the epithet bestowed on hisdesigns.

"Why, you are dropping them even now. Whyare you so frightened? What are you so afraidof now?"

"Me—afraid? Afraid of you? You have rather tobe afraid of me, cher ami. But what nonsense....I've drunk too much though, I see that. I wasalmost saying too much again. Damn the wine!Hi! there, water!"

He snatched up the champagne bottle andflung it without ceremony out of the window.Philip brought the water.

"That's all nonsense!" said Svidrigaïlov, wettinga towel and putting it to his head. "But I cananswer you in one word and annihilate all your

suspicions. Do you know that I am going to getmarried?"

"You told me so before."

"Did I? I've forgotten. But I couldn't have toldyou so for certain for I had not even seen mybetrothed; I only meant to. But now I reallyhave a betrothed and it's a settled thing, and ifit weren't that I have business that can't be putoff, I would have taken you to see them at once,for I should like to ask your advice. Ach, hangit, only ten minutes left! See, look at the watch.But I must tell you, for it's an interesting story,my marriage, in its own way. Where are you offto? Going again?"

"No, I'm not going away now."

"Not at all? We shall see. I'll take you there, I'llshow you my betrothed, only not now. Foryou'll soon have to be off. You have to go to theright and I to the left. Do you know that Ma-

dame Resslich, the woman I am lodging withnow, eh? I know what you're thinking, thatshe's the woman whose girl they say drownedherself in the winter. Come, are you listening?She arranged it all for me. You're bored, shesaid, you want something to fill up your time.For, you know, I am a gloomy, depressed per-son. Do you think I'm light-hearted? No, I'mgloomy. I do no harm, but sit in a corner wit-hout speaking a word for three days at a time.And that Resslich is a sly hussy, I tell you. Iknow what she has got in her mind; she thinksI shall get sick of it, abandon my wife and de-part, and she'll get hold of her and make a pro-fit out of her—in our class, of course, or higher.She told me the father was a broken-down reti-red official, who has been sitting in a chair forthe last three years with his legs paralysed. Themamma, she said, was a sensible woman. Thereis a son serving in the provinces, but he doesn'thelp; there is a daughter, who is married, butshe doesn't visit them. And they've two little

nephews on their hands, as though their ownchildren were not enough, and they've takenfrom school their youngest daughter, a girlwho'll be sixteen in another month, so that thenshe can be married. She was for me. We wentthere. How funny it was! I present myself—alandowner, a widower, of a well-known name,with connections, with a fortune. What if I amfifty and she is not sixteen? Who thinks of that?But it's fascinating, isn't it? It is fascinating, ha-ha! You should have seen how I talked to thepapa and mamma. It was worth paying to haveseen me at that moment. She comes in, curt-seys, you can fancy, still in a short frock—anunopened bud! Flushing like a sunset—she hadbeen told, no doubt. I don't know how you feelabout female faces, but to my mind these six-teen years, these childish eyes, shyness andtears of bashfulness are better than beauty; andshe is a perfect little picture, too. Fair hair inlittle curls, like a lamb's, full little rosy lips, tinyfeet, a charmer!... Well, we made friends. I told

them I was in a hurry owing to domestic cir-cumstances, and the next day, that is the daybefore yesterday, we were betrothed. When Igo now I take her on my knee at once and keepher there.... Well, she flushes like a sunset and Ikiss her every minute. Her mamma of courseimpresses on her that this is her husband andthat this must be so. It's simply delicious! Thepresent betrothed condition is perhaps betterthan marriage. Here you have what is called lanature et la vérité, ha-ha! I've talked to her twice,she is far from a fool. Sometimes she steals alook at me that positively scorches me. Her faceis like Raphael's Madonna. You know, the Sis-tine Madonna's face has something fantastic init, the face of mournful religious ecstasy.Haven't you noticed it? Well, she's somethingin that line. The day after we'd been betrothed,I bought her presents to the value of fifteenhundred roubles—a set of diamonds and anot-her of pearls and a silver dressing-case as largeas this, with all sorts of things in it, so that even

my Madonna's face glowed. I sat her on myknee, yesterday, and I suppose rather too unce-remoniously—she flushed crimson and thetears started, but she didn't want to show it. Wewere left alone, she suddenly flung herself onmy neck (for the first time of her own accord),put her little arms round me, kissed me, andvowed that she would be an obedient, faithful,and good wife, would make me happy, woulddevote all her life, every minute of her life,would sacrifice everything, everything, andthat all she asks in return is my respect, and thatshe wants 'nothing, nothing more from me, nopresents.' You'll admit that to hear such a con-fession, alone, from an angel of sixteen in amuslin frock, with little curls, with a flush ofmaiden shyness in her cheeks and tears of ent-husiasm in her eyes is rather fascinating! Isn't itfascinating? It's worth paying for, isn't it?Well... listen, we'll go to see my betrothed, onlynot just now!"

"The fact is this monstrous difference in ageand development excites your sensuality! Willyou really make such a marriage?"

"Why, of course. Everyone thinks of himself,and he lives most gaily who knows best how todeceive himself. Ha-ha! But why are you sokeen about virtue? Have mercy on me, mygood friend. I am a sinful man. Ha-ha-ha!"

"But you have provided for the children of Ka-terina Ivanovna. Though... though you hadyour own reasons.... I understand it all now."

"I am always fond of children, very fond ofthem," laughed Svidrigaïlov. "I can tell you onecurious instance of it. The first day I came hereI visited various haunts, after seven years I sim-ply rushed at them. You probably notice that Iam not in a hurry to renew acquaintance withmy old friends. I shall do without them as longas I can. Do you know, when I was with MarfaPetrovna in the country, I was haunted by the

thought of these places where anyone whoknows his way about can find a great deal. Yes,upon my soul! The peasants have vodka, theeducated young people, shut out from activity,waste themselves in impossible dreams andvisions and are crippled by theories; Jews havesprung up and are amassing money, and all therest give themselves up to debauchery. Fromthe first hour the town reeked of its familiarodours. I chanced to be in a frightful den—Ilike my dens dirty—it was a dance, so called,and there was a cancan such as I never saw inmy day. Yes, there you have progress. All of asudden I saw a little girl of thirteen, nicelydressed, dancing with a specialist in that line,with another one vis-à-vis. Her mother was sit-ting on a chair by the wall. You can't fancywhat a cancan that was! The girl was ashamed,blushed, at last felt insulted, and began to cry.Her partner seized her and began whirling herround and performing before her; everyonelaughed and—I like your public, even the can-

can public—they laughed and shouted, 'Servesher right—serves her right! Shouldn't bringchildren!' Well, it's not my business whetherthat consoling reflection was logical or not. I atonce fixed on my plan, sat down by the mother,and began by saying that I too was a strangerand that people here were ill-bred and that theycouldn't distinguish decent folks and treat themwith respect, gave her to understand that I hadplenty of money, offered to take them home inmy carriage. I took them home and got to knowthem. They were lodging in a miserable littlehole and had only just arrived from the coun-try. She told me that she and her daughtercould only regard my acquaintance as anhonour. I found out that they had nothing oftheir own and had come to town upon somelegal business. I proffered my services and mo-ney. I learnt that they had gone to the dancingsaloon by mistake, believing that it was a ge-nuine dancing class. I offered to assist in theyoung girl's education in French and dancing.

My offer was accepted with enthusiasm as anhonour—and we are still friendly.... If you like,we'll go and see them, only not just now."

"Stop! Enough of your vile, nasty anecdotes,depraved vile, sensual man!"

"Schiller, you are a regular Schiller! O la vertuva-t-elle se nicher? But you know I shall tell youthese things on purpose, for the pleasure ofhearing your outcries!"

"I dare say. I can see I am ridiculous myself,"muttered Raskolnikov angrily.

Svidrigaïlov laughed heartily; finally he calledPhilip, paid his bill, and began getting up.

"I say, but I am drunk, assez causé," he said. "It'sbeen a pleasure."

"I should rather think it must be a pleasure!"cried Raskolnikov, getting up. "No doubt it is apleasure for a worn-out profligate to describe

such adventures with a monstrous project ofthe same sort in his mind—especially undersuch circumstances and to such a man as me....It's stimulating!"

"Well, if you come to that," Svidrigaïlov answe-red, scrutinising Raskolnikov with some sur-prise, "if you come to that, you are a thoroughcynic yourself. You've plenty to make you so,anyway. You can understand a great deal... andyou can do a great deal too. But enough. I sin-cerely regret not having had more talk withyou, but I shan't lose sight of you.... Only wait abit."

Svidrigaïlov walked out of the restaurant. Ras-kolnikov walked out after him. Svidrigaïlovwas not however very drunk, the wine hadaffected him for a moment, but it was passingoff every minute. He was preoccupied withsomething of importance and was frowning.He was apparently excited and uneasy in anti-cipation of something. His manner to Raskolni-

kov had changed during the last few minutes,and he was ruder and more sneering everymoment. Raskolnikov noticed all this, and hetoo was uneasy. He became very suspicious ofSvidrigaïlov and resolved to follow him.

They came out on to the pavement.

"You go to the right, and I to the left, or if youlike, the other way. Only adieu, mon plaisir, maywe meet again."

And he walked to the right towards the HayMarket.

CHAPTER V

Raskolnikov walked after him.

"What's this?" cried Svidrigaïlov turning round,"I thought I said..."

"It means that I am not going to lose sight ofyou now."

"What?"

Both stood still and gazed at one another, asthough measuring their strength.

"From all your half tipsy stories," Raskolnikovobserved harshly, "I am positive that you havenot given up your designs on my sister, but arepursuing them more actively than ever. I havelearnt that my sister received a letter this mor-ning. You have hardly been able to sit still allthis time.... You may have unearthed a wife on

the way, but that means nothing. I should liketo make certain myself."

Raskolnikov could hardly have said himselfwhat he wanted and of what he wished to ma-ke certain.

"Upon my word! I'll call the police!"

"Call away!"

Again they stood for a minute facing each ot-her. At last Svidrigaïlov's face changed. Havingsatisfied himself that Raskolnikov was notfrightened at his threat, he assumed a mirthfuland friendly air.

"What a fellow! I purposely refrained from re-ferring to your affair, though I am devoured bycuriosity. It's a fantastic affair. I've put it off tillanother time, but you're enough to rouse thedead.... Well, let us go, only I warn you before-hand I am only going home for a moment, to

get some money; then I shall lock up the flat,take a cab and go to spend the evening at theIslands. Now, now are you going to followme?"

"I'm coming to your lodgings, not to see youbut Sofya Semyonovna, to say I'm sorry not tohave been at the funeral."

"That's as you like, but Sofya Semyonovna isnot at home. She has taken the three children toan old lady of high rank, the patroness of someorphan asylums, whom I used to know yearsago. I charmed the old lady by depositing asum of money with her to provide for the threechildren of Katerina Ivanovna and subscribingto the institution as well. I told her too the storyof Sofya Semyonovna in full detail, suppressingnothing. It produced an indescribable effect onher. That's why Sofya Semyonovna has beeninvited to call to-day at the X. Hotel where thelady is staying for the time."

"No matter, I'll come all the same."

"As you like, it's nothing to me, but I won't co-me with you; here we are at home. By the way,I am convinced that you regard me with suspi-cion just because I have shown such delicacyand have not so far troubled you with ques-tions... you understand? It struck you as ex-traordinary; I don't mind betting it's that. Well,it teaches one to show delicacy!"

"And to listen at doors!"

"Ah, that's it, is it?" laughed Svidrigaïlov. "Yes, Ishould have been surprised if you had let thatpass after all that has happened. Ha-ha!Though I did understand something of thepranks you had been up to and were tellingSofya Semyonovna about, what was the mea-ning of it? Perhaps I am quite behind the timesand can't understand. For goodness' sake, ex-plain it, my dear boy. Expound the latest theo-ries!"

"You couldn't have heard anything. You're ma-king it all up!"

"But I'm not talking about that (though I didhear something). No, I'm talking of the wayyou keep sighing and groaning now. The Schi-ller in you is in revolt every moment, and nowyou tell me not to listen at doors. If that's howyou feel, go and inform the police that you hadthis mischance: you made a little mistake inyour theory. But if you are convinced that onemustn't listen at doors, but one may murder oldwomen at one's pleasure, you'd better be off toAmerica and make haste. Run, young man!There may still be time. I'm speaking sincerely.Haven't you the money? I'll give you the fare."

"I'm not thinking of that at all," Raskolnikovinterrupted with disgust.

"I understand (but don't put yourself out, don'tdiscuss it if you don't want to). I understandthe questions you are worrying over—moral

ones, aren't they? Duties of citizen and man?Lay them all aside. They are nothing to younow, ha-ha! You'll say you are still a man and acitizen. If so you ought not to have got into thiscoil. It's no use taking up a job you are not fitfor. Well, you'd better shoot yourself, or don'tyou want to?"

"You seem trying to enrage me, to make meleave you."

"What a queer fellow! But here we are. Welco-me to the staircase. You see, that's the way toSofya Semyonovna. Look, there is no one athome. Don't you believe me? Ask Kapernau-mov. She leaves the key with him. Here is Ma-dame de Kapernaumov herself. Hey, what? Sheis rather deaf. Has she gone out? Where? Didyou hear? She is not in and won't be till late inthe evening probably. Well, come to my room;you wanted to come and see me, didn't you?Here we are. Madame Resslich's not at home.She is a woman who is always busy, an exce-

llent woman I assure you.... She might havebeen of use to you if you had been a little moresensible. Now, see! I take this five-per-centbond out of the bureau—see what a lot I've gotof them still—this one will be turned into cashto-day. I mustn't waste any more time. The bu-reau is locked, the flat is locked, and here weare again on the stairs. Shall we take a cab? I'mgoing to the Islands. Would you like a lift? I'lltake this carriage. Ah, you refuse? You are tiredof it! Come for a drive! I believe it will come onto rain. Never mind, we'll put down thehood...."

Svidrigaïlov was already in the carriage. Ras-kolnikov decided that his suspicions were atleast for that moment unjust. Without answe-ring a word he turned and walked back to-wards the Hay Market. If he had only turnedround on his way he might have seen Svidri-gaïlov get out not a hundred paces off, dismissthe cab and walk along the pavement. But he

had turned the corner and could see nothing.Intense disgust drew him away from Svidrigaï-lov.

"To think that I could for one instant have loo-ked for help from that coarse brute, that depra-ved sensualist and blackguard!" he cried.

Raskolnikov's judgment was uttered too lightlyand hastily: there was something about Svidri-gaïlov which gave him a certain original, even amysterious character. As concerned his sister,Raskolnikov was convinced that Svidrigaïlovwould not leave her in peace. But it was tootiresome and unbearable to go on thinking andthinking about this.

When he was alone, he had not gone twentypaces before he sank, as usual, into deepthought. On the bridge he stood by the railingand began gazing at the water. And his sisterwas standing close by him.

He met her at the entrance to the bridge, butpassed by without seeing her. Dounia had ne-ver met him like this in the street before andwas struck with dismay. She stood still and didnot know whether to call to him or not. Sud-denly she saw Svidrigaïlov coming quicklyfrom the direction of the Hay Market.

He seemed to be approaching cautiously. Hedid not go on to the bridge, but stood aside onthe pavement, doing all he could to avoid Ras-kolnikov's seeing him. He had observed Dou-nia for some time and had been making signsto her. She fancied he was signalling to beg hernot to speak to her brother, but to come to him.

That was what Dounia did. She stole by herbrother and went up to Svidrigaïlov.

