 CHAPTER II It would be difficult to explain exactly what could have originated the idea of that senseless dinner in Katerina Ivanovna's disordered brain. Nearly ten of the twenty rubles given by Reskonekov from Marmaladev's funeral were wasted upon it. Possibly Katerina Ivanovna felt obliged to honour the memory of the deceased suitably, that all the lodgers, and still more, Amalia Ivanovna, might know that he was in no way their inferior, and perhaps very much their 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 spend their last savings on some traditional social ceremony, simply in order to do like other people, and not to be looked down upon. It is very probable, too, that Katerina Ivanovna longed on this occasion, at the moment when she seemed to be abandoned by everyone, to show those — Wretched, contemptible lodgers! — — that she knew how to do things, how to entertain, and that she had been brought up in a gentile, she might almost say aristocratic Colonel's family, and had not been meant for sweeping floors and washing the children's rags at night. Even the poorest and most broken-spirited people are sometimes liable to these paroxysms of pride and vanity, which take the form of an irresistible, nervous craving. And Katerina Ivanovna was not broken-spirited. She might have been killed by circumstance, but her spirit could not have been broken. That is, she could not have been intimidated, her will could not be crushed. Moreover, Sonia had said with good reason that her mind was unhinged. She could not be said to be insane. But for a year past she had been so harassed that her mind might well be overstrained. The later stages of consumption are apt, doctors tell us, to affect the intellect. There was no great variety of wines, nor was there madiera, but wine there was. There was vodka, rum, and Lisbon wine, all of the poorest quality, but in sufficient quantity. Besides the traditional rice and honey, there were three or four dishes, one of which consisted of pancakes, all prepared in Amalia Ivanovna's kitchen. Two semavars were boiling, that tea and punch might be offered after dinner. Katerina Ivanovna had herself seen to purchasing the provisions, with the help of one of the lodgers, an unfortunate little pole who had somehow been stranded at Madame Lepevichel's. He promptly put himself at Katerina Ivanovna's disposal, and had been all that morning and all the day before running about as fast as his legs could carry him, and very anxious that everyone should be aware of it. For every trifle he ran to Katerina Ivanovna, even hunting her out of the bazaar, at every instant called her Pani. She was hardly sick of him before the end, though she had declared at first that she could not have cut on without this serviceable and magnanimous man. It was one of Katerina Ivanovna's characteristics to paint everyone she met in the most glowing colours. Her praises were so exaggerated as sometimes to be embarrassing. She would invent various circumstances to the credit of her new acquaintance, and quite generously believe in their reality. Then all of a sudden she would be disillusioned and would rudely and contemptuously repulse the person. She had only a few hours before been literally adoring. She was naturally of a gay, lively, and peace-loving disposition, but from continual failures and misfortunes she had come to desire so keenly that all should live in peace and joy, and should not dare to break the peace, that the slightest jar the smallest disaster reduced her almost to frenzy, and she would pass in an instant from the brightest hopes and fancies to cursing her fate and raving, and knocking her head against the wall. Amalia Ivanovna too suddenly acquired extraordinary importance in Katerina Ivanovna's eyes, and was treated by her with extraordinary respect, probably only because Amalia Ivanovna had thrown herself heart and soul into the preparations. She had undertaken to lay the table, to provide the linen, crockery, et cetera, and to cook the dishes in her kitchen, and Katerina Ivanovna had left it all in her hands, and had gone herself to the cemetery. Everything had been done well. Even the table cloth was nearly clean. The crockery, knives, forks, and glasses were, of course, of all shapes and patterns, lent by different lodgers, but the table was properly laid at the time fixed, and Amalia Ivanovna, feeling she had done her work well, had put on a black silk dress and a cap with new morning ribbons, and met the returning party with some pride. This pride, though justifiable, displeased Katerina Ivanovna for some reason, as though the table could not have been laid except by Amalia Ivanovna. She disliked the cap with new ribbons, too. Could she be stuck up, the stupid German, because she was mistress of the house, and had consented as a favour to help her poor lodgers, as a favour, fancy that? Katerina Ivanovna's father, who had been a colonel, and almost a governor, had sometimes had the table set for forty persons, and then anyone like Amalia Ivanovna, or rather Ludwigovna, would not have been allowed into the kitchen. Katerina Ivanovna, however, put off expressing her feelings for the time, and contented herself with treating her coldly, though she decided inwardly that she would certainly have to put Amalia Ivanovna down, and set her in her proper place, for goodness only knew what she was fancying herself. Katerina Ivanovna was irritated, too, by the fact that hardly any of the lodgers invited had come to the funeral, except the pole who had just managed to run into the cemetery, while at the memorial dinner the poorest and most insignificant of them had turned up. The wretched creatures, many of them not quite sober. The older and more respectable of them, as if by common consent, stayed away. Piotr Petrovich Luzhin, for instance, who might be said to be the most respectable of all the lodgers, did not appear, but Katerina Ivanovna had the evening before told all the world, that is, Amalia Ivanovna, Polenka, Sonja, and the pole, that he was the most generous, noble-hearted man with a large property and vast connections, who had been a friend of her first husbands, and a guest in her father's house, and that he had promised to use all his influence to secure her a considerable pension. It must be noted that when Katerina Ivanovna exalted anyones connections and fortune, it was without any ulterior motive, quite disinterestedly, for the mere pleasure of adding to the consequence of the person praised, probably— From Luzhin, that contemptible wretch, Lebas Yatnikov, had not turned up either. What did he fancy himself? He was only asked out of kindness, and because he was sharing the same room with Piotr Petrovich, and was a friend of his, so that it would have been awkward not to invite him. Among those who failed to appear were the gentile lady and her old, maidish daughter, who had only been lodgers in the house for the last fortnight, but had several times complained of the noise and uproar in Katerina Ivanovna's room, especially when Marmaladev had come back drunk. Katerina Ivanovna had heard this from Amalia Ivanovna, who, quarreling with Katerina Ivanovna, and threatening to turn the whole family out of doors, had shouted at her that they were not worth the foot of the honourable lodgers whom they were disturbing. Katerina Ivanovna determined now to invite this lady and her daughter, whose foot she was not worth, and who had turned away hotly when she casually met them, so that they might know that she was more noble in her thoughts and feelings, and did not harbour malice, and might see that she was not accustomed to her way of living. She had proposed to make this clear to them at dinner, with allusions to her late father's governorship, and also at the same time to hint that it was exceedingly stupid of them to turn away on meeting her. The fat colonel major, he was really a discharged officer of low rank, was also absent, but it appeared that he had been not himself for the last two days. The party consisted of the pole, a wretched-looking clerk with a spotty face and a greasy coat, 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 office, and who had been from immemorial ages maintained by someone at Amalia Ivanovna's. A retired clerk of the commissariat department came to. He was drunk, had a loud and most unseemly laugh, and only fancy, was without a waistcoat. One of the visitors sat straight down to the table without even greeting Katerina Ivanovna. Finally one person having no suit appeared in his dressing gown, but this was too much, and the efforts of Amalia Ivanovna and the poles succeeded in removing him. The pole brought with him, however, two other poles who did not live at Amalia Ivanovna's, in whom no one had seen here before. All this irritated Katerina Ivanovna intensely. For whom had they made all these preparations, then? To make room for the visitors the children had not even been laid for at the table. But the two little ones were sitting on a bench in the furthest corner with their dinner laid on a box, while Polenka as a big girl had to look after them, feed them, and keep their noses wiped like well-bred children's. Katerina Ivanovna, in fact, could hardly help meeting her guests with increased dignity and even haughtiness. She stared at some of them with special severity, and loftily invited them to take their seats, rushing to the conclusion that Amalia Ivanovna must be responsible for those who were absent. She began treating her with extreme nonchalance, which the latter promptly observed and resented. Such a beginning was no good omen for the end. All were seated at last. Reskona Kav came in almost at the moment of their return from the cemetery. Katerina Ivanovna was greatly delighted to see him in the first place, because he was the one educated visitor. And as everyone knew, was in two years to take a professorship at the university. And secondly, because he immediately and respectfully apologized for having been unable to be at the funeral. She positively pounced upon him, and made him sit on her left hand, Amalia Ivanovna was on her right. In spite of her continual anxiety that the dishes should be passed round correctly, and that everyone should taste them, in spite of the agonizing cough which interrupted her every minute, and seemed to have grown worse during the last few days, she hastened to pour out, and a half whispered to Reskona Kav all her suppressed feelings, and her just indignation at the failure of the dinner, interspersing her remarks with lively and uncontrollable laughter at the expense of her visitors, and especially of her landlady. It's all that Cuckoo's fault. You know whom I mean. Her. Her. Katerina Ivanovna nodded towards the landlady. Look at her. She's making round eyes. She feels that we are talking about her and can't understand. The owl. And what does she put on that cap for? Have you noticed that she wants everyone to consider that she is patronizing me, and doing me an honour by being here? I asked her like a sensible woman to invite people, especially those who knew my late husband, and look at the set of fools she has brought, the sweeps, look at the one with the spotty face, and those wretched poles. Not one of them has ever poked his nose in here. I've never set eyes on them. What have they come here for, I ask you. They sit in a row. Hey, pun! She cried suddenly to one of them. Have you tasted the pancakes? Take some more. Have some beer. Won't you have some vodka? Look, he's jumped up and is making his bows. They must be quite starved, poor things. Never mind. Let them eat. They don't make a noise anyway. Though I'm really afraid