 Section 15 of Crime and Punishment. This LibriVox recording is in the public domain. Crime and Punishment by Fyodor Dostoyevsky, translated by Constance Garnett. Part 3, Chapter 1. Raskolnikov got up and sat down on the sofa. He waved his hand weakly to Razumihin to cut short the flow of warm and incoherent consolations he was addressing to his mother and sister. Took them both by the hand, and for a minute or two gazed from one to the other without speaking. His mother was alarmed by his expression. It revealed an emotion agonizingly poignant, and at the same time something immovable, almost insane. Pulcheria Alexandrovna began to cry. Abdotia Romanovna was pale. Her hand trembled in her brothers. Go home. With him. He said in a broken voice, pointing to Razumihin. Good-bye till to-morrow. To-morrow everything. Is it long since you arrived? This evening, Rodja," answered Pulcheria Alexandrovna. The train was awfully late. But, Rodja, nothing would induce me to leave you now. I will spend the night here, near you. Don't torture me. He said with a gesture of irritation. I will stay with him, cried Razumihin. I won't leave him for a moment. Bother all my visitors. Let them rage to their hearts as content. My uncle is presiding there. How? How can I thank you? Pulcheria Alexandrovna was beginning, once more pressing Razumihin's hands. But Raskonikov interrupted her again. I can't have it. I can't have it. He repeated irritably. Don't worry me. Enough. Go away. I can't stand it. Come, Mama. Come out of the room, at least for a minute. Dunia whispered in dismay. We are distressing him. That's evident. Mayant I look at him after three years? Ask Pulcheria Alexandrovna. Stay. He stopped them again. You keep interrupting me, and my ideas get muddled. Have you seen Lurin? No, Rodja. But he knows already of our arrival. We have heard, Rodja, that Piotr Petrovich was so kindest to visit you today. Pulcheria Alexandrovna added somewhat timidly. Yes. He was so kind, Dunia. I promised Lurin I'd throw him downstairs and told him to go to hell. Rodja, what are you saying? Surely you don't mean to tell us. Pulcheria Alexandrovna began an alarm, but she stopped looking at Dunia. Avdotia Romanovna was looking attentively at her brother, waiting for what would come next. Both of them had heard of the quarrel from Nastasia, so far as she had succeeded in understanding and reporting it, and were in painful perplexity and suspense. Dunia. Raskonikov continued with an effort. I don't want that marriage, so, at the first opportunity tomorrow, you must refuse Lurin, so that we may never hear his name again. Good heavens! cried Pulcheria Alexandrovna. Brother, think what you are saying. Avdotia Romanovna began impetuously, but immediately checked herself. You are not fit to talk now, perhaps. You are tired. She added gently. You think I am delirious? No. You are marrying Lurin for my sake, but I won't accept a sacrifice, and so write a letter before tomorrow to refuse him. Let me read it in the morning, and that will be the end of it. Avdotia Romanovna. That I can do. Raskonikovna. The girl cried, offended. Avdotia Romanovna. What right have you? Raskonikovna. Dunia, you are hasty, too. Be quiet. Tomorrow, don't you see? Avdotia Romanovna. The mother interposed in dismay. Raskonikovna. Avdotia Romanovna. Better come away. Avdotia Romanovna. Dunia and cried, tipsily. Raskonikovna. Or how would he dare? Tomorrow all this nonsense will be over. Today he certainly did drive him away. That was so. Illusion got angry, too. He made speeches here, wanted to show off his learning, and he went out crestfallen. Avdotia Romanovna. Then it's true. Raskonikovna. Cryed Polheria Alexandrovna. Raskonikovna. Good-bye till tomorrow, brother. Raskonikovna. Said Dunia compassionately. Raskonikovna. Good-bye, Rodya. Raskonikovna. Do you hear, sister? Raskonikovna. He repeated after them, making a last effort. Raskonikovna. I am not delirious. This marriage is an infamy. Let me act like a scoundrel. But you mustn't. One is enough. And though I am a scoundrel, I wouldn't own such a sister. It's me or Lurin. Go now. Raskonikovna. But you're out of your mind. Desperate. Roared, Razumihin. But Raskonikov did not and perhaps could not answer. He lay down on the sofa and turned to the wall, utterly exhausted. Avdotia Romanovna looked with interest at Razumihin. Her black eyes flashed. Razumihin positively started at her glance. Polheria Alexandrovna stood overwhelmed. Nothing would induce me to go. She whispered in despair to Razumihin. I will stay somewhere here. Escort Dunia home. You'll spoil everything. Razumihin answered in the same whisper, losing patience. Come out onto the stairs anyway. Nastasia, show a light. I assure you. He went on in a half whisper on the stairs. That he was almost beating the doctor and me this afternoon. Do you understand? The doctor himself. Even he gave way and left him so as not to irritate him. I remain downstairs on guard. But he dressed at once and slipped off. And he will slip off again if you irritate him at this time of night and will do himself some mischief. What are you saying? And Avdotia Romanovna can't possibly be left in those lodgings without you. Just think where you are staying. That blaggard Piotr Petrovich couldn't find you better lodgings. But you know I've had a little to drink. And that's what makes me swear. Don't mind it. But I'll go to the landlady here. Polheria Alexandrovna insisted. I'll besiege her to find some corner for Dunia and me for the night. I can't leave him like that. I cannot. This conversation took place on the landing just before the landlady's door. Nastasia lighted them from a step below. Razumihin was in extraordinary excitement. Half an hour earlier, while he was bringing Raskolnikov home, he had indeed talked too freely, but he was aware of it himself, and his head was clear in spite of the vast quantities he had imbibed. Now he was in a state bordering on ecstasy, and all that he had drunk seemed to fly to his head with redoubled effect. He stood with the two ladies, seizing both by their hands, persuading them and giving them reasons with astonishing plainness of speech, and at almost every word he uttered, probably to emphasize his arguments, he squeezed their hands painfully as in a vice. He stared at Abdotya Romanovna without the least regard for good manners. They sometimes pulled their hands out of his huge bony paws, but far from noticing what was the matter, he drew them all the closer to him. If they'd told him to jump head foremost from the staircase, he would have done it without thought or hesitation in their service. Though Polheria Alexandrovna felt that the young man was really too eccentric and pinched her hand too much, in her anxiety over Herodia she looked on his presence as providential, and was unwilling to notice all his peculiarities. But though Abdotya Romanovna shared her anxiety and was not of timorous disposition, she could not see the glowing light in his eyes without wonder and almost alarm. It was only the unbounded confidence inspired by Nastasia's account of her brother's queer friend which prevented her from trying to run away from him and to persuade her mother to do the same. She realized, too, that even running away was perhaps impossible now. Ten minutes later, however, she was considerably reassured. It was characteristic of Razumihin that he showed his true nature at once, whatever mood he might be in, so that people quickly saw the sort of man they had to deal with. You can't go to the land, lady! That's perfect nonsense! He cried. If you stay, though you are his mother, you'll drive him to a frenzy, and then goodness knows what will happen. Listen, I'll tell you what I'll do. Nastasia will stay with him now, and I'll conduct you both home. You can't be in the streets alone. Petersburg is an awful place in that way. But no matter! Then I'll run straight back here and a quarter of an hour later on my word of honor. I'll bring you news how he is, whether he is asleep and all that. Then listen. Then I'll run home in a twinkling. I have a lot of friends there, all drunk. I'll fetch Zosimov. That's the doctor who is looking after him. He is there too, but he is not drunk. He is not drunk. He is never drunk. I'll drag him to Rodya, and then to you, so that you'll get two reports in the hour from the doctor you understand, from the doctor himself. That's a very different thing from my account of him. If there's anything wrong, I swear I'll bring you here myself, but if it's all right, you go to bed. And I'll spend the night here in the passage he won't hear me, and I'll tell Zosimov to sleep at the landlady's to be at hand. Which is better for him, you or the doctor? So come home then. But the landlady is out of the question. It's all right for me, but it's out of the question for you. She wouldn't take you, for she's a fool. She'd be jealous on my account of Avdotya Romanovna and of you too, if you want to know. Of Avdotya Romanovna, certainly. She is an absolutely, absolutely unaccountable character. But I am a fool too. No matter. Come along. Do you trust me? Come, do you trust me or not? Let us go, mother, said Avdotya Romanovna. He will certainly do what he has promised. He has saved Avdotya already, and if the doctor really will consent to spend the night here, what could be better? You see, you understand me because you are an angel. Razumihin cried in ecstasy. Let us go. Nastasia, fly upstairs and sit with him with a light. I'll come in a quarter of an hour. Though Poheria Alexandrovna was not perfectly convinced, she made no further resistance. Razumihin gave an arm to each and drew them down the stairs. He still made her uneasy, as, though he was competent and good-natured, was he capable of carrying out his promise? He seemed in such a condition. Ha! I see you think I am in such a condition. Razumihin broke in upon her thoughts, guessing them, as he strolled along the pavement with huge steps, so that the two ladies could hardly keep up with him. A fact he did not observe, however. Nonsense! That is, I am drunk like a fool, but that's not it. I am not drunk from wine. It's seen you has turned my head. But don't mind me. Don't take any notice. I am talking nonsense. I am not worthy of you. I am utterly unworthy of you. The minute I've taken you home, I'll pour a couple of pailfuls of water over my head in the gutter here, and then I shall be all right. If only you knew how I love you both. Don't laugh, and don't be angry. You may be angry with anyone, but not with me. I am his friend, and therefore I am your friend too. I want to be. I had a pre-sentiment. Last year there was a moment. Though it wasn't a pre-sentiment, really. For you have seemed to have fallen from heaven. And I expect I shan't sleep all night. Zosimov was afraid a little time ago that he would go mad. That's why he mustn't be irritated. What do you say? cried the mother. Did the doctor really say that? asked Abdotya Romanovna, alarmed. Yes, but it's not so, not a bit of it. He gave him some medicine, a powder, I saw it. And then you're coming here. It would have been better if you had come to-morrow. It's a good thing we went away. And in an hour Zosimov himself will report to you about everything. He is not drunk. And I shan't be drunk. And what made me get so tight? Because they got me into an argument. Damn them. I've sworn never to argue. They talk such trash. I almost came to blows. I've left my uncle to preside. Would you believe they insist on complete absence of individualism? And that's just what they relish. Not to be themselves, to be as unlike themselves as they can. That's what they regard as the highest point of progress. If only in our nonsense were their own, but as it is. Listen, Pulheri Alexandrovna interrupted timidly, but it only added fuel to the flames. What do you think? shouted Vrazumihin, louder than ever. You think I am attacking them for talking nonsense? Not a bit. I like them to talk nonsense. That's man's one privilege over all creation. Through error you come to the truth. I am a man because I err. You never reach any truth without making 14 mistakes, and very likely 114. And a fine thing too in its way. But we can't even make mistakes on our own account. Talk nonsense, but talk your own nonsense, and I'll kiss you for it. To go wrong in one's own way is better than to go right in someone else's. In the first case, you are a man. In the second, you're no better than a bird. Truth won't escape you, but life can be cramped. There have been examples. And what are we doing now? In science, development, thought, invention, ideals, aims, liberalism, judgment, experience, and everything, everything, everything, we are still in the preparatory class at school. We prefer to live on other people's ideas. It's what we are used to. Am I right? Am I right? cried Vrazumihin, pressing and shaking the two ladies' hands. Oh mercy, I do not know. cried poor Pulheria