"Let us make haste away," Svidrigaïlov whispe-red to her, "I don't want Rodion Romanovitchto know of our meeting. I must tell you I'vebeen sitting with him in the restaurant close by,

where he looked me up and I had great difficul-ty in getting rid of him. He has somehow heardof my letter to you and suspects something. Itwasn't you who told him, of course, but if notyou, who then?"

"Well, we've turned the corner now," Douniainterrupted, "and my brother won't see us. Ihave to tell you that I am going no further withyou. Speak to me here. You can tell it all in thestreet."

"In the first place, I can't say it in the street; se-condly, you must hear Sofya Semyonovna too;and, thirdly, I will show you some papers.... Ohwell, if you won't agree to come with me, I shallrefuse to give any explanation and go away atonce. But I beg you not to forget that a verycurious secret of your beloved brother's is enti-rely in my keeping."

Dounia stood still, hesitating, and looked atSvidrigaïlov with searching eyes.

"What are you afraid of?" he observed quietly."The town is not the country. And even in thecountry you did me more harm than I did you."

"Have you prepared Sofya Semyonovna?"

"No, I have not said a word to her and am notquite certain whether she is at home now. Butmost likely she is. She has buried her stepmot-her to-day: she is not likely to go visiting onsuch a day. For the time I don't want to speakto anyone about it and I half regret having spo-ken to you. The slightest indiscretion is as badas betrayal in a thing like this. I live there inthat house, we are coming to it. That's the por-ter of our house—he knows me very well; yousee, he's bowing; he sees I'm coming with alady and no doubt he has noticed your facealready and you will be glad of that if you areafraid of me and suspicious. Excuse my puttingthings so coarsely. I haven't a flat to myself;Sofya Semyonovna's room is next to mine—shelodges in the next flat. The whole floor is let out

in lodgings. Why are you frightened like achild? Am I really so terrible?"

Svidrigaïlov's lips were twisted in a condes-cending smile; but he was in no smiling mood.His heart was throbbing and he could scarcelybreathe. He spoke rather loud to cover his gro-wing excitement. But Dounia did not notice thispeculiar excitement, she was so irritated by hisremark that she was frightened of him like achild and that he was so terrible to her.

"Though I know that you are not a man... ofhonour, I am not in the least afraid of you. Leadthe way," she said with apparent composure,but her face was very pale.

Svidrigaïlov stopped at Sonia's room.

"Allow me to inquire whether she is at home....She is not. How unfortunate! But I know shemay come quite soon. If she's gone out, it canonly be to see a lady about the orphans. Their

mother is dead.... I've been meddling and ma-king arrangements for them. If Sofya Semyo-novna does not come back in ten minutes, I willsend her to you, to-day if you like. This is myflat. These are my two rooms. Madame Ress-lich, my landlady, has the next room. Now,look this way. I will show you my chief piece ofevidence: this door from my bedroom leadsinto two perfectly empty rooms, which are tolet. Here they are... You must look into themwith some attention."

Svidrigaïlov occupied two fairly large furnis-hed rooms. Dounia was looking about her mis-trustfully, but saw nothing special in the furni-ture or position of the rooms. Yet there wassomething to observe, for instance, that Svidri-gaïlov's flat was exactly between two sets ofalmost uninhabited apartments. His rooms we-re not entered directly from the passage, butthrough the landlady's two almost emptyrooms. Unlocking a door leading out of his be-

droom, Svidrigaïlov showed Dounia the twoempty rooms that were to let. Dounia stoppedin the doorway, not knowing what she wascalled to look upon, but Svidrigaïlov hastenedto explain.

"Look here, at this second large room. Noticethat door, it's locked. By the door stands achair, the only one in the two rooms. I broughtit from my rooms so as to listen more conve-niently. Just the other side of the door is SofyaSemyonovna's table; she sat there talking toRodion Romanovitch. And I sat here listeningon two successive evenings, for two hours eachtime—and of course I was able to learn somet-hing, what do you think?"

"You listened?"

"Yes, I did. Now come back to my room; wecan't sit down here."

He brought Avdotya Romanovna back into hissitting-room and offered her a chair. He satdown at the opposite side of the table, at leastseven feet from her, but probably there was thesame glow in his eyes which had once frighte-ned Dounia so much. She shuddered and oncemore looked about her distrustfully. It was aninvoluntary gesture; she evidently did not wishto betray her uneasiness. But the secluded posi-tion of Svidrigaïlov's lodging had suddenlystruck her. She wanted to ask whether his land-lady at least were at home, but pride kept herfrom asking. Moreover, she had another trou-ble in her heart incomparably greater than fearfor herself. She was in great distress.

"Here is your letter," she said, laying it on thetable. "Can it be true what you write? You hintat a crime committed, you say, by my brother.You hint at it too clearly; you daren't deny itnow. I must tell you that I'd heard of this stu-pid story before you wrote and don't believe a

word of it. It's a disgusting and ridiculous sus-picion. I know the story and why and how itwas invented. You can have no proofs. Youpromised to prove it. Speak! But let me warnyou that I don't believe you! I don't believeyou!"

Dounia said this, speaking hurriedly, and foran instant the colour rushed to her face.

"If you didn't believe it, how could you riskcoming alone to my rooms? Why have you co-me? Simply from curiosity?"

"Don't torment me. Speak, speak!"

"There's no denying that you are a brave girl.Upon my word, I thought you would have as-ked Mr. Razumihin to escort you here. But hewas not with you nor anywhere near. I was onthe look-out. It's spirited of you, it proves youwanted to spare Rodion Romanovitch. But eve-rything is divine in you.... About your brother,

what am I to say to you? You've just seen himyourself. What did you think of him?"

"Surely that's not the only thing you are buil-ding on?"

"No, not on that, but on his own words. Hecame here on two successive evenings to seeSofya Semyonovna. I've shown you where theysat. He made a full confession to her. He is amurderer. He killed an old woman, a pawn-broker, with whom he had pawned things him-self. He killed her sister too, a pedlar womancalled Lizaveta, who happened to come in whi-le he was murdering her sister. He killed themwith an axe he brought with him. He murderedthem to rob them and he did rob them. He tookmoney and various things.... He told all this,word for word, to Sofya Semyonovna, the onlyperson who knows his secret. But she has hadno share by word or deed in the murder; shewas as horrified at it as you are now. Don't beanxious, she won't betray him."

"It cannot be," muttered Dounia, with whitelips. She gasped for breath. "It cannot be. Therewas not the slightest cause, no sort of ground....It's a lie, a lie!"

"He robbed her, that was the cause, he tookmoney and things. It's true that by his ownadmission he made no use of the money orthings, but hid them under a stone, where theyare now. But that was because he dared notmake use of them."

"But how could he steal, rob? How could hedream of it?" cried Dounia, and she jumped upfrom the chair. "Why, you know him, and you'-ve seen him, can he be a thief?"

She seemed to be imploring Svidrigaïlov; shehad entirely forgotten her fear.

"There are thousands and millions of combina-tions and possibilities, Avdotya Romanovna. Athief steals and knows he is a scoundrel, but

I've heard of a gentleman who broke open themail. Who knows, very likely he thought hewas doing a gentlemanly thing! Of course Ishould not have believed it myself if I'd beentold of it as you have, but I believe my ownears. He explained all the causes of it to SofyaSemyonovna too, but she did not believe herears at first, yet she believed her own eyes atlast."

"What... were the causes?"

"It's a long story, Avdotya Romanovna.Here's... how shall I tell you?—A theory of asort, the same one by which I for instance con-sider that a single misdeed is permissible if theprincipal aim is right, a solitary wrongdoingand hundreds of good deeds! It's galling too, ofcourse, for a young man of gifts and overwee-ning pride to know that if he had, for instance,a paltry three thousand, his whole career, hiswhole future would be differently shaped andyet not to have that three thousand. Add to

that, nervous irritability from hunger, fromlodging in a hole, from rags, from a vivid senseof the charm of his social position and his sis-ter's and mother's position too. Above all, vani-ty, pride and vanity, though goodness knowshe may have good qualities too.... I am notblaming him, please don't think it; besides, it'snot my business. A special little theory came intoo—a theory of a sort—dividing mankind, yousee, into material and superior persons, that ispersons to whom the law does not apply owingto their superiority, who make laws for the restof mankind, the material, that is. It's all right asa theory, une théorie comme une autre. Napoleonattracted him tremendously, that is, what affec-ted him was that a great many men of geniushave not hesitated at wrongdoing, but haveoverstepped the law without thinking about it.He seems to have fancied that he was a geniustoo—that is, he was convinced of it for a time.He has suffered a great deal and is still suffe-ring from the idea that he could make a theory,

but was incapable of boldly overstepping thelaw, and so he is not a man of genius. Andthat's humiliating for a young man of any pri-de, in our day especially...."

"But remorse? You deny him any moral feelingthen? Is he like that?"

"Ah, Avdotya Romanovna, everything is in amuddle now; not that it was ever in very goodorder. Russians in general are broad in theirideas, Avdotya Romanovna, broad like theirland and exceedingly disposed to the fantastic,the chaotic. But it's a misfortune to be broadwithout a special genius. Do you rememberwhat a lot of talk we had together on this sub-ject, sitting in the evenings on the terrace aftersupper? Why, you used to reproach me withbreadth! Who knows, perhaps we were talkingat the very time when he was lying here thin-king over his plan. There are no sacred tradi-tions amongst us, especially in the educatedclass, Avdotya Romanovna. At the best someo-

ne will make them up somehow for himself outof books or from some old chronicle. But thoseare for the most part the learned and all oldfogeys, so that it would be almost ill-bred in aman of society. You know my opinions in gene-ral, though. I never blame anyone. I do nothingat all, I persevere in that. But we've talked ofthis more than once before. I was so happy in-deed as to interest you in my opinions.... Youare very pale, Avdotya Romanovna."

"I know his theory. I read that article of hisabout men to whom all is permitted. Razu-mihin brought it to me."

"Mr. Razumihin? Your brother's article? In amagazine? Is there such an article? I didn'tknow. It must be interesting. But where are yougoing, Avdotya Romanovna?"

"I want to see Sofya Semyonovna," Dounia arti-culated faintly. "How do I go to her? She has

come in, perhaps. I must see her at once. Per-haps she..."

Avdotya Romanovna could not finish. Herbreath literally failed her.

"Sofya Semyonovna will not be back till night,at least I believe not. She was to have been backat once, but if not, then she will not be in tillquite late."

"Ah, then you are lying! I see... you werelying... lying all the time.... I don't believe you! Idon't believe you!" cried Dounia, completelylosing her head.

Almost fainting, she sank on to a chair whichSvidrigaïlov made haste to give her.

"Avdotya Romanovna, what is it? Controlyourself! Here is some water. Drink a little...."

He sprinkled some water over her. Douniashuddered and came to herself.

"It has acted violently," Svidrigaïlov mutteredto himself, frowning. "Avdotya Romanovna,calm yourself! Believe me, he has friends. Wewill save him. Would you like me to take himabroad? I have money, I can get a ticket in threedays. And as for the murder, he will do all sortsof good deeds yet, to atone for it. Calm your-self. He may become a great man yet. Well,how are you? How do you feel?"

"Cruel man! To be able to jeer at it! Let me go..."

"Where are you going?"

"To him. Where is he? Do you know? Why isthis door locked? We came in at that door andnow it is locked. When did you manage to lockit?"

"We couldn't be shouting all over the flat onsuch a subject. I am far from jeering; it's simplythat I'm sick of talking like this. But how canyou go in such a state? Do you want to betray

him? You will drive him to fury, and he willgive himself up. Let me tell you, he is alreadybeing watched; they are already on his track.You will simply be giving him away. Wait alittle: I saw him and was talking to him justnow. He can still be saved. Wait a bit, sit down;let us think it over together. I asked you to co-me in order to discuss it alone with you and toconsider it thoroughly. But do sit down!"

"How can you save him? Can he really be sa-ved?"

Dounia sat down. Svidrigaïlov sat down besideher.

"It all depends on you, on you, on you alone,"he began with glowing eyes, almost in a whis-per and hardly able to utter the words for emo-tion.

Dounia drew back from him in alarm. He toowas trembling all over.

"You... one word from you, and he is saved. I...I'll save him. I have money and friends. I'll sendhim away at once. I'll get a passport, two pass-ports, one for him and one for me. I havefriends... capable people.... If you like, I'll take apassport for you... for your mother.... What doyou want with Razumihin? I love you too.... Ilove you beyond everything.... Let me kiss thehem of your dress, let me, let me.... The veryrustle of it is too much for me. Tell me, 'do that,'and I'll do it. I'll do everything. I will do theimpossible. What you believe, I will believe. I'lldo anything—anything! Don't, don't look at melike that. Do you know that you are killingme?..."

He was almost beginning to rave.... Somethingseemed suddenly to go to his head. Douniajumped up and rushed to the door.

"Open it! Open it!" she called, shaking the door."Open it! Is there no one there?"

Svidrigaïlov got up and came to himself. Hisstill trembling lips slowly broke into an angrymocking smile.

"There is no one at home," he said quietly andemphatically. "The landlady has gone out, andit's waste of time to shout like that. You areonly exciting yourself uselessly."

"Where is the key? Open the door at once, atonce, base man!"

"I have lost the key and cannot find it."

"This is an outrage," cried Dounia, turning paleas death. She rushed to the furthest corner,where she made haste to barricade herself witha little table.

She did not scream, but she fixed her eyes onher tormentor and watched every movement hemade.

Svidrigaïlov remained standing at the otherend of the room facing her. He was positivelycomposed, at least in appearance, but his facewas pale as before. The mocking smile did notleave his face.

"You spoke of outrage just now, Avdotya Ro-manovna. In that case you may be sure I'vetaken measures. Sofya Semyonovna is not athome. The Kapernaumovs are far away—thereare five locked rooms between. I am at leasttwice as strong as you are and I have nothing tofear, besides. For you could not complain af-terwards. You surely would not be willing ac-tually to betray your brother? Besides, no onewould believe you. How should a girl havecome alone to visit a solitary man in his lod-gings? So that even if you do sacrifice yourbrother, you could prove nothing. It is verydifficult to prove an assault, Avdotya Roma-novna."

"Scoundrel!" whispered Dounia indignantly.

"As you like, but observe I was only speakingby way of a general proposition. It's my perso-nal conviction that you are perfectly right—violence is hateful. I only spoke to show youthat you need have no remorse even if... youwere willing to save your brother of your ownaccord, as I suggest to you. You would be sim-ply submitting to circumstances, to violence, infact, if we must use that word. Think about it.Your brother's and your mother's fate are inyour hands. I will be your slave... all my life... Iwill wait here."

Svidrigaïlov sat down on the sofa about eightsteps from Dounia. She had not the slightestdoubt now of his unbending determination.Besides, she knew him. Suddenly she pulledout of her pocket a revolver, cocked it and laidit in her hand on the table. Svidrigaïlov jumpedup.

"Aha! So that's it, is it?" he cried, surprised butsmiling maliciously. "Well, that completely al-

ters the aspect of affairs. You've made thingswonderfully easier for me, Avdotya Romanov-na. But where did you get the revolver? Was itMr. Razumihin? Why, it's my revolver, an oldfriend! And how I've hunted for it! The shoo-ting lessons I've given you in the country havenot been thrown away."

"It's not your revolver, it belonged to MarfaPetrovna, whom you killed, wretch! There wasnothing of yours in her house. I took it when Ibegan to suspect what you were capable of. Ifyou dare to advance one step, I swear I'll killyou." She was frantic.

"But your brother? I ask from curiosity," saidSvidrigaïlov, still standing where he was.