for our landlady's silver spoons. Amalia Ivanovna. She addressed her suddenly, almost allowed. If your spoons should happen to be stolen, I won't be responsible. I warn you. She laughed, turning to Raskolnikov, and again nodding towards the landlady, in high glee at her sally. She didn't understand. She didn't understand again. Look how she sits with her mouth open. An owl. A real owl. An owl in new ribbons. Here her laugh turned again to an insufferable fit of coughing that lasted five minutes. Drops of perspiration stood out on her forehead, and her handkerchief was stained with blood. She showed Raskolnikov the blood in silence, and as soon as she could get her breath began whispering to him again with extreme animation and a hectic flush on her cheeks. Do you know I gave her the most delicate instruction, so to speak, for inviting that lady and her daughter? You understand of whom I am speaking? It needed the utmost delicacy. The greatest nicety, but she has managed things so that that fool, that conceited baggage, that provincial non-entity, simply because she is the widow of a major, and has come to try to get a pension and to fray out her skirts in the government offices, because at fifty she paints her face, everybody knows it. A creature like that did not think fit to come, and has not even answered the invitation, which the most ordinary good man has required. I can't understand why Piotr Petrovich has not come. But where's Sonja? Where has she gone? Ah, there she is at last. What is it, Sonja? Where have you been? It's odd that even at your father's funeral you should be so unpunctual. Rodin Romanovich. Make room for her beside you. That's your place, Sonja. Take what you like. Have some of the cold entree with jelly. That's the best. They'll bring pancakes directly. Have they given the children some? Polenka. Have you got everything? That's right. Be a good girl. Lida and Kolya. Don't fidget with your feet. Sit like a gentleman. What are you saying, Sonja? Sonja hastened to give her Piotr Petrovich's apologies, trying to speak loud enough for everyone to hear, and carefully choosing the most respectful phrases, which she attributed to Piotr Petrovich. She added that Piotr Petrovich had particularly told her to say that, as soon as he possibly could, he would come immediately to discuss business, alone with her, and to consider what could be done for her, etc., etc. Sonja knew that this would comfort Katerina Ivanovna, would flatter her and gratify her pride. She sat down beside Raskolnikov. She made him a hurried bow, glancing curiously at him. But for the rest of the time she seemed to avoid looking at him or speaking to him. She seemed absentminded, though she kept looking at Katerina Ivanovna, trying to please her. Neither she nor Katerina Ivanovna had been able to get mourning. Sonja was wearing dark brown, and Katerina Ivanovna had on her only dress, a dark striped cotton one. The message from Piotr Petrovich was very successful. Listening to Sonja with dignity, Katerina Ivanovna inquired with equal dignity how Piotr Petrovich was. Then at once whispered almost aloud to Raskolnikov that it certainly would have been strange for a man of Piotr Petrovich's position and standing to find himself in such extraordinary company, in spite of his devotion to her family and his old friendship with her father. That's why I am so grateful to you, Rodin Romanovich, that you have not disdained my hospitality, even in such surroundings. She added almost aloud. But I am sure that it was only your special affection for my poor husband that has made you keep your promise. Then once more with pride and dignity she scanned her visitors, and suddenly inquired aloud across the table of the deaf man. Wouldn't he have some more meat, and had he been given some wine? The old man made no answer, and for a long while could not understand what he was asked, though his neighbors amused themselves by poking and shaking him. He simply gazed about him with his mouth open, which only increased the general mirth. What an imbecile! Look, look, why was he brought? But as to Piotr Petrovich, I always had confidence in him. Katerina Ivanovna continued. And, of course, he is not like— With an extremely stern face she addressed Amalia Ivanovna so sharply and loudly that the latter was quite disconcerted. Not like you dressed up draggletails, whom my father would not have taken as cooks into his kitchen, and my late husband would have done them honor if he had invited them in the goodness of his heart. Yes, he was fond of drink. He was fond of it. He did drink. cried the commissariat clerk, gulping down his twelfth glass of vodka. My late husband certainly had that weakness, and everyone knows it. Katerina Ivanovna attacked him at once. But he was a kind and honorable man, who loved and respected his family. The worst of it was his good nature made him trust all sorts of disreputable people, and he drank with fellows who were not worth the soul of his shoe. Would you believe it, Rodion Romanovich? They found a gingerbread cock in his pocket. He was dead drunk, but he did not forget the children. A cock? Did you say a cock? shouted the commissariat clerk. Katerina Ivanovna did not vouchsafe her reply. She sighed, lost in thought. No doubt, you think, like everyone, that I was too severe with him. She went on, addressing Raskolnikov. But that's not so. He respected me. He respected me very much. He was a kind-hearted man, and how sorry I was for him sometimes. He would sit in a corner and look at me. I used to feel so sorry for him. I used to want to be kind to him, and then would think to myself, be kind to him and he will drink again. It was only by severity that you could keep them within bounds. Yes, he used to get his hair pulled pretty often. Roared the commissariat clerk again, swallowing another glass of vodka. Some fools would be better for a good drubbing, as well as having their hair pulled. I am not talking of my late husband now. Katerina Ivanovna snapped at him. The flush on her cheeks grew more and more marked. Her chest heaved. In another minute, she would have been ready to make a scene. Many of the visitors were sniggering, evidently delighted. They began poking the commissariat clerk and whispering something to him. They were evidently trying to egg him on. Allow me to ask what you are alluding to. Began the clerk. That is to say, who's about whom 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 disgust. He only ate from politeness, just tasting the food that Katerina Ivanovna was continually putting on his plate, to avoid hurting her feelings. He watched Sonia intently, but Sonia became more and more anxious and distressed. She too foresaw that dinner would not end up peaceably, and saw with terror Katerina Ivanovna's growing irritation. She knew that she, Sonia, was the chief reason for the gentile lady's contemptuous treatment of Katerina Ivanovna's invitation. She had heard from Amalia Ivanovna that the mother was positively offended at the invitation, and had to ask the question— How could she let her daughter sit down beside that young person? Sonia had a feeling that Katerina Ivanovna had already heard this, and an insult to Sonia meant more to Katerina Ivanovna than an insult to herself, her children, or her father. Sonia knew that Katerina Ivanovna would not be satisfied now. Till she had shown those dragletails that they were both? To make matters worse, someone passed Sonia from the other end of the table, a plate with two hearts pierced with an arrow, cut out a black bread. Katerina Ivanovna flushed crimson, and at once set aloud across the table that the man who sent it was— A drunken ass! Amalia Ivanovna was foreseeing something amiss, and at the same time deeply wounded by Katerina Ivanovna's haughtiness, and to restore the good humor of the company and raise herself in their esteem, she began, apropos of nothing, telling a story about an acquaintance of hers. Carl from the chemists. Who was driving one night in a cab, in that? The cab men wanted him to kill, and Carl very much begged him not to kill, and wept, and clasped hands, and frightened, and from fear pierced his heart. Though Katerina Ivanovna smiled, she observed at once that— Amalia Ivanovna ought not to tell antidotes in Russian. The latter was still more offended, and she retorted that her— Father Aus Berlin was a very important man, and always went with his hands in pockets. Katerina Ivanovna could not restrain herself, and laughed so much that Amalia Ivanovna lost patience, and could scarcely control herself. Listen to the owl! Katerina Ivanovna whispered at once her good humor almost restored. She meant to say he kept his hands in his pockets, but she said he put his hands in people's pockets. Have you noticed, Rodion Romanovich, that all these Petersburg foreigners, the Germans especially, are all stupider than we? Can you fancy any one of us telling how Carl from the chemists pierced his heart from fear, and that the idiot, instead of punishing the cab man, clasped his hands and wept, and much begged? Ah, the fool! And you know she fancies it very touching, and does not suspect how stupid she is. To my thinking, that drunken commissariat clerk is a great deal cleverer. Anyway, one can see that he has addled his brains with drink. But you know, these foreigners are always so well behaved and serious. Look how she sits glaring. She is angry. Yeah. Regaining her good humor, Katarina Ivanovna began at once selling Raskolnikov that when she had obtained her pension she intended to open a school for the daughters of gentlemen in her native town, T. This was the first time she had spoken to him of the project, and she launched out into the most alluring details. It suddenly appeared that Katarina Ivanovna had in her hands the very certificate of honor of which Marmeladov had spoken to Raskolnikov in the tavern, when he told him that Katarina Ivanovna, his wife, had danced the shawl dance before the Governor and other great personages on leaving school. This certificate of honor was obviously intended now to prove Katarina Ivanovna's right to open a boarding school, but she had armed herself with it chiefly in the object of overwhelming. Those two stuck up dragletails. If they came to the dinner, and proving incontestably that Katarina Ivanovna was of the most noble— She might even say, aristocratic family, a Colonel's daughter, and was far superior to certain adventuruses who have been so much to the fore of late. The certificate of honor immediately passed into the hands of the drunken guests, and Katarina Ivanovna did not try to retain it, for it actually contained the statement on Tuzlecha that her father was of the rank of a major, and also a companion of an order, so that she really was almost the daughter of a Colonel. Warming up, Katarina Ivanovna proceeded to enlarge on the peaceful and happy life they would lead in tea, on the gymnasium teachers whom she would engage to give lessons in her boarding school. One a most respectable Frenchman, one Mingo, who had taught Katarina Ivanovna herself in old days, and was still living in tea, and would no doubt teach in her school on moderate terms. Next she spoke of Sonia, who would go with her to tea and help in all her plans. At this, someone at the further end of the table gave a sudden guffaw. Though Katarina Ivanovna tried to appear disdainfully unaware of it, she raised her voice and began at once speaking with conviction of Sonia's undoubted ability to assist her of her gentleness, patience, devotion, generosity, and good education. Tapping Sonia on the cheek and kissing her warmly twice. Sonia flushed