Alexandrovna. Yes, yes, though I don't agree with you in everything. added Avdotya Romanovna earnestly, and at once uttered a cry for he squeezed her hand so painfully. Yes, you say yes. Well, after that, you, you, he cried in a transport. You were a fount of goodness, purity, sense, and perfection. Give me your hand and give me yours, too. I want to kiss your hands here at once on my knees. And he fell on his knees on the pavement. Fortunately, at that time, deserted. Leave off. I entrate you. What are you doing? Pulheria Alexandrovna cried, greatly distressed. Get up, get up, said Dunya, laughing, though she too was upset. Not for anything to you let me kiss your hands. That's it. Enough. I get up and we'll go on. I'm a luckless fool. I am unworthy of you and drunk. And I am ashamed. I am not worthy to love you. But to do homage to you is the duty of every man who was not a perfect beast. And I've done homage. Here are your lodgings. And for that alone, Rodia was right in driving your Piotr Petrovich away. How dare he? How dare he put you in such lodgings? It's a scandal. Do you know the sort of people they take in here? And you is betrothed. You are his betrothed. Yes? Well then, I'll tell you your fiance is a scoundrel. Excuse me, Mr. Razumihin, you are forgetting. Pulheria Alexandrovna was beginning. Yes, yes, you are right. I did forget myself. I am ashamed of it. Razumihin made haste to apologize. But, but you can't be angry with me for speaking so. For I speak sincerely and not because that would be disgraceful. In fact, not because I'm in. Well, anyway, I won't say why I daren't. But we all saw today when he came in that that man is not of our sort. Not because he had his hair curled at the barbers not because he went such a hurry to show his wit. But because he is a spy, a speculator, because he has a skin flint and a buffoon. That's evident. Do you think him clever? No, he is a fool, a fool. And is he a match for you? Good heavens. Do you see, ladies, he stops suddenly on the way upstairs to their rooms, though all my friends there are drunk, yet they are all honest. And though we do talk a lot of trash, and I do too, yet we shall talk our way to the truth at last. For we are on the right path, while Piotr Petrovich is not on the right path. Though I've been calling him all sorts of names just now, I do respect them all. Though I don't respect Zemietov, I like him for he's a puppy, and that Bolag Zelsimov, because he is an honest man, and knows his work. But enough, it's all said and forgiven. Is it forgiven? Well then, let's go on. I know this corridor. I've been here. There was a scandal here at number three. Where are you here? Which number? Eight? Well lock yourselves in for the night then. Don't let anybody in. In a quarter of an hour I'll come back with news, and half an hour later I'll bring Zelsimov. You'll see. Goodbye. I'll run. Good heavens, Dunya. What is going to happen? Said Polheria Alexanderovna, addressing her daughter with anxiety and dismay. Don't worry yourself, mother, said Dunya, taking off her hat and cape. God has sent this gentleman to our aid, though he has come from a drinking party. We can depend on him, I assure you, and all that he has done for Odya. Ah, Dunya, goodness knows whether he will come. How could I bring myself to leave, Odya, and how different, how different I had fancied our meeting. How sullen he was, as though not pleased to see us. Tears came into her eyes. No, it is not that, mother. You didn't see you were crying all the time. He is quite unhinged by Serious Illness. That's the reason. Ah, that Illness. What will happen? What will happen? And how he talked to you, Dunya? Said the mother, looking timidly at her daughter, trying to read her thoughts, and already half consoled by Dunya standing up for her brother, which meant that she had already forgiven him. I am sure he will think better of it to-morrow. She added, probing her further. And I am sure he will say the same to-morrow. About that. Avdotya Romanovna said finally. And, of course, there was no going beyond that. For this was a point which Pulheria Alexandrovna was afraid to discuss. Dunya went up and kissed her mother. The latter warmly embraced her without speaking. Then she sat down to wait anxiously for Razumihin's return, timidly watching her daughter, who walked up and down the room with her arms folded, lost in thought. This walking up and down when she was thinking was a habit of Avdotya Romanovna's, and the mother was always afraid to break in on her daughter's mood at such moments. Razumihin, of course, was ridiculous in his sudden drunken infatuation for Avdotya Romanovna. Yet, apart from his eccentric condition, many people would have thought it justified if they had seen Avdotya Romanovna, especially at that moment when she was walking to and fro with folded arms, pensive and melancholy. Avdotya Romanovna was remarkably good-looking. She was tall, strikingly well-proportioned, strong, and self-reliant. The latter quality was apparent in every gesture, though it did not the least attract from the grace and softness of her movements. In face she resembled her brother, but she might be described as really beautiful. Her hair was dark brown, a little lighter than her brother's. There was a proud light in her almost black eyes, and yet at times a look of extraordinary kindness. She was pale, but it was a healthy pallor. Her face was radiant with freshness and vigor. Her mouth was rather small. The full red lower lip projected a little, as did her chin. It was the only irregularity in her beautiful face, but it gave a peculiarly individual and almost haughty expression. Her face was always more serious and thoughtful than gay. But how well smiles, how well youthful, light-hearted, irresponsible laughter suited her face. It was natural enough that a warm, open, simple-hearted, honest giant like Razumihin, who had never seen anyone like her, and was not quite sober at the time, should lose his head immediately. Besides, as chance would have it, he saw Dunya for the first time transfigured by her love for her brother and her joy at meeting him. Afterwards he saw her lower lip quiver with indignation at her brother's insolent, cruel, and ungrateful words, and his fate was sealed. He had spoken the truth, moreover, when he blurted out in his drunken talk on the stairs that Praskovia Pavlovna, Raskolnikov's eccentric landlady would be jealous of Pulheria Alexandrovna, as well as Avavdotia Romanovna, on his account. Although Pulheria Alexandrovna was forty-three, her face still retained traces of her former beauty. She looked much younger than her age indeed, which is almost always the case with women who retained serenity of spirit, sensitiveness, and pure, sincere warmth of heart, to old age. We may add, in parenthesis, that to preserve all this is the only means of retaining beauty to old age. Her hair had begun to grow gray and thin. There had long been little crow's-foot wrinkles round her eyes. Her cheeks were hollow and sunken from anxiety and grief, and yet it was a handsome face. She was dunia over again, twenty years older, but without the projecting underlip. Pulheria Alexandrovna was emotional, but not sentimental, timid, and yielding, but only to a certain point. She could give way and accept a great deal, even of what was contrary to her convictions, but there was a certain barrier fixed by honesty, principle, and the deepest convictions, which nothing would induce her to cross. Exactly twenty minutes after Razumihin's departure, there came two subdued but hurried knocks at the door. He had come back. I won't come in. I haven't time. He hastened to say when the door was opened. He sleeps like a top, soundly, quietly, and God grant he may sleep ten hours. Nostasia's with him. I told her not to leave until I came. Now I am fetching Zosimov. He will report to you, and then you'd better turn in. I can see you are too tired to do anything. And he ran off down the corridor. What a very competent and devoted young man! cried Pulheria Alexandrovna, exceedingly delighted. He seems a splendid person! Avdotia Romanovna replied with some warmth, resuming her walk up and down the room. It was nearly an hour later when they heard footsteps in the corridor and another knock at the door. Both women waited this time, completely relying on Razumihin's promise. He actually had succeeded in bringing Zosimov. Zosimov had agreed at once to desert the drinking party to go to Raskonikov's, but he came reluctantly, and with the greatest suspicion to see the ladies, mistrusting Razumihin in his exhilarated condition. But his vanity was at once reassured and flattered. He saw that they were really expecting him as an oracle. He stayed just ten minutes and succeeded in completely convincing and comforting Pulheria Alexandrovna. He spoke with much sympathy, but with the reserve and extreme seriousness of a young doctor at an important consultation. He did not utter a word on any other subject, and did not display the slightest desire to enter into more personal relations with the two ladies. Remarking at his first entrance the dazzling beauty of Avdotia Romanovna, he endeavored not to notice her at all during his visit, and addressed himself solely to Pulheria Alexandrovna. All this gave him extraordinary inward satisfaction. He declared that he thought the invalid at this moment going on very satisfactorily. According to his observations, the patient's illness was due partly to his unfortunate material surroundings during the last few months, but it had partly also a moral origin. Was, so to speak, the product of several material and moral influences—anxieties, apprehensions, troubles, certain ideas, and so on. Noticing stealthily that Avdotia Romanovna was following his words with close attention, Zosimov allowed himself to enlarge on this theme. On Pulheria Alexandrovna's anxiously intimately inquiring as to— Some suspicion of insanity. He replied with a composed and candid smile that his words had been exaggerated—that certainly the patient had some fixed idea, something approaching a monomania. He, Zosimov, was now particularly studying this interesting branch of medicine, but that it must be recollected that until today the patient had been in delirium and—and that no doubt the presence of his family would have a favourable effect on his recovery and distract his mind. If only all fresh shocks can be avoided. He added significantly. Then he got up, took leave with an impressive and affable bow, while blessings, warm gratitude, and entreaties were showered upon him, and Avdotia Romanovna spontaneously offered her hand to him. He went out exceedingly pleased with his visit, and still more so with himself. We'll talk to-morrow. Go to bed at once. Razumihin said in conclusion, following Zosimov out, I'll be with you to-morrow morning as early as possible with my report. That's a fetching little girl, Avdotia Romanovna. Remarked Zosimov, almost licking his lips as they both came out into the street. Fetching? You said fetching? Roared Razumihin as he flew at Zosimov and seized him by the throat. If you ever dare, do you understand? Do you understand? He shouted, shaking him by the collar and squeezing him against the wall. Do you hear? Let me go, you drunken devil! Said Zosimov, struggling, and when he had that go of him, he stared at him and went off into a sudden gaffah. Razumihin stood facing him in gloomy and earnest reflection. Of course. I am an ass. He observed, somber as a storm cloud. But still. You are another. No, brother. Not at all such another. I am not dreaming of any folly. They walked along in silence, and only when they were close to Raskolnikov's lodgings, Razumihin broke the silence in considerable anxiety. Listen, he said. You're a first-rate fellow. But among your other failings, you're a loose fish that I know and a dirty one too. You are a feeble, nervous wretch. And a mass of whims. You're getting fat and lazy and can't deny yourself anything. And I call that dirty because it leads one straight into the dirt. You've let yourself get so slack that I don't know how it is you're still a good, even a devoted doctor. You, a doctor, sleep on a feather bed and get up at night to your patients. In another three or four years, you won't get up for your patients. But hang in all, that's not the point. You are going to spend tonight in the landlady's flat here. Hard work I've had to persuade her. And I'll be in the kitchen. So here's a chance for you to get to know her better. It's not as you think. There's not a trace of anything of a sort, brother. But I don't think. Here you have modesty, brother, silence, bashfulness, a savage virtue. And yet she's sighing and melting like wax, simply melting. Save me from her by all that's unholy. She's most prepossessing. I'll repay you. I'll do anything. So seem of a laugh more violently than ever. Well, you are smitten. But what am I to do with her? It won't be much