"Inform, if you want to! Don't stir! Don't comenearer! I'll shoot! You poisoned your wife, Iknow; you are a murderer yourself!" She heldthe revolver ready.

"Are you so positive I poisoned Marfa Petrov-na?"

"You did! You hinted it yourself; you talked tome of poison.... I know you went to get it... youhad it in readiness.... It was your doing.... Itmust have been your doing.... Scoundrel!"

"Even if that were true, it would have been foryour sake... you would have been the cause."

"You are lying! I hated you always, always...."

"Oho, Avdotya Romanovna! You seem to haveforgotten how you softened to me in the heat ofpropaganda. I saw it in your eyes. Do you re-member that moonlight night, when the nigh-tingale was singing?"

"That's a lie," there was a flash of fury in Dou-nia's eyes, "that's a lie and a libel!"

"A lie? Well, if you like, it's a lie. I made it up.Women ought not to be reminded of such

things," he smiled. "I know you will shoot, youpretty wild creature. Well, shoot away!"

Dounia raised the revolver, and deadly pale,gazed at him, measuring the distance and awai-ting the first movement on his part. Her lowerlip was white and quivering and her big blackeyes flashed like fire. He had never seen her sohandsome. The fire glowing in her eyes at themoment she raised the revolver seemed tokindle him and there was a pang of anguish inhis heart. He took a step forward and a shotrang out. The bullet grazed his hair and flewinto the wall behind. He stood still and laughedsoftly.

"The wasp has stung me. She aimed straight atmy head. What's this? Blood?" he pulled out hishandkerchief to wipe the blood, which flowedin a thin stream down his right temple. Thebullet seemed to have just grazed the skin.

Dounia lowered the revolver and looked atSvidrigaïlov not so much in terror as in a sort ofwild amazement. She seemed not to unders-tand what she was doing and what was goingon.

"Well, you missed! Fire again, I'll wait," saidSvidrigaïlov softly, still smiling, but gloomily."If you go on like that, I shall have time to seizeyou before you cock again."

Dounia started, quickly cocked the pistol andagain raised it.

"Let me be," she cried in despair. "I swear I'llshoot again. I... I'll kill you."

"Well... at three paces you can hardly help it.But if you don't... then." His eyes flashed andhe took two steps forward. Dounia shot again:it missed fire.

"You haven't loaded it properly. Never mind,you have another charge there. Get it ready, I'llwait."

He stood facing her, two paces away, waitingand gazing at her with wild determination,with feverishly passionate, stubborn, set eyes.Dounia saw that he would sooner die than lether go. "And... now, of course she would killhim, at two paces!" Suddenly she flung awaythe revolver.

"She's dropped it!" said Svidrigaïlov with sur-prise, and he drew a deep breath. A weightseemed to have rolled from his heart—perhapsnot only the fear of death; indeed he may scar-cely have felt it at that moment. It was the deli-verance from another feeling, darker and morebitter, which he could not himself have defined.

He went to Dounia and gently put his armround her waist. She did not resist, but, trem-bling like a leaf, looked at him with suppliant

eyes. He tried to say something, but his lipsmoved without being able to utter a sound.

"Let me go," Dounia implored. Svidrigaïlovshuddered. Her voice now was quite different.

"Then you don't love me?" he asked softly.Dounia shook her head.

"And... and you can't? Never?" he whispered indespair.

"Never!"

There followed a moment of terrible, dumbstruggle in the heart of Svidrigaïlov. He lookedat her with an indescribable gaze. Suddenly hewithdrew his arm, turned quickly to the win-dow and stood facing it. Another moment pas-sed.

"Here's the key."

He took it out of the left pocket of his coat andlaid it on the table behind him, without turningor looking at Dounia.

"Take it! Make haste!"

He looked stubbornly out of the window. Dou-nia went up to the table to take the key.

"Make haste! Make haste!" repeated Svidrigaï-lov, still without turning or moving. But thereseemed a terrible significance in the tone of that"make haste."

Dounia understood it, snatched up the key,flew to the door, unlocked it quickly and rus-hed out of the room. A minute later, besideherself, she ran out on to the canal bank in thedirection of X. Bridge.

Svidrigaïlov remained three minutes standingat the window. At last he slowly turned, lookedabout him and passed his hand over his fore-

head. A strange smile contorted his face, a piti-ful, sad, weak smile, a smile of despair. Theblood, which was already getting dry, smearedhis hand. He looked angrily at it, then wetted atowel and washed his temple. The revolverwhich Dounia had flung away lay near thedoor and suddenly caught his eye. He picked itup and examined it. It was a little pocket three-barrel revolver of old-fashioned construction.There were still two charges and one capsuleleft in it. It could be fired again. He thought alittle, put the revolver in his pocket, took hishat and went out.

CHAPTER VI

He spent that evening till ten o'clock goingfrom one low haunt to another. Katia too tur-

ned up and sang another gutter song, how acertain "villain and tyrant,"

"began kissing Katia."

Svidrigaïlov treated Katia and the organ-grinder and some singers and the waiters andtwo little clerks. He was particularly drawn tothese clerks by the fact that they both had croo-ked noses, one bent to the left and the other tothe right. They took him finally to a pleasuregarden, where he paid for their entrance. Therewas one lanky three-year-old pine-tree andthree bushes in the garden, besides a "Vaux-hall," which was in reality a drinking-bar wheretea too was served, and there were a few greentables and chairs standing round it. A chorus ofwretched singers and a drunken but exceedin-gly depressed German clown from Munichwith a red nose entertained the public. Theclerks quarrelled with some other clerks and afight seemed imminent. Svidrigaïlov was cho-sen to decide the dispute. He listened to them

for a quarter of an hour, but they shouted soloud that there was no possibility of unders-tanding them. The only fact that seemed certainwas that one of them had stolen something andhad even succeeded in selling it on the spot to aJew, but would not share the spoil with hiscompanion. Finally it appeared that the stolenobject was a teaspoon belonging to the Vaux-hall. It was missed and the affair began to seemtroublesome. Svidrigaïlov paid for the spoon,got up, and walked out of the garden. It wasabout six o'clock. He had not drunk a drop ofwine all this time and had ordered tea more forthe sake of appearances than anything.

It was a dark and stifling evening. Threateningstorm-clouds came over the sky about ten o'-clock. There was a clap of thunder, and the raincame down like a waterfall. The water fell notin drops, but beat on the earth in streams. The-re were flashes of lightning every minute andeach flash lasted while one could count five.

Drenched to the skin, he went home, lockedhimself in, opened the bureau, took out all hismoney and tore up two or three papers. Then,putting the money in his pocket, he was aboutto change his clothes, but, looking out of thewindow and listening to the thunder and therain, he gave up the idea, took up his hat andwent out of the room without locking the door.He went straight to Sonia. She was at home.

She was not alone: the four Kapernaumov chil-dren were with her. She was giving them tea.She received Svidrigaïlov in respectful silence,looking wonderingly at his soaking clothes. Thechildren all ran away at once in indescribableterror.

Svidrigaïlov sat down at the table and askedSonia to sit beside him. She timidly prepared tolisten.

"I may be going to America, Sofya Semyonov-na," said Svidrigaïlov, "and as I am probably

seeing you for the last time, I have come to ma-ke some arrangements. Well, did you see thelady to-day? I know what she said to you, youneed not tell me." (Sonia made a movement andblushed.) "Those people have their own way ofdoing things. As to your sisters and your brot-her, they are really provided for and the moneyassigned to them I've put into safe keeping andhave received acknowledgments. You had bet-ter take charge of the receipts, in case anythinghappens. Here, take them! Well now, that's set-tled. Here are three 5-per-cent bonds to the va-lue of three thousand roubles. Take those foryourself, entirely for yourself, and let that bestrictly between ourselves, so that no oneknows of it, whatever you hear. You will needthe money, for to go on living in the old way,Sofya Semyonovna, is bad, and besides there isno need for it now."

"I am so much indebted to you, and so are thechildren and my stepmother," said Sonia

hurriedly, "and if I've said so little... pleasedon't consider..."

"That's enough! that's enough!"

"But as for the money, Arkady Ivanovitch, I amvery grateful to you, but I don't need it now. Ican always earn my own living. Don't think meungrateful. If you are so charitable, that mo-ney...."

"It's for you, for you, Sofya Semyonovna, andplease don't waste words over it. I haven't timefor it. You will want it. Rodion Romanovitchhas two alternatives: a bullet in the brain orSiberia." (Sonia looked wildly at him, and star-ted.) "Don't be uneasy, I know all about it fromhimself and I am not a gossip; I won't tell an-yone. It was good advice when you told him togive himself up and confess. It would be muchbetter for him. Well, if it turns out to be Siberia,he will go and you will follow him. That's so,isn't it? And if so, you'll need money. You'll

need it for him, do you understand? Giving itto you is the same as my giving it to him. Besi-des, you promised Amalia Ivanovna to paywhat's owing. I heard you. How can you un-dertake such obligations so heedlessly, SofyaSemyonovna? It was Katerina Ivanovna's debtand not yours, so you ought not to have takenany notice of the German woman. You can't getthrough the world like that. If you are everquestioned about me—to-morrow or the dayafter you will be asked—don't say anythingabout my coming to see you now and don'tshow the money to anyone or say a word aboutit. Well, now good-bye." (He got up.) "My gree-tings to Rodion Romanovitch. By the way,you'd better put the money for the present inMr. Razumihin's keeping. You know Mr. Ra-zumihin? Of course you do. He's not a bad fe-llow. Take it to him to-morrow or... when thetime comes. And till then, hide it carefully."

Sonia too jumped up from her chair and lookedin dismay at Svidrigaïlov. She longed to speak,to ask a question, but for the first moments shedid not dare and did not know how to begin.

"How can you... how can you be going now, insuch rain?"

"Why, be starting for America, and be stoppedby rain! Ha, ha! Good-bye, Sofya Semyonovna,my dear! Live and live long, you will be of useto others. By the way... tell Mr. Razumihin Isend my greetings to him. Tell him ArkadyIvanovitch Svidrigaïlov sends his greetings. Besure to."

He went out, leaving Sonia in a state of wonde-ring anxiety and vague apprehension.

It appeared afterwards that on the same eve-ning, at twenty past eleven, he made anothervery eccentric and unexpected visit. The rainstill persisted. Drenched to the skin, he walked

into the little flat where the parents of his be-trothed lived, in Third Street in VassilyevskyIsland. He knocked some time before he wasadmitted, and his visit at first caused great per-turbation; but Svidrigaïlov could be very fasci-nating when he liked, so that the first, and in-deed very intelligent surmise of the sensibleparents that Svidrigaïlov had probably had somuch to drink that he did not know what hewas doing vanished immediately. The decrepitfather was wheeled in to see Svidrigaïlov by thetender and sensible mother, who as usual be-gan the conversation with various irrelevantquestions. She never asked a direct question,but began by smiling and rubbing her handsand then, if she were obliged to ascertain so-mething—for instance, when Svidrigaïlovwould like to have the wedding—she wouldbegin by interested and almost eager questionsabout Paris and the court life there, and only bydegrees brought the conversation round toThird Street. On other occasions this had of

course been very impressive, but this time Ar-kady Ivanovitch seemed particularly impatient,and insisted on seeing his betrothed at once,though he had been informed, to begin with,that she had already gone to bed. The girl ofcourse appeared.

Svidrigaïlov informed her at once that he wasobliged by very important affairs to leave Pe-tersburg for a time, and therefore brought herfifteen thousand roubles and begged her acceptthem as a present from him, as he had longbeen intending to make her this trifling presentbefore their wedding. The logical connection ofthe present with his immediate departure andthe absolute necessity of visiting them for thatpurpose in pouring rain at midnight was notmade clear. But it all went off very well; eventhe inevitable ejaculations of wonder and re-gret, the inevitable questions were extraordina-rily few and restrained. On the other hand, thegratitude expressed was most glowing and was

reinforced by tears from the most sensible ofmothers. Svidrigaïlov got up, laughed, kissedhis betrothed, patted her cheek, declared hewould soon come back, and noticing in hereyes, together with childish curiosity, a sort ofearnest dumb inquiry, reflected and kissed heragain, though he felt sincere anger inwardly atthe thought that his present would be immedia-tely locked up in the keeping of the most sensi-ble of mothers. He went away, leaving them allin a state of extraordinary excitement, but thetender mamma, speaking quietly in a halfwhisper, settled some of the most important oftheir doubts, concluding that Svidrigaïlov wasa great man, a man of great affairs and connec-tions and of great wealth—there was no kno-wing what he had in his mind. He would startoff on a journey and give away money just asthe fancy took him, so that there was nothingsurprising about it. Of course it was strangethat he was wet through, but Englishmen, forinstance, are even more eccentric, and all these

people of high society didn't think of what wassaid of them and didn't stand on ceremony.Possibly, indeed, he came like that on purposeto show that he was not afraid of anyone. Abo-ve all, not a word should be said about it, forGod knows what might come of it, and the mo-ney must be locked up, and it was most fortu-nate that Fedosya, the cook, had not left thekitchen. And above all not a word must be saidto that old cat, Madame Resslich, and so on andso on. They sat up whispering till two o'clock,but the girl went to bed much earlier, amazedand rather sorrowful.

Svidrigaïlov meanwhile, exactly at midnight,crossed the bridge on the way back to the main-land. The rain had ceased and there was a roa-ring wind. He began shivering, and for onemoment he gazed at the black waters of theLittle Neva with a look of special interest, eveninquiry. But he soon felt it very cold, standingby the water; he turned and went towards Y.

Prospect. He walked along that endless streetfor a long time, almost half an hour, more thanonce stumbling in the dark on the wooden pa-vement, but continually looking for somethingon the right side of the street. He had noticedpassing through this street lately that there wasa hotel somewhere towards the end, built ofwood, but fairly large, and its name he remem-bered was something like Adrianople. He wasnot mistaken: the hotel was so conspicuous inthat God-forsaken place that he could not fail tosee it even in the dark. It was a long, blackenedwooden building, and in spite of the late hourthere were lights in the windows and signs oflife within. He went in and asked a ragged fe-llow who met him in the corridor for a room.The latter, scanning Svidrigaïlov, pulled him-self together and led him at once to a close andtiny room in the distance, at the end of the co-rridor, under the stairs. There was no other, allwere occupied. The ragged fellow looked in-quiringly.

"Is there tea?" asked Svidrigaïlov.

"Yes, sir."

"What else is there?"

"Veal, vodka, savouries."

"Bring me tea and veal."

"And you want nothing else?" he asked withapparent surprise.

"Nothing, nothing."

The ragged man went away, completely disi-llusioned.

"It must be a nice place," thought Svidrigaïlov."How was it I didn't know it? I expect I look asif I came from a café chantant and have hadsome adventure on the way. It would be inte-resting to know who stay here?"

He lighted the candle and looked at the roommore carefully. It was a room so low-pitchedthat Svidrigaïlov could only just stand up in it;it had one window; the bed, which was verydirty, and the plain-stained chair and table al-most filled it up. The walls looked as thoughthey were made of planks, covered with shabbypaper, so torn and dusty that the pattern wasindistinguishable, though the general colour—yellow—could still be made out. One of thewalls was cut short by the sloping ceiling,though the room was not an attic but just underthe stairs.

Svidrigaïlov set down the candle, sat down onthe bed and sank into thought. But a strangepersistent murmur which sometimes rose to ashout in the next room attracted his attention.The murmur had not ceased from the momenthe entered the room. He listened: someone wasupbraiding and almost tearfully scolding, buthe heard only one voice.