crimson, and Katarina Ivanovna suddenly burst into tears, immediately observing that she was nervous and silly, that she was too much upset, and that it was time to finish, and as the dinner was over it was time to hand round the tea. At that moment, Amalia Ivanovna deeply aggrieved at taking no part in the conversation, and not being listened to, made one last effort, and with secret misgivings ventured on an exceedingly deep and weighty observation that, In the future boarding school she would have to pay particular attention to divestce, and that there certainly must be a good dammer to look after the linen, and secondly that the young ladies must not novels at night read. Katarina Ivanovna, who certainly was upset and very tired, as well as heartily sick of the dinner, at once cut short to Amalia Ivanovna, sang she, knew nothing about it, and was talking nonsense, that it was the business of the laundry made, and not of the directors of a high-class boarding school to look after divestce, and as for novel reading it was simply rudeness, and she begged her to be silent. Amalia Ivanovna fired up, and getting angry observed that she only meant her good, and that she had meant her very good, and that it was long since she had paid her gold for the lodgings. Katarina Ivanovna at once set her down, saying that it was a lie to say she wished her good, because only yesterday when her dead husband was lying on the table she had worried her about the lodgings. To this, Amalia Ivanovna very appropriately observed that she had invited those ladies, but those ladies had not come, because those ladies are ladies, and cannot come to a lady who is not a lady. Katarina Ivanovna at once pointed out to her that as she was a slut, she could not judge what made one really a lady. Amalia Ivanovna at once declared that her father aus Berlin was a very, very important man, and both hands in pockets went, and always used to say poof, poof, and she leapt up from the table to represent her father, sticking her hands in her pockets, puffing her cheeks, and uttering vague sounds resembling poof, poof, a mid-loud laughter from all the lodgers who purposely encouraged Amalia Ivanovna, hoping for a fight. But this was too much for Katarina Ivanovna, and at once she declared so that all could hear that Amalia Ivanovna probably never had a father, but was simply a drunken Petersburg fin, and had certainly once been a cook, and probably something worse. Amalia Ivanovna turned as red as a lobster, and squealed that perhaps Katarina Ivanovna never had a father, but she had a father aus Berlin, and that he was a long coat, and always said poof, poof, poof. Katarina Ivanovna observed contemptuously that all knew what her family was, and on that very certificate of honor, it was stated in print that her father was a colonel, while Amalia Ivanovna's father, if she really had one, was probably some Finnish milkman, but that probably she had never had a father at all, since it was still uncertain what her name was, Amalia Ivanovna or Amalia Ludvigovna. At this Amalia Ivanovna lashed a fury, struck the table with her fist, and shrieked that she was Amalia Ivanovna, and not Ludvigovna. And that her father was named Johann, and that he was a burgemeister, and that Katarina Ivanovna's father was quite never a burgemeister. Katarina Ivanovna rose from her chair, and with a stern and apparently calm voice, though she was pale and her chest was heaving, observed that, if she dared for one moment to set her contemptible wretch of a father on a level with her papa, she, Katarina Ivanovna, would tear her cap off her head and trample it underfoot. Amalia Ivanovna ran about the room shouting at the top of her voice, that she was mistress of the house, and that Katarina Ivanovna should leave the lodgings that minute. Then she rushed for some reason to collect the silver spoons from the table. There was a great outcry and uproar. The children began crying. Sonia ran to restrain Katarina Ivanovna, but when Amalia Ivanovna shouted something about the yellow ticket, Katarina Ivanovna pushed Sonia away, and rushed at the landlady to carry out her threat. At that minute the door opened, and Piotr Petrovich Luzhin appeared on the threshold. He stood scanning the party with severe, invigilant eyes. Katarina Ivanovna rushed to him. End of Part Five, Chapter Two. Section Twenty-Nine of Crime and Punishment This LibriVox recording is in the public domain. Crime and Punishment by Fyodor Dostoevsky, translated by Konstantz Garnet. Part Five, Chapter Three Piotr Petrovich. She cried. Protect me, you at least. Make this foolish woman understand that she can't behave like this to a lady in misfortune. That there is a law for such things. I'll go to the Governor-General himself. She shall answer for it. Remembering my father's hospitality protects these orphans. Allow me, madam, allow me. Piotr Petrovich waved her off. Your Papa, as you are well aware, I had not the honour of knowing. Someone laughed aloud. And I do not intend to take part in your everlasting squabbles with Amalia Ivanovna. I have come here to speak of my own affairs, and I want to have a word with your step-daughter, Sofia Ivanovna, I think it is. Allow me to pass. Piotr Petrovich, edging by her, went to the opposite corner where Sonia was. Petrina Ivanovna remained standing where she was, as though thunder struck. She could not understand how Piotr Petrovich could deny having enjoyed her father's hospitality. Though she had invented it herself, she believed in it firmly by this time. She was struck, too, by his business-like, dry, and even contemptuous menacing tone of Piotr Petrovich. All the clamour gradually died away at his entrance. Not only was this serious businessman strikingly incongruous with the rest of the party, but it was evident, too, that he had come upon some matter of consequence, that some exceptional cause must have brought him, and that therefore something was going to happen. Raskolnikov, standing beside Sonia, moved aside to let him pass. Piotr Petrovich did not seem to notice him. A minute later Lebeziatnikov, too, appeared in the doorway. He did not come in, but stood still, listening with marked interest, almost wonder, and seemed for a time perplexed. Excuse me for possibly interrupting you, but it's a matter of some importance. Piotr Petrovich observed, addressing the company generally. I am glad indeed to find other persons present. Amalia Ivanovna, I humbly beg you as mistress of the house, to pay careful attention to what I have to say to Sofia Ivanovna. Sofia Ivanovna? He went on addressing Sonia, who was very much surprised, and already alarmed. Immediately after your visit I found that a hundred rubble note was missing from my table in the room of my friend Mr. Lebeziatnikov. If in any way whatever you know and will tell us where it is now, I assure you on my word of honour, and call all present to witness, that the matter shall end there. In the opposite case, I shall be compelled to have recourse to very serious measures, and then you must blame yourself. Complete silence reigned in the room, even the crying children were still. Sonia stood deathly pale, staring at Luzhin and unable to say a word. She seemed not to understand. Some seconds passed. Well, how is it to be, then? Asked Luzhin, looking intently at her. I don't know. I know nothing about it. Sonia articulated faintly at last. No, you know nothing? Luzhin repeated, and again he paused for some seconds. Think a moment, Mademoiselle. He began severely, but still as it were admonishing her. Reflect. I am prepared to give you time for consideration. Kindly observe this. If I were not so entirely convinced, I should not, you may be sure, with my experience, venture to accuse you so directly. Seeing that, for such direct accusation before witnesses, if false or even mistaken, I should myself, in a certain sense, be made responsible. I am aware of that. This morning I changed, for my own purposes, several five percent securities for the sum of approximately three thousand rubles. The account is noted down in my pocketbook. On my return home I proceeded to count the money, as Mr. Lebeziatnikov will bear witness, and after counting two thousand three hundred rubles, I put the rest in my pocketbook, in my coat pocket. About five hundred rubles remained on the table, and among them three notes of a hundred rubles each. At that moment you entered, at my invitation, and all the time you were present, you were exceedingly embarrassed, so that three times you jumped up in the middle of the conversation, and tried to make off. Mr. Lebeziatnikov can bear witness to this. You yourself, mademoiselle, probably will not refuse to confirm my statement, that I invited you through Mr. Lebeziatnikov solely in order to discuss with you the hopeless and destitute position of your relative, Katerina Ivanovna, whose dinner I was unable to attend, and the advisability of getting up something of the nature of a subscription, lottery, or the like, for her benefit. You thanked me, and even shed tears. I describe all this as it took place, primarily to recall it to your mind, and secondly to show you that not the slightest detail has escaped my recollection. Then I took a ten rubles note from the table, and handed it to you by way of first installment on my part for the benefit of your relative. Mr. Lebeziatnikov saw all this. Then I accompanied you to the door, you being still in the same state of embarrassment, after which, being left alone with Mr. Lebeziatnikov, I talked to him for ten minutes. Then Mr. Lebeziatnikov went out, and I returned to the table with the money lying on it, intending to count it and to put it aside, as I proposed doing before. To my surprise, one hundred rubles note had disappeared. Kindly consider the position. Mr. Lebeziatnikov, I cannot suspect. I am ashamed to allude to such a supposition. I cannot have made a mistake in my reckoning, for the minute before your entrance. I had finished my accounts, and found the total correct. You will admit that recollecting your embarrassment, your eagerness to get away, and the fact that you kept your hands for some time on the table, and taking into consideration your social position, and the habits associated with it, I was, so to say, with horror and positively against my will, compelled to entertain a suspicion, a cruel but justifiable suspicion. I will add further, and repeat, that in spite of my positive conviction, I realize that I run a certain risk in making this accusation, but as you see, I could not let it pass. I have taken action, and I will tell you why, solely, madam, solely owing to your black ingratitude, why I invite you for the benefit of your destitute relative, I present you with my donation of ten rubles, and you, on the spot, repay me for all that, with such an action. It is too bad. You need a lesson. Reflect. Moreover, like a true friend, I beg you, and you could have no better friend at this moment. Think what you are doing. Otherwise, I shall be immovable. Well, what do you say? I have taken nothing. Sonja whispered in terror. You gave me ten rubles. Here it is. Take it. Sonja pulled her handkerchief out of her pocket, untied a corner of it, took out the ten rubles note, and gave it to Luzhin. And the hundred rubles you do not confess to taking. He insisted reproachfully, not taking the note. Sonja looked about her, all were looking at her with such awful, stern, ironical, hostile eyes. She looked at Raskolnikov. He stood against the wall, with his arms crossed, looking at her with glowing eyes. Good God! Broke from Sonja. Amalia Ivanovna, we shall have to send word to