trouble, I assure you. Talk any rot you like to her, as long as you sit by her and talk. You're a doctor, too. Try curing her or something. I swear you won't regret it. She has a piano and, you know, I strum a little. I have a song there, a genuine Russian one. I shed hot tears. She likes the genuine article. And well, it all began with that song. Now you're a regular performer, a maitre, a Rubenstein. I assure you you won't regret it. But have you made her some promise? Something signed? A promise of marriage, perhaps? Nothing. Nothing. Absolutely nothing of the kind. Besides, she is not that sort at all. Sheborov tried that. Well then, drop her. But I can't drop her like that. Why can't you? Well, I can't. That's all about it. There's an element of attraction here, brother. Then why have you fascinated her? I haven't fascinated her. Perhaps I've fascinated myself in my folly. But she won't care a straw whether it's you or I, so long as somebody sits beside her, sighing. I can't explain the position, brother. Look, here. You are good at mathematics. And working at it now. Begin teaching her the integral calculus. Upon my soul, I'm not joking. I'm in earnest. It'll be just the same to her. She will gaze at you and sigh for a whole year together. I talked to her once for two days at a time about the Prussian House of Lords, for one must talk of something. She just sighed and perspired. And you mustn't talk of love. She's bashful to hysterics. But just let her see you can't tear yourself away. That's enough. It's fearfully comfortable. You're quite at home. You can read, sit, lie about, write. You may even venture on a kiss if you're careful. But what do I want with her? I can't make you understand. You see, you are made for each other. I have often been reminded of you. You'll come to it in the end. So does it matter whether it's sooner or later? There's the featherbed element here, brother. And not only that, there's an attraction here. Here you have the end of the world and anchorage, a quiet haven, the navel of the earth, the three fishes that are the foundation of the world, the essence of pancakes, of savory fish pies, of the evening semivar, of soft sighs and warm shawls, and hot stoves to sleep on. As snug as though you were dead and yet you're alive. The advantages of both at once. Well, hang it, brother. What stuff I'm talking? It's bed time. Listen, I sometimes wake up at night, so I'll go in and look at him. But there's no need. It's all right. Don't you worry yourself. Yet if you like, you might just look in once, too. But if you notice anything, delirium or fever, wake me at once. But there can't be. Troubled and serious. He found himself confronted with many new and unlooked-for perplexities. He had never expected that he would ever wake up feeling like that. He remembered every detail of the previous day, and he knew that a perfectly novel experience had befallen him, that he had received an impression unlike anything he had known before. At the same time he recognized clearly that the dream which had fired his imagination was hopelessly unattainable, so unattainable that he felt positively ashamed of it, and he hastened to pass to the other more practical cares and difficulties bequeathed him by that. Thrice accursed yesterday! The most awful recollection of the previous day was the way he had shown himself base and mean, not only because he had been drunk, but because he had taken advantage of the young girl's position to abuse her fiancée and his stupid jealousy, knowing nothing of their mutual relations and obligations, and next to nothing of the man himself. And what right had he to criticize him in that hasty and unguarded manner? Who had asked for his opinion? Was it thinkable that such a creature as Avdotia Romanovna would be marrying an unworthy man for money? So there must be something in him. The lodgings? But after all, how could he know the character of the lodgings? He was furnishing a flat. Foo! How despicable it all was! And what justification was it that he was drunk? Such a stupid excuse was even more degrading. In wine is truth, and the truth had all come out. That is, all the uncleanness of his course and envy his heart. And would such a dream ever be permissible to him, Razumihin? What was he beside such a girl? He, the drunken, noisy braggart of last night. Was it possible to imagine so absurd and cynical a juxtaposition? Razumihin blushed desperately at the very idea, and suddenly the recollection forced itself vividly upon him of how he had said last night on the stairs that the landlady would be jealous of Avdotia Romanovna. That was simply intolerable. He brought his fist down heavily on the kitchen stove, hurt his hand, and sent one of the bricks flying. Of course. He muttered to himself a minute later with a feeling of self-abasement. Of course all these infamies can never be wiped out or smoothed over, and so it's useless even to think of it, and I must go to them in silence and do my duty. In silence too. And not ask forgiveness and say nothing, for all is lost now. And yet as he dressed he examined his attire more carefully than usual. He hadn't another suit. If he had had, perhaps he wouldn't have put it on. I would have made a point of not putting it on. But in any case he could not remain a cynic and a dirty slavin. He had no right to offend the feelings of others, especially when they were in need of his assistants and asking him to see them. He brushed his clothes carefully. His linen was always decent. In that respect he was especially clean. He washed that morning scrupulously. He had got some soap from Nastasia. He washed his hair, his neck, and especially his hands. When it came to the question whether to shave his stubbly chin or not, Praskovya Pavlovna had capital razors that had been left by her late husband. The question was angrily answered in the negative. Let it stay as it is. What if they think I shaved it on purpose too? They certainly would think so. Not on any account. And the worst of it was he was so coarse, so dirty. He had the manners of a pot-house. And even admitting that he knew he had some of the essentials of a gentleman. What was there in that to be proud of? Everyone ought to be a gentleman, and more than that. And all the same, he remembered. He too had done little things. Not exactly dishonest. And yet, and what thoughts he sometimes had. And to set all that aside of Doty Romanovna, confound it, so be it. Well, he'd make a point then, of being dirty, greasy, pot-house in his manners, and he wouldn't care. He'd be worse. He was engaged in such monologues when Zosimov, who had spent the night in Praskovya Pavlovna's parlor, came in. He was going home and was in a hurry to look at the infallid first, Razumihin informed him that Raskonokov was sleeping like a door-mouse. Zosimov gave orders that they shouldn't wake him and promised to see him again about eleven. If he is still at home? He added. Damn it all! If one can't control one's patience, I was one to cure them. Do you know whether he will go to them or whether they are coming here? They are coming, I think. Said Razumihin, understanding the object of the question. And they will discuss their family affairs, no doubt. I'll be off. You, as the doctor, have more right to be here than I. But I am not a father, confessor. I shall come and go away. I have plenty to do, besides looking after them. One thing worries me. Interposed, Razumihin, frowning. On the way home, I talked a lot of drunken nonsense to him. All sorts of things. And amongst them that you were afraid that he might become insane. You told the ladies so too. I know it was stupid. You may beat me if you like. Did you think so seriously? That's nonsense, I tell you. How could I think it seriously? You yourself described him as a monomaniac when you fetched me to him. And we added fuel to the fire yesterday. You did, that is, with your story about the painter. He was a nice conversation, when he was perhaps mad on the very point. If only I'd known what happened, then at the police station, and that some wretch had insulted him with this suspicion. I would not have allowed that conversation yesterday. These monomaniacs will make a mountain out of a molehill, and see their fancies as solid realities. As far as I remember, it was Xamatov's story that cleared up half the mystery to my mind. Why, I know one case in which a hypochondriac, a man of 40, got the throat of a little boy of eight, because he couldn't endure the jokes he made every day at table. And in this case his rags, the insolent police officer, the fever, and this suspicion. All that working on a man hefrantic with hypochondria, and with his morbid exceptional vanity. That may well have been the starting point of illness. I'll bother it all. And by the way, that Xamatov certainly is a nice fellow. But hmm, he shouldn't have told all that last night. He is an awful chatterbox. But whom did he tell it to? You and me? In Potfury. What does that matter? And by the way, have you any influence on them? His mother and sister? Tell them to be more careful with him today. They'll get on all right. Razumihin answered reluctantly. Why is he so set against this Lurian? I'm in with Mummy, and she doesn't seem to dislike him. And they haven't the farthing, I suppose, eh? But what business is it of yours? Razumihin cried with annoyance. How can I tell whether they've a farthing? Ask them yourself, and perhaps you'll find out. Foo. Who then asks you are sometimes? Last night's wine has not gone off yet. Goodbye. Thank you, Praskovia Pavlovna, from me, for my night's lodging. She locked herself in, made no reply to my bonjour through the door. She was up at seven o'clock. The semibar was taken into her from the kitchen. I was not vouchsafed, a personal interview. At nine o'clock precisely, Razumihin reached the lodgings at Bakaleyev's house. Both ladies were waiting for him with nervous impatience. They had risen at seven o'clock or earlier. He entered looking black as night, bowed awkwardly, and was at once furious with himself for it. He had reckoned without his host. Polheria Alexandrovna fairly rushed at him, seized him by both hands, and was almost kissing them. He glanced timidly at Avdotya Romanovna, but her proud countenance wore at that moment an expression of such gratitude and friendliness, such complete and unlooked-for respect, in place of the sneering looks and ill-disguised contempt he had expected, that it threw him into greater confusion than if he had been met with abuse. Fortunately there was a subject for conversation, and he made haste to snatch at it. Hearing that everything was going well, and that Rodya had not yet waked, Polheria Alexandrovna declared that she was glad to hear it, because she had something which it was very, very necessary to talk over beforehand. Then followed an enquiry about breakfast, and an invitation to have it with them. They had waited to have it with him. Avdotya Romanovna rang the bell. It was answered by a ragged, dirty waiter, and they asked him to bring tea, which was served at last, but in such a dirty and disorderly way that the ladies were ashamed. Razumihin vigorously attacked the lodgings, but, remembering Lusian, stopped in embarrassment, and was greatly relieved by Polheria Alexandrovna's questions, which showered in a continual stream upon him. He talked for three-quarters of an hour, being constantly interrupted by their questions, and succeeded in describing to them all the most important facts he knew of the last year of Raskolnikov's life, concluding with a circumstantial account of his illness. He omitted, however, many things which were better omitted, including the scene of the police station, with all its consequences. They listened eagerly to his story, and, when he thought he had finished and satisfied his listeners, he found that they considered he had hardly begun. Tell me, tell me, what do you think? Excuse me, I still don't know your name. Polheria Alexandrovna put in hastily. Dmitry Prokovich. I should very, very much like to know, Dmitry Prokovich, how he looks on things in general now. That is, how can I explain? What are his likes and dislikes? Is he always so irritable? Tell me if you can. What are his hopes, and, so to say, his dreams? Under what influences is he now? In a word, I should like— A mother. How can he answer all that at once? Observed, Dunia? Good heavens, I had not expected to find him in the least like this, Dmitry Prokovich. Naturally. Answered, Razumihin. I have no mother, but my uncle comes every year, and almost every time he can scarcely recognize me, even in appearance, though he is a clever man. And your three years of separation means a great deal. What am I to tell you? I have known Rodion for a year and a half. He is morose, gloomy, proud and haughty, and of late, and perhaps for a long time before. He has been suspicious and fanciful. He has a noble nature and a kind heart. He does