Svidrigaïlov got up, shaded the light with hishand and at once he saw light through a crackin the wall; he went up and peeped through.The room, which was somewhat larger thanhis, had two occupants. One of them, a verycurly-headed man with a red inflamed face,was standing in the pose of an orator, withouthis coat, with his legs wide apart to preservehis balance, and smiting himself on the breast.He reproached the other with being a beggar,with having no standing whatever. He declaredthat he had taken the other out of the gutterand he could turn him out when he liked, andthat only the finger of Providence sees it all.The object of his reproaches was sitting in achair, and had the air of a man who wantsdreadfully to sneeze, but can't. He sometimesturned sheepish and befogged eyes on thespeaker, but obviously had not the slightestidea what he was talking about and scarcelyheard it. A candle was burning down on thetable; there were wine-glasses, a nearly empty

bottle of vodka, bread and cucumber, and glas-ses with the dregs of stale tea. After gazing at-tentively at this, Svidrigaïlov turned away in-differently and sat down on the bed.

The ragged attendant, returning with the tea,could not resist asking him again whether hedidn't want anything more, and again receivinga negative reply, finally withdrew. Svidrigaïlovmade haste to drink a glass of tea to warm him-self, but could not eat anything. He began tofeel feverish. He took off his coat and, wrap-ping himself in the blanket, lay down on thebed. He was annoyed. "It would have been bet-ter to be well for the occasion," he thought witha smile. The room was close, the candle burntdimly, the wind was roaring outside, he hearda mouse scratching in the corner and the roomsmelt of mice and of leather. He lay in a sort ofreverie: one thought followed another. He felt alonging to fix his imagination on something. "Itmust be a garden under the window," he

thought. "There's a sound of trees. How I disli-ke the sound of trees on a stormy night, in thedark! They give one a horrid feeling." He re-membered how he had disliked it when he pas-sed Petrovsky Park just now. This remindedhim of the bridge over the Little Neva and hefelt cold again as he had when standing there."I never have liked water," he thought, "even ina landscape," and he suddenly smiled again ata strange idea: "Surely now all these questionsof taste and comfort ought not to matter, butI've become more particular, like an animal thatpicks out a special place... for such an occasion.I ought to have gone into the Petrovsky Park! Isuppose it seemed dark, cold, ha-ha! As thoughI were seeking pleasant sensations!... By theway, why haven't I put out the candle?" heblew it out. "They've gone to bed next door," hethought, not seeing the light at the crack. "Well,now, Marfa Petrovna, now is the time for youto turn up; it's dark, and the very time and pla-ce for you. But now you won't come!"

He suddenly recalled how, an hour before carr-ying out his design on Dounia, he had recom-mended Raskolnikov to trust her to Razu-mihin's keeping. "I suppose I really did say it,as Raskolnikov guessed, to tease myself. Butwhat a rogue that Raskolnikov is! He's gonethrough a good deal. He may be a successfulrogue in time when he's got over his nonsense.But now he's too eager for life. These youngmen are contemptible on that point. But, hangthe fellow! Let him please himself, it's nothingto do with me."

He could not get to sleep. By degrees Dounia'simage rose before him, and a shudder ran overhim. "No, I must give up all that now," hethought, rousing himself. "I must think of so-mething else. It's queer and funny. I never hada great hatred for anyone, I never particularlydesired to avenge myself even, and that's a badsign, a bad sign, a bad sign. I never liked qua-rrelling either, and never lost my temper—

that's a bad sign too. And the promises I madeher just now, too—Damnation! But—whoknows?—perhaps she would have made a newman of me somehow...."

He ground his teeth and sank into silenceagain. Again Dounia's image rose before him,just as she was when, after shooting the firsttime, she had lowered the revolver in terrorand gazed blankly at him, so that he mighthave seized her twice over and she would nothave lifted a hand to defend herself if he hadnot reminded her. He recalled how at that ins-tant he felt almost sorry for her, how he had felta pang at his heart...

"Aïe! Damnation, these thoughts again! I mustput it away!"

He was dozing off; the feverish shiver had cea-sed, when suddenly something seemed to runover his arm and leg under the bedclothes. Hestarted. "Ugh! hang it! I believe it's a mouse," he

thought, "that's the veal I left on the table." Hefelt fearfully disinclined to pull off the blanket,get up, get cold, but all at once something un-pleasant ran over his leg again. He pulled offthe blanket and lighted the candle. Shakingwith feverish chill he bent down to examine thebed: there was nothing. He shook the blanketand suddenly a mouse jumped out on thesheet. He tried to catch it, but the mouse ran toand fro in zigzags without leaving the bed,slipped between his fingers, ran over his handand suddenly darted under the pillow. Hethrew down the pillow, but in one instant feltsomething leap on his chest and dart over hisbody and down his back under his shirt. Hetrembled nervously and woke up.

The room was dark. He was lying on the bedand wrapped up in the blanket as before. Thewind was howling under the window. "Howdisgusting," he thought with annoyance.

He got up and sat on the edge of the bedsteadwith his back to the window. "It's better not tosleep at all," he decided. There was a cold dampdraught from the window, however; withoutgetting up he drew the blanket over him andwrapped himself in it. He was not thinking ofanything and did not want to think. But oneimage rose after another, incoherent scraps ofthought without beginning or end passedthrough his mind. He sank into drowsiness.Perhaps the cold, or the dampness, or the dark,or the wind that howled under the window andtossed the trees roused a sort of persistent cra-ving for the fantastic. He kept dwelling on ima-ges of flowers, he fancied a charming flowergarden, a bright, warm, almost hot day, a holi-day—Trinity day. A fine, sumptuous countrycottage in the English taste overgrown withfragrant flowers, with flower beds going roundthe house; the porch, wreathed in climbers, wassurrounded with beds of roses. A light, coolstaircase, carpeted with rich rugs, was decora-

ted with rare plants in china pots. He noticedparticularly in the windows nosegays of tender,white, heavily fragrant narcissus bending overtheir bright, green, thick long stalks. He wasreluctant to move away from them, but he wentup the stairs and came into a large, high dra-wing-room and again everywhere—at the win-dows, the doors on to the balcony, and on thebalcony itself—were flowers. The floors werestrewn with freshly-cut fragrant hay, the win-dows were open, a fresh, cool, light air cameinto the room. The birds were chirruping underthe window, and in the middle of the room, ona table covered with a white satin shroud,stood a coffin. The coffin was covered withwhite silk and edged with a thick white frill;wreaths of flowers surrounded it on all sides.Among the flowers lay a girl in a white muslindress, with her arms crossed and pressed onher bosom, as though carved out of marble. Buther loose fair hair was wet; there was a wreathof roses on her head. The stern and already

rigid profile of her face looked as though chise-lled of marble too, and the smile on her palelips was full of an immense unchildish miseryand sorrowful appeal. Svidrigaïlov knew thatgirl; there was no holy image, no burning cand-le beside the coffin; no sound of prayers: thegirl had drowned herself. She was only four-teen, but her heart was broken. And she haddestroyed herself, crushed by an insult that hadappalled and amazed that childish soul, hadsmirched that angel purity with unmerited dis-grace and torn from her a last scream of des-pair, unheeded and brutally disregarded, on adark night in the cold and wet while the windhowled....

Svidrigaïlov came to himself, got up from thebed and went to the window. He felt for thelatch and opened it. The wind lashed furiouslyinto the little room and stung his face and hischest, only covered with his shirt, as thoughwith frost. Under the window there must have

been something like a garden, and apparently apleasure garden. There, too, probably therewere tea-tables and singing in the daytime.Now drops of rain flew in at the window fromthe trees and bushes; it was dark as in a cellar,so that he could only just make out some darkblurs of objects. Svidrigaïlov, bending downwith elbows on the window-sill, gazed for fiveminutes into the darkness; the boom of a can-non, followed by a second one, resounded inthe darkness of the night. "Ah, the signal! Theriver is overflowing," he thought. "By morningit will be swirling down the street in the lowerparts, flooding the basements and cellars. Thecellar rats will swim out, and men will curse inthe rain and wind as they drag their rubbish totheir upper storeys. What time is it now?" Andhe had hardly thought it when, somewherenear, a clock on the wall, ticking away hurried-ly, struck three.

"Aha! It will be light in an hour! Why wait? I'llgo out at once straight to the park. I'll choose agreat bush there drenched with rain, so that assoon as one's shoulder touches it, millions ofdrops drip on one's head."

He moved away from the window, shut it, ligh-ted the candle, put on his waistcoat, his over-coat and his hat and went out, carrying thecandle, into the passage to look for the raggedattendant who would be asleep somewhere inthe midst of candle-ends and all sorts of rub-bish, to pay him for the room and leave thehotel. "It's the best minute; I couldn't choose abetter."

He walked for some time through a long na-rrow corridor without finding anyone and wasjust going to call out, when suddenly in a darkcorner between an old cupboard and the doorhe caught sight of a strange object which see-med to be alive. He bent down with the candleand saw a little girl, not more than five years

old, shivering and crying, with her clothes aswet as a soaking house-flannel. She did notseem afraid of Svidrigaïlov, but looked at himwith blank amazement out of her big blackeyes. Now and then she sobbed as children dowhen they have been crying a long time, butare beginning to be comforted. The child's facewas pale and tired, she was numb with cold."How can she have come here? She must havehidden here and not slept all night." He beganquestioning her. The child suddenly becominganimated, chattered away in her baby langua-ge, something about "mammy" and that"mammy would beat her," and about some cupthat she had "bwoken." The child chattered onwithout stopping. He could only guess fromwhat she said that she was a neglected child,whose mother, probably a drunken cook, in theservice of the hotel, whipped and frightenedher; that the child had broken a cup of her mot-her's and was so frightened that she had runaway the evening before, had hidden for a long

while somewhere outside in the rain, at lasthad made her way in here, hidden behind thecupboard and spent the night there, crying andtrembling from the damp, the darkness and thefear that she would be badly beaten for it. Hetook her in his arms, went back to his room, sather on the bed, and began undressing her. Thetorn shoes which she had on her stockinglessfeet were as wet as if they had been standing ina puddle all night. When he had undressed her,he put her on the bed, covered her up andwrapped her in the blanket from her headdownwards. She fell asleep at once. Then hesank into dreary musing again.

"What folly to trouble myself," he decided sud-denly with an oppressive feeling of annoyance."What idiocy!" In vexation he took up the cand-le to go and look for the ragged attendant againand make haste to go away. "Damn the child!"he thought as he opened the door, but he tur-ned again to see whether the child was asleep.

He raised the blanket carefully. The child wassleeping soundly, she had got warm under theblanket, and her pale cheeks were flushed. Butstrange to say that flush seemed brighter andcoarser than the rosy cheeks of childhood. "It'sa flush of fever," thought Svidrigaïlov. It waslike the flush from drinking, as though she hadbeen given a full glass to drink. Her crimsonlips were hot and glowing; but what was this?He suddenly fancied that her long black eye-lashes were quivering, as though the lids wereopening and a sly crafty eye peeped out withan unchildlike wink, as though the little girlwere not asleep, but pretending. Yes, it was so.Her lips parted in a smile. The corners of hermouth quivered, as though she were trying tocontrol them. But now she quite gave up alleffort, now it was a grin, a broad grin; therewas something shameless, provocative in thatquite unchildish face; it was depravity, it wasthe face of a harlot, the shameless face of aFrench harlot. Now both eyes opened wide;

they turned a glowing, shameless glance uponhim; they laughed, invited him.... There wassomething infinitely hideous and shocking inthat laugh, in those eyes, in such nastiness inthe face of a child. "What, at five years old?"Svidrigaïlov muttered in genuine horror. "Whatdoes it mean?" And now she turned to him, herlittle face all aglow, holding out her arms...."Accursed child!" Svidrigaïlov cried, raising hishand to strike her, but at that moment he wokeup.

He was in the same bed, still wrapped in theblanket. The candle had not been lighted, anddaylight was streaming in at the windows.

"I've had nightmare all night!" He got up angri-ly, feeling utterly shattered; his bones ached.There was a thick mist outside and he could seenothing. It was nearly five. He had overslepthimself! He got up, put on his still damp jacketand overcoat. Feeling the revolver in his poc-ket, he took it out and then he sat down, took a

notebook out of his pocket and in the mostconspicuous place on the title page wrote a fewlines in large letters. Reading them over, hesank into thought with his elbows on the table.The revolver and the notebook lay beside him.Some flies woke up and settled on the untou-ched veal, which was still on the table. He sta-red at them and at last with his free right handbegan trying to catch one. He tried till he wastired, but could not catch it. At last, realisingthat he was engaged in this interesting pursuit,he started, got up and walked resolutely out ofthe room. A minute later he was in the street.

A thick milky mist hung over the town. Svidri-gaïlov walked along the slippery dirty woodenpavement towards the Little Neva. He was pic-turing the waters of the Little Neva swollen inthe night, Petrovsky Island, the wet paths, thewet grass, the wet trees and bushes and at lastthe bush.... He began ill-humouredly staring atthe houses, trying to think of something else.

There was not a cabman or a passer-by in thestreet. The bright yellow, wooden, little houseslooked dirty and dejected with their closedshutters. The cold and damp penetrated hiswhole body and he began to shiver. From timeto time he came across shop signs and readeach carefully. At last he reached the end of thewooden pavement and came to a big stonehouse. A dirty, shivering dog crossed his pathwith its tail between its legs. A man in a great-coat lay face downwards; dead drunk, acrossthe pavement. He looked at him and went on.A high tower stood up on the left. "Bah!" heshouted, "here is a place. Why should it be Pe-trovsky? It will be in the presence of an officialwitness anyway...."

He almost smiled at this new thought and tur-ned into the street where there was the bighouse with the tower. At the great closed gatesof the house, a little man stood with his shoul-der leaning against them, wrapped in a grey

soldier's coat, with a copper Achilles helmet onhis head. He cast a drowsy and indifferentglance at Svidrigaïlov. His face wore that per-petual look of peevish dejection, which is sosourly printed on all faces of Jewish race wit-hout exception. They both, Svidrigaïlov andAchilles, stared at each other for a few minuteswithout speaking. At last it struck Achilles asirregular for a man not drunk to be standingthree steps from him, staring and not saying aword.

"What do you want here?" he said, withoutmoving or changing his position.

"Nothing, brother, good morning," answeredSvidrigaïlov.

"This isn't the place."

"I am going to foreign parts, brother."

"To foreign parts?"

"To America."

"America."

Svidrigaïlov took out the revolver and cockedit. 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 goodplace. When you are asked, you just say he wasgoing, he said, to America."

He put the revolver to his right temple.

"You can't do it here, it's not the place," criedAchilles, rousing himself, his eyes growing big-ger and bigger.

Svidrigaïlov pulled the trigger.

CHAPTER VII

The same day, about seven o'clock in the eve-ning, Raskolnikov was on his way to his mot-her's and sister's lodging—the lodging in Baka-leyev's house which Razumihin had found forthem. The stairs went up from the street. Ras-kolnikov walked with lagging steps, as thoughstill hesitating whether to go or not. But not-hing would have turned him back: his decisionwas taken.

"Besides, it doesn't matter, they still know not-hing," he thought, "and they are used to thin-king of me as eccentric."

He was appallingly dressed: his clothes tornand dirty, soaked with a night's rain. His face

was almost distorted from fatigue, exposure,the inward conflict that had lasted for twenty-four hours. He had spent all the previous nightalone, God knows where. But anyway he hadreached a decision.

He knocked at the door which was opened byhis mother. Dounia was not at home. Even theservant happened to be out. At first PulcheriaAlexandrovna was speechless with joy andsurprise; then she took him by the hand anddrew him into the room.

