 CHIME AND PUNISHMENT, PART 3, CHAPTER VI CRIME AND PUNISHMENT by Fyodor Dostoyevsky, translated by Konstantz Garnet, PART 3, CHAPTER VI I don't believe it. I can't believe it, repeated Razumihin, trying in perplexity to refute Raskolnikov's arguments. They were by now approaching Bakaleev's lodgings where Pulcheria Alexandrovna and Dunia had been expecting them a long while. Razumihin kept stopping on the way in the heat of discussion, confused and excited by the very fact that they were for the first time speaking openly about it. Don't believe it, then, answered Raskolnikov with a cold, careless smile. You are noticing nothing as usual, but I was weighing every word. You are suspicious. That is why you weighed the words. Hmm. Certainly. I agree. Porphyry's tone was rather strange and still more that wretch Zamatov. You are right. There was something about him. But why? Why? He has changed his mind since last night. Quite the contrary. If they had that brainless idea they would do their utmost to hide it and conceal their cards so as to catch you afterwards. But it was all impudent and careless. If they had had facts, I mean real facts, or at least grounds for suspicion, then they would certainly have tried to hide their game in the hope of getting more. They would have made a search long ago besides. But they had no facts. Not one. It is all mirage. All ambiguous. Simply a floating idea. So they tried to throw me out by impudence. And perhaps he was irritated at having no facts and blurted it out in his vexation. Or perhaps he has some plan. He seems an intelligent man. Perhaps he wanted to frighten me by pretending to know. They have a psychology of their own, brother. But it is loathsome explaining it all. Stop. And it's insulting. Insulting. I understand you. But since we have spoken openly now, and it is an excellent thing that we have at last, I am glad. I will own now frankly that I noticed it in them long ago, this idea. Of course, the merest hint only, an insinuation. But why an insinuation even? How dare they? What foundation have they, if only you knew how furious I had been? Thank only. Simply because a poor student, unhinged by poverty and hypochondria, on the eve of a severe delirious illness, note that, suspicious vain, proud, who has not seen a soul to speak to for six months, in rags and in boots without souls, has to face some wretched policeman and put up with their insolence. And the unexpected death thrust under his nose, the IOU presented by Cheburov, the new paint, thirty degrees remure and a stifling atmosphere, a crowd of people to talk about the murder of a person where he has been just before, and all that on an empty stomach. He might well have a feigning fit. And that, that is what they found it all on. Damn them! I understand how annoying it is. But in your place, Rodya, I would laugh at them, or better still, spit in their ugly faces, and spit a dozen times in all directions. I'd hit out in all directions neatly, too, and so I'd put an end to it. Damn them! Don't be downhearted. It's a shame. He really has put it well, though, Raskolnikov thought. Damn them? But the cross examinations again. Tomorrow, he said with bitterness, must I really enter into explanations with them? I feel vexed as it is that I condescended to speak to Zametov yesterday in the restaurant. Damn it! I will go myself to porphyry. I will squeeze it out of him as one of the family. He must let me know the ins and outs of it all. And as for Zametov, at last he seized through him, thought Raskolnikov. Stay! cried Razumihin, seizing him by the shoulder again. Stay! You were wrong. I have thought it out. You are wrong. How was that a trap? You say that the question about the workman was a trap. But if you had done that, could you have said you had seen them painting the flat? And the workman? On the contrary, you would have seen nothing, even if you had seen it. Who would own it against himself? If I had done that thing, I should certainly have said that I had seen the workman in the flat, Raskolnikov answered, with reluctance and obvious disgust. But why speak against yourself? Because only peasants or the most inexperienced novices deny everything flatly at examinations. If a man is ever so little developed and experienced, he will certainly try to admit all the external facts that can't be avoided. But we'll seek other explanations of them. We'll introduce some special unexpected turn that will give them another significance and put them in another light. Porphyry might well reckon that I should be sure to answer so, and say I had seen them to give an air of truth and then make some explanation. But he would have told you at once that the workman could not have been there two days before, and that therefore you must have been there on the day of the murder at eight o'clock. And so he would have caught you over a detail. Yes, that is what he was reckoning on, that I should not have time to reflect and should be in a hurry to make the most likely answer, and so would forget that the workman could not have been there two days before. But how could you forget it? Nothing easier. It is in just such stupid things clever people are most easily caught. The more cunning a man is, the less he suspects that he will be caught in a simple thing. The more cunning a man is, the simpler the trap he must be caught in. Porphyry is not such a fool as you think. He is a knave, then, if that is so. Raskolnikov could not help laughing. But at the very moment he was struck by the strangeness of his own frankness, and the eagerness with which he had made this explanation, though he had kept up all the preceding conversation with gloomy repulsion, obviously with a motive from necessity. I am getting a relish for certain aspects, he thought to himself. But almost at the same instant he became suddenly uneasy, as though an unexpected and alarming idea had occurred to him. His uneasiness kept on increasing. They had just reached the entrance to Bakaleev's. Going alone, said Raskolnikov, suddenly, I will be back directly. Where are you going? Why, we are just here. I can't help it. I will come in half an hour. Tell them. Say what you like. I will come with you. You too want to torture me, he screamed, with such bitter irritation, such despair in his eyes that Razumihin's hands dropped. He stood for some time on the steps, looking gloomily at Raskolnikov, striding rapidly away in the direction of his lodging. At last, gritting his teeth and clenching his fist, he swore he would squeeze porphyry like a lemon that very day, and went up the stairs to reassure Pulcheria Alexandrovna, who was by now alarmed at their long absence. When Raskolnikov got home, his hair was soaked with sweat, and he was breathing heavily. He went rapidly up the stairs, walked into his unlocked room, and at once fastened the latch. Then in senseless terror he rushed to the corner, to that hole under the paper where he had put the things. Put his hand in, and for some minutes felt carefully in the hole, in every crack and fold of the paper. Finding nothing, he got up and drew a deep breath. As he was reaching the steps of Bakaleev's, he suddenly fancied that something, a chain, a stud, or even a bit of paper in which they had been wrapped with the old woman's handwriting on it, might somehow have slipped out and been lost in some crack, and then might suddenly turn up as unexpected conclusive evidence against him. He stood as though lost in thought, and a strange, humiliated, half-senseless smile straight on his lips. He took his cap at last and went quietly out of the room. His ideas were all tangled. He went dreamily through the gateway. Here he is himself, shouted a loud voice. He raised his head. The porter was standing at the door of his little room, and was pointing him out to a short man who looked like an artisan, wearing a long coat and a waistcoat, and looking at a distance remarkably like a woman. He stooped and his head in a greasy cap hung forward. From his wrinkled, flabby face he looked over fifty. His little eyes were lost in fat, and they looked out grimly, sternly, and discontentedly. What is it? Raskolnikov asked, going up to the porter. The man stole a look at him from under his brows, and he looked at him attentively, deliberately. Then he turned slowly and went out of the gate into the street, without saying a word. What is it? cried Raskolnikov. Why, he there was asking whether a student lived here, mentioned your name and whom you lodged with. I saw you coming and pointed you out, and he went away. It's funny. The porter, too, seemed rather puzzled, but not much so, and after wondering for a moment he turned and went back to his room. Raskolnikov ran after