not like showing his feelings, and would rather do a cruel thing than open his heart freely. Sometimes, though, he is not at all morbid, but simply cold and inhumanly callous. It's as though he were alternating between two characters. Sometimes, he is fearfully reserved. He says he is so busy that everything is hindrance, and yet he lies in bed doing nothing. He doesn't jeer at things, not because he hasn't the wit, but as though he hadn't time to waste on such trifles. He never listens to what is said to him. He is never interested in what interests other people at any given moment. He thinks very highly of himself, and perhaps he is right. Well, what more? I think your arrival will have a most beneficial influence upon him. God grant it may! cried Pulheria Alexandrovna, distressed by Razumihin's account of her rodea. And Razumihin ventured to look more boldly at Avdotia Romanovna at last. He glanced at her often while he was talking, but only for a moment and looked away again at once. Avdotia Romanovna sat at the table, listening attentively, then got up again and began walking to and fro with her arms folded and her lips compressed, occasionally putting in a question, without stopping her walk. She had the same habit of not listening to what was said. She was wearing a dress of thin dark stuff, and she had a white transparent scarf round her neck. Razumihin soon detected signs of extreme poverty in their belongings. Had Avdotia Romanovna been dressed like a queen, he felt that he would not be afraid of her, but perhaps just because she was poorly dressed, and that he noticed all the misery of her surroundings, his heart was filled with dread, and he began to be afraid of every word he uttered, every gesture he made, which was very trying for a man who already felt diffident. He've told us a great deal that is interesting about my brother's character, and have told it impartially. I'm glad. I thought that you were too uncritically devoted to him. Observed Avdotia Romanovna with a smile. I think you are right that he needs a woman's care. She added thoughtfully. I didn't say so. But I daresay you are right. Only— What? He loves no one, and perhaps he never will. Razumihin declared decisively. You mean he is not capable of love? Do you know, Avdotia Romanovna, you are awfully like your brother in everything, indeed. He blurted out suddenly to his own surprise, but remembering at once what he had just said before of her brother, he turned his red as a crab and was overcome with confusion. Avdotia Romanovna couldn't help laughing when she looked at him. You may both be mistaken about Rodja. Polheria Alexandrovna remarked, slightly peaked. I am not talking about present difficulty, Dunja. What Piotr Petrovich writes in his letter, and what you and I have supposed, may be mistaken. But you can't imagine, Dimitri Prokovich, how moody and, so to say, capricious he is. I never could depend on what he would do when he was only fifteen. And I'm sure that he might do something now that nobody else would think of doing. Well, for instance, do you know how a year and a half ago he astounded me and gave me a shock that nearly killed me when he had the idea of marrying that girl? What was her name? His landlady's daughter. Did you hear about that affair? Ask Avdotia Romanovna. Do you suppose? Polheria Alexandrovna continued warmly. Do you suppose that my tears, my entreaties, my illness, my possible death from grief, our poverty would have made him pause? No, he would calmly have disregarded all obstacles. And yet it isn't that he doesn't love us. He has never spoken a word of that affair to me. Razumihin answered cautiously. But I did hear something from Proskovia Pavlovna herself, though she is by no means a gossip. And what I heard certainly was rather strange. And what did you hear? Both the ladies asked at once. Well, nothing very special. I only learned that the marriage, which only failed to take place through the girl's death, was not at all to Proskovia Pavlovna's liking. They say, too, the girl was not at all pretty. In fact, I am told positively ugly, and such an invalid, and queer. But she seems to have had some good qualities. She must have had some good qualities, or it's quite inexplicable. She had no money either, and he wouldn't have considered her money. But it's always difficult to judge in such matters. I am sure she was a good girl. Avdotya Romanovna observed briefly. God forgive me. I simply rejoiced at her death. Though I don't know which of them would have caused most misery to the other. He to her or she to him. Polheria Alexandrovna concluded. Then she began tentatively questioning him about the scene on the previous day with Luzhin, hesitating and continually glancing at Dunya, obviously to the latter's annoyance. This incident, more than all the rest, evidently caused her uneasiness, even consternation. Razumihin described it in detail again, but this time he added his own conclusions. He openly blamed Raskolnikov for intentionally insulting Piotr Petrovich, not seeking to excuse him on the score of his illness. He had planned it before his illness. He added. I think so, too. Polheria Alexandrovna agreed with a dejected air. But she was very much surprised at hearing Razumihin express himself so carefully, and even with a certain respect about Piotr Petrovich. Avdotia Romanovna, too, was struck by it. So this is your opinion of Piotr Petrovich? Polheria Alexandrovna could not resist asking. I can have no other opinion of your daughter's future husband. Razumihin answered firmly and with warmth. And I don't say it simply from vulgar politeness, but because… simply because Avdotia Romanovna has of her own free will, deigned to accept this man. If I spoke so rudely of him last night, it was because I was disgustingly drunk, and mad besides. Yes, mad, crazy. I lost my head completely. And this morning I am ashamed of it. He crimsoned and ceased speaking. Avdotia Romanovna flushed, but did not break the silence. She had not uttered a word from the moment they began to speak of Luzhin. Without her support, Polheria Alexandrovna obviously did not know what to do. At last, faltering and continually glancing at her daughter, she confessed that she was exceedingly worried by one circumstance. You see, Dmitry Prokofievich. She began. I'll be perfectly open with Dmitry Prokofievich, don't you? Of course, mother. Said Avdotia Romanovna emphatically. This is what it is. She began in haste, as though the permission to speak of her trouble lifted a weight off her mind. Very early this morning we got a note from Piotr Petrovich in reply to our letter announcing our arrival. He promised to meet us at the station, you know. Instead of that, he sent a servant to bring us the address of these lodgings, and to show us the way. And he sent a message that he would be here himself this morning. But this morning, this note came from him. You'd better read it yourself. There is one point in it which worries me very much. You'll soon see what that is. Tell me your candid opinion to meet Dmitry Prokofievich. You know Roger's character better than any one, and no one can advise us better than you can. Dunya, I must tell you, made her decision at once, but I still don't feel sure how to act, and I— I've been waiting for your opinion. Razumihin opened the note which was dated the previous evening, and read as follows. Dear madam, Pulhirya Alexandrovna, I have the honour to inform you that, owing to unforeseen obstacles, I was rendered unable to meet you at the railway station. I sent a very competent person with the same object in view. I likewise shall be deprived of the honour of an interview with you tomorrow morning, by business in the senate that does not admit of delay, and also that I may not intrude on your family's circle while you are meeting your son, and Avdotia Romanovna, her brother. I shall have the honour of visiting you and paying you my respects at your lodgings no later than tomorrow evening, at eight o'clock precisely, and herewith I venture to present my earnest, and I may add, imperative request, that Radion Romanovich may not be present at our interview, as he offered me a gross and unprecedented affront on the occasion of my visit to him in his illness yesterday, and, moreover, since I desire from you personally an indispensable and circumstantial explanation upon a certain point in regard to which I wish to learn your own interpretation. I have the honour to inform you, in anticipation, that if, in spite of my request, I meet Radion Romanovich, I shall be compelled to withdraw immediately, and then you have only yourself to blame. I write on the assumption that Radion Romanovich, who appeared so ill at my visit, suddenly recovered two hours later, and so being able to leave the house may visit you also. I was confirmed in that belief by the testimony of my own eyes in the lodging of a drunken man who was run over, and has since died, to whose daughter, a young woman of notorious behaviour, he gave twenty-five rubles on the pretext of the funeral, which gravely surprised me knowing what pains you were at to raise that sum. Herewith expressing my special respect to your esteemable daughter of Dotya Romanovna, I beg you to accept the respectful homage of your humble servant, P. Luzhin. What am I to do now to meet through Prokofievich? Began Polheria Alexandrovna, almost weeping. How can I ask Radia not to come? Yesterday he insisted so earnestly on our refusing Piotr Petrovich, and now we are ordered not to receive Radia. He will come on purpose if he knows, and what will happen then? Act and have Dotya Romanovna's decision. Razumihin answered calmly at once. Oh dear me, she says, goodness knows what she says, she doesn't explain her object. She says that it would be best at least, not that it would be best, but that it's absolutely necessary, that Radia should make a point of being here at eight o'clock, and that they must meet. I didn't want even to show him the letter, but to prevent him from coming by some stratagem with your help, because he is so irritable. Besides, I don't understand about that drunkard who died, and that daughter, and how he could have given the daughter all the money. Which? Which cost you such sacrifice, mother? Put in of Dotya Romanovna. He was not himself yesterday. Razumihin said thoughtfully. If you only knew what he was up to in a restaurant yesterday. Though there was sense in it too. Hmm. He did say something, as we were going home yesterday evening about a dead man and a girl. But I didn't understand a word. But last night, I myself— The best thing, mother, will be for us to go to him ourselves, and there I assure you, we shall see at once what's to be done. Besides, it's getting late. Good heavens! It's past ten. She cried, looking at a splendid golden-amled watch which hung round her neck on a thin Venetian chain, and looked entirely out of keeping with the rest of her dress. A present from her fiancée. Thought, Razumihin. We must start, Dunya, we must start. Her mother cried in a flutter. He will be thinking we are still angry after yesterday from our coming so late. Merciful heavens! While she said this, she was hurriedly putting on her hat and mantle. Dunya too put on her things. Her gloves, as Razumihin noticed, were not merely shabby but had holes in them. And yet this evident poverty gave the two ladies an air of special dignity, which is always found in people who know how to wear poor clothes. Razumihin looked reverently at Dunya and felt proud of escorting her. The queen who mended her stockings in prison. He thought. Must have looked, then, every inch a queen, and even more a queen, than at sumptuous banquets and levées. My God! exclaimed Polheria Alexandrovna. Little did I think that I should ever fear seeing my son, my darling, darling, Rodja. I am afraid, Dimitri Prokovich. She added, glancing at him timidly. Don't be afraid, mother. Said Dunya, kissing her. Better have faith in him. Oh, dear! I have faith in him, but I haven't slept all night. Exclaimed the poor woman. They came out into the street. Do you know, Dunya, when I dozed a little this morning, I dreamed of Marfa Petrovna. She was all in white. She came up to me, took my hand and shook her head at me, but so sternly as though she were blaming me. Is that a good omen? Oh, dear me, you don't know, Dimitri Prokovich, that Marfa Petrovna's dead? No, I didn't know. Who is Marfa Petrovna? She died suddenly and only fancy. Afterwards, mama, put in Dunya. He doesn't know who Marfa Petrovna is. Oh, you don't know? And I was thinking that you knew all about us. Forgive me, Dimitri Prokovich. I don't know what I am thinking about these last few days. I look upon you really as a providence for us, and so I took it for granted that you knew all about us. I look on you as a relation. Don't be angry with me for saying so. Dear me, what's the matter with your right hand? Have you knocked it? Yes, I bruised it. Mother