the police, and therefore I humbly beg you, meanwhile, to send for the house porter. Luzhin said softly, and even kindly, God, have I'm hurt again! I knew she was the thief! cried Amalia Ivanovna, throwing up her hands. You knew it. Luzhin caught her up. Then I suppose you had some reason before this for thinking so. I beg you, worthy Amalia Ivanovna, to remember your words, which have been uttered before witnesses. There was a buzz of loud conversation on all sides. All were in movement. What? cried Katerina Ivanovna, suddenly realizing the position, and she rushed at Luzhin. What? You accuse her of stealing? Sonja! Ah! The wretches! The wretches! And running to Sonja, she flung her wasted arms around her, and held her as in a vice. Sonja! How dare you take ten rubles from him! Foolish girl! Give it to me! Give me the ten rubles at once. Here! And snatching the note from Sonja, Katerina Ivanovna crumpled it up, and flung it straight into Luzhin's face. It hit him in the eye, and fell on the ground. Amalia Ivanovna hastened to pick it up. Piotr Petrovich lost his temper. Hold that mad woman! he shouted. At that moment several other persons, besides Liby Zatnikov, appeared in the doorway, among them the two ladies. What? Mad? Am I mad? Idiot! You are an idiot yourself! Petty fogging lawyer, baseman, Sonja! Sonja, take his money! Sonja, a thief! Why, she'd give away her last penny! And Katerina Ivanovna broke into hysterical laughter. Did you ever see such an idiot? She turned from side to side. And you, too? She suddenly saw the landlady. And you, too, sausage eater? You declare that she is a thief? You trashy prussian hen's leg in a crinoline! She hasn't been out of this room. She came straight from you, you wretch, and sat down beside me. Everyone saw her. She sat here by Rodjian Romanovich. Search her. Since she's not left the room, the money would have to be on her. Search her. Search her. But if you don't find it, then excuse me, my dear fellow. You'll answer for it. I'll go to our sovereign, to our sovereign, to our gracious Tsar himself, and throw myself at his feet today. This minute I am alone in the world. They would let me in. Do you think they wouldn't? You're wrong. I will get in. I will get in. You reckon on her meekness. You relied upon that. But I am not so submissive, let me tell you. You've gone too far yourself. Search her. Search her. And Katerina Ivanovna, in a frenzy, shook Tluzhin and dragged him toward Sonia. I am ready. I'll be responsible. But calm yourself, madam. Calm yourself. I see that you are not so submissive. Well, well, but as to that. Tluzhin mattered. That ought to be before the police, though indeed there are witnesses enough as it is. I am ready. But in any case, it's difficult for a man, on account of her sex, but with the help of Amalia Ivanovna, though of course it's not the way to do things. How is it to be done? As you will. Let anyone who likes search her. Cried Katerina Ivanovna. Sonia, turn out your pockets. See? Look, monster. The pocket is empty. Here was her handkerchief. Here's the other pocket. Look. Do you see? Do you see? And Katerina Ivanovna turned, or rather snatched, both pockets inside out. But from the right pocket a piece of paper flew out, and describing a parabola in the air fell at Luzhin's feet. Everyone saw it. Several cried out. Piotr Petrovich stooped down, picked up the paper in two fingers, lifted it, where all could see it, and opened it. It was a hundred rubles note folded in eight. Piotr Petrovich held up the note, showing it to everyone. Thief! Out of my lodging! Police! Police! yelled Amalia Ivanovna. They must to Siberia be sent away. Exclamations arose on all sides. Raskolnikov was silent, keeping his eyes fixed on Sonia, except for an occasional rapid glance at Luzhin. Sonia stood still, as though unconscious. She was hardly able to feel surprise. Suddenly the collar rushed to her cheeks. She uttered a cry, and hit her face in her hands. No, it wasn't I. I didn't take it. I know nothing about it. She cried with a heart-rending quail, and she ran to Katerina Ivanovna, who clasped her tightly in her arms, as though she would shelter her from all the world. Sonia! Sonia! I don't believe it. You see? I don't believe it. She cried in the face of the obvious fact, swaying her too and throw in her arms like a baby, kissing her face continually, then snatching at her hands and kissing them too. You took it? How stupid these people are! Oh, dear! You are fools! Fools! She cried, addressing the whole room. You don't know. You don't know what a heart she has! What a girl she is! She take it. She! She'd sell her last rag. She'd go barefoot to help you if you needed it. That's what she is. She has a yellow passport because my children were starving. She sold herself for us! Ah, husband! Husband! Do you see? Do you see? What a memorial dinner for you! Merciful heavens! Defend her! Why are you all standing still? Rodion Romanovich, why don't you stand up for her? Do you believe it too? You are not worth her little finger, all of you together. Good God! Defend her now, at least. The wail of the poor, consumptive, helpless woman seemed to produce a great effect on her audience. The agonized, wasted, consumptive face, the parched, blood-stained lips, the hoarse voice, the tears unrestrained as a child's, the trustful, childish, and yet despairing prayer for help were so pituous that everyone seemed to feel for her. Piotr Petrovich, at any rate, was at once moved to compassion. Madam, madam, this incident does not reflect upon you. He cried impressively. No one would take upon himself to accuse you of being an instigator, or even an accomplice in it, especially as you have proved her guilt by turning out her pockets, showing that you had no previous idea of it. I am most ready, most ready to show compassion. If poverty, so to speak, drove Sophie as my own of not to it. But why did you refuse to confess, mademoiselle? Were you afraid of the disgrace? The first step. You lost your head, perhaps. One can quite understand it. But how could you have lowered yourself to such an action? Gentlemen. He addressed the whole company. Gentlemen. Compassionate. And, so to say, commiserating these people, I am ready to overlook it even now, in spite of the personal insult lavished upon me. And may this disgrace be a lesson to you for the future. He said, addressing Sonia. And I will carry the matter no further. Enough. Piotr Petrovich stole a glance at Raskolnikov, their eyes met, and the fire in Raskolnikov's seemed ready to reduce him to ashes. Meanwhile, Katarina Ivanovna apparently hurt nothing. She was kissing and hugging Sonia like a madwoman. The children, too, were embracing Sonia on all sides, and Polenka, though she did not fully understand what was wrong, was drowned in tears and shaking with sobs, as she hid her pretty little face, swollen with weeping, on Sonia's shoulder. How vile! A loud voice cried suddenly in the doorway. Piotr Petrovich looked round quickly. What vileness! Liby Zetnikov repeated, staring him straight in the face. Piotr Petrovich gave a positive start, all noticed it, and recalled it afterwards. Liby Zetnikov strode into the room. And you dared to call me as witness! He said, going up to Piotr Petrovich. What do you mean? What are you talking about? Mattered logic. I mean that you are a slanderer. That's what my words mean. Liby Zetnikov said hotly, looking sternly at him with his short-sighted eyes. He was extremely angry, Raskolnikov gazed intently at him, as though seizing and waiting, each word. Again there was a silence. Piotr Petrovich indeed seemed almost dumbfounded for the first moment. If you mean that for me? He began stammering. But what's the matter with you? Are you out of your mind? I'm in my mind, but you are a scoundrel! Ah, how vile! I have heard everything. I kept waiting on purpose to understand it, for I must own even now it is not quite logical. What you have done it all for, I can't understand. Why, what have I done, then? Give over talking in your nonsensical riddles, or maybe you are drunk. You may be a drunkard, perhaps, vile man, but I am not. I never touch vodka, for it's against my convictions. Would you believe it? He, he himself, with his own hands, gave Sophia Semionovna that hundred-druble note. I saw it. I was a witness. I'll take my oath. He did it. He! Repeated, Levi Zetnikov, addressing all. Are you crazy? Milks up! Squeal, Luzhin. She is herself before you. She herself here declared, just now before everyone, that I gave her only ten rubles. How could I have given it to her? I saw it. I saw it! Levi Zetnikov repeated. And though it is against my principles, I am ready this very minute to take any oath you like before the court. For I saw how you slipped it in her pocket. Only like a fool, I thought you did it out of kindness. When you were saying goodbye to her at the door, while you held her hand in one hand, with the other, the left, you slipped the note into her pocket. I saw it! I saw it! Luzhin turned pale. What lies? He cried, imprudently. Why, how could you standing by the window see the note? You fancied it with your short-sighted eyes. You are raving. No, I didn't fancy it. And though I was standing some way off, I saw it all. And though it certainly would be hard to distinguish a note from the window, that's true. I knew for certain that it was a hundred rubles note, because when you were going to give Sophia Semionovna ten rubles, you took up from the table a hundred rubles note. I saw it, because I was standing near then, and an idea struck me at once, so that I did not forget you had it in your hand. You folded it, and kept it in your hand all the time. I didn't think of it again until, when you were getting up, you changed it from your right hand to your left, and nearly dropped it. I noticed it, because the same idea struck me again, that you meant to do her a kindness without my seeing. You can fancy how I watched you. And I saw how you succeeded in slipping it into her pocket. I saw it. I saw it. I'll take my oath. Liby Zetnikov was almost breathless. Exclamations arose on all hands, chiefly expressive of wonder, but some were menacing in tone. They all crowded round Piotr Petrovitch. Petrina Ivanovna flew to Liby Zetnikov. I was mistaken in you. Protect her. You are the only one to take her part. She is an orphan. God has sent you. Petrina Ivanovna, hardly knowing what she was doing, sank on her knees before him. A pack of nonsense! yelled Luzhin, roused to fury. It's all nonsense you've been talking. An idea struck you. You didn't think. You noticed. What does it amount to? So I gave it to her on the sly on purpose. What for? With what object? What have I to do with this? What for? That's what I can't understand, but that what I am telling you is the fact that's certain. So far from my being mistaken, you infamous criminal man, I remember how, on account of it, a question occurred to me at once, just when I was thanking you and pressing your hand. What made you put it secretly in her pocket? What made you do it secretly, I mean? Could it be simply to conceal it from me, knowing that my convictions are opposed to yours, and that I do not approve of private benevolence, which affects no radical cure? Well, I decided that you really were ashamed of giving such a large sum before me. Perhaps, too, I thought he wants to give her a surprise, when she finds a whole hundred ruble note in her pocket. For I know some benevolent people are very fond of decking out their charitable actions in that way. Then the idea struck me, too, that you wanted to test her, to see whether, when she found it, she would come to