the stranger, and at once caught sight of him walking along the other side of the street, with the same, even deliberate step, with his eyes fixed on the ground as though in meditation. He soon overtook him, but for some time walked behind him. At last, moving onto a level with him, he looked at his face. The man noticed him at once, looked at him quickly, but dropped his eyes again, and so they walked for a minute side by side without uttering a word. You were inquiring for me of the porter, Raskolnikov said at last, but in a curiously quiet voice. The man made no answer. He didn't even look at him. Again, they were both silent. Why do you come and ask for me and say nothing? What's the meaning of it? Raskolnikov's voice broke, and he seemed unable to articulate the words clearly. The man raised his eyes this time and turned a gloomy, sinister look at Raskolnikov. Murderer! He said suddenly in a quiet but clear and distinct voice. Raskolnikov went on walking beside him. His legs felt suddenly weak. A cold shiver ran down his spine and his heart seemed to stand still for a moment. Then suddenly began throbbing as though it were set free. So they walked for about a hundred paces side by side in silence. The man did not look at him. What do you mean? What is— Who is a murderer? muttered Raskolnikov hardly audibly. You are a murderer. The man answered still more articulately and emphatically with a smile of triumphant hatred, and again he looked straight into Raskolnikov's pale face in stricken eyes. They had just reached the crossroads. The man turned to the left without looking behind him. Raskolnikov remained standing, gazing after him. He saw him turn round fifty paces away and looked back at him still standing there. Raskolnikov could not see clearly, but he fancied that he was again smiling the same smile of cold hatred and triumph. With slow faltering steps, with shaking knees, Raskolnikov made his way back to his little carrot, feeling chilled all over. He took off his cap and put it on the table, and for ten minutes he stood without moving. Then he sank exhausted on the sofa, and with a weak moan of pain he stretched himself on it. So he lay for half an hour. He thought of nothing. Some thoughts or fragments of thoughts, some images without order or coherence floated before his mind. Faces of people he had seen in his childhood or met somewhere once, whom he would never have recalled. The velfrey of the church at V. The billiard table in a restaurant and some officers playing billiards. The smell of cigars and some underground tobacco shop, a tavern room, a back staircase quite dark, all sloppy with dirty water and strewn with eggshells, and the Sunday bells floating in from somewhere. The images followed one another, whirling like a hurricane. Some of them he liked and tried to clutch at, but they faded. And all the while there was an oppression within him, but it was not overwhelming. Sometimes it was even pleasant. The slight shivering still persisted, but that too was an almost pleasant sensation. He heard the hurried footsteps of Razumihin. He closed his eyes and pretended to be asleep. Razumihin opened the door and stood for some time in the doorway as though hesitating. Then he stepped softly into the room and went cautiously to the sofa. Raskolnikov heard Nastasia's whisper. Don't disturb him. Let him sleep. He can have his dinner later. Quite so, answered Razumihin. Both withdrew carefully and closed the door. Another half hour passed. Raskolnikov opened his eyes, turned on his back again, clasping his hands behind his head. Who is he? Who is that man who sprang out of the earth? Where was he? What did he see? He has seen it all, that's clear. Where was he then? And from where did he see? Why has he only now sprung out of the earth? And how could he see? Is it possible? Hmm! continued Raskolnikov, turning cold and shivering. And the jewel case Nikolai found behind the door. Was that possible? A clue? You miss an infantismal line and you can build it into a pyramid of evidence. A fly flew by and saw it. Is it possible? He felt with sudden loathing how weak, how physically weak he had become. I ought to have known it, he thought with a bitter smile. And how dared I, knowing myself, knowing how I should be, take up an axe and shed blood. I ought to have known beforehand. Ah! But I did know. He whispered in despair. At times he came to a standstill and thought, No, those men are not made so. The real master to whom all is permitted storms too long, makes a massacre in Paris, forgets an army in Egypt, wastes half a million men in the Moscow expedition and gets off with a jest at Vilna. And alters are set up to him after his death and so all is permitted. No, such people it seems are not a flesh but a bronze. One sudden irrelevant idea almost made him laugh. Napoleon, the pyramids, Waterloo. And a wretched, skinny old woman, a pawnbroker with a red trunk under her bed. It's a nice hash for porphyry Petrovich to digest. How can they digest it? It's too inartistic. A Napoleon creep under an old woman's bed? How lonesome! At moments he felt he was raving. He sank into a state of feverish excitement. The old woman is of no consequence he thought hotly and incoherently. The old woman was a mistake perhaps but she is not what matters. The old woman was only an illness. I was in a hurry to overstep. I didn't kill a human being but a principal. I killed the principal but I didn't overstep. I stopped on this side. I was only capable of killing. And it seems I wasn't even capable of that. Principal? Why was that fool Razumihin abusing the socialists? They are industrious, commercial people. The happiness of all is their case. No, life is only given to me once and I shall never have it again. I don't want to wait for the happiness of all. I want to live myself or else better not live at all. I simply couldn't pass by my mother starving keeping my ruble in my pocket while I waited for the happiness of all. I am putting my little brick into the happiness of all and so my heart is at peace. Why have you let me slip? I only live once. I too want— I am an aesthetic louse and nothing more. He added suddenly, laughing like a madman. Yes, I am certainly a louse, he went on, clutching at the idea, gloating over it and playing with it with vindictive pleasure. In the first place, because I can reason that I am one and secondly because for a month past I have been troubling benevolent providence, calling it to witness that not for my own fleshly lusts did I undertake it, but with a grand and noble object. Ha ha! Thirdly, because I aimed at carrying it out as justly as possible, weighing, measuring, and calculating, of all the lice I picked out the most useless one and proposed to take from her only as much as I needed for the first step, no more nor less, so the rest would have gone to a monastery according to her will, ha ha! And what shows that I am utterly a louse, he added, grinding his teeth, is that I am perhaps vile and more loathsome than the louse I killed. And I felt beforehand that I should tell myself so after killing her. Can anything be compared with the horror of that, the vulgarity, the abjectness? I understand the prophet with his saber on his steed, all the commands and trembling creation must obey. The prophet is right, he is right, when he sets a battery across the street and blows up the innocent and the guilty without baining to explain. It's for you to obey, trembling creation, and not to have desires, for that's not for you. I shall never, never forgive the old woman. His hair was soaked with sweat, his quivering lips were parched, his eyes were fixed on the ceiling. Mother, sister, how I love them! Why do I hate them now? Yes, I hate them. I feel a physical hatred for them. I can't bear them near me. I went up to my mother and kissed her, I remember, to embrace her and think if she only knew. Shall I tell her then? That's just what I might do. She must be the same as I am, he added, straining himself to think, as it were struggling with delirium. Ah, how I hate the old woman now. I feel I should kill her again if she came to life. Poor Lizaveta, why did she come in? It's strange, though. Why is it I scarcely ever think of her? As though I hadn't killed her. Lizaveta, Sonia, poor gentle things with gentle eyes, dear women. Why don't they weep? Why don't they moan? They give up everything. Their eyes are soft and gentle. Sonia, Sonia, gentle Sonia. He lost consciousness. It seemed strange to him that he didn't remember how he got into the street. It was late evening. The twilight had fallen and the full moon was shining more and more brightly. But there was a peculiar breathlessness in the air. There were