to Razumihin, overjoyed. Sometimes I speak too much from the heart, so that Dunya finds fault with me. But, dear me, what a cupboard he lives in. I wonder whether he is awake. Does this woman, his landlady, consider it a room? Listen, you say he does not like to show his feelings, so perhaps I annoy him with my weaknesses. Do advise me, Dimitri Prokovich. How am I to treat him? I feel quite distracted, you know. Don't question him too much about anything if you see him frown. Don't ask him too much about his health. He doesn't like that. Ah, Dimitri Prokovich, how hard it is to be a mother. But here are the stairs. What an awful staircase. Mother, you are quite pale. Don't distress yourself, darling, said Dunya, caressing her. Then, with flashing eyes, she added, You ought to be happy at seeing you, and you are tormenting yourself so. Wait, I'll peep in and see whether he has waked up. The ladies slowly followed Razumihin, who went on before, and when they reached the landlady's door on the fourth story, they noticed that her door was a tiny crack open, and that two keen black eyes were watching them from the darkness within. When their eyes met, the door was suddenly shut with such a slam that Polheria Alexandrovna almost cried out. End of Part Three, Chapter Two Section Seventeen of Crime and Punishment This Librovac's recording is in the public domain. Crime and Punishment by Fyodor Dostoyevsky, translated by Konstantz Garnet. Part Three, Chapter Three He is well, quite well. Zosimov cried cheerfully as they entered. He had come in ten minutes earlier, and was sitting in the same place as before on the sofa. Raskolnikov was sitting in the opposite corner, fully dressed and carefully washed and combed, as he had not been for some time past. The room was immediately crowded, yet Nastasia managed to follow the visitors in and stayed to listen. Raskolnikov really was almost well, as compared with his condition the day before, but he was still pale, listless, and somber. He looked like a wounded man, or one who had undergone some terrible physical suffering. His brows were knitted, his lips compressed, his eyes feverish, he spoke little and reluctantly, as though performing a duty, and there was a restlessness in his movements. He only wanted a sling on his arm or a bandage on his finger to complete the impression of a man with a painful abscess or a broken arm. The pale somber face lighted up for a moment when his mother and sister entered, but this only gave it a look of more intense suffering in place of its listless dejection. The light soon died away, but the look of suffering remained, and Zosimov, washing and studying his patient with all the zest of a young doctor beginning to practice, noticed in him no joy at the arrival of his mother and sister, but a sort of bitter hidden determination to bear another hour or two of inevitable torture. He later saw that almost every word of the following conversation seemed to touch on some sore place and irritate it, but at the same time he marveled at the power of controlling himself and hiding his feelings in a patient who the previous day had, like a monomaniac, fallen into a frenzy at the slightest word. Yes, I see myself that I am almost well, said Raskolnikov, giving his mother and sister a kiss of welcome, which made Pulheria Alexandrovna radiant at once. And I don't say this, as I did yesterday. He said, addressing Razumihin, with a friendly pressure of his hand. Yes indeed, I am quite surprised at him today. Began, Zosimov, much delighted at the lady's entrance, for he had not succeeded in keeping up a conversation with his patient for ten minutes. In another three or four days, if he goes on like this, he will be just as before. That is, as he was a month ago, or two, or perhaps even three. This has been coming on for a long while, eh? Confess now, that it has been perhaps your own fault. He added, with a tentative smile, as though still afraid of irritating him. It is very possible. Answered Raskolnikov coldly. I should say, too. Continued, Zosimov, with zest. That your complete recovery depends solely on yourself. Now that one can talk to you, I should like to impress upon you that it is essential to avoid the elementary, so to speak, fundamental causes tending to produce your morbid condition. In that case, you will be cured. If not, it will go from bad to worse. These fundamental causes, I don't know, but they must be known to you. You are an intelligent man, and must have observed yourself, of course. I fancy the first stage of your derangement coincides with your leaving the university. You must not be left without occupation, and so work in a definite aim set before you might, I fancy, be very beneficial. Yes, yes, you are perfectly right. I will make haste and return to the university, and then everything will go smoothly. Zosimov, who had begun his sage advice partly to make an effect before the ladies, was certainly somewhat mystified when, glancing at his patient, he observed unmistakable mockery on his face. This lasted an instant, however. Pulheri Alexandrovna began at once thanking Zosimov, especially for his visit to their lodging on the previous night. What? You saw you last night? Raskolnikov added, as though startled. Then you have not slept, either, after your journey. Ah, Rodja, that was only till two o'clock. Dunya and I never go to bed before two at home. I don't know how to thank him, either. Raskolnikov went on, suddenly frowning and looking down. Setting aside the question of payment, forgive me for referring to it. He turned to Zosimov. I really don't know what I have done to deserve such special attention from you. I simply don't understand it, and… and… it weighs upon me, indeed, because I don't understand it. I tell you so candidly. Don't be irritated. Zosimov forced himself to laugh. Assume that you are my first patient. Well, we fellows just beginning to practice. Love our first patients, as if they were our children. And some almost fall in love with them. And, of course, I am not rich in patients. I say nothing about him. Added, Raskolnikov, pointing to Razumihin. Though he has had nothing from me, either, but insult and trouble. What nonsense he is talking! Why, you are in a central mood today, are you? Shouted Razumihin. If he had had more penetration, he would have seen that there was no trace of sentimentality in him, but something, indeed, quite the opposite. But Avdotya Romanovna noticed it. She was intently and uneasily watching her brother. As for you, mother, I don't dare to speak. He went on, as though repeating a lesson learned by heart. It is only today that I have been able to realize a little how distressed you must have been here yesterday, waiting for me to come back. When he had said this, he suddenly held out his hand to his sister, smiling without a word. But in this smile there was a flash of real, unfamed feeling. Dunya caught it at once and warmly pressed his hand, overjoyed and thankful. It was the first time he had addressed her since their dispute the previous day. The mother's face lighted up with ecstatic happiness at the sight of this conclusive, unspoken reconciliation. Yes, that is what I love him for. Razumihin, exaggerating it all, muttered to himself with a vigorous turn in his chair. He has these movements. And how well he does it all. The mother was thinking to herself. What generous impulses he has, and how simply, how delicately, he put an end to all the misunderstanding with his sister. Simply by holding out his hand at the right minute and looking at her like that. And what fine eyes he has, and how fine his whole face is. He's even better looking than Dunya. But could Heaven's water suit? How terribly he's dressed! Vasya, the messenger boy in Affanasi Ivanich's shop, is better dressed. I could rush at him and hug him, weep over him. But I'm afraid. Oh dear, he's so strange. He's talking kindly, but I'm afraid. Why, what am I afraid of? Oh, Rodya, you wouldn't believe. She began suddenly, and haste to answer his words to her. How unhappy Dunya and I were yesterday. Now that it's all over and done with, and we are quite happy again, I can tell you. Fancy, we ran here almost straight from the train to embrace you, and that woman, ah, here she is. Good morning, Nastasia. She told us at once that you were lying in a high fever, and had just run away from the doctor in a delirium, and they were looking for you in the streets. You can't imagine how we felt. I couldn't help thinking of the tragic end of Lieutenant Potanchikov, a friend of your father's, you can't remember him, Rodya, who ran out in the same way in a high fever, and fell into the well in the courtyard, and they couldn't pull him out till the next day. Of course, we exaggerated things. We were on the point of rushing to find Piotr Petrovich to ask him to help, because we were alone, utterly alone. She said plaintively, and stopped short, suddenly recollecting it was still somewhat dangerous to speak of Piotr Petrovich, although... We are quite happy again. Yes, yes, of course, it's very annoying. Raskolnikov muttered and replied, but with such a preoccupied and inattentive air that Dunya gazed at him in perplexity. What else was it I wanted to say? He went on, trying to recollect. Oh yes, mother, and you too, Dunya. Please don't think that I didn't mean to come and see you today, and was waiting for you to come first. What are you saying, Rodya? Cried Puheli Alexanderovna, she too was surprised. Is he answering us as a duty? Dunya wondered. Is he being reconciled and asking forgiveness, as though he were performing a rite or repeating a lesson? I've only just waked up and wanted to go to you, but was delayed owing to my clothes. I forgot yesterday to ask her, Nastasya, to wash out the blood. I've only just dressed. Blood? What blood? Puheli Alexanderovna asked an alarm. Oh nothing, don't be uneasy. It was when I was wondering about yesterday rather delirious. I chanced upon a man who had been run over, a clerk. Delirious? But you remember everything? Razumihin interrupted. That's true? Raskolnikov answered with special carefulness. I remember everything, even to the slightest detail, and yet, while I did that and went there and said that, I can't clearly explain now. A familiar phenomenon. Interpose, Osimov. Actions are sometimes performed in a masterly and most cunning way. While the direction of the actions is deranged, and dependent on various morbid impressions, it is like a dream. Perhaps it's a good thing, really, that he should thank me almost a madman. Thought, Raskolnikov. Why, people in perfect health act in the same way, too. Observed, Dunya, looking uneasily at Osimov. There is some truth in your observation. The latter replied. In that sense, we are certainly all not infrequently like madmen. But with the slight difference that the deranged are somewhat madder. For we must draw a line. A normal man, it is true, hardly exists. Among dozens, perhaps hundreds of thousands, hardly one is to be met with. At the word madman, carelessly dropped by Osimov in his chatter on his favorite subject, everyone frowned. Raskolnikov sat seeming not to pay attention, plunged in thought with a strange smile on his pale lips. He was still meditating on something. Well, what about the man who was run over? I interrupted you. Razumihin cried hastily. What? Raskolnikov seemed to wake up. Oh, I got splattered with blood helping to carry him to his lodging. By the way, Mama, I did an unpardonable thing yesterday. I was literally out of my mind. I gave away all the money you sent me, to his wife for the funeral. She's a widow now, in consumption, a poor creature. Three little children, starving, nothing in the house. There's a daughter, too. Perhaps you'd have given it yourself, if you'd seen them. But I had no right to do it, I admit. Especially as I knew how you needed the money yourself. To help others, one must have the right to do it, or else Kozy Shion, Sivunet's pa-conton. He laughed. That's right, isn't it, Donya? No, it's not. Answered Donya firmly. Bah! You two have ideals. He muttered, looking at her almost with hatred, and smiling sarcastically. I ought to have considered that. Well, that's praiseworthy, and it's better for you. And if you reach a line, you won't overstep, you will be unhappy. And if you overstep it, maybe you will be still unhappier. But all that's nonsense. He added irritably, vexed at being carried away. I only meant to say that I beg your forgiveness, mother. He concluded, shortly and abruptly. That's enough, Rodya. I'm sure that everything you do is very good. Said his mother, delighted. Don't be too sure. He answered, twisting his mouth into a smile. A silence followed. There was a certain constraint in all this conversation, and in the silence, and in the reconciliation, and in the forgiveness, and all were feeling it. It is as though they were afraid of me. Raskolnikov was thinking to himself, looking a-scancet his