thank you. Then, too, that you wanted to avoid thanks, and that, as the saying is, your right hand should not know something of that sort, in fact. I thought of so many possibilities that I put off considering it, but still thought it indelicate to show you that I knew your secret. But another idea struck me again that Sofia Semionovna might easily lose the money before she noticed it. That was why I decided to come in here, to call her out of the room, and to tell her that you put a hundred rubles in her pocket. But on my way, I went first to Madame Kobilatnikov's, to take them the general treatise on the positive method, and especially to recommend Peter its article, and also Wagner's. Then I come on here, and what a state of things I find! Now, could I, could I have all these ideas and reflections, if I had not seen you put the hundred rubles note in her pocket? When the Besetnikov finished his long-winded harangue with the logical deduction at the end, he was quite tired, and the perspiration streamed from his face. He could not, alas, even express himself correctly in Russian, though he knew no other language, so that he was quite exhausted, almost emaciated after this heroic exploit. But his speech produced a powerful effect. He had spoken with such vehemence, with such conviction, that everyone obviously believed him. Piotr Petrovich felt that the things were going badly with him. What is it to do with me, if silly ideas did occur to you? He shouted. That's no evidence. You may have dreamt it, that's all. And I tell you, you are lying, sir. You are lying and slandering from some spite against me, simply from peak, because I did not agree with your free-thinking, godless, social propositions. But this retort did not benefit Piotr Petrovich. Murmurs of disapproval were heard on all sides. Ah, that's your line now, is it? Kite libe Zetnikov. That's nonsense. Call the police, and I'll take my oath. There's only one thing I can't understand. What made him risk such a contemptible action? O pitiful despicable man! I can explain why he risked such an action, and if necessary, I too will swear to it. Raskolnikov said at last in a firm voice, and he stepped forward. He appeared to be firm and composed. Everyone felt clearly from the very look of him, that he really knew about it, and that the mystery would be solved. Now I can explain it all to myself, said Raskolnikov, addressing libe Zetnikov. From the very beginning of the business, I suspected it there was some scoundrely intrigue at the bottom of it. I began to suspect it from some special circumstances known to me only, which I will explain at once to everyone. They account for everything. Your valuable evidence has finally made everything clear to me. I beg all, all to listen. This gentleman, He pointed to the looting, was recently engaged to be married to a young lady. My sister, Avdocha Romanova Raskolnikov. But coming to Petersburg, he quarreled with me the day before yesterday, at our first meeting. And I drove him out of my room. I have two witnesses to prove it. He is a very spiteful man. The day before yesterday I did not know that he was staying here, in your room, and that consequently on the very day we quarreled, the day before yesterday, he saw me give Katarina Ivanovna some money for the funeral, as a friend of the late Mr. Marmaladov. He had once wrote a note to my mother and informed her that I have given away all my money, not to Katarina Ivanovna, but to Sofia Simonovna, and referred in a most contemptible way to the character of Sofia Simonovna. That is, hinted at the character of my attitude to Sofia Simonovna. All this you understand was with the object of dividing me from my mother and sister, by insinuating that I was squandering on unworthy objects the money which they had sent me, and which was all they had. Yesterday evening before my mother and sister, and in his presence I declared that I had given the money to Katarina Ivanovna for the funeral, and not to Sofia Simonovna, and that I had no acquaintance with Sofia Simonovna, and have never seen her before indeed. At the same time I added that he, Piotr Petrovich Lurin, with all his virtues, was not worth Sofia Simonovna's little finger, though he spoke so ill of her. To his question, would I let Sofia Simonovna sit down beside my sister? I answered that I had already done so that day. Irritated that my mother and sister were unwilling to quarrel with me at his insinuations. He gradually began being unpardonably rude to them. A final rupture took place, and he was turned out of the house. All this happened yesterday evening. Now I beg your special attention consider, if he had now succeeded improving that Sofia Simonovna was a thief, he would have shown to my mother and sister that he was almost right in his suspicions, that he had reason to be angry at my putting my sister on a level with Sofia Simonovna, and that in attacking me he was protecting and preserving the honor of my sister his betrothed. In fact he might even, through all this, have been able to estrange me from my family, and no doubt he hoped to be restored to favor with them, to say nothing of revenging himself on me personally, for he has grounds for supposing that the honor and happiness of Sofia Simonovna are very precious to me. That was what he was working for. That's how I understand it. That's the whole reason for it and there can be no other. It was like this, or somewhat like this, that Raskolnikov wound up his speech, which was followed very attentively, though often interrupted by exclamations from his audience. But in spite of interruptions he spoke clearly, calmly, exactly, firmly. His decisive voice, his tone of conviction, and his stern face made a great impression on everyone. Yes, yes, that's it, Liby Zetnikov assented gleefully. That must be it, for he asked me, as soon as Sofia Simonovna came into our room, whether you were here, whether I had seen you among Katarina Ivanovna's guests. He called me aside to the window and asked me in secret. It was essential for him that you should be here. That's it, that's it! Lozin smiled contemptuously and did not speak, but he was very pale. He seemed to be deliberating on some means of escape. Perhaps he would have been glad to give up everything and get away, but at the moment this was scarcely possible. It would have implied admitting the truth of the accusations brought against him. Moreover, the company, which had already been excited by drink, was now too much stirred to allow it. The commissariat clerk, though indeed he had not grasped the whole position, was shouting louder than anyone and was making some suggestions very unpleasant to Lozin. But not all those present were drunk. Lodgers came in from all the rooms. The three Poles were tremendously excited and were continually shouting at him. The pan is a wider. Sonia had been listening with strained attention, though she too seemed unable to grasp it all. She seemed as though she had just returned to consciousness. She did not take her eyes off Raskolnikov, feeling that all her safety lay in him. Katarina Ivanovna breathed hard and painfully and seemed fearfully exhausted. Amalia Ivanovna stood looking more stupid than anyone, with her mouth wide open, unable to make out what had happened. She only saw that Piotr Petrovich had somehow came to grief. Raskolnikov was attempting to speak again, but they did not let him. Everyone was crowding, round Lozin with threats and shouts of abuse. But Piotr Petrovich was not intimidated. Seeing that his accusation of Sonia had completely failed, he had recourse to insolence. Allow me, gentlemen, allow me. Don't squeeze. Let me pass. He said, making his way through the crowd. And no threats, if you please. I assure you it will be useless. You will gain nothing by it. On the contrary, you'll have to answer, gentlemen, for violently obstructing the course of justice. The thief has been more than unmasked, and I shall prosecute. Our judges are not so blind and not so drunk, and will not believe the testimony of two notorious infidels, agitators, and atheists, who accuse me from motives of personal revenge, which they are foolish enough to admit. Yes, allow me to pass. Don't let me find a trace of you in my room. Kindly leave at once, and everything is at an end between us. When I think of the trouble I've been taking, the way I've been expounding, all this fortnight. I told you myself today that I was going when you tried to keep me. Now I will simply add that you are a fool. I advise you to see a doctor for your brains and your short sight. Let me pass, gentlemen. He forced his way through. But the commissariat clerk was unwilling to let him off so easily. He picked up a glass from the table, brandished it in the air, and flung it at Piotr Petrovich. But the glass flew straight at Amalia Ivanovna. She screamed, and the clerk, overbalancing, felt heavily under the table. Piotr Petrovich made his way to his room, and half an hour later had left the house. Sonia, timid by nature, had felt before that day that she could be ill-treated more easily than anyone, and that she could be wronged with impunity. Yet till that moment she had fancied that she might escape misfortune by care, gentleness, and submissiveness before everyone. Her disappointment was too great. She could, of course, bear with patience, and almost without murmuring anything, even this. But for the first minute she felt it too bitter. In spite of her triumph and her justification, when her first terror and stupefaction had passed, and she could understand it all clearly, the feeling of her helplessness, and of the wrong done to her, made her heart throb with anguish, and she was overcome with hysterical weeping. At last, unable to bear any more, she rushed out of the room, and ran home, almost immediately after Hushin's departure. When amidst loud laughter the glass flew at Amalia Ivanovna, it was more than the landlady could endure. With a shriek she rushed like a fury at Katerina Ivanovna, considering her to blame for everything. Out of my lochings! At once! Quick! March! And with these words she began snatching up everything she could lay her hands on that belonged to Katerina Ivanovna, and throwing it on the floor. Katerina Ivanovna, pale, almost fainting, and gasping for breath, jumped up from the bed where she had sunk in exhaustion, and darted at Amalia Ivanovna. But the battle was too unequal, the landlady waved her away like a feather. What! As though that godless Calumni was not enough, this vile creature attacks me. What! On the day of my husband's funeral I am turned out of my lodging. After eating my bread and salt she turns me into the street, with my orphans. Where am I to go? Welled the poor woman sobbing and gasping. Good god! She cried with flashing eyes. Is there no justice upon earth? Whom should you protect if not us orphans? We shall see. There is law and justice on earth there is. I will find it. Wait a bit, godless creature. Polenka, stay with the children. I'll come back. Wait for me if you have to wait in the street. We will see whether there is justice on earth. And throwing over her head that green shawl which Marmeladov had mentioned to Raskolnikov, Katerina Ivanovna squeezed her way through the disorderly and drunken crowd of lodgers, who still filled the room, and wailing and tearful she ran into the street, with a vague intention of going at once somewhere to find justice. Polenka, with the two little ones in her arms, crouched terrified on the trunk in the corner of the room, where she waited trembling for her mother to come back. Amalia Ivanovna raged about the room, shrieking, lamenting, and