crowds of people in the street, workmen, and business people were making their way home. Other people had come out for a walk. There was a smell of mortar, dust, and stagnant water. Raskolnikov walked along, mournful and anxious. He was distinctly aware of having come out with a purpose, of having to do something in a hurry, but what it was he had forgotten. Suddenly he stood still and saw a man standing on the other side of the street, beckoning to him. He crossed over to him, but at once the man turned and walked away with his head hanging as though he had made no sign to him. Stay! Did he really beckon? Raskolnikov wondered, but he tried to overtake him. When he was within ten paces he recognized him and was frightened. It was the same man with stooping shoulders in the long coat. Raskolnikov followed him at a distance. His heart was beating. They went down a turning. The man still did not look around. Does he know I am following him? thought Raskolnikov. The man went into the gateway of a big house. Raskolnikov hastened to the gate and looked in to see whether he would look round and sign to him. In the courtyard the man did turn round and again seemed to beckon him. Raskolnikov at once followed him into the yard, but the man was gone. He must have gone up the first staircase. Raskolnikov rushed after him. He heard slow measured steps two flights above. The staircase seems strangely familiar. He reached the window on the first floor. The moon shone through the panes with a melancholy and mysterious light. Then he reached the second floor. Bah! This is the flat where the painters were at work. But how was it he did not recognize it at once? The steps of the man above had died away. So he must have stopped or hidden somewhere. He reached the third story. Should he go on? There was a stillness that was dreadful. But he went on. The sound of his own footsteps scared and frightened him. How dark it was. The man must be hiding in some corner here. Ah! The flat was standing wide open. He hesitated and went in. It was very dark and empty in the passage as though everything had been removed. He crept on tiptoe into the parlor which was flooded with moonlight. Everything there was as before. The chairs. The looking glass. The yellow sofa and the pictures in the frames. A huge round copper-red moon looked in at the windows. It's the moon that makes it so still, weaving some mystery, thought Raskolnikov. He stood and waited. Waited a long while. And the more silent the moonlight, the more violently his heart beat till it was painful. And still the same hush. Suddenly he heard a momentary sharp crack like a snapping of a splinter. And all was still again. A fly flew up suddenly and struck the window pane with a plaintive buzz. At that moment he noticed in the corner between the window and the little cupboard something like a cloak hanging on the wall. Why is that cloak here, he thought? It wasn't there before. He went up to it quietly and felt that there was someone hiding behind it. He cautiously moved the cloak and saw, sitting on a chair in the corner, the old woman bent double so that he couldn't see her face. But it was she. He stood over her. She is afraid, he thought. He stealthily took the axe from the noose and struck her one blow, then another on the skull. But strange to say she did not stir as though she were made of wood. He was frightened, bent down nearer and tried to look at her, but she too bent her head lower. He bent right down to the ground and peeped up into her face from below. He peeped and turned cold with horror. The old woman was sitting and laughing, shaking with noiseless laughter, doing her utmost that he should not hear it. Suddenly he fancied that the door from the bedroom was opened a little and that there was laughter and whispering within. He was overcome with frenzy and he began hitting the old woman on the head with all his force, but at every blow of the axe the laughter and whispering from the bedroom grew louder and the old woman was simply shaking with mirth. He was rushing away, but the passage was full of people, the doors of the flat stood open and on the landing, on the stairs and everywhere below there were people, rows of heads, all looking but huddled together in silence and expectation. Something gripped his heart. His legs were rooted to the spot they would not move. He tried to scream and woke up. He drew a deep breath. But his dream seemed strangely to persist. His door was flung open and a man whom he had never seen stood in the doorway watching him intently. Raskolnikov had hardly opened his eyes and he instantly closed them again. He lay on his back without stirring. Is it still a dream? He wondered and again raised his eyelids, hardly perceptibly. The stranger was standing in the same place, still watching him. He stepped cautiously into the room, carefully closing the door after him, went up to the table, paused a moment still keeping his eyes on Raskolnikov and noiselessly seated himself on the chair by the sofa. He put his hat on the floor beside him and leaned his hands on his cane and his chin on his hands. It was evident that he was prepared to wait indefinitely. As far as Raskolnikov could make out from his stolen glances he was a man no longer young, stout, with a full, fair, almost whitish beard. Ten minutes passed. It was still light but beginning to get dusk. There was complete stillness in the room. Not a sound came from the stairs. Only a big fly buzzed and fluttered against the window-pane. It was unbearable at last. Raskolnikov suddenly got up and sat on the sofa. Come, tell me what you want. I knew you were not asleep but only pretending. The stranger answered oddly, laughing calmly. Arkady Ivanovich Zvidrigylov allowed me to introduce myself. End of Part 3, Chapter 6 Recording by Michael Robinson, Carbondale, Illinois Crime and Punishment Part 4, Chapter 1 This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer please visit LibriVox.org Recording by Anna Simon Crime and Punishment by Fyodor Dostoevsky Translated by Constance Garnett Part 4, Chapter 1 Can this be still a dream? Raskolnikov thought once more. He looked carefully and suspiciously at the unexpected visitor. Zvidrigylov, what nonsense! It can't be! He said at last, aloud in bewilderment. His visitor did not seem at all surprised at this explanation. I've come to you for two reasons. In the first place I wanted to make your personal acquaintance, as I've already heard a great deal about you that is interesting and flattering. Secondly, I cherish the hope that you may not refuse to assist me in a meta directly concerning the welfare of your sister, Avdachar Manavna. For without your support she might not let me come near her now for she's prejudiced against me. But with your assistance I reckon on... You reckon wrongly, interrupted Raskolnikov. They only arrived yesterday, may I ask you? Raskolnikov made no reply. It was yesterday, I know. I only arrived myself the day before. Well, let me tell you this, Radyan Romanovich. I don't consider it necessary to justify myself, but kindly tell me what was there particularly criminal on my part in all this business, speaking without prejudice, with common sense. Raskolnikov continued to look at him in silence. That in my own house I persecuted a defenceless girl and insulted her with my infamous proposals. Is that it? I am anticipating you. But you have only to assume that I too am a man at nihil humanum, in a word that I am capable of being attracted and falling in love, which does not depend on our will. Then everything can be explained in the most natural manner. The question is, am I a monster or am I myself a victim? And what if I am a victim? In proposing to the object of my passion to elope with me to America or Switzerland I may have charged the deepest respect for her and may have thought that I was promoting our mutual happiness. Reason is the slave of passion, you know. I, probably, I was doing more harm to myself than anyone. But that's not the point, Raskolnikov interrupted with disgust. It's simply that whether you're right or wrong we dislike you. We don't want to have anything to do with you. We show you the door. Go out. Sweetie Guy Love broke into a sudden laugh. But sure, there's no getting round you, he said, laughing in the frankest way. I hoped to get round you, but you took up the right line at once. But you're trying to get round me still. What of it? What of it? Cried Sweetie Guy Love, laughing openly. But this is what the French call bon geur and the most innocent form of deception. But still you've interrupted me. One way or another, I repeat again. There would never have been any unpleasantness except for what happened in the