mother and sister. Pulheria Alexandrovna was indeed growing more timid the longer she kept silent. Yet in their absence I seemed to love them so much. Flashed through his mind. Do you know, Rodya, Marfa Petrovna is dead. Pulheria Alexandrovna suddenly blurted out. What Marfa Petrovna? Oh, messianas, Marfa Petrovna Svidrigrelov. I wrote you so much about her. Ah, yes, I remember. So she's dead. Oh, really? He roused himself suddenly, as if waking up. What did she die of? Only imagine, quite suddenly. Pulheria Alexandrovna answered hurriedly, encouraged by his curiosity. On the very day I was sending you that letter, would you believe it that awful man seems to have been the cause of her death? They say he beat her dreadfully. What, were they on such bad terms? He asked, addressing his sister. Not at all. Quite a contrary indeed. With her it was always very patient, considerate even. In fact, although seven years of their married life, he gave way to her too much so indeed in many cases, all of a sudden he seems to have lost patience. Then he could not have been so awful if he controlled himself for seven years. You seem to be defending him, Dunya. No. No, he's an awful man. I can imagine nothing more awful. Dunya answered, almost with a shudder, knitting her brows and sinking into thought. That had happened in the morning. Pulheria Alexandrovna went on hurriedly. And directly afterwards she ordered the horses to be harnessed to drive to town immediately after dinner. She always used to drive to the town in such cases. She ate a very good dinner, I am told. After the beating? That was always her habit. And immediately after dinner, so as not to be late in starting, she went to the bath house. You see, she was undergoing some treatment with baths. They have a cold spring there, and she used to bathe in it regularly every day. And no sooner had she got into the water when she suddenly had a stroke. I should think so. Said Zosimov. And did he beat her badly? What does that matter? Put in Dunya. But I don't know why you want to tell us such gossip, mother. Said Raskolnikov irritably, as it were in spite of himself. Oh, my dear, I don't know what to talk about. Broke from Pulheria Alexandrovna. Why? Are you all afraid of me? He asked with a constrained smile. That's certainly true. Said Dunya, looking directly and sternly at her brother. Mother was crossing herself with terror as she came up the stairs. His face worked, as though in convulsion. Ah, what are you saying, Dunya? Don't be angry, please, Rodya. Why did you say that, Dunya? Pulheria Alexandrovna began, overwhelmed. You see, coming here I was dreaming all the way in the train, how we should meet, how we should talk over everything together. And I was so happy I did not notice the journey. But what am I saying? I am happy now. You should not, Dunya. I am happy now, simply in seeing you, Rodya. Hush, mother. He muttered in confusion, not looking at her, but pressing her hand. We shall have time to speak freely of everything. As he said this, he was suddenly overwhelmed with confusion and turned pale. Again that awful sensation he had known of late passed with deadly chill over his soul. Again it became suddenly plain and perceptible to him that he had just told a fearful lie, that he would never now be able to speak freely of everything, that he would never again be able to speak of anything to anyone. The anguish of this thought was such that for a moment he almost forgot himself. He got up from his seat and not looking at anyone walked towards the door. What are you about? cried Razumihin, clutching him by the arm. He sat down again and began looking about him in silence. They were all looking at him in perplexity. But what are you also dull for? He shouted, suddenly and quite unexpectedly. Do say something. What's the use of sitting like this? Come, do speak. Let us talk. We'll meet together and sit in silence. Come, anything. Thank God! I was afraid the same thing as yesterday was beginning again. Said Pulheri Alexandrovna, crossing herself. What is the matter, Rodja? Asked, abducted your Romanovna distrustfully. Oh, nothing. I remembered something. He answered and suddenly laughed. Well, if you remembered something, that's all right. That was beginning to think. Muttered Zosimov, getting up from the sofa. It is time for me to be off. I will look in again, perhaps, if I can. He made his bowels and went out. What an excellent man! Observed Pulheri Alexandrovna. Yes, excellent, splendid, well educated, intelligent. Raskolnikov began, suddenly speaking with surprising rapidity and a liveliness he had not shown till then. I can't remember where I met him before my illness. I believe I have met him somewhere. And this is a good man, too. He nodded at Razumihin. Do you like him, Donya? He asked her, and suddenly, for some unknown reason, laughed. Very much. Answered, Dunya. Foo, what a pig you are. Razumihin protested, blushing in terrible confusion. And he got up from his chair. Pulheri Alexandrovna smiled faintly, but Raskolnikov laughed aloud. Where are you off to? We must go. You need not at all. Stay. Zosimov is gone, so you must. Don't go. What's the time? Is it twelve o'clock? What a pretty watch you've got, Donya. But why are you all silent again? I do all the talking. It was a present from Marfa Petrovna. Answered, Dunya. And a very expensive one. Added, Pulheri Alexandrovna. Ah, what a big one. Hardly like a lady's. I like that sort. Said Dunya. So it is not a present from her fiancé. Thought Razumihin, and was unreasonably delighted. I thought it was Loren's present. Observed, Raskolnikov. No, he has not made Dunya any presents yet. Ah, and do you remember mother? I was in love and wanted to get married. He said suddenly, looking at his mother, who was disconcerted by the sudden change of subject and the way he spoke of it. Oh, yes, my dear. Pulheri Alexandrovna exchanged glances with Dunya and Razumihin. Yes, what shall I tell you? I don't remember much indeed. She was such a sickly girl. He went on, growing dreamy and looking down again. Quite an invalid. She was fond of giving alms to the poor and was always dreaming of a nunnery. And once she burst into tears when she began talking to me about it. Yes, yes, I remember. I remember very well. She was an ugly little thing. I really don't know what drew me to her then. I think it was because she was always ill. If she had been lame or hunchback, I believe I should have liked her better still. He smiled dreamily. Yes, it was a sort of spring delirium. No, it was not only spring delirium. Said Dunya with warm feeling. He fixed a strained and tent look on his sister, but did not hear or did not understand her words. Then completely lost in thought, he got up, went up to his mother, kissed her, went back to his place, and sat down. You love her even now? Said Polheria Alexandrovna, touched. Her? Now? Oh, yes. You ask about her? No. That's all now as it were in another world, and so long ago. And indeed, everything happening here seems somehow far away. He looked attentively at them. You now. I seem to be looking at you from a thousand miles away, but goodness knows why we are talking of that. What's the use of asking about it? He added with annoyance, and abiding his nails fell into dreamy silence again. What a wretched lodging you have, Rodya. It's like a tomb. Said Polheria Alexandrovna, suddenly breaking the oppressive silence. I am quite sure it's half through your lodging you have become so melancholy. My lodging? He answered listlessly. Yes, the lodging had a great deal to do with it, and I thought that, too. If only you knew, though, what a strange thing you said just now, mother. He said, laughing strangely, a little more in their companionship, this mother and this sister, with him after three years' absence, this intimate tone of conversation, in face of the utter impossibility of really speaking about anything, would have been beyond his power of endurance. But there was one urgent matter which must be settled one way or the other that day, so he had decided when he woke. Now he was glad to remember it as a means of escape. Listen, Donya. He began, gravely and dryly. Of course I beg your pardon for yesterday, but I consider it my duty to tell you again that I do not withdraw from my chief point. It is me or Luren. If I am a scoundrel, you must not be. One is enough. If you marry Luren, I cease at once to look on you as a sister. Radia! Radia! It is the same as yesterday, again. Oh, Harry Alexandrovna cried mournfully. And why do you call yourself a scoundrel? I can't bear it. You said the same yesterday. Brother! Donya answered firmly and with the same dryness. In all this there is a mistake on your part. I thought it over at night and found out the mistake. It is all because you seem to fancy I am sacrificing myself to someone and for someone. That is not the case at all. I am simply marrying for my own sake, because things are hard for me. Though, of course, I shall be glad if I succeed in being useful to my family. But that is not the chief motive for my decision. She is lying. He thought to himself, biting his nails vindictively. Proud creature. She won't admit she wants to do it out of charity. Too haughty. O base characters. The only love as though they hate. O how I hate them all. In fact, continued Donya, I am marrying Piotr Petrovich, because of two evils I choose the less. I intend to do honestly all he expects of me, so I am not deceiving him. Why did you smile just now? She too flushed, and there was a gleam of anger in her eyes. All? He asked with a malignant grin. Within certain limits, both the manner and form of Piotr Petrovich's courtship showed me at once what he wanted. He may, of course, think too well of himself, but I hope he esteems me too. Why are you laughing again? And why are you blushing again? You are lying, sister. You are intentionally lying, simply from feminine obstinacy. Simply to hold your own against me. You cannot respect Lurin. I have seen him and talked with him. So you are selling yourself for money. And so, in any case, you were acting basely. And I am glad, at least, that you can blush for it. It is not true! I am not lying! cried Donya, losing her composure. I would not marry him if I were not convinced that he esteems me, and thinks highly of me. I would not marry him if I were not firmly convinced that I can respect him. Fortunately, I can have convincing proof of it this very day. And such a marriage is not a vilenessness, as you say. And even if you were right, if I really had determined on a vile action, is it not merciless on your part to speak to me like that? Why do you demand of me a heroism that perhaps you have not either? It is depotism. It is tyranny. If I ruin anyone, it is only myself. I am not committing a murder. Why do you look at me like that? Why are you so pale? Rodya, darling, what's the matter? Good heavens! You have made him faint! cried Pulheria Alexandrovna. No, no, nonsense. It's nothing. A little giddiness, not fainting. You are fainting on the brain. Yes, what was I saying? Oh, yes. In what way will you get convincing proof today that you can respect him? And that he esteems you, as you said. I think you said today? Mother, show Rodya Piotr Petrovich's letter. Said Dunia. It is strange. He said slowly, as though struck by a new idea. What am I making such a fuss for? What is it all about? Mary whom you like? He said this as though to himself, but said it aloud, and looked for some time at his sister as though puzzled. He opened the letter at last, still with the same look of strange wonder on his face. Then, slowly and attentively, he began reading, and read it through twice. Pulcheri Alexandrovna showed marked anxiety, and all indeed expected something particular. What surprises me? He began, after a short pause, handing the letter to his mother, but not addressing anyone in particular. Is that he is a businessman, a lawyer, and his conversation is pretentious indeed, and that he writes such an uneducated letter. They all started. They had expected something quite different. But they all write like that, you know? Razumihin observed abruptly. Have you read it? Yes. We showed him, Rodja. We consulted him just now. Pulcheri Alexandrovna began embarrassed. That's just the jargon of the courts. Razumihin put in. Legal documents are written like that to this day. Legal? Yes, it's just legal. Business language. Not so very uneducated, and not quite educated. Business language. Piotr Petrovich makes no secret of the fact that he had a cheap education. He is proud indeed of having made his own way. Abdotya Romanovna observed, somewhat offended by her brother's tone. Well, if he's proud of it, he has reason. I don't deny it. You seem to be offended, sister, at my making only such a frivolous criticism on the letter, and to think that I speak of such trifling matters on purpose to annoy you. It is quite the contrary. An observation apropos