throwing everything she came across on the floor. The lodgers talked incoherently. Some commented to the best of their ability on what had happened. Others quarreled and swore at one another, while others struck up a song. Now it's time for me to go. Well, Sophia Simorovna, we shall see what you'll say now. And he set off in the direction of Sonia's lodgings. End of Part 5, Chapter 3. Section 30 of Crime and Punishment This LibriVox recording is in the public domain. Crime and Punishment by Fyodor Dostoevsky, translated by Konstantz Garnet. Part 5, Chapter 4. Raskolnikov had been a vigorous and active champion of Sonia against Luzhin, although he had such a load of horror and anguish in his own heart. But having gone through so much in the morning, he found a sort of relief in a change of sensations, apart from the strong personal feeling which impelled him to defend Sonia. He was agitated too, especially at some moments by the thoughts of his approaching interview with Sonia. He had to tell her who had killed Lizavietta. He knew the terrible suffering it would be to him, and, as it were, brushed away the thought of it. So when he cried as he left Katryna Ivanovna's… Well, Sophia Simorovna, we'll see what you'll say now. He was still superficially excited, still vigorous and defiant from his triumph over Luzhin. But, strange to say, by the time he reached Sonia's lodgings, he felt a sudden impotence and fear. He stood still in hesitation at the door, asking himself the strange question, must he tell her who killed Lizavietta? It was a strange question, because he felt at the very time not only that he could not help telling her, but also that he could not put off the telling. He did not yet know why it must be so, he only felt it, and the agonizing sense of his impotence before the inevitable almost crushed him. To cut short his hesitation and suffering, he quickly opened the door and looked at Sonia from the doorway. She was sitting with her elbows on the table, and her face in her hands. But seeing Graskolnikov, she got up at once, and came to meet him as though she were expecting him. What would have become of me but for you? She said quickly, meeting him in the middle of the room. Evidently she was in a haste to say this to him. It was what she had been waiting for. Graskolnikov went to the table and sat down on the chair from which she had only just risen. She stood facing him two steps away, just as she had done the day before. Well, Sonia? He said, and felt that his voice was trembling. Was all due to your social position and the habits associated with it. Did you understand that just now? Her face showed her distress. Only don't talk to me as you did yesterday. She interrupted him. Please don't begin it. There is misery enough without that. She made haste to smile, afraid that he might not like their approach. I was silly to come away from there. What is happening there now? I wanted to go back directly, but I kept thinking that you would come. He told her that Amalia Ivanovna was turning them out of their lodging, and that Katerina Ivanovna had run off somewhere to seek justice. My God! cried Sonia. Let's go at once. And she snatched up her cape. It's everlastingly the same thing, said Graskolnikov irritably. You've no thought except for them. Stay a little with me. But Katerina Ivanovna... You won't lose Katerina Ivanovna. You may be sure. She'll come to you herself since she has run out. He added bewishly. If she doesn't find you here, you'll be blamed for it. Sonia sat down in painful suspense. Graskolnikov was silent, gazing at the floor and deliberating. This time Luren did not want to prosecute you. He began not looking at Sonia. But if he'd wanted to, if it had suited his plans, he would have sent you to prison, if it had not been, for Lebezetnikov and me. Ah? Yes. She ascended in a faint voice. Yes. She repeated, preoccupied and distressed. But I might easily not have been there. And it was quite an accident Lebezetnikov's turning up. Sonia was silent. And if you'd gone to prison, what then? Do you remember what I said yesterday? Again she did not answer. He waited. I thought you would cry out again. Don't speak of it. Leave off. Graskolnikov gave a laugh, but rather a forced one. What? Silence again? He asked a minute later. We must talk about something, you know. It would be interesting for me to know how you would decide a certain problem, as Lebezetnikov would say. He was beginning to lose the thread. No, really. I am serious. Imagine, Sonia, that you had known all Luren's intentions beforehand. Known, that is, for a fact, that they would be the ruin of Katerina Ivanovna and the children and yourself thrown in, since you don't count yourself for anything. Polinka, too. But you'll go the same way. Well, if suddenly it all depended on your decision, whether he or they should go on living. That is, whether Luren should go on living and doing wicked things. Or Katerina Ivanovna should die. How would you decide which of them was to die, I ask you? Sonia looked uneasily at him. There was something peculiar in this hesitating question, which seemed approaching something in a roundabout way. I felt that you were going to ask me some question like that. She said, looking inquisitively at him. I daresay you did, but how is it to be answered? Why do you ask about what could not happen? Said Sonia, reluctantly. Then it would be better for Luren to go on living and doing wicked things. You haven't dared to decide even that. But I can't know the divine providence, and why do you ask what can't be answered? What's the use of such foolish questions? How could it happen that it should depend on my decision? Who has made me a judge to decide who is to live, and who is not to live? Oh, if the divine providence is to be mixed up in it, there is no doing anything. Raskolnikov grumbled morosely. You'd better say straight out what you want. Sonia cried in distress. You are leading up to something again. Can you have come simply to torture me? She could not control herself, and began crying bitterly. He looked at her in gloomy misery. Five minutes passed. Of course you're right, Sonia. He said softly at last. He was suddenly changed. His tone of assumed arrogance and helpless defiance was gone. Even his voice was suddenly weak. I told you yesterday that I was not coming to ask forgiveness, and almost the first thing I've said is to ask forgiveness. I said that about Luren and providence for my own sake. I was asking forgiveness, Sonia. He tried to smile, but there was something helpless and incomplete in his pale smile. He bowed his head and hid his face in his hands. And suddenly a strange, surprising sensation of a sort of bitter hatred for Sonia passed through his heart. As it were, wandering and frightened of this sensation, he raised his head and looked intently at her, but he met her uneasy and painfully anxious eyes fixed on him. There was love in them. His hatred vanished like a phantom. It was not the real feeling. He had taken the one feeling for the other. It only meant that that minute had come. He hid his face in his hands again and bowed his head. Suddenly he turned pale, got up from his chair, looked at Sonia, and without uttering a word, sat down mechanically on her bed. His sensations that moment were terribly like the moment when he had stood over that old woman with the axe in his hand, and felt that he must not lose another minute. What's the matter? Asked Sonia, dreadfully frightened. He could not utter a word. This was not at all, not at all the way he had intended to tell, and he did not understand what was happening to him now. She went up to him, softly, sat down on the bed beside him, and waited, not taking her eyes off him. Her heart throbbed and sank. It was unendurable. He turned his deathly pale face to her. His lips worked, helplessly struggling to utter something. A pang of terror passed through Sonia's heart. What's the matter? She repeated, drawing a little away from him. Nothing, Sonia, don't be frightened. It's nonsense. It really is nonsense if you think of it. He mattered like a man in delirium. Why have I come to torture you? He added, suddenly, looking at her. Why, really? I keep asking myself that question, Sonia. He had perhaps been asking himself that question a quarter of an hour before, but now he spoke helplessly, hardly knowing what he said, and feeling a continual tremor all over. Oh, how you were suffering. She mattered in distress, looking intently at him. It's all nonsense. Listen, Sonia. He suddenly smiled, a pale, helpless smile for two seconds. You remember what I meant to tell you yesterday? Sonia waited uneasily. I said, as I went away, that perhaps I was saying goodbye forever. But that if I came today, I would tell you who... Who killed Liza Vietta? She began trembling all over. Well, here I've come to tell you. Then you really meant it yesterday? She whispered with difficulty. How do you know? She asked quickly, as though suddenly regaining her reason. Sonia's face grew paler and paler, and she breathed painfully. I know. She paused the minutes. Have they found him? She asked timidly. No. Then how do you know about... it? She asked again, hardly audibly, and again after a minute's pause. He turned to her and looked very intently at her. Yes. He said, with the same distorted, helpless smile. A shudder passed over her. But you... why do you frighten me like this? She said, smiling like a child. I must be a great friend of his, since I know. Raskolnikov went on, still gazing into her face, as though he could not turn his eyes away. He did not mean to kill that Liza Vietta. He killed her accidentally. He meant to kill the old woman when she was alone, and he went there. And then Liza Vietta came in. He killed her, too. Another awful moment passed. Both still gazed at one another. You can't guess, then? He asked suddenly, feeling as though he were flinging himself down from his steeple. No. whispered Sonia. Take a good look. As soon as he had said this again, the same familiar sensation froze his heart. He looked at her, and all at once seemed to see in her face the face of Liza Vietta. He remembered clearly the expression in Liza Vietta's face, when he approached her with the axe and she stepped back to the wall, putting out her hand with childish terror in her face, looking as little children do when they begin to be frightened of something. Looking intently and uneasily at what frightens them, shrinking back and holding out their little hands on the point of crying. Almost the same thing happened now to Sonia. With the same helplessness and the same terror, she looked at him for a while, and suddenly putting out her left hand, pressed her fingers faintly against his breast, and slowly began to get up from the bed, moving further from him, and keeping her eyes fixed even more immovable on him. Her terror infected him. The same fear showed itself on his face. In the same way he stared at her, and almost with the same childish smile. Have you guessed? He whispered at last. Good God! Broke in an awful wail from her bosom. She sank helplessly on the bed with her face and the pillows, but a moment later she got up, moved quickly to him, seized both his hands, and, gripping them tight in her thin fingers, began looking into his face again with the same intense stare. In this last desperate look she tried to look into him, and kept some last hope. But there was no hope. There was no doubt remaining. It was all true. Later on indeed, when she recalled that moment, she thought it strange and wondered why she had seen at once that there was no doubt. She could not have said, for instance, that