garden. Marfa Petovna. You've got rid of Marfa Petovna, too, so they say. Raskolnikov interrupted rudely. Oh, you've heard that, too, then. You'd be sure to, though. But as for your question, I really don't know what to say, though my own conscience is quite at rest on that score. Don't suppose that I'm in any apprehension about it. All was regular and in order. The medical inquiry diagnosed apoplexy due to bathing immediately after a heavy dinner and a bottle of wine. And, indeed, it could have proved nothing else. But I'll tell you what I've been thinking to myself of late on my way here in the train, especially. Didn't I contribute to all that calamity morally in a way by irritation or something of the sort? But I came to the conclusion that that, too, was quite out of the question. Raskolnikov laughed. I wonder you trouble yourself about it. But what are you laughing at? Only consider. I struck her just twice with a switch. There were no marks, even. Don't regard me as a cynic, please. I'm perfectly aware how atrocious it was of me and all that. But I know for certain, too, that Marfa Petovna was very likely pleased at my, so to say, warmth. The story of your sister had been wrung out to the last drop. For the last three days Marfa Petovna had been forced to sit at home. She would show herself with, in the town. Besides, she had bored them so with that letter. You heard about her reading the letter. And all of a sudden those two switches fell from heaven. Her first act was to order the carriage to be got out. Not to speak of the fact that there are cases when women are very, very glad to be insulted in spite of all their show of indignation. There are instances of it with everyone. Human beings in general, indeed, greatly love to be insulted. But it's particularly so with women. One might even say it's their only amusement. At one time Raskolnikov thought of getting up and walking out and so finishing the interview. But some curiosity, and even a sort of prudence made him linger for a moment. You are fond of fighting, he asked carelessly. No, not very, Sreti Gailov answered calmly. And Marfa Petovna and I scarcely ever fought. We lived very harmoniously and she was always pleased with me. I only used the whip twice in all our seven years, not counting a third occasion of a very ambiguous character. The first time, two months after our marriage, immediately after we arrived in the country, and the last time was that of which you were speaking. Did you suppose I was such a monster, such a reactionary, such a slave-driver? Ha-ha! By the way, do you remember, Rodjan Romanovich, how a few years ago in those days of beneficent publicity a nobleman, I've forgotten his name, was put to shame everywhere in all the papers for having thrashed a German woman in the railway train. You remember? It was in those days, that very year, I believe, that disgraceful action of the age took place. You know, the Egyptian nights, that public reading, you remember, the dark eyes, you know. Ah, the golden days of our youth, where are they? Well, as for the gentleman who thrashed the German, I feel no sympathy with him, after all, what need is there for sympathy? But I must say that there are sometimes such provoking Germans, that I don't believe there is a progressive who could quite answer for himself. No one looked at the subject from that point of view then, but that's the truly humane point of view, I assure you. After saying this, Sweety Gailov broke into a sudden laugh again. Laskolnikov saw clearly that this was a man with a firm purpose in his mind, and able to keep it to himself. I expect you've not talked to anyone for some days, he asked. Scarcely anyone? I suppose you're wondering at my being such an adaptable man. No, I'm only wondering at your being too adaptable a man. Because I'm not offended at the rudeness of your questions, is that it? But why take offence? As you asked, so I answered, he replied, with a surprising expression of simplicity. You know, there's hardly anything to take interest in, he went on, as it were dreamily. Especially now, I've nothing to do. You are quite at liberty to imagine though, that I am making up to you with a motive, particularly as I told you I want to see your sister about something. But I'll confess frankly, I'm very much bold, the last three days especially, so I'm delighted to see you. Don't be angry, Rodion Romanovich, but you seem to be somehow awfully strange yourself. Say what you like, there's something wrong with you, and now too. Not this very minute I mean, but now generally. Well, well, I won't, I won't don't Scowl, I'm not such a bear, you know, as you think. Raskolnikov looked gloomily at him. You're not a bear perhaps at all, he said. I fancy indeed that you are a man of very good breeding, or at least know how on occasion to behave like one. I am not particularly interested in anyone's opinion, Sweety Gailov answered, dryly, and even with the shade of haughtiness. And therefore why not be vulgar at times when vulgarity is such a convenient cloak for our climate, and especially if one has a natural propensity that way? He aired, laughing again. But I've heard you have many friends here. You are as they say, not without connections. What can you want with me then, unless you have some project? That's true that I have friends here, Sweety Gailov admitted, not replying to the chief point. I've met some already. I've been lounging about for the last three days, and I've seen them, or they've seen me. That's a matter, of course. I am well-dressed and reckoned not a poor man. The emancipation of the Serves hasn't affected me. My property consists chiefly of forests and water meadows. The revenue has not fallen off, but I'm not going to see them. I was sick of them long ago. I've been here three days, and I've called on no one. What a town it is. How has it come into existence among us? Tell me that. A town of officials and students of all sorts. Yes, there's a great deal I didn't notice when I was here eight years ago, kicking up my heels. My only hope now is in anatomy, by Jove it is. Anatomy? But as for these clubs, do so as parades or progress, indeed, maybe? Well, all that can go on without me. He went on, again without noticing the question. Besides, who wants to be a car chopper? Why, have you been a car chopper, then? How could I help being? There was a regular set of us, men of the best society, eight years ago. We had a fine time, and all men of breeding, you know, poets, men of property. And indeed, as a rule in our Russian society, the best men are found among those who've been thrashed. Have you noticed that? I've deteriorated in the country, but I did get into prison for debt, through a low Greek who came from Najin. Then Marfa Petovna turned up. She bargained with him and bought me off for thirty thousand silver pieces. I owed seventy thousand. We were united in lawful wetlock and she bore me off into the country like a treasure. You know, she was five years older than I. She was very fond of me. For seven years I never left the country. And take note that all my life she held a document over me, the IOU for thirty thousand rubles. So if I were to elect to be restive about anything I should be trapped at once. And she would've done it. Women find nothing incompatible in that. If it hadn't been for that, would you have given her the slip? I don't know what to say. It was scarcely a document restrained me. I didn't want to go anywhere else. Marfa Petovna herself invited me to go abroad, seeing I was bored. But I've been abroad before and always felt sick there. For no reason but the sunrise, the bay of Naples, the sea. You look at them and it makes you sad. What's most revolting is that one is really sad. No, it's better at home. Here at least one blames others for everything and excuses oneself. I should've gone perhaps on an expedition to the North Pole because je le veux, move, and hate drinking, and there's nothing left but wine. I have tried it. But I say, I've been told Burke is going up in a great balloon next Sunday from the Yusupov garden and will take up passengers at a fee. Is it true? Why, would you go up? I... No, oh no. Really seeming to be deep in thought. What does he mean? Is he an earnest? No, the document didn't restrain me. That's where the guy-love went on, meditatively. It was my own doing, not leaving the country, and nearly a year ago Marafer Petrovna gave me back the document on my name-day and made me a present of a considerable sum of money too. She had a fortune, you know. You see how I trust you, Arkady Ivanovich? That was actually her expression. You don't believe she used it? But you know, I managed the estate quite decently. They know me in