of the style occurred to me, that is by no means irrelevant as things stand. There is one expression. Blame yourselves, put in very significantly and plainly, and there is besides a threat that he will go away at once if I am present. That threat to go away is equivalent to a threat to abandon you both if you are disobedient, and to abandon you now after summoning you to Petersburg. Well, what do you think? Can one resent such an expression from Lurin? As we should if he— He pointed to Razumihin. Had written it? Azosimov, or one of us? No, answered Dunya with more animation. I saw clearly that it was too naively expressed, and that perhaps he simply has no skill in writing. That is a true criticism, brother. I did not expect indeed. It is expressed in legal style, and sounds coarser than perhaps he intended. But I must disillusion you a little. There is one expression in the letter, one slander about me, and rather a contemptible one. I gave the money last night to the widow. Woman in consumption crushed with trouble, and not on the pretext of the funeral, but simply to pay for the funeral, and not to the daughter, a young woman, as he writes of notorious behavior, whom I saw last night for the first time in my life, but to the widow. In all this I see a too hasty device to slander me, and to raise dissension between us. It is expressed again in legal jargon, that is to say, with too obvious display of the aim, and with a very naive eagerness. He is a man of intelligence, and to act sensibly, intelligence is not enough. It all shows the man, and I don't think he has great esteem for you. I tell you this simply to warn you, because I sincerely wish for your good. Dunja did not reply. Her resolution had been taken. She was only awaiting the evening. Then what is your decision, Roger? Asked Pohere Alexanderovna, who was more uneasy than ever at the sudden new business-like tone of his talk. What decision? You see, Piotr Petrovich writes that you are not to be with us this evening, and that he will go away if you come. So will you come? That, of course, is not for me to decide, but for you first, if you are not offended by such a request. And secondly, by Dunja, if she too is not offended, I will do what you think best. He added, dryly. Dunja has already decided, and I fully agree with her. Pohere Alexanderovna hastened to declare. I decided to ask you, Rodia, to urge you not to fail to be with us at this interview. Said Dunja. Will you come? Yes. I will ask you too to be with us at eight o'clock. She said, addressing Razumihin. Mother, I am inviting him too. Quite right, Dunja. Well, since you have decided. Added Pohere Alexanderovna. So be it. I shall feel easy of myself. I do not like concealment and deception. Better let us have the whole truth. Piotr Petrovich may be angry or not now. End of Part 3, Chapter 3. Section 18 of Crime and Punishment. This LibriVox recording is in the public domain. Crime and Punishment by Fyodor Trostoyevsky, translated by Constance Garnett. Part 3, Chapter 4. At that moment the door was softly opened, and a young girl walked into the room, looking timidly about her. Everyone turned towards her with surprise and curiosity. At first sight, Raskolnikov did not recognize her. It was Sofia Semionovna Marmaladov. He had seen her yesterday for the first time, but at such a moment, in such surroundings and in such a dress, that his memory retained a very different image of her. Now she was a modestly and poorly dressed young girl, very young indeed, almost like a child, with a modest and refined manner, with a candid but somewhat frightened-looking face. She was wearing a very plain indoor dress, and had on a shabby, old-fashioned hat, but she still carried a parasol. Unexpectedly finding the room full of people, she was not so much embarrassed as completely overwhelmed with shyness, like a little child. She was even about to retreat. Oh, it's you! Said Raskolnikov, extremely astonished, and he too was confused. He had once recollected that his mother and sister knew through Luzhin's letter of some young woman of notorious behavior. He had only just been protesting against Luzhin's calumny, and declaring that he had seen the girl last night for the first time, and suddenly she had walked in. He remembered too that he had not protested against the expression of notorious behavior. All this passed vaguely and fleetingly through his brain, but looking at her more intently, he saw that the humiliated creature was so humiliated that he felt suddenly sorry for her. When she made a movement to retreat in terror, it set a pang to his heart. I did not expect you. He said hurriedly, with a look that made her stop. Please sit down. You come no down from Katerina Ivanovna. Allow me, not there, sit here. At Sonya's entrance, Razumihin, who had been sitting on one of Raskolnikov's three chairs close to the door, got up to allow her to enter. Raskolnikov had first shown her the place on the sofa where Zosimov had been sitting, but feeling that the sofa, which served him as a bed, was too familiar a place, he hurriedly motioned her to Razumihin's chair. You sit here. He said to Razumihin, putting him on the sofa. Sonya sat down, almost shaking with terror, and looked timidly at the two ladies. It was evidently almost inconceivable to herself that she could sit down beside them. At the thought of it, she was so frightened that she hurriedly got up again and in utter confusion addressed Raskolnikov. I have come for one minute. Forgive me for disturbing you. She began falteringly. I come from Katerina Ivanovna, and she had no one to send. Katerina Ivanovna told me to beg you to be at the service in the morning. I admit Rafańewski, and then to us, to her, to do her the honour, she told me to beg you. Sonya stammered and ceased speaking. I will try, certainly, most certainly. Answered Raskolnikov, he too stood up, and he too faltered and could not finish his sentence. Please sit down. He said suddenly. I want to talk to you. You are perhaps in a hurry. But please be so kind, spare me two minutes. And he drew up a chair for her. Sonya sat down again, and again timidly she took a hurried, frightened look at the two ladies and dropped her eyes. Raskolnikov's pale face flushed, a shudder passed over him. His eyes glowed. Mother. He said, firmly and insistently. This is Sofia. Simon Ivanovna. Marmaladev. The daughter of that unfortunate Mr. Marmaladev, who was run over yesterday before my eyes and of whom I was just telling you. Pulheria Alexandrovna glanced at Sonya and slightly screwed up her eyes. In spite of her embarrassment before Rodia's urgent and challenging look, she could not deny herself that satisfaction. Dunia gazed gravely and intently into the poor girl's face and scrutinised her with perplexity. Sonya, hearing herself introduced, tried to raise her eyes again, but was more embarrassed than ever. I wanted to ask you. Sir Raskolnikov hastily. How things were arranged yesterday. You were not worried by the police, for instance? No, that was all right. It was too evident, the cause of death. They did not worry us. Only the lodgers are angry. Why? At the body's remaining so long, you see it is hot now, so that today they will carry it to the cemetery, into the chapel, until tomorrow. At first Kanarina Ivanovna was unwilling, but now she sees herself that it's necessary. Today then. She begs you to do us the honour to be in the church tomorrow for the service, and then to be present at the funeral lunch. She is giving a funeral lunch? Yes, just a little. She told me to thank you very much for helping us yesterday, but for you we should have had nothing for the funeral. All at once her lips and chin began trembling, but with an effort she controlled herself, looking down again. During the conversation, Raskolnikov watched her carefully. She had a thin, very thin, pale little face, rather irregular and angular, with a sharp little nose and chin. She could not have been called pretty, but her blue eyes were so clear, and when they lighted up, there was such a kindness and simplicity in her expression that one could not help being attracted. Her face and her whole figure, indeed, had another peculiar characteristic. In spite of her eighteen years, she looked almost a little girl, almost a child. And in some of her gestures, this childishness seemed almost absurd. But has Katerina Ivanovna been able to manage with such small means? Does she even mean to have a funeral lunch? Raskolnikov asked, persistently keeping up the conversation. The coffin will be plain, of course, and everything will be plain, so it won't cost much. Katerina Ivanovna and I have reckoned it all out, so there will be enough left, and Katerina Ivanovna was very anxious it should be so. You know one can't—it's a comfort to her. She's like that, you know. I understand. I understand, of course. Why do you look at my room like that? My mother has just said it is like a tomb. You gave us everything yesterday. Sonia said suddenly, in reply, in a loud, rapid whisper. And again she looked down in confusion. Her lips and chin were trembling once more. She had been struck at once by Raskolnikov's poor surroundings, and now these words broke out spontaneously. A silence followed. There was a light in Dunya's eyes, and even Polheria Alexandrovna looked kindly at Sonia. Roger. She said, getting up. We shall have dinner together, of course. Come, Dunya, and you, Roger, had better go for a little walk, and then rest and lie down before you come to see us. I'm afraid we have exhausted you. Yes, yes, I'll come. He answered, getting up fussily. But I have something to see too. But surely we'll have dinner together. cried Razumihin, looking in surprise at Raskolnikov. What do you mean? Yes, yes, I am coming. Of course, of course. And you stay a minute. You do not want him just now, do you, mother, or perhaps I am taking him from you? Oh, no, no. And will you, Dimitri Prokovich, do us the favour of dining with us? Please do. Added, Dunya. Razumihin bowed, positively radiant. For one moment they were all strangely embarrassed. Goodbye, Roger. That is, till we meet. I do not like saying goodbye. Goodbye, Nastasia. Ah, I said goodbye again. Pulheria Alexandrovna meant to greet Sonia too, but it somehow failed to come off, and she went in a flutter out of the room. But Avdotya Romanovna seemed to await her turn, and following her mother out gave Sonia an attentive, courteous bow. Sonia, in confusion, gave a hurried, frightened curtsy. There was a look of poignant discomfort in her face, as though Avdotya Romanovna's courtesy and attention were oppressive and painful to her. Donya, goodbye. Call Ruskonekov in the passage. Give me your hand. Why, I did give it to you. Have you forgotten? Said Dunya, turning warmly and awkwardly to him. Never mind, give it to me again. And he squeezed her fingers warmly. Dunya smiled, flushed, pulled her hand away, and went off quite happy. Come, that's capital. He said to Sonia, going back and looking brightly at her. God give peace to the dead, the living have still to live. That is right, isn't it? Sonia looked surprised at the sudden brightness of his face. He looked at her for some moments in silence. The whole history of the dead father floated before his memory in those moments. Ah, Heavens, Dunya. Poheri Alexandrovna began as soon as they were in the street. I really feel relieved, myself, at coming away. Morities. How little did I think yesterday in the train that I could ever be glad of that. I tell you again, mother, he is still very ill. Don't you see it? Perhaps worrying about us upset him. We must be patient, and much, much can be forgiven. Well, you were not very patient. Poheri Alexandrovna cut her up, heartily and jealously. Do you know, Dunya, I was looking at you two. You are the very portrait of him, and not so much in face as in soul. You are both melancholy, both morose and hot-tempered, both haughty and both generous. Surely he can't be an egoist, Dunya, hey? When I think of what is in store for us this evening, my heart sinks. Don't be uneasy, mother. What must be will be. Dunya, only think what a position we are in. What if Piotr Petrovich breaks it off? Poor Poheri Alexandrovna blurted out, unconsciously. He won't be worth much if he does. Answered Dunya sharply and contemptuously. We did well to come away. Poheri Alexandrovna hurriedly broke in. He was in a hurry about some business or other. If he gets out and has a breath of air, it is fearfully close in his room. But where is one to get a breath of air here? The very streets here feel like shut-up rooms. Good heavens, what a town. Stay this side. They will crush you, carrying something. Why, it is a piano they have got, I declare. How they push? I am very much afraid of that young woman, too. What young woman, mother? Why, that Sophia Semionovna, who was there just now. Why? I have a presentiment, Dunya. Well, you may believe it or not. But as soon as she came