"Here you are!" she began, faltering with joy."Don't be angry with me, Rodya, for welcomingyou so foolishly with tears: I am laughing notcrying. Did you think I was crying? No, I amdelighted, but I've got into such a stupid habitof shedding tears. I've been like that ever sinceyour father's death. I cry for anything. Sitdown, dear boy, you must be tired; I see youare. Ah, how muddy you are."

"I was in the rain yesterday, mother...." Raskol-nikov began.

"No, no," Pulcheria Alexandrovna hurriedlyinterrupted, "you thought I was going to cross-question you in the womanish way I used to;don't be anxious, I understand, I understand itall: now I've learned the ways here and truly Isee for myself that they are better. I've made upmy mind once for all: how could I understandyour plans and expect you to give an account ofthem? God knows what concerns and plansyou 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 asthough I were crazy...? I am reading your arti-cle in the magazine for the third time, Rodya.Dmitri Prokofitch brought it to me. Directly Isaw it I cried out to myself: 'There, foolish one,'I thought, 'that's what he is busy about; that'sthe solution of the mystery! Learned people are

always like that. He may have some new ideasin his head just now; he is thinking them overand I worry him and upset him.' I read it, mydear, and of course there was a great deal I didnot understand; but that's only natural—howshould I?"

"Show me, mother."

Raskolnikov took the magazine and glanced athis article. Incongruous as it was with his moodand his circumstances, he felt that strange andbitter sweet sensation that every author expe-riences the first time he sees himself in print;besides, he was only twenty-three. It lastedonly a moment. After reading a few lines hefrowned and his heart throbbed with anguish.He recalled all the inward conflict of the prece-ding months. He flung the article on the tablewith disgust and anger.

"But, however foolish I may be, Rodya, I cansee for myself that you will very soon be one of

the leading—if not the leading man—in theworld of Russian thought. And they dared tothink you were mad! You don't know, but theyreally thought that. Ah, the despicable creatu-res, how could they understand genius! AndDounia, Dounia was all but believing it—whatdo you say to that? Your father sent twice tomagazines—the first time poems (I've got themanuscript and will show you) and the secondtime a whole novel (I begged him to let me co-py it out) and how we prayed that they shouldbe taken—they weren't! I was breaking myheart, Rodya, six or seven days ago over yourfood and your clothes and the way you are li-ving. But now I see again how foolish I was, foryou can attain any position you like by yourintellect and talent. No doubt you don't careabout that for the present and you are occupiedwith much more important matters...."

"Dounia's not at home, mother?"

"No, Rodya. I often don't see her; she leaves mealone. Dmitri Prokofitch comes to see me, it's sogood of him, and he always talks about you. Heloves you and respects you, my dear. I don'tsay that Dounia is very wanting in considera-tion. I am not complaining. She has her waysand I have mine; she seems to have got somesecrets of late and I never have any secrets fromyou two. Of course, I am sure that Dounia hasfar too much sense, and besides she loves youand me... but I don't know what it will all leadto. 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 brothercame in while you were out. Where have youbeen all this time?' You mustn't spoil me, Rod-ya, you know; come when you can, but if youcan't, it doesn't matter, I can wait. I shall know,anyway, that you are fond of me, that will beenough for me. I shall read what you write, Ishall hear about you from everyone, and some-times you'll come yourself to see me. What

could be better? Here you've come now to com-fort 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 offeryou any. Ah, that's the selfishness of old age. I'llget it at once!"

"Mother, don't trouble, I am going at once. Ihaven't come for that. Please listen to me."

Pulcheria Alexandrovna went up to him timid-ly.

"Mother, whatever happens, whatever you hearabout me, whatever you are told about me, willyou always love me as you do now?" he askedsuddenly from the fullness of his heart, asthough not thinking of his words and not weig-hing them.

"Rodya, Rodya, what is the matter? How canyou ask me such a question? Why, who will tellme anything about you? Besides, I shouldn'tbelieve anyone, I should refuse to listen."

"I've come to assure you that I've always lovedyou and I am glad that we are alone, even gladDounia is out," he went on with the same im-pulse. "I have come to tell you that though youwill be unhappy, you must believe that yourson loves you now more than himself, and thatall you thought about me, that I was cruel anddidn't care about you, was all a mistake. I shallnever cease to love you.... Well, that's enough: Ithought I must do this and begin with this...."

Pulcheria Alexandrovna embraced him in si-lence, pressing him to her bosom and weepinggently.

"I don't know what is wrong with you, Rodya,"she said at last. "I've been thinking all this timethat we were simply boring you and now I see

that there is a great sorrow in store for you, andthat's why you are miserable. I've foreseen it along time, Rodya. Forgive me for speakingabout it. I keep thinking about it and lie awakeat nights. Your sister lay talking in her sleep alllast night, talking of nothing but you. I caughtsomething, but I couldn't make it out. I felt allthe morning as though I were going to be han-ged, waiting for something, expecting somet-hing, and now it has come! Rodya, Rodya, whe-re are you going? You are going away somew-here?"

"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 SofyaSemyonovna may come with us if you like. Yousee, I am glad to look upon her as a daughtereven... Dmitri Prokofitch will help us to go to-gether. But... where... are you going?"

"Good-bye, mother."

"What, to-day?" she cried, as though losing himfor ever.

"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 wedoing?"

Yes, he was glad, he was very glad that therewas no one there, that he was alone with hismother. For the first time after all those awfulmonths his heart was softened. He fell downbefore her, he kissed her feet and both wept,embracing. And she was not surprised and didnot question him this time. For some days shehad realised that something awful was happe-

ning to her son and that now some terrible mi-nute had come for him.

"Rodya, my darling, my first born," she saidsobbing, "now you are just as when you werelittle. You would run like this to me and hugme and kiss me. When your father was livingand we were poor, you comforted us simply bybeing with us and when I buried your father,how often we wept together at his grave andembraced, as now. And if I've been crying late-ly, it's that my mother's heart had a forebodingof trouble. The first time I saw you, that eve-ning, you remember, as soon as we arrivedhere, I guessed simply from your eyes. Myheart sank at once, and to-day when I openedthe door and looked at you, I thought the fatalhour had come. Rodya, Rodya, you are notgoing away to-day?"

"No!"

"You'll come again?"

"Yes... I'll come."

"Rodya, don't be angry, I don't dare to questionyou. I know I mustn't. Only say two words tome—is it far where you are going?"

"Very far."

"What is awaiting you there? Some post or ca-reer for you?"

"What God sends... only pray for me." Raskol-nikov went to the door, but she clutched himand gazed despairingly into his eyes. Her faceworked with terror.

"Enough, mother," said Raskolnikov, deeplyregretting 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 awayat last.

It was a warm, fresh, bright evening; it hadcleared up in the morning. Raskolnikov went tohis lodgings; he made haste. He wanted to fi-nish all before sunset. He did not want to meetanyone till then. Going up the stairs he noticedthat Nastasya rushed from the samovar towatch him intently. "Can anyone have come tosee me?" he wondered. He had a disgusted vi-sion of Porfiry. But opening his door he sawDounia. She was sitting alone, plunged in deepthought, and looked as though she had beenwaiting a long time. He stopped short in thedoorway. She rose from the sofa in dismay andstood up facing him. Her eyes, fixed upon him,betrayed horror and infinite grief. And fromthose eyes alone he saw at once that she knew.

"Am I to come in or go away?" he asked uncer-tainly.

"I've been all day with Sofya Semyonovna. Wewere both waiting for you. We thought thatyou would be sure to come there."

Raskolnikov went into the room and sank ex-hausted on a chair.

"I feel weak, Dounia, I am very tired; and Ishould have liked at this moment to be able tocontrol myself."

He glanced at her mistrustfully.

"Where were you all night?"

"I don't remember clearly. You see, sister, Iwanted to make up my mind once for all, andseveral times I walked by the Neva, I rememberthat I wanted to end it all there, but... I couldn'tmake up my mind," he whispered, looking ather mistrustfully again.

"Thank God! That was just what we were afraidof, Sofya Semyonovna and I. Then you stillhave faith in life? Thank God, thank God!"

Raskolnikov smiled bitterly.

"I haven't faith, but I have just been weeping inmother's arms; I haven't faith, but I have justasked her to pray for me. I don't know how itis, Dounia, I don't understand it."

"Have you been at mother's? Have you toldher?" cried Dounia, horror-stricken. "Surely youhaven't done that?"

"No, I didn't tell her... in words; but she unders-tood a great deal. She heard you talking in yoursleep. I am sure she half understands it already.Perhaps I did wrong in going to see her. I don'tknow why I did go. I am a contemptible per-son, Dounia."

"A contemptible person, but ready to face suf-fering! You are, aren't you?"

"Yes, I am going. At once. Yes, to escape thedisgrace I thought of drowning myself, Dounia,but as I looked into the water, I thought that if Ihad considered myself strong till now I'd better

not be afraid of disgrace," he said, hurrying on."It's pride, Dounia."

"Pride, Rodya."

There was a gleam of fire in his lustreless eyes;he seemed to be glad to think that he was stillproud.

"You don't think, sister, that I was simply afraidof the water?" he asked, looking into her facewith a sinister smile.

"Oh, Rodya, hush!" cried Dounia bitterly. Silen-ce lasted for two minutes. He sat with his eyesfixed on the floor; Dounia stood at the otherend of the table and looked at him with an-guish. Suddenly he got up.

"It's late, it's time to go! I am going at once togive myself up. But I don't know why I amgoing to give myself up."

Big tears fell down her cheeks.

"You are crying, sister, but can you hold outyour hand to me?"

"You doubted it?"

She threw her arms round him.

"Aren't you half expiating your crime by facingthe suffering?" she cried, holding him close andkissing him.

"Crime? What crime?" he cried in sudden fury."That I killed a vile noxious insect, an oldpawnbroker woman, of use to no one!... Killingher was atonement for forty sins. She was suc-king the life out of poor people. Was that a cri-me? I am not thinking of it and I am not thin-king of expiating it, and why are you all rub-bing it in on all sides? 'A crime! a crime!' Onlynow I see clearly the imbecility of my cowardi-ce, now that I have decided to face this super-fluous disgrace. It's simply because I am con-temptible and have nothing in me that I have

decided to, perhaps too for my advantage, asthat... Porfiry... suggested!"

"Brother, brother, what are you saying? Why,you have shed blood?" cried Dounia in despair.

"Which all men shed," he put in almost frantica-lly, "which flows and has always flowed instreams, which is spilt like champagne, and forwhich men are crowned in the Capitol and arecalled afterwards benefactors of mankind. Lookinto it more carefully and understand it! I toowanted to do good to men and would havedone hundreds, thousands of good deeds tomake up for that one piece of stupidity, notstupidity even, simply clumsiness, for the ideawas by no means so stupid as it seems now thatit has failed.... (Everything seems stupid whenit fails.) By that stupidity I only wanted to putmyself into an independent position, to take thefirst step, to obtain means, and then everythingwould have been smoothed over by benefitsimmeasurable in comparison.... But I... I

couldn't carry out even the first step, because Iam contemptible, that's what's the matter! Andyet I won't look at it as you do. If I had succee-ded I should have been crowned with glory,but now I'm trapped."

"But that's not so, not so! Brother, what are yousaying?"

"Ah, it's not picturesque, not æsthetically attrac-tive! I fail to understand why bombarding peo-ple by regular siege is more honourable. Thefear of appearances is the first symptom of im-potence. I've never, never recognised this moreclearly than now, and I am further than everfrom seeing that what I did was a crime. I'venever, never been stronger and more convincedthan now."

The colour had rushed into his pale exhaustedface, but as he uttered his last explanation, hehappened to meet Dounia's eyes and he sawsuch anguish in them that he could not help

being checked. He felt that he had, anyway,made these two poor women miserable, that hewas, anyway, the cause...

"Dounia darling, if I am guilty forgive me(though I cannot be forgiven if I am guilty).Good-bye! We won't dispute. It's time, hightime to go. Don't follow me, I beseech you, Ihave somewhere else to go.... But you go atonce and sit with mother. I entreat you to! It'smy last request of you. Don't leave her at all; Ileft her in a state of anxiety, that she is not fit tobear; she will die or go out of her mind. Be withher! Razumihin will be with you. I've been tal-king to him.... Don't cry about me: I'll try to behonest and manly all my life, even if I am amurderer. Perhaps I shall some day make aname. I won't disgrace you, you will see; I'llstill show.... Now good-bye for the present," heconcluded hurriedly, noticing again a strangeexpression in Dounia's eyes at his last wordsand promises. "Why are you crying? Don't cry,

don't cry: we are not parting for ever! Ah, yes!Wait a minute, I'd forgotten!"

He went to the table, took up a thick dustybook, opened it and took from between thepages a little water-colour portrait on ivory. Itwas the portrait of his landlady's daughter,who had died of fever, that strange girl whohad wanted to be a nun. For a minute he gazedat the delicate expressive face of his betrothed,kissed the portrait and gave it to Dounia.

"I used to talk a great deal about it to her, onlyto her," he said thoughtfully. "To her heart Iconfided much of what has since been sohideously realised. Don't be uneasy," he retur-ned to Dounia, "she was as much opposed to itas you, and I am glad that she is gone. Thegreat point is that everything now is going tobe different, is going to be broken in two," hecried, suddenly returning to his dejection. "Eve-rything, everything, and am I prepared for it?Do I want it myself? They say it is necessary for

me to suffer! What's the object of these sense-less sufferings? shall I know any better whatthey are for, when I am crushed by hardshipsand idiocy, and weak as an old man after twen-ty years' penal servitude? And what shall Ihave to live for then? Why am I consenting tothat life now? Oh, I knew I was contemptiblewhen I stood looking at the Neva at daybreakto-day!"

At last they both went out. It was hard for Dou-nia, but she loved him. She walked away, butafter going fifty paces she turned round to lookat him again. He was still in sight. At the cornerhe too turned and for the last time their eyesmet; but noticing that she was looking at him,he motioned her away with impatience andeven vexation, and turned the corner abruptly.

"I am wicked, I see that," he thought to himself,feeling ashamed a moment later of his angrygesture to Dounia. "But why are they so fond ofme if I don't deserve it? Oh, if only I were alone

and no one loved me and I too had never lovedanyone! Nothing of all this would have happened.But I wonder shall I in those fifteen or twentyyears grow so meek that I shall humble myselfbefore people and whimper at every word thatI am a criminal? Yes, that's it, that's it, that'swhat they are sending me there for, that's whatthey want. Look at them running to and froabout the streets, every one of them a scoundreland a criminal at heart and, worse still, an idiot.But try to get me off and they'd be wild withrighteous indignation. Oh, how I hate them all!"

He fell to musing by what process it could co-me to pass, that he could be humbled before allof them, indiscriminately—humbled by convic-tion. And yet why not? It must be so. Wouldnot twenty years of continual bondage crushhim utterly? Water wears out a stone. Andwhy, why should he live after that? Whyshould he go now when he knew that it wouldbe so? It was the hundredth time perhaps that

he had asked himself that question since theprevious evening, but still he went.

CHAPTER VIII

When he went into Sonia's room, it was alreadygetting dark. All day Sonia had been waitingfor him in terrible anxiety. Dounia had beenwaiting with her. She had come to her thatmorning, remembering Svidrigaïlov's wordsthat Sonia knew. We will not describe the con-versation and tears of the two girls, and howfriendly they became. Dounia gained one com-fort at least from that interview, that her brot-her would not be alone. He had gone to her,Sonia, first with his confession; he had gone toher for human fellowship when he needed it;she would go with him wherever fate might

send him. Dounia did not ask, but she knew itwas so. She looked at Sonia almost with reve-rence and at first almost embarrassed her by it.Sonia was almost on the point of tears. She feltherself, on the contrary, hardly worthy to lookat Dounia. Dounia's gracious image when shehad bowed to her so attentively and respectfu-lly at their first meeting in Raskolnikov's roomhad remained in her mind as one of the fairestvisions of her life.