their neighborhood. I ordered books, too. Marafer Petrovna at first approved, but afterwards she was afraid of my over-studying. You seem to be missing Marafer Petrovna very much. Missing her? Perhaps. Really, perhaps I am. And, by the way, do you believe in ghosts? What ghosts? Why, ordinary ghosts. Do you believe in them? Perhaps not, pauvre-player. I wouldn't say no exactly. Do you see them, then? Sweety Galov looked at him rather oddly. Marafer Petrovna is pleased to visit me, he said, twisting his mouth into a strange smile. How do you mean she is pleased to visit you? She has been three times. I saw her first on the very day of the funeral an hour after she was buried. It was the day before I left to come here. The second time was the day before yesterday, a daybreak on the journey to the station of Malayavisha. And the third time was two hours ago in the room where I am staying. I was alone. Were you awake? Quite awake. I was wide awake every time. She comes, speaks to me for a minute and goes out at the door. Always at the door. I can almost hear her. What made me think that something of the sort must be happening to you? Was Gornikov sad suddenly? At the same moment he was surprised at having said it. He was much excited. What? Did you think so? Sweetie Gailov asked in his punishment. Did you really? Didn't I say that there was something in common between us? You never said so. Gornikov cried sharply and with heat. Didn't I? No. I thought I did. When I came in and saw you lying with your eyes shut pretending, I said to myself at once here's the man. What do you mean by the man? What are you talking about? What do I mean? I really don't know. Sweetie Gailov muttered ingeniously as though he too were puzzled. For a minute they were silent. They stared in each other's faces. That's all nonsense. Gornikov shouted with a vexation. What does she say when she comes to you? She? Would you believe it? She talked to the silliest trifles and man is a strange creature. It makes me angry. The first time she came in I was tired you know, the funeral service, the funeral ceremony, the lunch afterwards. At last I was left alone in my study. I lighted the scar and began to think. She came in at the door. You've been so busy today Arkady Ivanovich. You have forgotten to wind the dining room clock, she said. All those seven years I've won that clock every week and if I forgot it she would always remind me. The next day I set off on my way here. I got out at the station at daybreak. I'd been asleep tired out with my eyes half open. I was drinking some coffee. I looked up and there was suddenly Marfa Petrovna sitting beside me with a pack of cards in her hands. Shall I tell you a fortune for the journey Arkady Ivanovich? She was a great hand at telling fortunes. I shall never forgive myself for not asking her to. I ran away in a fright and besides the bell rang. I was sitting today feeling very heavy after a miserable dinner at the cook's shop. I was sitting smoking. All of a sudden Marfa Petrovna again. She came in very smart in a new green silk dress with a long train. Good day Arkady Ivanovich. How do you like my dress? Anishka can't make like this. Anishka was a dressmaker in the country. One of our former serve girls who had been trained in Moscow a pretty wench. She stood turning round before me. I looked at the dress and then I looked carefully very carefully at her face. I wonder you trouble to come to me about such trifles Marfa Petrovna. Good gracious you won't let one disturb you about anything. To teaser I said I want to get married Marfa Petrovna. That's just like you Arkady Ivanovich. It does you very little credit to come looking for a bride when you've hardly buried your wife. And if you could make a good choice at least but I know it won't be for your happiness or hers to only be a laughingstock to all good people. Then she went out and her train seemed to rustle. Isn't it nonsense her? But perhaps you're telling lies Raskolnikov put in. I rarely lie, answered Sreti Gailov thoughtfully apparently not noticing the rudeness of the question. And in the past have you ever seen ghosts before? Yes I have seen them but only once in my life six years ago I had to serve Filka just after his burial I called out forgetting Filka my pipe he came in and went to the cupboard where my pipes were. I sat still and thought he's doing it out of revenge because we had a violent quarrel just before his death. How dare you come in with a hole in your elbow I said go away you scamp he turned and went out and never came again I didn't tell Marfa Petrovna at the time I wanted to have his service sung for him but I was ashamed You should go to a doctor I know I'm not well without your telling me though I don't know what's wrong I believe I'm five times as strong as you are I didn't ask you whether you believe that ghosts are seen but whether you believe that they exist No I won't believe it Raskolnikov cried with positive anger What do people generally say Mata Sreti Gailov as though speaking to himself looking aside and bowing his head they say you're ill so what appears to you is only unreal fantasy but that's not strictly logical I agree that ghosts only appear to the sick but that only proves that they are unable to appear except to the sick not that they don't exist Nothing of the sort Raskolnikov insisted irritably No you don't think so Sreti Gailov went on looking at him deliberately But what do you say to this argument Help me with it Ghosts are, as it were Shreds and fragments of other worlds the beginning of them A man in health has of course no reason to see them because he is above all a man of this earth and is bound for the sake of completeness and order to live only in this life but as soon as one is ill as soon as the normal earthly order of the organism is broken one begins to realize the possibility of another world and the more seriously ill one is the closer becomes one's contact with that other world so that as soon as the man dies he steps straight into that world I thought of that long ago if you believe in a future life you could believe in that too I don't believe in a future life said Raskolnikov Sreti Gailov said lost in thought and what if there are only spiders there or something of that sort he said suddenly he's a mad man thought Raskolnikov but we always imagine eternity as something beyond our conception something vast vast but why must it be vast instead of all that what if it's one little room like a bath house in the country black and grimy and spiders in every corner and that's all eternity is I sometimes fancy it like that can it be you can imagine nothing just there and more comforting than that Raskolnikov cried with a feeling of anguish just there and how can we tell perhaps that is just and you know it's what I would certainly have made it answer to Sreti Gailov with a vague smile this horrible answer sent a cold chill through Raskolnikov Sreti Gailov raised his head looked at him and suddenly began laughing only think he cried half an hour ago we'd never seen each other we regarded each other as enemies there is a matter unsettled between us we've thrown it aside and away we've gone into the abstract wasn't I right in saying that we were birds of a feather kindly allow me Raskolnikov went on irritably to ask you to explain why you've honored me with your visit and and I'm in a hurry I've no time to waste I want to go out by all means by all means your sister Avdotia Romanovna is going to be married to Mr. Luzhin can you refrain from any question about my sister and from mentioning her name I can't understand how you dare utter her name in my presence if you really are Sreti Gailov why but I've come here to speak about her how can I avoid mentioning her very good speak but make haste I'm sure that you must have formed your own opinion of this Mr. Luzhin who is a connection of mine through my wife if you've only seen him for half an hour or heard any facts about him he's no match for Avdotia Romanovna I believe Avdotia Romanovna is sacrificing herself generously and imprudently for the sake of for the sake of her family I fancied for all I'd heard of you that you would be very glad if the match could be broken off without the sacrifice of worldly advantages now I know you personally I'm convinced of it all this is very naive excuse me I should have said imprudent on your part you mean to say that I'm seeking my own ends don't be uneasy if I were working for my own advantage I would not have spoken out so directly I'm not quite a fool I will confess something psychologically curious about that just now defending my love for Avdotia Romanovna I said I was myself the victim well let me tell you that I have