in that very minute, I felt that she was the chief cause of the trouble. Nothing of the sort! cried Dunya in vexation. What a nonsense with the presentiment, mother! He only made her acquaintance the evening before, and he did not know her when she came in. Well, you will see. She worries me. But you will see, you will see. I was so frightened. She was gazing at me with those eyes. I could scarcely sit still in my chair when he began introducing her. Do you remember? It seems so strange, but Piotr Petrovich writes like that about her. And he introduces her to us, to you, so he must think a great deal of her. People will write anything. We were talked about and written about, too. Have you forgotten? I am sure that she is a good girl, and that it is all nonsense. God grant it, maybe. And that Piotr Petrovich is a contemptible slanderer. Dunia snapped out, suddenly. Pulhairi Al-Azharovna was crushed. The conversation was not resumed. I will tell you what I want with you. Sir Proskonekov, drawing Razumihin to the window. Then I will tell Katerina Ivanovna that you are coming. Sonia said hurriedly, preparing to depart. One minute, Sopya, see him on Ivna. We have no secrets. You are not in our way. I want to have another word or two with you. Listen. He turns suddenly to Razumihin again. You know that, what's his name? Porofiti Petrovich. I should think so. He is a relation. Why? Added the latter with interest. Is not he managing that case, you know, about that murder? You were speaking about it yesterday. Yes. Well? Razumihin's eyes opened wide. He was inquiring for people who had pawned things. And I have some pledges there, too. Trifles. A ring my sister gave me as a keepsake when I left home. And my father's silver watch. They are only worth five or six rubles altogether, but I value them. So what am I to do now? I do not want to lose the things, especially the watch. I was quaking just now for if your mother would ask to look at it. When we spoke of Donya's watch. It is the only thing a father's left us. She would be ill if it were lost. You know what women are. So tell me what to do. I know I ought to have given notice to the police station, but would it not be better to go straight to Porofiti? Eh? What do you think? The matter might be settled more quickly. You see, mother may ask for it before dinner. Certainly not to the police station. Certainly to Porofiti. Razumihin shouted an extraordinary excitement. Well, how glad I am. Let us go at once. It is a couple of steps. We shall be sure to find him. Very well, let us go. And he will be very, very glad to make your acquaintance. I have often talked to him of you at different times. I was speaking of you yesterday. Let's go. So you know the old woman? So that's it. It's all turning out splendidly. Oh yes, Sofia Ivanovna. Sofia Simone ofna. Corrected, Raskolnikov. Sofia Simone ofna. This is my friend Razumihin. And he is a good man. If you have to go now. Sonya was beginning, not looking at Razumihin at all. And still more embarrassed. Let us go. Decided, Raskolnikov. I will come for you today, Sofia Simone ofna. Only tell me where you live. He was not exactly ill at ease. But seemed hurried and avoided her eyes. Sonya gave her a dress and flushed as she did so. They all went out together. Don't you lock up? Asked Razumihin, following him to the stairs. Never. Answered, Raskolnikov. I have been meaning to buy a lock for these two years. People are happy you have no need of locks. He said, laughing to Sonya. They stood still in the gateway. Do you go to the right, Sofia Simone ofna? How did you find me, by the way? He added, as though he wanted to say something quite different. He wanted to look at her soft, clear eyes. But this was not easy. Why, you gave your address to Polinka yesterday. Polinka? Oh yes. Polinka, that is the little girl. She is your sister. Did I give her the address? Why, had you forgotten? No, I remember. I had heard my father speak of you. Only I did not know your name, and he did not know it. And now I came, and as I had learned your name, I ask today, where does Mr. Raskolnikov live? I did not know you had only a room, too. Good-bye, I will tell Katarina Ivanovna. She was extremely glad to escape at last. She went away, looking down, hurrying to get out of sight as soon as possible, to walk the twenty steps to the turning on the right, and to be at last alone. And then, moving rapidly along, looking at no one, noticing nothing, to think, to remember, to meditate on every word, every detail. Never, never had she felt anything like this. Dimly and unconsciously, a whole new world was opening before her. She remembered suddenly that Raskolnikov meant to come to her that day. Perhaps at once. Only not today, please, not today. She kept muttering with a sinking heart, as though in treating someone like a frightened child. Mercy to me, to that room he will see, oh dear. She was not capable at that instance of noticing an unknown gentleman who was watching her and following at her heels. He had accompanied her from the gateway. At the moment when Razumihin, Raskolnikov, and she stood still parting on the pavement, this gentleman, who was just passing, started unhearing Sonya's words. And I asked where Mr. Raskolnikov lived. He turned a rapid but attentive look upon all three, especially upon Raskolnikov, to whom Sonya was speaking. Then looked back and noted the house. All this was done in an instant as he passed. And trying not to betray his interest, he walked on more slowly as though waiting for something. He was waiting for Sonya. He saw that they were parting, and that Sonya was going home. Whom, where, I have seen that face somewhere. He thought, I must find out. At the turning he crossed over looked round and saw Sonya coming the same way, noticing nothing. She turned the corner. He followed her on the other side. After about fifty paces, he crossed over again, overtook her, and kept two or three yards behind her. He was a man about fifty, rather tall and thickly set, with broad, high shoulders, which made him look as though he stooped a little. He wore good and fashionable clothes, and looked like a gentleman of position. He carried a handsome cane, which he tapped on the pavement at each step. His gloves were spotless. He had a broad, rather pleasant face, with high cheekbones and a fresh color, not often seen in Petersburg. His flaxen hair was still abundant, and only touched here and there with gray. And his thick, square beard was even lighter than his hair. His eyes were blue, and had a cold and thoughtful look. His lips were crimson. He was a remarkably well-preserved man, and looked much younger than his years. When Sonya came out of the canal bank, they were the only two persons on the pavement. He observed her dreaminess and preoccupation. On reaching the house where she lodged, Sonya turned in at the gate. He followed her, seeming rather surprised. In the courtyard, she turned to the right corner. Muddered the unknown gentleman, and mounted the stairs behind her. Only then Sonya noticed him. She reached the third story, turned down the passage, and rang at number nine. On the door was inscribed in chalk, Kapernamov, Taylor. The stranger repeated again, wondering at the strange coincidence, and he rang next door at number eight. The doors were two or three yards apart. You lodged at Kapernamov's. He said, looking at Sonya and laughing. He altered a waistcoat for me yesterday. I'm staying close here at Madame Rislich's. How odd. Sonya looked at him attentively. We are neighbors. He went on gaily. I only came to town the day before yesterday. Goodbye for the present. Sonya made no reply. The door opened, and she slipped in. She felt, for some reason, ashamed and uneasy. On the way to Porphyres, Rezumihin was obviously excited. That's capital, brother. He repeated several times. And I am glad. I am glad. What are you glad about? Raskolnikov thought to himself. I didn't know that you pledged things at the old woman's, too. And was it long ago? I mean, was it long since you were there? What a simple-hearted fool he is. When was it? Raskolnikov stopped still to recollect. Two or three days before her death, it must have been. But I am not going to redeem the things now. He put in with a sort of hurried and conspicuous solicitude about the things. I have not more than a silver ruble left. After last night's accursed delirium. He laid special emphasis on the delirium. Yes, yes. Rezumihin hastened to agree, with what was not clear. Then that's why you were stuck, partly. You knew in your delirium you were continually munching some rings or chains. Yes, yes. It's clear. It's all clear now. Hello. How that idea must have got about among them. Here this man will go to the stake for me. And I find him delighted at having it cleared up, while I spoke of rings in my delirium. What a hole the idea must have on all of them. Shall we find him? He asks suddenly. Oh yes, Rezumihin answered quickly. He is a nice fellow you will see, brother. Rather clumsy, that is to say, he is a man of polished manners, but I mean clumsy in a different sense. He is an intelligent fellow, very much so indeed. But he has his own range of ideas. He is incredulous, skeptical, cynical. He likes to impose on people, or rather to make fun of them. He is the old circumstantial method. But he understands his work thoroughly. Last year he cleared up a case of murder in which the police had hardly a clue. He is very, very anxious to make your acquaintance. On what grounds is he so anxious? Oh, it's not exactly. You see, since you've been ill, I happen to have mentioned you several times. So when he heard about you, about you being a law student and not being able to finish your studies, he said, what a pity. And so I concluded, from everything together, not only that, yesterday's Amiettov, you know, Rodia, I talked some nonsense on the way home to you yesterday when I was drunk. I'm afraid, brother, of you exaggerating it, you see. What? That they think I'm a mad man? Maybe they are right. He said with a constrained smile. Yes, yes, that is poo, no. But all that I said, and there was something else too, it was all nonsense, drunken nonsense. But why are you apologizing? I am so sick of it all. I was going to come cry with exaggerated irritability. It was partly assumed, however. I know, I know, I understand. Believe me, I understand. One's ashamed to speak of it. If you are ashamed, then don't speak of it. Both were silent, but Razumihin was more than ecstatic, and Raskolnikov perceived it with repulsion. He was alarmed, too, by what Razumihin had just said about Porphyry. I shall have to pull a long face with him, too. He thought with a beating heart, and he turned white. And do it naturally, too. But the most natural thing would be to do nothing at all. Carefully do nothing at all. No, carefully would not be natural again. Oh, well. We shall see how it turns out. We shall see, directly. Is it a good thing to go or not? The butterfly flies to the light. My heart is beating. That's what's bad. In this grey house— The most important thing. Does Porphyry know that I was at the old hag's flat yesterday, and asked about the blood? I must find that out instantly, as soon as I go in. Find out from his face. Otherwise, I'll find out if it's my ruin. I say, brother— He said suddenly, addressing Razumihin with a sly smile. I have been noticing all day that you seem to be curiously excited. Isn't it so? Excited? Not a bit of it. Said Razumihin, stung to the quick. Yes, brother. I assure you it's noticeable. While you sit on your chair in a way you never do sit. On the edge, somehow, and you seem to be writhing all the time. You kept jumping up for nothing. One moment you were angry, and the next your face looked like a sweet meat. You even blushed, especially when you were invited to dinner. You blushed awfully. Nothing of the sort. Nonsense. What do you mean? But why are you wriggling out of it like a schoolboy? By Job, there he's blushing again. What a pig you are! But why are you so shame-faced about it, Romeo? Stay, I'll tell of you today. I'll make mother laugh and someone else, too. Listen, listen, listen, this is serious. What next, you fiend? Razumihin was utterly overwhelmed, turning cold with horror. What will you tell them? Come, brother, foo, what a pig you are! You are like a summer rose. And if only you knew how it suits you, Romeo, over six foot high. And how you've washed today. You cleaned your nails, I declare, eh? That's something unheard of. Why, do you believe you've got pomatum on your hair? Bend down. Pig! Raskolnikov laughed as though he could not restrain himself. So laughing, they entered Porfiry Petrovitch's flat. This is what Raskolnikov wanted. From within, they could be heard laughing as they came in, stug of falling in the passage. Not a word here, or I'll brain you. Razumihin whispered furiously, seizing Raskolnikov by the shoulder. End of Part 3, Chapter 4.