she had foreseen something of sort. And yet now, as soon as he told her, she suddenly fancied that she had really foreseen this very thing. Stop, Sonya, enough. Don't torture me. He begged her miserably. It was not at all, not at all like this, he had thought of telling her, but this is how it happened. She jumped up, seeming not to know what she was doing, and, wringing her hands, walked into the middle of the room, but quickly went back, and set back again beside him, her shoulder almost touching his. All of a sudden she started as though she had been stabbed. At her, they cry, and fell on her knees before him. She did not know why. What have you done? What have you done to yourself? She said in despair, and jumping up, she flung herself on his neck, threw her arms around him, and held him tightly. Raskolnikov drew back, and looked at her with a mournful smile. You are a strange girl, Sonya. You kiss me and hug me when I tell you about that. You don't think what you were doing. There is no one, no one in the whole world now so unhappy as you. She cried in a frenzy, not hearing what he said, and she suddenly broke into violent hysterical weeping. A feeling, long unfamiliar to him, floated his heart, and softened it at once. He did not struggle against it. Two tears started into his eyes, and hung on his eyelashes. Then you won't leave me, Sonya? He said, looking at her almost with hope. No, no, never, nowhere. Cried Sonya. I will follow you, I will follow you everywhere. Oh my god, oh how miserable I am. Why, why didn't I know you before? Why didn't you come before, oh dear? Here I have come. Yes, now, what's to be done now? Together, together. She repeated, as it were, unconsciously, and she hugged him again. I'll follow you to Siberia. He recoiled at this, and the same hostile, even hotty smile came to his lips. Perhaps I don't want to go to Siberia yet, Sonya. He said. Sonya looked at him quickly. Again, after her first passionate, agonizing sympathy for the unhappy man, the terrible idea of the murder overwhelmed her. In his changed tone, she seemed to hear the murderer speaking. She looked at him bewildered. She knew nothing as yet. Why? How? With what object it had been. Now all these questions rushed at once into her mind, and again she could not believe it. He is a murderer? Could it be true? What's the meaning of it? Where am I? She said in complete bewilderment, as though still unable to recover herself. How could you? You, a man like you. How could you bring yourself to it? What does it mean? Oh, well. To plunder. Leave off, Sonya. He answered warily, almost with vexation. Sonya stood as though struck dumb, but suddenly she cried. You were hungry. It was to help your mother, yes? No, Sonya, no. He muttered, turning away, and hanging his head. I was not so hungry. I certainly did want to help my mother. But that's not the real thing, either. Don't torture me, Sonya. Sonya clasped her hands. Could it all be true? Good God, what a truth! Who could believe it? And how could you give away your last farthing, and yet rob and murder? She cried suddenly. That money you gave Katerina Ivanovna. That money. Can that money? No, Sonya. He broke in, Herod Lee. That money was not it. Don't worry yourself. That money my mother sent me, and it came when I was ill. The day I gave it to you. Razumikin saw it. He received it for me. That money was mine, my own. Sonya listened to him in bewilderment, and did her utmost to comprehend. And that money. I don't even know really whether there was any money. He added softly, as though reflecting. I took a purse off her neck, made of chamois leather. A purse stuffed full of something. But I didn't look in it. I suppose I hadn't time. And the things, chains, and trinkets. I buried under a stone with the purse next morning a yard off the vee prospect. They're all there now. Sonya strained every nerve to listen. Then why? Why, you said you did it to Rob, but you took nothing. She asked quickly, catching at a straw. I don't know. I haven't yet decided whether to take that money or not. He said, musing again, and seeming to wake up from a start. He gave a brief, ironical smile. Ah, what silly stuff I am talking, eh? The thought flashed through Sonya's mind. Wasn't he mad? But she dismissed it at once. No, it was something else. She could make nothing of it. Nothing. Do you know, Sonya? He said suddenly, with conviction. Let me tell you. If I'd simply killed because I was hungry. Laying stress on every word, and looking enigmatically, but sincerely at her. I should be happy now. You must believe that. What would it matter to you? He cried a moment later, with a sort of despair. What would it matter to you, if I were to confess that I did wrong? What do you gain by such a stupid triumph over me? Ah, Sonya, was it for that I've come to you today? Again Sonya tried to say something, but did not speak. I asked you to go with me yesterday, because you are all I have left. Go where? Asked Sonya timidly. Not to steal, and not to murder. Don't be anxious. He smiled bitterly. We are so different. And you know Sonya, it's only now. Only this moment that I understand where I asked you to go with me yesterday. Yesterday when I said it, I did not know where. I asked you for one thing. I came to you for one thing, not to leave me. You won't leave me, Sonya. She squeezed his hand. And why? Why did I tell her? Why did I let her know? He cried a minute later in despair, looking with infinite anguish at her. Here you expect an explanation from me Sonya. You are sitting and waiting for it, I see that. But what can I tell you? You won't understand and will only suffer misery, on my account. Well, you are crying and embracing me again. Why do you do it? Because I couldn't bear my burden and have come to throw it on another? You suffer too, and I shall feel better. And can you love such a mean wretch? But aren't you suffering too? Cried Sonya, again a wave of the same feeling surged into his heart, and again for an instant, softened it. Sonya, I have such a bad heart. Take note of that. It may explain a great deal. I have come because I am bad. There are men who wouldn't have come. But I am a coward, and a mean wretch. But never mind, that's not the point. I must speak now, but I don't know how to begin. He paused and sank into thoughts. We are so different. He cried again. We are not alike. And why, why did I come? I shall never forgive myself for that. No, no, it was a good thing you came, cried Sonya. It's better I should know, far better. He looked at her with anguish. What if it were really that? He said, as though reaching a conclusion. Yes, that's what it was. I wanted to become a Napoleon. That's why I killed her. You understand now? No. Sonya whispered naively and timidly. Only speak, speak. I shall understand. I shall understand in myself. She kept begging him. You'll understand. Very well, we shall see. He paused and was for some time lost in meditation. It was like this. I asked myself one day this question. What if Napoleon, for instance, had happened to be in my place? And if he had not had to loon, nor Egypt, nor the passage of Mont Blanc to begin his career with. But instead of all those picturesque and monumental things, there had simply been some ridiculous old hag. A pawnbroker who had to be murdered, too, to get money from her trunk, for his career, you understand. Well, would he have brought himself to that if there had been no other means? Wouldn't he have felt a pang at its being so far from monumental and sinful, too? Well, I must tell you that I worried myself fearfully over that question so that I was awfully ashamed when I guessed at last. All of a sudden, somehow, that it would not have given him the least pang, that it would not even have struck him, that it was not monumental, that he would not have seen that there was anything in it to pause over, and that if he had had no other way, he would have strangled her in a minute without thinking about it. Well, I, too, left off thinking about it, murdered her following his example. And that's exactly how it was. Do you think it funny? Yes, Sonia, the funniest thing of all is that, perhaps, that's just how it was. Sonia did not think it at all funny. You had better tell me straight out. Without examples. She begged, still more timidly, and scarcely audibly. He turned to her, looked sadly at her, and took her hands. You're right again, Sonia. Of course, that's all nonsense. It's almost all talk. You see, you know, of course, that my mother has scarcely anything. My sister happened to have a good education was condemned to drudge as a governess. All their hopes were centered on me. I was a student, but I couldn't keep myself at the university and was forced for a time to leave it. Even if I had lingered on like that, in ten or twelve years I might, with luck, hope to be some sort of teacher or clerk with the salary of a thousand rubles. He repeated it as though it were a lesson. And by that time my mother would have been worn out with grief and anxiety, and I could not succeed in keeping her in comfort, while my sister, well, my sister might well have fared worse. And it's a hard thing to pass everything by, all one's life, to turn one's back upon everything, to forget one's mother, and decorously accept the insults inflicted on one's sister. Why should one? When one has buried them to burden oneself with others, wife and children, and to leave them again without a farthing. So I resolved to gain possession of the old woman's money, and to use it for my first years without worrying my mother, to keep myself at the university and for a little while after leaving it. And to do this all on a broad, thorough scale. So as to build up a completely new career and enter upon a new life of independence. Well, that's all. Well, of course, in killing the old woman I did wrong. Well, that's enough. He struggled to the end of his speech, in exhaustion, and let his head sing. Oh, that's not it. That's not it. Sonia cried in distress. How could one? No, that's not right. Not right. You see yourself that it's not right. But I've spoken truly. It's the truth. As though that could be the truth. Good God! I've only killed a Laos, Sonia, a useless, loathsome, harmful creature. A human being? A Laos? I too know it wasn't a Laos. He answered, looking strangely at her. But I am talking nonsense, Sonia. He added. I've been talking nonsense a long time. That's not it. You are right there. There were quite, quite other causes for it. I haven't talked to anyone for so long, Sonia. My head aches dreadfully now. His eyes shone with feverish brilliance. He was almost delirious, an uneasy smile straight on his lips. His terrible exhaustion could be seen through his excitement. Sonia saw how he was suffering. She too was growing dizzy, and he talked so strangely it seemed somehow comprehensible, but yet... But how? How? Good God! And she rang her hands in despair. No, Sonia, that's not it. He began again suddenly, raising his head as though a new and sudden train of thought had struck, and as it were roused him. That's not it. Better imagine, yes, it's certainly better. Imagine that I am vain, envious, malicious, base, vindictive, and, well, perhaps with a tendency to insanity. Let's have it all out at once. They've talked to badness already, I noticed. I told you just now I could not keep myself at the university. But do you know that perhaps I might have done? My mother would have sent me what I needed for the fees, and I could have earned enough for clothes, boots, and food, no doubt. Lessons had turned up at half a ruble. Rasmican works. But I turned sulky and