no feeling of love now so that I wonder myself indeed for I really did feel something through idleness and depravity Raskolnikov put in I certainly am idle and depraved but your sister has such qualities that even I could not help being impressed by them but that's all nonsense as I see myself now have you seen that long I began to be aware of it before but was only perfectly sure of it the day before yesterday almost at the moment I arrived in Petersburg I still fancied in Moscow though that I was coming to try to get Avdotia Romanovna's hand and to cut out Mr Luzhin excuse me for interrupting you kindly be brief and come to the object of your visit I am in a hurry, I want to go out with the greatest pleasure on arriving here and determining on a certain journey I should like to make some necessary preliminary arrangements I left my children with an aunt they are well provided for and they have no need of me personally and a nice father I should make too I've taken nothing but what Marva Petovna gave me a year ago that's enough for me excuse me I'm just coming to the point before the journey which may come off I want to settle Mr Luzhin too it's not that I detest him so much but it was through him I crawled with Marva Petovna when I learned that she had dished up this marriage I want now to see Avdotia Romanovna through your mediation and if you like in your presence to explain to her that in the first place she will never gain anything but harm for Mr Luzhin then begging her pardon for all past unpleasantness to make her a present of ten thousand rubles and so assist the rupture with Mr Luzhin a rupture to which I believe she is herself not disinclined if she could see the way to it you're suddenly mad cried Raskolnikov not so much angered as astonished how dare you talk like that I knew you would scream at me but in the first place though I am not rich this ten thousand rubles is perfectly free I've absolutely no need for it if Avdotia Romanovna does not accept it I shall waste it in some more foolish way that's the first thing secondly my conscience is perfectly easy I make the offer with no ulterior motive you may not believe it but in the end Avdotia Romanovna and you will know the point is that I did actually cause your sister, whom I greatly respect some trouble and unpleasantness and so sincerely regretting it I want not to compensate not to repay her for the unpleasantness but simply to do something to her advantage to show that I am not after all privileged to do nothing but harm if there were a millionth fraction of self-interest in my offer I should not have made it so openly I should not have offered her ten thousand only when five weeks ago I offered her more besides I may perhaps very soon marry a young lady and let alone all to prevent suspicion of any design on Avdotia Romanovna in conclusion let me say that in marrying Mr. Luzhin she is taking money just the same only from another man don't be angry, Rodjan Romanovich think it over coolly and quietly Srili Galov himself was exceedingly cool and quiet as he was saying this I beg you to say no more said Raskolnikov in any case this is unpardonable impertinence not in the least then a man may do nothing but harm to his neighbour in this world and is prevented from doing the tiniest bit of good by trivial conventional formalities that's absurd if I died for instance and left that sum to your sister in my will surely she would refuse it very likely she would oh no indeed however if you refuse it so be it though ten thousand rubles is a capital thing to have on occasion in any case I beg you to repeat what I said to Avdotia Romanovna no I won't in that case Rodjan Romanovich I shall be obliged to try and see her myself and worry her by doing so and if I do tell her will you not try to see her I don't know really what to say I should like very much to see her once more don't hope for it I'm sorry but you don't know me perhaps we may become better friends you think we may become friends and why not Svetigailov said smiling he stood up and took his head I didn't quite intend to disturb you and I came here without reckoning on it no I was very much struck by your face this morning where did you see me this morning Raskolnikov asked uneasily I saw you by chance I kept fancying there is something about you like me but don't be uneasy I'm not intrusive I used to get on alright with car charpers and I never bored Prince Sverbi a great personage who is a distant relation of mine and I could write about Raphael's Madonna and Madame Prilikov's album and I never left Marva Petrovna's site for 7 years and I used to stay the night at Vyazemsky's house in the hay market in the old days and I may go up in a balloon with burg perhaps oh alright are you starting soon on your travels may I ask what travels why on that journey you spoke of it yourself a journey oh yes I did speak of a journey well that's a wide subject you're asking he added and gave a sudden loud short laugh perhaps I'll get married instead of the journey they're making a match for me here? yes how have you had time for that but I'm very anxious to see if dacha Romanovna once I earnestly beg it well goodbye for the present oh yes I've forgotten something tell your sister Rodion Romanovich that Marva Petrovna remembered her in her will and left her 3000 rubles that's absolutely certain Marva Petrovna arranged it a week before her death and it was done in my presence of dacha Romanovna will be able to receive the money in 2 or 3 weeks are you telling the truth? yes tell her well you're servant I'm staying very near you as he went out Swede Gailov ran up against Razumehin in the doorway end of part 4 chapter 1 crime and punishment part 4 chapter 2 this is a LibriVox recording all LibriVox recordings are in the public domain for more information with the volunteer please visit LibriVox.org recording by Anna Simon crime and punishment by Fyodor Dostoyevsky translated by Konstantz Garnet part 4 chapter 2 it was nearly 8 o'clock the two young men hurried to Paqualeyes to arrive before Luzhin why? who was that? asked Razumehin as soon as they were in the street it was Swede Gailov that landowner in whose house my sister was insulted when she was their governess through his persecuting her with his attentions she was turned out by his wife Marfa Petrovna this Marfa Petrovna begged Dunya's forgiveness afterwards and she just died suddenly it was of her we were talking this morning I don't know why I'm afraid of that man he came here at once after his wife's funeral he's very strange and determined on doing something we must guard Dunya from him that's what I wanted to tell you do you hear? guard her? what can he do to harm of Dotya Romanovna? thank you, Dotya, for speaking to me like that we will, we will guard her where does he live? I don't know why didn't you ask? what a pity, I'll find out though did you see him? asked Raskolnikov after a pause yes, I noticed him I noticed him well you did really see him? you saw him clearly? Raskolnikov insisted yes, I remember him perfectly I should know him in a thousand I have a good memory for faces they were silent again hmm, that's alright whether it was Raskolnikov do you know? I fancied I keep thinking that it may have been a hallucination what do you mean? I don't understand you well, you all say Raskolnikov went on twisting his mouth into his smile that I am mad I thought just now that perhaps I really am mad and have only seen a phantom what do you mean? why? who can tell? perhaps I am really mad and perhaps everything that happened all these days may be only imagination ah, Radja, you've been upset again but what did he say? what did he come for? Raskolnikov did not answer resume in thought a minute now, let me tell you my story he began I came to you, you were asleep then we had dinner and then I went to Porphyry's Zamedov was still with him I tried to begin but it was no use I couldn't speak in the right way they don't seem to understand and can't understand I was not a bit ashamed I drew Porphyry to the window and began talking to him but it was still no use he looked away and I looked away at last I shook my fist in his ugly face and told him as a cousin I'd brain him he immediately looked at me I cursed and came away that was all it was very stupid to Zamedov I didn't say a word but, you see, I thought I'd made a mess of it but as I went downstairs a brilliant idea struck me why should we trouble? of course, if you were in any danger or anything but why need you care you needn't care a hang for them we shall have a laugh at them afterwards and if I were in your place I'd mystify them more than ever how ashamed they'll be afterwards hang them, we can thrash them