Dounia at last became impatient and, leavingSonia, went to her brother's room to await himthere; she kept thinking that he would comethere first. When she had gone, Sonia began tobe tortured by the dread of his committing sui-cide, and Dounia too feared it. But they hadspent the day trying to persuade each otherthat that could not be, and both were lessanxious while they were together. As soon asthey parted, each thought of nothing else. Soniaremembered how Svidrigaïlov had said to her

the day before that Raskolnikov had two alter-natives—Siberia or... Besides she knew his va-nity, his pride and his lack of faith.

"Is it possible that he has nothing but cowardiceand fear of death to make him live?" shethought at last in despair.

Meanwhile the sun was setting. Sonia was stan-ding in dejection, looking intently out of thewindow, but from it she could see nothing butthe unwhitewashed blank wall of the next hou-se. At last when she began to feel sure of hisdeath—he walked into the room.

She gave a cry of joy, but looking carefully intohis face she turned pale.

"Yes," said Raskolnikov, smiling. "I have comefor your cross, Sonia. It was you told me to goto the cross-roads; why is it you are frightenednow it's come to that?"

Sonia gazed at him astonished. His tone see-med strange to her; a cold shiver ran over her,but in a moment she guessed that the tone andthe words were a mask. He spoke to her loo-king away, as though to avoid meeting hereyes.

"You see, Sonia, I've decided that it will be bet-ter so. There is one fact.... But it's a long storyand there's no need to discuss it. But do youknow what angers me? It annoys me that allthose stupid brutish faces will be gaping at medirectly, pestering me with their stupid ques-tions, which I shall have to answer—they'llpoint their fingers at me.... Tfoo! You know Iam not going to Porfiry, I am sick of him. I'drather go to my friend, the Explosive Lieute-nant; how I shall surprise him, what a sensationI shall make! But I must be cooler; I've becometoo irritable of late. You know I was nearly sha-king my fist at my sister just now, because sheturned to take a last look at me. It's a brutal

state to be in! Ah! what am I coming to! Well,where are the crosses?"

He seemed hardly to know what he was doing.He could not stay still or concentrate his atten-tion on anything; his ideas seemed to gallopafter one another, he talked incoherently, hishands trembled slightly.

Without a word Sonia took out of the drawertwo crosses, one of cypress wood and one ofcopper. She made the sign of the cross overherself and over him, and put the wooden crosson his neck.

"It's the symbol of my taking up the cross," helaughed. "As though I had not suffered muchtill now! The wooden cross, that is the peasantone; the copper one, that is Lizaveta's—you willwear yourself, show me! So she had it on... atthat moment? I remember two things like thesetoo, a silver one and a little ikon. I threw themback on the old woman's neck. Those would be

appropriate now, really, those are what I oughtto put on now.... But I am talking nonsense andforgetting what matters; I'm somehow forget-ful.... You see I have come to warn you, Sonia,so that you might know... that's all—that's all Icame for. But I thought I had more to say. Youwanted me to go yourself. Well, now I amgoing to prison and you'll have your wish.Well, what are you crying for? You too? Don't.Leave off! Oh, how I hate it all!"

But his feeling was stirred; his heart ached, ashe looked at her. "Why is she grieving too?" hethought to himself. "What am I to her? Whydoes she weep? Why is she looking after me,like my mother or Dounia? She'll be my nurse."

"Cross yourself, say at least one prayer," Soniabegged in a timid broken voice.

"Oh certainly, as much as you like! And since-rely, Sonia, sincerely...."

But he wanted to say something quite different.

He crossed himself several times. Sonia took upher shawl and put it over her head. It was thegreen drap de dames shawl of which Marmela-dov had spoken, "the family shawl." Raskolni-kov thought of that looking at it, but he did notask. He began to feel himself that he was cer-tainly forgetting things and was disgustinglyagitated. He was frightened at this. He wassuddenly struck too by the thought that Soniameant to go with him.

"What are you doing? Where are you going?Stay here, stay! I'll go alone," he cried in co-wardly vexation, and almost resentful, he mo-ved towards the door. "What's the use of goingin procession?" he muttered going out.

Sonia remained standing in the middle of theroom. He had not even said good-bye to her; hehad forgotten her. A poignant and rebelliousdoubt surged in his heart.

"Was it right, was it right, all this?" he thoughtagain as he went down the stairs. "Couldn't hestop and retract it all... and not go?"

But still he went. He felt suddenly once for allthat he mustn't ask himself questions. As heturned into the street he remembered that hehad not said good-bye to Sonia, that he had lefther in the middle of the room in her greenshawl, not daring to stir after he had shouted ather, and he stopped short for a moment. At thesame instant, another thought dawned uponhim, as though it had been lying in wait to stri-ke him then.

"Why, with what object did I go to her justnow? I told her—on business; on what busi-ness? I had no sort of business! To tell her I wasgoing; but where was the need? Do I love her?No, no, I drove her away just now like a dog.Did I want her crosses? Oh, how low I've sunk!No, I wanted her tears, I wanted to see her te-rror, to see how her heart ached! I had to have

something to cling to, something to delay me,some friendly face to see! And I dared to belie-ve in myself, to dream of what I would do! I ama beggarly contemptible wretch, contemptible!"

He walked along the canal bank, and he hadnot much further to go. But on reaching thebridge he stopped and turning out of his wayalong it went to the Hay Market.

He looked eagerly to right and left, gazed in-tently at every object and could not fix his at-tention on anything; everything slipped away."In another week, another month I shall be dri-ven in a prison van over this bridge, how shall Ilook at the canal then? I should like to remem-ber this!" slipped into his mind. "Look at thissign! How shall I read those letters then? It'swritten here 'Campany,' that's a thing to re-member, that letter a, and to look at it again in amonth—how shall I look at it then? What shall Ibe feeling and thinking then?... How trivial itall must be, what I am fretting about now! Of

course it must all be interesting... in its way...(Ha-ha-ha! What am I thinking about?) I ambecoming a baby, I am showing off to myself;why am I ashamed? Foo! how people shove!that fat man—a German he must be—whopushed against me, does he know whom hepushed? There's a peasant woman with a baby,begging. It's curious that she thinks me happierthan she is. I might give her something, for theincongruity of it. Here's a five copeck piece leftin my pocket, where did I get it? Here, here...take it, my good woman!"

"God bless you," the beggar chanted in a lach-rymose voice.

He went into the Hay Market. It was distaste-ful, very distasteful to be in a crowd, but hewalked just where he saw most people. Hewould have given anything in the world to bealone; but he knew himself that he would nothave remained alone for a moment. There wasa man drunk and disorderly in the crowd; he

kept trying to dance and falling down. Therewas a ring round him. Raskolnikov squeezedhis way through the crowd, stared for someminutes at the drunken man and suddenly ga-ve a short jerky laugh. A minute later he hadforgotten him and did not see him, though hestill stared. He moved away at last, not remem-bering where he was; but when he got into themiddle of the square an emotion suddenly ca-me over him, overwhelming him body andmind.

He suddenly recalled Sonia's words, "Go to thecross-roads, bow down to the people, kiss theearth, for you have sinned against it too, andsay aloud to the whole world, 'I am a murde-rer.'" He trembled, remembering that. And thehopeless misery and anxiety of all that time,especially of the last hours, had weighed soheavily upon him that he positively clutched atthe chance of this new unmixed, complete sen-sation. It came over him like a fit; it was like a

single spark kindled in his soul and spreadingfire through him. Everything in him softened atonce and the tears started into his eyes. He fellto the earth on the spot....

He knelt down in the middle of the square,bowed down to the earth, and kissed that filthyearth with bliss and rapture. He got up andbowed down a second time.

"He's boozed," a youth near him observed.

There was a roar of laughter.

"He's going to Jerusalem, brothers, and sayinggood-bye to his children and his country. He'sbowing down to all the world and kissing thegreat city of St. Petersburg and its pavement,"added a workman who was a little drunk.

"Quite a young man, too!" observed a third.

"And a gentleman," someone observed soberly.

"There's no knowing who's a gentleman andwho isn't nowadays."

These exclamations and remarks checked Ras-kolnikov, and the words, "I am a murderer,"which were perhaps on the point of droppingfrom his lips, died away. He bore these remarksquietly, however, and, without looking round,he turned down a street leading to the policeoffice. He had a glimpse of something on theway which did not surprise him; he had feltthat it must be so. The second time he boweddown in the Hay Market he saw, standing fiftypaces from him on the left, Sonia. She washiding from him behind one of the woodenshanties in the market-place. She had followedhim then on his painful way! Raskolnikov atthat moment felt and knew once for all thatSonia was with him for ever and would followhim to the ends of the earth, wherever fatemight take him. It wrung his heart... but he wasjust reaching the fatal place.

He went into the yard fairly resolutely. He hadto mount to the third storey. "I shall be sometime going up," he thought. He felt as thoughthe fateful moment was still far off, as thoughhe had plenty of time left for consideration.

Again the same rubbish, the same eggshellslying about on the spiral stairs, again the opendoors of the flats, again the same kitchens andthe same fumes and stench coming from them.Raskolnikov had not been here since that day.His legs were numb and gave way under him,but still they moved forward. He stopped for amoment to take breath, to collect himself, so asto enter like a man. "But why? what for?" hewondered, reflecting. "If I must drink the cupwhat difference does it make? The more revol-ting the better." He imagined for an instant thefigure of the "explosive lieutenant," Ilya Petro-vitch. Was he actually going to him? Couldn'the go to someone else? To Nikodim Fomitch?Couldn't he turn back and go straight to Niko-

dim Fomitch's lodgings? At least then it wouldbe done privately.... No, no! To the "explosivelieutenant"! If he must drink it, drink it off atonce.

Turning cold and hardly conscious, he openedthe door of the office. There were very fewpeople in it this time—only a house porter anda peasant. The doorkeeper did not even peepout from behind his screen. Raskolnikov wal-ked into the next room. "Perhaps I still need notspeak," passed through his mind. Some sort ofclerk not wearing a uniform was settling him-self at a bureau to write. In a corner anotherclerk was seating himself. Zametov was notthere, nor, of course, Nikodim Fomitch.

"No one in?" Raskolnikov asked, addressing theperson at the bureau.

"Whom do you want?"

"A-ah! Not a sound was heard, not a sight wasseen, but I scent the Russian... how does it goon in the fairy tale... I've forgotten! 'At yourservice!'" a familiar voice cried suddenly.

Raskolnikov shuddered. The Explosive Lieute-nant stood before him. He had just come infrom the third room. "It is the hand of fate,"thought Raskolnikov. "Why is he here?"

"You've come to see us? What about?" cried IlyaPetrovitch. He was obviously in an exceedinglygood humour and perhaps a trifle exhilarated."If it's on business you are rather early.[*] It'sonly a chance that I am here... however I'll dowhat I can. I must admit, I... what is it, what isit? Excuse me...."

[*] Dostoevsky appears to have forgottenthat it is after sunset, and that the last time Raskolnikovvisited the

police office at two in the afternoon he wasreproached for coming too late.—TRANSLATOR.

"Raskolnikov."

"Of course, Raskolnikov. You didn't imagine I'dforgotten? Don't think I am like that... RodionRo—Ro—Rodionovitch, that's it, isn't it?"

"Rodion Romanovitch."

"Yes, yes, of course, Rodion Romanovitch! Iwas just getting at it. I made many inquiriesabout you. I assure you I've been genuinelygrieved since that... since I behaved like that... itwas explained to me afterwards that you werea literary man... and a learned one too... and soto say the first steps... Mercy on us! What litera-ry or scientific man does not begin by someoriginality of conduct! My wife and I have thegreatest respect for literature, in my wife it's agenuine passion! Literature and art! If only aman is a gentleman, all the rest can be gained

by talents, learning, good sense, genius. As fora hat—well, what does a hat matter? I can buya hat as easily as I can a bun; but what's underthe hat, what the hat covers, I can't buy that! Iwas even meaning to come and apologise toyou, but thought maybe you'd... But I am for-getting to ask you, is there anything you wantreally? I hear your family have come?"

"Yes, my mother and sister."

"I've even had the honour and happiness ofmeeting your sister—a highly cultivated andcharming person. I confess I was sorry I got sohot with you. There it is! But as for my lookingsuspiciously at your fainting fit—that affair hasbeen cleared up splendidly! Bigotry and fanati-cism! I understand your indignation. Perhapsyou are changing your lodging on account ofyour family's arriving?"

"No, I only looked in... I came to ask... I thoughtthat I should find Zametov here."

"Oh, yes! Of course, you've made friends, Iheard. Well, no, Zametov is not here. Yes, we'-ve lost Zametov. He's not been here since yes-terday... he quarrelled with everyone on lea-ving... in the rudest way. He is a feather-headed youngster, that's all; one might haveexpected something from him, but there, youknow what they are, our brilliant young men.He wanted to go in for some examination, butit's only to talk and boast about it, it will go nofurther than that. Of course it's a very differentmatter with you or Mr. Razumihin there, yourfriend. Your career is an intellectual one andyou won't be deterred by failure. For you, onemay say, all the attractions of life nihil est—youare an ascetic, a monk, a hermit!... A book, apen behind your ear, a learned research—that'swhere your spirit soars! I am the same waymyself.... Have you read Livingstone's Tra-vels?"

"No."

"Oh, I have. There are a great many Nihilistsabout nowadays, you know, and indeed it isnot to be wondered at. What sort of days arethey? I ask you. But we thought... you are not aNihilist of course? Answer me openly, openly!"

"N-no..."

"Believe me, you can speak openly to me as youwould to yourself! Official duty is one thingbut... you are thinking I meant to say friendshipis quite another? No, you're wrong! It's notfriendship, but the feeling of a man and a citi-zen, the feeling of humanity and of love for theAlmighty. I may be an official, but I am alwaysbound to feel myself a man and a citizen.... Youwere asking about Zametov. Zametov will ma-ke a scandal in the French style in a house ofbad reputation, over a glass of champagne...that's all your Zametov is good for! While I'mperhaps, so to speak, burning with devotionand lofty feelings, and besides I have rank, con-sequence, a post! I am married and have chil-

dren, I fulfil the duties of a man and a citizen,but who is he, may I ask? I appeal to you as aman ennobled by education... Then these mid-wives, too, have become extraordinarily nume-rous."

Raskolnikov raised his eyebrows inquiringly.The words of Ilya Petrovitch, who had obvious-ly been dining, were for the most part a streamof empty sounds for him. But some of them heunderstood. He looked at him inquiringly, notknowing how it would end.

"I mean those crop-headed wenches," the talka-tive Ilya Petrovitch continued. "Midwives is myname for them. I think it a very satisfactoryone, ha-ha! They go to the Academy, study ana-tomy. If I fall ill, am I to send for a young ladyto treat me? What do you say? Ha-ha!" Ilya Pe-trovitch laughed, quite pleased with his ownwit. "It's an immoderate zeal for education, butonce you're educated, that's enough. Why abu-se it? Why insult honourable people, as that

scoundrel Zametov does? Why did he insultme, I ask you? Look at these suicides, too, howcommon they are, you can't fancy! Peoplespend their last halfpenny and kill themselves,boys and girls and old people. Only this mor-ning we heard about a gentleman who had justcome to town. Nil Pavlitch, I say, what was thename of that gentleman who shot himself?"