wouldn't. Yes, sulkiness, that's the right word for it. I sat in my room like a spider. You've been into my den, you've seen it. And do you know, Sonia, that low ceilings and tiny rooms cramped the soul and the mind? Ah, how I hated that garret. And yet I wouldn't go out of it. I wouldn't on purpose. I didn't go out for days together. And I wouldn't work. I wouldn't even eat. I just lay there doing nothing. If Nastasia had brought me anything, I ate it. If she didn't, I went all day without. I wouldn't ask on purpose from sulkiness. At night I had no light. I lay in the dark and wouldn't earn money for candles. I ought to have studied, but I sold my books. And the dust lies an inch thick on the notebooks on my table. I preferred lying still and thinking. And I kept thinking. And I had dreams all the time. Strange dreams of all sorts. No need to describe. Only then I began to fancy that. No, that's not it. Again, I am telling you wrong. You see, I kept asking myself then. Why am I so stupid? That if others are stupid, and I know they are. Yet I won't be wiser. Then I saw, Sonia, that if one waits for everyone to get wiser, it will take too long. Afterwards I understood that that would never come to pass. That men won't change, and that nobody can alter it. And that it's not worth wasting effort over it. Yes, that's so. That's the law of their nature, Sonia. That's so. And I know now, Sonia, that whoever is strong in mind and spirit will have power over them. Anyone who is greatly daring is right in their eyes. He who despises most things will be a law giver among them. And he who dares most of all will be most in the right. So it has been till now and so it will always be. A man must be blind not to see it. Though Raskolnikov looked at Sonia as he said this, he no longer cared whether she understood or not. The fever had complete hold of him. He was in a sort of gloomy ecstasy. He certainly had been too long without talking to anyone. Sonia felt that his gloomy creed had become his faith and code. I divine then, Sonia. He went on eagerly. The power is only vouchsafe to the man who dares to stoop and pick it up. There is only one thing, one thing needful. One has only to dare. Then, for the first time in my life, an idea took shape in my mind which no one had ever thought of before me. No one. I saw, clearest daylight, how strange it is, that not a single person living in this mad world has had the daring to go straight for it all. And send it flying to the devil. I wanted to have the daring. And I killed her. I only wanted to have the daring, Sonia. That was the whole cause of it. Oh, hush, hush! cried Sonia, clasping her hands. You turned away from God, and God is smitten you. Has given you over to the devil. Then, Sonia, when I used to lie there in the dark and all this became clear to me, was it a temptation of the devil? Hush, don't laugh, blasphemer. You don't understand. You don't understand. Oh, God, he won't understand. Hush, Sonia, I am not laughing. I know myself that it was the devil leading me. Hush, Sonia, hush. He repeated with gloomy insistence. I know it all. I have thought it all over and over and whispered it all over to myself, lying there in the dark. I've argued it all over with myself, every point of it. And I know it all, all. And how sick, how sick I was then of going over it all. I have kept wanting to forget it and make a new beginning, Sonia, and leave off thinking. And you don't suppose that I went into it headlong like a fool. I went into it like a wise man, and that was just my destruction. And you mustn't suppose that I didn't know, for instance, that if I began to question myself whether I had the right to gain power, I certainly hadn't the right, or that if I asked myself whether a human being is a Laos, it proved that it wasn't so for me, though it might be for a man who would go straight to his goal without asking questions. If I worried myself all those days wondering whether Napoleon would have done it or not, I felt clearly, of course, that I wasn't Napoleon. I had to endure all the agony of that battle of ideas, Sonia, and I longed to throw it off. I wanted to murder without causatory, to murder for my own sake, for myself alone. I didn't want to lie about it even to myself. It wasn't to help my mother I did the murder. That's nonsense. I didn't do the murder to gain wealth and power, and to become a benefactor of mankind. Nonsense. I simply did it. I did the murder for myself, for myself alone. And whether I became a benefactor to others, or spent my life like a spider, catching men in my web and sucking the life out of men, I couldn't have cared at that moment. And it was not the money I wanted, Sonia, when I did it. It was not so much the money I wanted, but something else. I know it all now. Understand me. Perhaps I should never have committed a murder again. I wanted to find out something else. It was something else led me on. I wanted to find out then and quickly, whether I was a louse like everybody else or a man. Whether I could step over barriers or not, whether I dare stoop to pick up or not, whether I am a trembling creature, or whether I have the right To kill? Have the right to kill? Sonia clasped her hands. Ax, Sonia. He cried irritably, and seemed about to make some retort, but he was contemptuously silent. Don't interrupt me, Sonia. I want to prove one thing only, that the devil led me on then, and he has shown me since, that I had not the right to take that path, because I am just such a louse as all the rest. He was mocking me, and here I've come to you now. Welcome, your guest. If I were not a louse, should I have come to you? Listen, when I went then to the old woman's, I only went to try. You may be sure of that. And you murdered her. But how did I murder her? Is that how men do murders? Do men go to commit a murder as I went then? I will tell you some day how I went. Did I murder the old woman? I murdered myself, not her. I crushed myself once and for all forever. But it was the devil that killed that old woman, not I. Enough, enough, Sonia, enough, let me be. He cried in a sudden spasm of agony. Let me be. He leaned his elbows on his knees and squeezed his head in his hands as in a vice. What's suffering? A wail of anguish broke from Sonia. Well, what am I to do now? He asked, suddenly raising his head and looking at her with a face hideously distorted by despair. What are you to do? She cried, jumping up, and her eyes that had been full of tears suddenly began to shine. Stand up. She seized him by the shoulder. He got up, looking at her almost bewildered. Go at once, this very minute. Stand at the crossroads, bow down. First kiss the earth, which you have defiled, and then bow down to all the world and say to all men aloud, I am a murderer. Then God will send you life again. Will you go? Will you go? She asked him, trembling all over, snatching his two hands, squeezing them tight in hers and gazing at him with eyes full of fire. He was amazed at her sudden ecstasy. You mean Siberia, Sonia? I must give myself up? He asked gloomily. Suffer and expiate your sin by it. That's what you must do. No, I am not going to them, Sonia. But how will you go on living? What will you live for? Cried Sonia. How is it possible now? Why, how can you talk to your mother? Oh, what will become of them now? But what am I saying? You have abandoned your mother and your sister already. He has abandoned them already. Oh, God. She cried. Why, he knows it all himself. How, how can he live by himself? What will become of you now? Don't be a child, Sonia. He said softly. What wrong have I done them? Why should I go to them? What should I say to them? That's only a phantom. They destroy men by millions themselves and look on it as a virtue. They are knaves and scoundrels, Sonia. I am not going to them. And what should I say to them? That I murdered her, but did not dare to take the money and hit it under a stone? Sonia. He added with a bitter smile. Why, they would laugh at me. It would call me a fool for not getting it. A coward and a fool. They wouldn't understand, and they don't deserve to understand. Why should I go to them? I won't. Don't be a child, Sonia. Sonia. It will be too much for you to bear, too much. She repeated, holding out her hands in despairing supplication. Perhaps I've been unfair to myself. He observed gloomily, pondering. Perhaps after all I'm a man and not a louse, and I've been in too great a hurry to condemn myself. I'll make another fight for it. Sonia. A hotty smile appeared on his lips. What a burden to bear, and your whole life, your whole life. I shall get used to it. He said grimly and thoughtfully. Listen. He began a minute later. Stop crying. It's time to talk of the facts. I've come to tell you that the police are after me on my track. Sonia cried in terror. Well, why do you cry out? You want me to go to Siberia, and now you are frightened? But let me tell you, I shall not give myself up. I shall make a struggle for it, and they won't do anything to me. There's no real evidence. Yesterday I was in great danger and believed I was lost. But today things are going better. All the facts they know can be explained two ways. That's to say I can turn their accusations to my credit, do you understand? And I shall, for I've learnt my lesson. But they will certainly arrest me. If it had not been for something that happened, they would have done so today for certain. Perhaps even now they will arrest me today. 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'll give you my word for it. And they can't convict a man on what they have against me. Enough. I only tell you that you may know. I will try to manage somehow to put it to my mother and sister, so that they won't be frightened. My sister's future is secure, however, now, I believe, and my mother's must be too. Well, that's all. Be careful, though. Will you come and see me in prison when I am there? Oh, I will. I will. They said, side by side, both mournful and dejected, as though they had been cast up by the tempest alone on some deserted shore. He looked at Sonia and felt how great was her love for him, and, strange to say, he felt it suddenly burdensome and painful to be so loved. Yes, it was a strange and awful sensation. On his way to see Sonia, he had felt that all his hopes rested on her. He expected to be rid of at least part of his suffering. And now, when all her heart turned towards him, he suddenly felt that he was immeasurably unhappier than before. Sonia. He said, You'd better not come and see me when I am in prison. Sonia did not answer. She was crying, several minutes past. Have you a cross on you? She asked, as though suddenly thinking of it. He did not, at first, understand the question. No, of course not. Here, take this one, of Cyprus wood. I have another, a copper one that belonged to Lisaveta. I changed with Lisaveta. She gave me her cross, and I gave her my little icon. I will wear Lisaveta's now, and give you this. Take it! It's mine. It's mine, you know. She begged him. We will go to suffer together, and together we will bear our cross. Give it me. Cedraskolnikov. He did not want to hurt her feelings, but immediately he drew back the hand he held out for the cross. Not now, Sonia. Better later. He added to comfort her. Yes, yes, better. She repeated with conviction. When you go to meet your suffering, then put it on. You will come to me. I'll put it on you. We will pray and go together. At that moment someone knocked three times at the door. They heard in a very familiar and polite voice. Sonia rushed to the door in a fright. The flaxen head of Mr. Libyziatnikov appeared at the door. End of Part 5, Chapter 4