afterwards but let's laugh at them now to be sure, answered Raskolnikov but what will you say tomorrow? he thought to himself strange to say till that moment it had never occurred to him to wonder what Razumihin would think when he knew as he thought it, Raskolnikov looked at him Razumihin's account of his visit to Porphyry had very little interest for him so much had come and gone since then in the corridor they came upon Luzhin he'd arrived punctually at eight and was looking for the number so that all three went in together without greeting or looking at one another the young man walked in first the manors lingered a little in the passage taking off his coat Porchyrya Laksandrovna came forward at once to greet him in the doorway Dunya was welcoming her brother Piotr Petrovich walked in and quite amably there with redoubled dignity bowed to the ladies he looked however as though he were a little put out and could not yet recover himself Porchyrya Laksandrovna who seemed also a little embarrassed hastened to make them all sit down at the round table whereas some of our was boiling Dunya and Luzhin were facing one another on opposite sides of the table Razumihin and Raskolnikov were facing Porchyrya Laksandrovna Razumihin was next to Luzhin and Raskolnikov was beside his sister a moment's silence followed Piotr Petrovich deliberately drew out a cambrick handkerchief reeking of scent and blew his nose with an air of a benevolent man who felt himself slighted and was firmly resolved to insist on an explanation in the passage the idea had occurred to him to keep on his overcoat and walk away and so give the two ladies a sharp and emphatic lesson and make them feel the gravity of the position but he could not bring himself to do this besides he could not endure uncertainty and he wanted an explanation if his request had been so openly disobeyed there was something behind it and in that case it was better to find it out beforehand it rested with him to punish them and there would always be time for that I trust you had a favourable journey he inquired officially of Bulgaria-Alexandrovna oh very Piotr Petrovich I am gratified to hear it and of that year Romanovna is not over fatigued either I am young and strong I don't get tired but it was a great strain for mother Anzadunja that's unavoidable our national railways are of terrible length Mother Russia as they say in the vast country in spite of all my desire to do so I was unable to meet you yesterday but I trust all passed off without inconvenience oh no Piotr Petrovich it was all terribly disheartening Bulgaria-Alexandrovna hastened to declare with peculiar intonation and if Dmitry Pokovitch had not been sent us I really believe by God himself we should have been utterly lost here he is Dmitry Pokovitch what do you mean? introducing him to Luzhin I had the pleasure yesterday met Piotr Petrovich with a hostile glance then he scowled and was silent Piotr Petrovich belonged to that class of persons on the surface very polite in society who make a great point of punctiliousness but who, directly there crossed in anything are completely disconcerted and become more like sex of flower in society again all was silent Raskolnikov was obscenately mute Avdotya Romanovna was unwilling to open the conversation too soon resuming had nothing to say so Pulcheri Alexanderovna was anxious again Martha Petrovna is dead have you heard? she began having recourse to her leading item of conversation to be sure I heard so I was immediately informed and I've come to make you acquainted with the fact Avdotya Romanovich Suryodigailov set off in haste for Petersburg immediately after his wise funeral so at least I have excellent authority for believing to Petersburg? here Dunya asked in alarm and looked at her mother yes indeed and doubtless not without some design having in view the rapidity of his departure and all the circumstances preceding it good heavens won't he leave Dunya in peace even here? cried Pulcheri Alexanderovna I imagine that neither you nor Avdotya Romanovna have any grounds for uneasiness unless of course you are yourself desirous of getting into communication with him for my part I am on my guard and am now discovering where he's lodging oh Pyotr Petrovich you would not believe what a fright you've given me Pulcheri Alexanderovna went on I've only seen him twice but I thought him terrible terrible I'm convinced that he was the cause of Marfa Petrovna's death it is impossible to be certain about that I have precise information I do not dispute that he may have contributed to accelerate the cause of events by the moral influence so to say of the upfront but as to the general conduct and moral characteristics of that person I'm in agreement with you I do not know whether he's well off now and precisely what Marfa Petrovna left him this will be known to me within a very short period but no doubt here in Petersburg if he has any pecuniary resources he will relapse at once into his old ways he is the most depraved and objectively vicious specimen of that class of men I have considerable reason to believe that Marfa Petrovna who was so unfortunate as to fall in love with him and to pay his deaths eight years ago was of service to him also in another way solely by her exertions and sacrifices a criminal charge involving an element of fantastic and homicidal brutality for which he might well have been centred to Siberia was hushed up that's the sort of man he is if you care to know Good heavens! cried Pylcheria Alexandrovna Kaskolnikov listened attentively Are you speaking the truth when you say that you have good evidence for this Dunya asked sternly and emphatically I only repeat what I was told in secret by Marfa Petrovna I must observe that from the legal point of view the case was far from clear there was, and I believe still is, living here a woman called Rezlich a foreigner who lent small sums of money at interest and at other commissions and with this woman Sveta Galov had for a long while closed her mysterious relations she had a relation a niece I believe living with her a deaf and dumb girl of 15 or perhaps not more than 14 Rezlich hated this girl and grudged her every crust she used to beat her mercilessly one day the girl was found hanging in the garret at the inquest the verdict was suicide after the usual proceedings the matter ended but later on information was given that the child had been cruelly outraged by Sveta Galov it is true this was not clearly established the information was given by another German woman of a loose character whose word could not be trusted but it was actually made to the police thanks to Marfa Petrovna's money and exertions he did not get beyond gossip and yet the story is a very significant one you heard no doubt after Tiaromanovna when you were with him the story of the servant Philip who died of ill treatment he received six years ago before the abolition of servdom I heard on the contrary that this Philip hanged himself quite so but what drove him and disposed him to suicide was a systematic persecution and severity of Mr Sveta Galov I don't know that answered Dunja dryly I only heard a queer story that Philip was a sort of hypochondriac a sort of domestic philosopher the servants used to say he read himself city and that he hanged himself partly on account of Mr Sveta Galov's mockery of him and not his blows when I was there he behaved well to the servants and they were actually fond of him though they certainly did blame him for Philip's death I perceive after Tiaromanovna that you seemed disposed to undertake his defense all of a sudden Lugin observed twisting his lips into an ambiguous smile there's no doubt that he is an astute man and insinuating where ladies are concerned of which Mava Petrovna who has died so strangely is a terrible instance my only desire has been to be of service to you and your mother with my advice in view of the renewed efforts which may certainly be anticipated from him for my part it's my firm conviction that it will end in a deadest prison again Mava Petrovna had not the slightest intention of settling anything substantial on him having regard for his children's interests and if she left him anything it would only be the mere sufficiency something insignificant and ephemeral which would not last a year for a man of his habits Piotr Petrovich, I beg you, said Dunya say no more of Mrs. Videgailov it makes me miserable he has just been to see me said Raskolnikov breaking his silence for the first time there were explanations from all and they all turned to him even Piotr Petrovich was roused an hour and a half ago he came in when I was asleep waked me and introduced himself Raskolnikov continued he was fairly