"Svidrigaïlov," someone answered from theother room with drowsy listlessness.

Raskolnikov started.

"Svidrigaïlov! Svidrigaïlov has shot himself!" hecried.

"What, do you know Svidrigaïlov?"

"Yes... I knew him.... He hadn't been here long."

"Yes, that's so. He had lost his wife, was a manof reckless habits and all of a sudden shot him-self, and in such a shocking way.... He left in his

notebook a few words: that he dies in full pos-session of his faculties and that no one is toblame for his death. He had money, they say.How did you come to know him?"

"I... was acquainted... my sister was governessin his family."

"Bah-bah-bah! Then no doubt you can tell ussomething about him. You had no suspicion?"

"I saw him yesterday... he... was drinking wine;I knew nothing."

Raskolnikov felt as though something had fa-llen on him and was stifling him.

"You've turned pale again. It's so stuffy here..."

"Yes, I must go," muttered Raskolnikov. "Excu-se my troubling you...."

"Oh, not at all, as often as you like. It's a pleasu-re 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 pleasureto see you."

"I... am very glad... good-bye," Raskolnikovsmiled.

He went out; he reeled, he was overtaken withgiddiness and did not know what he wasdoing. He began going down the stairs, suppor-ting himself with his right hand against thewall. He fancied that a porter pushed past himon his way upstairs to the police office, that adog in the lower storey kept up a shrill barkingand that a woman flung a rolling-pin at it andshouted. He went down and out into the yard.There, not far from the entrance, stood Sonia,pale and horror-stricken. She looked wildly athim. He stood still before her. There was a lookof 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 rumma-ging among some papers. Before him stood thesame peasant who had pushed by on the stairs.

"Hulloa! Back again! have you left somethingbehind? What's the matter?"

Raskolnikov, with white lips and staring eyes,came slowly nearer. He walked right to thetable, leaned his hand on it, tried to say somet-hing, but could not; only incoherent soundswere audible.

"You are feeling ill, a chair! Here, sit down!Some water!"

Raskolnikov dropped on to a chair, but he kepthis eyes fixed on the face of Ilya Petrovitch,which expressed unpleasant surprise. Both loo-

ked at one another for a minute and waited.Water was brought.

"It was I..." began Raskolnikov.

"Drink some water."

Raskolnikov refused the water with his hand,and softly and brokenly, but distinctly said:

"It was I killed the old pawnbroker woman and hersister Lizaveta with an axe and robbed them."

Ilya Petrovitch opened his mouth. People ranup on all sides.

Raskolnikov repeated his statement.

EPILOGUE

I

Siberia. On the banks of a broad solitary riverstands a town, one of the administrative centresof Russia; in the town there is a fortress, in thefortress there is a prison. In the prison the se-cond-class convict Rodion Raskolnikov hasbeen confined for nine months. Almost a yearand a half has passed since his crime.

There had been little difficulty about his trial.The criminal adhered exactly, firmly, and clear-ly to his statement. He did not confuse nor mis-represent the facts, nor soften them in his owninterest, nor omit the smallest detail. He ex-plained every incident of the murder, the secretof the pledge (the piece of wood with a strip ofmetal) which was found in the murdered wo-man's hand. He described minutely how he

had taken her keys, what they were like, as wellas the chest and its contents; he explained themystery of Lizaveta's murder; described howKoch and, after him, the student knocked, andrepeated all they had said to one another; howhe afterwards had run downstairs and heardNikolay and Dmitri shouting; how he had hid-den in the empty flat and afterwards gonehome. He ended by indicating the stone in theyard off the Voznesensky Prospect underwhich the purse and the trinkets were found.The whole thing, in fact, was perfectly clear.The lawyers and the judges were very muchstruck, among other things, by the fact that hehad hidden the trinkets and the purse under astone, without making use of them, and that,what was more, he did not now rememberwhat the trinkets were like, or even how manythere were. The fact that he had never openedthe purse and did not even know how muchwas in it seemed incredible. There turned out tobe in the purse three hundred and seventeen

roubles and sixty copecks. From being so longunder the stone, some of the most valuable no-tes lying uppermost had suffered from thedamp. They were a long while trying to disco-ver why the accused man should tell a lie aboutthis, when about everything else he had made atruthful and straightforward confession. Finallysome of the lawyers more versed in psychologyadmitted that it was possible he had really notlooked into the purse, and so didn't know whatwas in it when he hid it under the stone. Butthey immediately drew the deduction that thecrime could only have been committed throughtemporary mental derangement, throughhomicidal mania, without object or the pursuitof gain. This fell in with the most recent fashio-nable theory of temporary insanity, so oftenapplied in our days in criminal cases. MoreoverRaskolnikov's hypochondriacal condition wasproved by many witnesses, by Dr. Zossimov,his former fellow students, his landlady andher servant. All this pointed strongly to the

conclusion that Raskolnikov was not quite likean ordinary murderer and robber, but that the-re was another element in the case.

To the intense annoyance of those who main-tained this opinion, the criminal scarcely at-tempted to defend himself. To the decisivequestion as to what motive impelled him to themurder and the robbery, he answered veryclearly with the coarsest frankness that the cau-se was his miserable position, his poverty andhelplessness, and his desire to provide for hisfirst steps in life by the help of the three thou-sand roubles he had reckoned on finding. Hehad been led to the murder through his shallowand cowardly nature, exasperated moreover byprivation and failure. To the question what ledhim to confess, he answered that it was hisheartfelt repentance. All this was almost coar-se....

The sentence however was more merciful thancould have been expected, perhaps partly be-

cause the criminal had not tried to justify him-self, but had rather shown a desire to exaggera-te his guilt. All the strange and peculiar cir-cumstances of the crime were taken into consi-deration. There could be no doubt of the ab-normal and poverty-stricken condition of thecriminal at the time. The fact that he had madeno use of what he had stolen was put downpartly to the effect of remorse, partly to his ab-normal mental condition at the time of the cri-me. Incidentally the murder of Lizaveta servedindeed to confirm the last hypothesis: a mancommits two murders and forgets that the dooris open! Finally, the confession, at the verymoment when the case was hopelessly mudd-led by the false evidence given by Nikolaythrough melancholy and fanaticism, and when,moreover, there were no proofs against the realcriminal, no suspicions even (Porfiry Petrovitchfully kept his word)—all this did much to sof-ten the sentence. Other circumstances, too, inthe prisoner's favour came out quite unexpec-

tedly. Razumihin somehow discovered andproved that while Raskolnikov was at the uni-versity he had helped a poor consumptive fe-llow student and had spent his last penny onsupporting him for six months, and when thisstudent died, leaving a decrepit old fatherwhom he had maintained almost from his thir-teenth year, Raskolnikov had got the old maninto a hospital and paid for his funeral when hedied. Raskolnikov's landlady bore witness, too,that when they had lived in another house atFive Corners, Raskolnikov had rescued twolittle children from a house on fire and wasburnt in doing so. This was investigated andfairly well confirmed by many witnesses. Thesefacts made an impression in his favour.

And in the end the criminal was, in considera-tion of extenuating circumstances, condemnedto penal servitude in the second class for a termof eight years only.

At the very beginning of the trial Raskolnikov'smother fell ill. Dounia and Razumihin found itpossible to get her out of Petersburg during thetrial. Razumihin chose a town on the railwaynot far from Petersburg, so as to be able to fo-llow every step of the trial and at the same timeto see Avdotya Romanovna as often as possi-ble. Pulcheria Alexandrovna's illness was astrange nervous one and was accompanied by apartial derangement of her intellect.

When Dounia returned from her last interviewwith her brother, she had found her motheralready ill, in feverish delirium. That eveningRazumihin and she agreed what answers theymust make to her mother's questions aboutRaskolnikov and made up a complete story forher mother's benefit of his having to go away toa distant part of Russia on a business commis-sion, which would bring him in the end moneyand reputation.

But they were struck by the fact that PulcheriaAlexandrovna never asked them anything onthe subject, neither then nor thereafter. On thecontrary, she had her own version of her son'ssudden departure; she told them with tearshow he had come to say good-bye to her, hin-ting that she alone knew many mysterious andimportant facts, and that Rodya had many verypowerful enemies, so that it was necessary forhim to be in hiding. As for his future career, shehad no doubt that it would be brilliant whencertain sinister influences could be removed.She assured Razumihin that her son would beone day a great statesman, that his article andbrilliant literary talent proved it. This articleshe was continually reading, she even read italoud, almost took it to bed with her, but scar-cely asked where Rodya was, though the sub-ject was obviously avoided by the others,which might have been enough to awaken hersuspicions.

They began to be frightened at last at PulcheriaAlexandrovna's strange silence on certain sub-jects. She did not, for instance, complain of get-ting no letters from him, though in previousyears she had only lived on the hope of lettersfrom her beloved Rodya. This was the cause ofgreat uneasiness to Dounia; the idea occurredto her that her mother suspected that there wassomething terrible in her son's fate and wasafraid to ask, for fear of hearing something stillmore awful. In any case, Dounia saw clearlythat her mother was not in full possession ofher faculties.

It happened once or twice, however, that Pul-cheria Alexandrovna gave such a turn to theconversation that it was impossible to answerher without mentioning where Rodya was, andon receiving unsatisfactory and suspicious ans-wers she became at once gloomy and silent,and this mood lasted for a long time. Douniasaw at last that it was hard to deceive her and

came to the conclusion that it was better to beabsolutely silent on certain points; but it beca-me more and more evident that the poor mot-her suspected something terrible. Dounia re-membered her brother's telling her that hermother had overheard her talking in her sleepon the night after her interview with Svidrigaï-lov and before the fatal day of the confession:had not she made out something from that?Sometimes days and even weeks of gloomysilence and tears would be succeeded by a pe-riod of hysterical animation, and the invalidwould begin to talk almost incessantly of herson, of her hopes of his future.... Her fancieswere sometimes very strange. They humouredher, pretended to agree with her (she saw per-haps that they were pretending), but she stillwent on talking.

Five months after Raskolnikov's confession, hewas sentenced. Razumihin and Sonia saw himin prison as often as it was possible. At last the

moment of separation came. Dounia swore toher brother that the separation should not befor ever, Razumihin did the same. Razumihin,in his youthful ardour, had firmly resolved tolay the foundations at least of a secure live-lihood during the next three or four years, andsaving up a certain sum, to emigrate to Siberia,a country rich in every natural resource and inneed of workers, active men and capital. Therethey would settle in the town where Rodya wasand all together would begin a new life. Theyall wept at parting.

Raskolnikov had been very dreamy for a fewdays before. He asked a great deal about hismother and was constantly anxious about her.He worried so much about her that it alarmedDounia. When he heard about his mother's ill-ness he became very gloomy. With Sonia hewas particularly reserved all the time. With thehelp of the money left to her by Svidrigaïlov,Sonia had long ago made her preparations to

follow the party of convicts in which he wasdespatched to Siberia. Not a word passed bet-ween Raskolnikov and her on the subject, butboth knew it would be so. At the final leave-taking he smiled strangely at his sister's andRazumihin's fervent anticipations of their hap-py future together when he should come out ofprison. He predicted that their mother's illnesswould soon have a fatal ending. Sonia and he atlast set off.

Two months later Dounia was married to Ra-zumihin. It was a quiet and sorrowful wedding;Porfiry Petrovitch and Zossimov were invitedhowever. During all this period Razumihinwore an air of resolute determination. Douniaput implicit faith in his carrying out his plansand indeed she could not but believe in him.He displayed a rare strength of will. Amongother things he began attending university lec-tures again in order to take his degree. Theywere continually making plans for the future;

both counted on settling in Siberia within fiveyears at least. Till then they rested their hopeson Sonia.

Pulcheria Alexandrovna was delighted to giveher blessing to Dounia's marriage with Razu-mihin; but after the marriage she became evenmore melancholy and anxious. To give herpleasure Razumihin told her how Raskolnikovhad looked after the poor student and his de-crepit father and how a year ago he had beenburnt and injured in rescuing two little childrenfrom a fire. These two pieces of news excitedPulcheria Alexandrovna's disordered imagina-tion almost to ecstasy. She was continually tal-king about them, even entering into conversa-tion with strangers in the street, though Douniaalways accompanied her. In public conveyan-ces and shops, wherever she could capture alistener, she would begin the discourse abouther son, his article, how he had helped the stu-dent, how he had been burnt at the fire, and so

on! Dounia did not know how to restrain her.Apart from the danger of her morbid excite-ment, there was the risk of someone's recallingRaskolnikov's name and speaking of the recenttrial. Pulcheria Alexandrovna found out theaddress of the mother of the two children herson had saved and insisted on going to see her.

At last her restlessness reached an extremepoint. She would sometimes begin to cry sud-denly and was often ill and feverishly delirious.One morning she declared that by her recko-ning Rodya ought soon to be home, that sheremembered when he said good-bye to her hesaid that they must expect him back in ninemonths. She began to prepare for his coming,began to do up her room for him, to clean thefurniture, to wash and put up new hangingsand so on. Dounia was anxious, but said not-hing and helped her to arrange the room. Aftera fatiguing day spent in continual fancies, injoyful day-dreams and tears, Pulcheria Alexan-

drovna was taken ill in the night and by mor-ning she was feverish and delirious. It wasbrain fever. She died within a fortnight. In herdelirium she dropped words which showedthat she knew a great deal more about her son'sterrible fate than they had supposed.

For a long time Raskolnikov did not know ofhis mother's death, though a regular corres-pondence had been maintained from the timehe reached Siberia. It was carried on by meansof Sonia, who wrote every month to the Razu-mihins and received an answer with unfailingregularity. At first they found Sonia's lettersdry and unsatisfactory, but later on they cameto the conclusion that the letters could not bebetter, for from these letters they received acomplete picture of their unfortunate brother'slife. Sonia's letters were full of the most matter-of-fact detail, the simplest and clearest descrip-tion of all Raskolnikov's surroundings as a con-vict. There was no word of her own hopes, no

conjecture as to the future, no description of herfeelings. Instead of any attempt to interpret hisstate of mind and inner life, she gave the simplefacts—that is, his own words, an exact accountof his health, what he asked for at their inter-views, what commission he gave her and so on.All these facts she gave with extraordinary mi-nuteness. The picture of their unhappy brotherstood out at last with great clearness and preci-sion. There could be no mistake, because not-hing was given but facts.

But Dounia and her husband could get littlecomfort out of the news, especially at first. So-nia wrote that he was constantly sullen and notready to talk, that he scarcely seemed interestedin the news she gave him from their letters, thathe sometimes asked after his mother and thatwhen, seeing that he had guessed the truth, shetold him at last of her death, she was surprisedto find that he did not seem greatly affected byit, not externally at any rate. She told them that,

although he seemed so wrapped up in himselfand, as it were, shut himself off from everyo-ne—he took a very direct and simple view ofhis new life; that he understood his position,expected nothing better for the time, had no ill-founded hopes (as is so common in his posi-tion) and scarcely seemed surprised at anythingin his surroundings, so unlike anything he hadknown before. She wrote that his health wassatisfactory; he did his work without shirkingor seeking to do more; he was almost indiffe-rent about food, but except on Sundays andholidays the food was so bad that at last he hadbeen glad to accept some money from her, So-nia, to have his own tea every day. He beggedher not to trouble about anything else, decla-ring that all this fuss about him only annoyedhim. Sonia wrote further that in prison he sha-red the same room with the rest, that she hadnot seen the inside of their barracks, but con-cluded that they were crowded, miserable andunhealthy; that he slept on a plank bed with a

rug under him and was unwilling to make anyother arrangement. But that he lived so poorlyand roughly, not from any plan or design, butsimply from inattention and indifference.

Sonia wrote simply that he had at first shownno interest in her visits, had almost been vexedwith her indeed for coming, unwilling to talkand rude to her. But that in the end these visitshad become a habit and almost a necessity forhim, so that he was positively distressed whenshe was ill for some days and could not visithim. She used to see him on holidays at theprison gates or in the guard-room, to which hewas brought for a few minutes to see her. Onworking days she would go to see him at workeither at the workshops or at the brick kilns, orat the sheds on the banks of the Irtish.

About herself, Sonia wrote that she had suc-ceeded in making some acquaintances in thetown, that she did sewing, and, as there wasscarcely a dressmaker in the town, she was loo-

ked upon as an indispensable person in manyhouses. But she did not mention that the aut-horities were, through her, interested in Ras-kolnikov; that his task was lightened and so on.

At last the news came (Dounia had indeed no-ticed signs of alarm and uneasiness in the pre-ceding letters) that he held aloof from everyo-ne, that his fellow prisoners did not like him,that he kept silent for days at a time and wasbecoming very pale. In the last letter Sonia wro-te that he had been taken very seriously ill andwas in the convict ward of the hospital.

II

He was ill a long time. But it was not thehorrors of prison life, not the hard labour, thebad food, the shaven head, or the patched clot-hes that crushed him. What did he care for allthose trials and hardships! he was even glad ofthe hard work. Physically exhausted, he couldat least reckon on a few hours of quiet sleep.And what was the food to him—the thin cab-

bage soup with beetles floating in it? In the pastas a student he had often not had even that. Hisclothes were warm and suited to his manner oflife. He did not even feel the fetters. Was heashamed of his shaven head and parti-colouredcoat? Before whom? Before Sonia? Sonia wasafraid of him, how could he be ashamed beforeher? And yet he was ashamed even before So-nia, whom he tortured because of it with hiscontemptuous rough manner. But it was not hisshaven head and his fetters he was ashamed of:his pride had been stung to the quick. It waswounded pride that made him ill. Oh, howhappy he would have been if he could haveblamed himself! He could have borne anythingthen, even shame and disgrace. But he judgedhimself severely, and his exasperated conscien-ce found no particularly terrible fault in hispast, except a simple blunder which might hap-pen to anyone. He was ashamed just becausehe, Raskolnikov, had so hopelessly, stupidlycome to grief through some decree of blind fate,

and must humble himself and submit to "theidiocy" of a sentence, if he were anyhow to beat peace.

Vague and objectless anxiety in the present,and in the future a continual sacrifice leading tonothing—that was all that lay before him. Andwhat comfort was it to him that at the end ofeight years he would only be thirty-two andable to begin a new life! What had he to livefor? What had he to look forward to? Whyshould he strive? To live in order to exist? Why,he had been ready a thousand times before togive up existence for the sake of an idea, for ahope, even for a fancy. Mere existence had al-ways been too little for him; he had alwayswanted more. Perhaps it was just because of thestrength of his desires that he had thought him-self a man to whom more was permissible thanto others.

And if only fate would have sent him repentan-ce—burning repentance that would have torn

his heart and robbed him of sleep, that repen-tance, the awful agony of which brings visionsof hanging or drowning! Oh, he would havebeen glad of it! Tears and agonies would atleast have been life. But he did not repent of hiscrime.

At least he might have found relief in raging athis stupidity, as he had raged at the grotesqueblunders that had brought him to prison. Butnow in prison, in freedom, he thought over andcriticised all his actions again and by no meansfound them so blundering and so grotesque asthey had seemed at the fatal time.

"In what way," he asked himself, "was my theo-ry stupider than others that have swarmed andclashed from the beginning of the world? Onehas only to look at the thing quite independen-tly, broadly, and uninfluenced by commonpla-ce ideas, and my idea will by no means seemso... strange. Oh, sceptics and halfpenny philo-sophers, why do you halt half-way!"

"Why does my action strike them as so horri-ble?" he said to himself. "Is it because it was acrime? What is meant by crime? My conscienceis at rest. Of course, it was a legal crime, ofcourse, the letter of the law was broken andblood was shed. Well, punish me for the letterof the law... and that's enough. Of course, inthat case many of the benefactors of mankindwho snatched power for themselves instead ofinheriting it ought to have been punished attheir first steps. But those men succeeded andso they were right, and I didn't, and so I had noright to have taken that step."

It was only in that that he recognised his crimi-nality, only in the fact that he had been unsuc-cessful and had confessed it.

He suffered too from the question: why had henot killed himself? Why had he stood lookingat the river and preferred to confess? Was thedesire to live so strong and was it so hard to

overcome it? Had not Svidrigaïlov overcome it,although he was afraid of death?

In misery he asked himself this question, andcould not understand that, at the very time hehad been standing looking into the river, hehad perhaps been dimly conscious of the fun-damental falsity in himself and his convictions.He didn't understand that that consciousnessmight be the promise of a future crisis, of a newview of life and of his future resurrection.

He preferred to attribute it to the dead weightof instinct which he could not step over, againthrough weakness and meanness. He looked athis fellow prisoners and was amazed to seehow they all loved life and prized it. It seemedto him that they loved and valued life more inprison than in freedom. What terrible agoniesand privations some of them, the tramps forinstance, had endured! Could they care somuch for a ray of sunshine, for the primevalforest, the cold spring hidden away in some

unseen spot, which the tramp had markedthree years before, and longed to see again, ashe might to see his sweetheart, dreaming of thegreen grass round it and the bird singing in thebush? As he went on he saw still more inexpli-cable examples.

In prison, of course, there was a great deal hedid not see and did not want to see; he lived asit were with downcast eyes. It was loathsomeand unbearable for him to look. But in the endthere was much that surprised him and he be-gan, as it were involuntarily, to notice muchthat he had not suspected before. What surpri-sed him most of all was the terrible impossiblegulf that lay between him and all the rest. Theyseemed to be a different species, and he lookedat them and they at him with distrust and hos-tility. He felt and knew the reasons of his isola-tion, but he would never have admitted tillthen that those reasons were so deep andstrong. There were some Polish exiles, political

prisoners, among them. They simply lookeddown upon all the rest as ignorant churls; butRaskolnikov could not look upon them likethat. He saw that these ignorant men were inmany respects far wiser than the Poles. Therewere some Russians who were just as contemp-tuous, a former officer and two seminarists.Raskolnikov saw their mistake as clearly. Hewas disliked and avoided by everyone; theyeven began to hate him at last—why, he couldnot tell. Men who had been far more guiltydespised and laughed at his crime.

"You're a gentleman," they used to say. "Youshouldn't hack about with an axe; that's not agentleman's work."

The second week in Lent, his turn came to takethe sacrament with his gang. He went to churchand prayed with the others. A quarrel brokeout one day, he did not know how. All fell onhim at once in a fury.

"You're an infidel! You don't believe in God,"they shouted. "You ought to be killed."

He had never talked to them about God nor hisbelief, but they wanted to kill him as an infidel.He said nothing. One of the prisoners rushed athim in a perfect frenzy. Raskolnikov awaitedhim calmly and silently; his eyebrows did notquiver, his face did not flinch. The guard suc-ceeded in intervening between him and hisassailant, or there would have been bloodshed.

There was another question he could not deci-de: why were they all so fond of Sonia? She didnot try to win their favour; she rarely met them,sometimes only she came to see him at workfor a moment. And yet everybody knew her,they knew that she had come out to follow him,knew how and where she lived. She never gavethem money, did them no particular services.Only once at Christmas she sent them all pre-sents of pies and rolls. But by degrees closerrelations sprang up between them and Sonia.

She would write and post letters for them totheir relations. Relations of the prisoners whovisited the town, at their instructions, left withSonia presents and money for them. Their wi-ves and sweethearts knew her and used to visither. And when she visited Raskolnikov atwork, or met a party of the prisoners on theroad, they all took off their hats to her. "Littlemother Sofya Semyonovna, you are our dear,good little mother," coarse branded criminalssaid to that frail little creature. She would smileand bow to them and everyone was delightedwhen she smiled. They even admired her gaitand turned round to watch her walking; theyadmired her too for being so little, and, in fact,did not know what to admire her most for.They even came to her for help in their illnes-ses.

He was in the hospital from the middle of Lenttill after Easter. When he was better, he re-membered the dreams he had had while he was

feverish and delirious. He dreamt that the who-le world was condemned to a terrible newstrange plague that had come to Europe fromthe depths of Asia. All were to be destroyedexcept a very few chosen. Some new sorts ofmicrobes were attacking the bodies of men, butthese microbes were endowed with intelligenceand will. Men attacked by them became at oncemad and furious. But never had men conside-red themselves so intellectual and so complete-ly in possession of the truth as these sufferers,never had they considered their decisions, theirscientific conclusions, their moral convictionsso infallible. Whole villages, whole towns andpeoples went mad from the infection. All wereexcited and did not understand one another.Each thought that he alone had the truth andwas wretched looking at the others, beat him-self on the breast, wept, and wrung his hands.They did not know how to judge and could notagree 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 sense-less spite. They gathered together in armiesagainst one another, but even on the march thearmies would begin attacking each other, theranks would be broken and the soldiers wouldfall on each other, stabbing and cutting, bitingand devouring each other. The alarm bell wasringing all day long in the towns; men rushedtogether, but why they were summoned andwho was summoning them no one knew. Themost ordinary trades were abandoned, becauseeveryone proposed his own ideas, his own im-provements, and they could not agree. The landtoo was abandoned. Men met in groups, agreedon something, swore to keep together, but atonce began on something quite different fromwhat they had proposed. They accused oneanother, fought and killed each other. Therewere conflagrations and famine. All men andall things were involved in destruction. Theplague spread and moved further and further.Only a few men could be saved in the whole

world. They were a pure chosen people, desti-ned to found a new race and a new life, to re-new and purify the earth, but no one had seenthese men, no one had heard their words andtheir voices.

Raskolnikov was worried that this senselessdream haunted his memory so miserably, theimpression of this feverish delirium persistedso long. The second week after Easter had co-me. There were warm bright spring days; in theprison ward the grating windows under whichthe sentinel paced were opened. Sonia had onlybeen able to visit him twice during his illness;each time she had to obtain permission, and itwas difficult. But she often used to come to thehospital yard, especially in the evening, some-times only to stand a minute and look up at thewindows of the ward.

One evening, when he was almost well again,Raskolnikov fell asleep. On waking up he chan-ced to go to the window, and at once saw Sonia

in the distance at the hospital gate. She seemedto be waiting for someone. Something stabbedhim to the heart at that minute. He shudderedand moved away from the window. Next daySonia did not come, nor the day after; he noti-ced that he was expecting her uneasily. At lasthe was discharged. On reaching the prison helearnt from the convicts that Sofya Semyonov-na was lying ill at home and was unable to goout.

He was very uneasy and sent to inquire afterher; he soon learnt that her illness was not dan-gerous. Hearing that he was anxious about her,Sonia sent him a pencilled note, telling him thatshe was much better, that she had a slight coldand that she would soon, very soon come andsee him at his work. His heart throbbed pain-fully as he read it.

Again it was a warm bright day. Early in themorning, at six o'clock, he went off to work onthe river bank, where they used to pound ala-

baster and where there was a kiln for baking itin a shed. There were only three of them sent.One of the convicts went with the guard to thefortress to fetch a tool; the other began gettingthe wood ready and laying it in the kiln. Ras-kolnikov came out of the shed on to the riverbank, sat down on a heap of logs by the shedand began gazing at the wide deserted river.From the high bank a broad landscape openedbefore him, the sound of singing floated faintlyaudible from the other bank. In the vast steppe,bathed in sunshine, he could just see, like blackspecks, the nomads' tents. There there wasfreedom, there other men were living, utterlyunlike those here; there time itself seemed tostand still, as though the age of Abraham andhis flocks had not passed. Raskolnikov sat gaz-ing, his thoughts passed into day-dreams, intocontemplation; he thought of nothing, but avague restlessness excited and troubled him.Suddenly he found Sonia beside him; she hadcome up noiselessly and sat down at his side. It

was still quite early; the morning chill was stillkeen. She wore her poor old burnous and thegreen shawl; her face still showed signs of ill-ness, it was thinner and paler. She gave him ajoyful smile of welcome, but held out her handwith her usual timidity. She was always timidof holding out her hand to him and sometimesdid not offer it at all, as though afraid he wouldrepel it. He always took her hand as thoughwith repugnance, always seemed vexed to meether and was sometimes obstinately silentthroughout her visit. Sometimes she trembledbefore him and went away deeply grieved. Butnow their hands did not part. He stole a rapidglance at her and dropped his eyes on theground without speaking. They were alone, noone had seen them. The guard had turnedaway for the time.

How it happened he did not know. But all atonce something seemed to seize him and flinghim at her feet. He wept and threw his arms

round her knees. For the first instant she wasterribly frightened and she turned pale. Shejumped up and looked at him trembling. But atthe same moment she understood, and a lightof infinite happiness came into her eyes. Sheknew and had no doubt that he loved her be-yond everything and that at last the momenthad come....

They wanted to speak, but could not; tearsstood in their eyes. They were both pale andthin; but those sick pale faces were bright withthe dawn of a new future, of a full resurrectioninto a new life. They were renewed by love; theheart of each held infinite sources of life for theheart of the other.

They resolved to wait and be patient. They hadanother seven years to wait, and what terriblesuffering and what infinite happiness beforethem! But he had risen again and he knew itand felt it in all his being, while she—she onlylived in his life.

On the evening of the same day, when the bar-racks were locked, Raskolnikov lay on hisplank bed and thought of her. He had evenfancied that day that all the convicts who hadbeen his enemies looked at him differently; hehad even entered into talk with them and theyanswered him in a friendly way. He remem-bered that now, and thought it was bound to beso. Wasn't everything now bound to bechanged?

He thought of her. He remembered how con-tinually he had tormented her and woundedher heart. He remembered her pale and thinlittle face. But these recollections scarcely trou-bled him now; he knew with what infinite lovehe would now repay all her sufferings. Andwhat were all, all the agonies of the past! Every-thing, even his crime, his sentence and impris-onment, seemed to him now in the first rush offeeling an external, strange fact with which hehad no concern. But he could not think for long

together of anything that evening, and he couldnot have analysed anything consciously; hewas simply feeling. Life had stepped into theplace of theory and something quite differentwould work itself out in his mind.

Under his pillow lay the New Testament. Hetook it up mechanically. The book belonged toSonia; it was the one from which she had readthe raising of Lazarus to him. At first he wasafraid that she would worry him about religion,would talk about the gospel and pester himwith books. But to his great surprise she hadnot once approached the subject and had noteven offered him the Testament. He had askedher for it himself not long before his illness andshe brought him the book without a word. Tillnow he had not opened it.

He did not open it now, but one thoughtpassed through his mind: "Can her convictionsnot be mine now? Her feelings, her aspirationsat least...."

She too had been greatly agitated that day, andat night she was taken ill again. But she was sohappy—and so unexpectedly happy—that shewas almost frightened of her happiness. Sevenyears, only seven years! At the beginning oftheir happiness at some moments they wereboth ready to look on those seven years asthough they were seven days. He did not knowthat the new life would not be given him fornothing, that he would have to pay dearly forit, that it would cost him great striving, greatsuffering.

But that is the beginning of a new story—thestory of the gradual renewal of a man, the storyof his gradual regeneration, of his passing fromone world into another, of his initiation into anew unknown life. That might be the subject ofa new story, but our present story is ended.