cheerful and at ease and quite hopes that we shall become friends he's particularly anxious by the way Dunya, for an interview with you at which he asked me to assist he has a proposition to make to you and he told me about it he told me too that a week before her death Mava Petrovna left you three thousand rubles in her will, Dunya and that you can receive the money very shortly thank god quite bocheria Alexanderovna crossing herself pray for her soul Dunya it's a fact broke from Luzhin tell us what more Dunya urged Raskolnikov then he said that he wasn't rich and all the estate was left to his children who are now with an aunt then that he was staying somewhere not far from me but where I don't know I didn't ask but what, what does he want to propose to Dunya cried bocheria Alexanderovna in a fright did he tell you what was it I'll tell you afterwards Raskolnikov ceased speaking and turned his attention to his tea Piotr Petrovich looked at his watch I'm compelled to keep a business engagement and so I shall not be in your way he added with an air of some peak and he began getting up don't go Piotr Petrovich said Dunya you intended to spend the evening besides you wrote yourself that you wanted to have an explanation with mother precisely so of Dunya Romanovna Piotr Petrovich answered impressively sitting down again but still holding his head I certainly desired an explanation with you and your honoured mother upon a very important point indeed but as your brother cannot speak openly in my presence of some proposals of Mrs. Fedegailov I too do not desire and am not able to speak openly of matters of certain matters of the greatest gravity moreover my most weighty and urgent request has been disregarded assuming in a grieved air Luzhin relapsed into dignified silence your request that my brother should not be present at our meeting was disregarded solely at my instance said Dunya you wrote that you'd been insulted by my brother I think that this must be explained at once I reconciled and if Rodja really has insulted you then he should and will apologise Piotr Petrovich took a stronger line there are insults of the Romanovna which no good will can make us forget there is a line in everything which it is dangerous to overstep and when it has been overstepped there is no return that wasn't what I was speaking of exactly Piotr Petrovich and the other relations please understand that our whole future depends now on whether all this is explained and said right as soon as possible I tell you frankly at the start that I cannot look at it in any other light and if you have the least regard for me all this business must be ended today however hard that may be I repeat that if my brother is to blame he will ask your forgiveness I am surprised that you are putting the question like that Luzhin getting more and more irritated esteeming esteeming, and so to say, adoring you, I may at the same time, very well indeed, be able to dislike some member of your family. Though I lay claim to the happiness of your hand, I cannot accept duties incompatible with—ah, don't be so ready to take offense, Piotr Petrovitch," Dunja interrupted, with feeling, and be the sensible and generous man I've always considered, and wish to consider you to be. I've given you a great promise, I am your betrothed, trust me in this matter, and believe me, I shall be capable of judging impartially. My assuming the part of judge is as much a surprise for my brother as for you. When I insisted on his coming to our interview today, after your letter, I told him nothing of what I meant to do. Understand that, if you are not reconciled, I must choose between you, it must be either you or he. That is how the question rests on your side and on his. I don't want to be mistaken in my choice, and I must not be. For your sake, I must break off with my brother. For my brother's sake, I must break off with you. I can find out for certain now whether he is a brother to me, and I want to know it. And of you, whether I am dear to you, whether you esteem me, whether you are the husband for me. Aff dottier romanovna," Luzhin declared huffily. Your words are of too much consequence to me. I will say more, they are offensive, in view of the position I have the honor to occupy in relation to you. To say nothing of your strange and offensive setting me on a level with an impertinent boy, you admit the possibility of breaking your promise to me. You say you or he, showing thereby of how little consequence I am in your eyes. I cannot let this pass, considering the relationship and the obligations existing between us. What! cried Dunya, flushing. I set your interest beside all that has hitherto been most precious in my life, what has made up the whole of my life, and here you are offended at my making too little account of you. Raskolnikov smiled sarcastically, Razumehin fidgeted, but Piotr Petrovich did not accept the reproof. On the contrary, that every word he became more persistent and irritable as though he relished it. Love for the future partner of your life, for your husband, ought to outweigh your love for your brother, he pronounced sententiously. And in any case, I cannot be put on the same level, although I said so emphatically that I would not speak openly in your brother's presence, nevertheless, I intend now to ask your honoured mother for a necessary explanation on a point of great importance, closely affecting my dignity. Your son, he turned to Bulgaria Alexanderovna, yesterday in the presence of Mr. Rajudkin, or I think that's it, excuse me, I've forgotten your surname. He both politely to Razumehin. Insulted me by misrepresenting the idea I expressed to you in a private conversation drinking coffee, that is, that marriage with a poor girl who has had experience of trouble is more advantageous from the conjugal point of view than with one who has lived in luxury, since it is more profitable for the moral character. Your son intentionally exaggerated the significance of my words and made them ridiculous, accusing me of malicious intentions, and as far as I could see relied upon your correspondence with him. I shall consider myself happy, Bulgaria Alexanderovna, if it is possible for you to convince me of an opposite conclusion, and thereby considerably reassure me. Kindly let me know in what terms precisely you repeated my words in your letter to Rodion Romanovich. I don't remember, thought it Bulgaria Alexanderovna. I repeated them as I understood them. I don't know how Rodja repeated them to you. Perhaps he exaggerated. He could not have exaggerated them, except at your instigation. Piotr Petrovich, Bulgaria Alexanderovna, declared with dignity. The proof that Dunya and I did not take your words in a very bad sense is the fact that we are here. Good mother, said Dunya approvingly. Then this is my fault again, said Luzhin, aggrieved. Well, Piotr Petrovich, you keep blaming Rodion, but you yourself have just written what was false about him. Bulgaria Alexanderovna added, gaining courage. I don't remember writing anything false. You wrote, Raskolnikov said sharply, not turning to Luzhin, that I gave money yesterday not to the widow of the man who was killed, as was the fact, but to his daughter, whom I had never seen till yesterday. You wrote this to make dissension between me and my family, and for that object added cause expressions about the conduct of a girl whom you don't know. All that is mean slander. Excuse me, sir, said Luzhin, quivering with fury. I enlarged upon your qualities and conduct in my letter solely in response to your sisters and mother's inquiries, how I find you, and what impression you made on me. As for what you've alluded to in my letter, be so good as to point out one word of falsehood. Show, that is, that you didn't throw away your money, and that there are not worthless persons in that family, however unfortunate. To my thinking, you, with all your virtues, are not worth the little finger of that unfortunate girl at whom you throw stones. Would you go so far then, as the letter associated with your mother and sister? I have done so already, if you care to know. I made her sit down to-day with mother and Dunya. Radja, cried Pulcheria Alexandrovna, Dunya crimsoned, resuming in knit as his brows. Luzhin smiled with lofty sarcasm. You may see for yourself after that, Jaron Menafna, he said, whether it is possible for us to agree. I hope now that this question is at an end, once and for all. I will withdraw, that I may not hinder the pleasures of family intimacy and the discussion of secrets. He got up from his chair and took his head. But in withdrawing, I venture to request that for the future I may be spared similar meetings, and, so to say, compromises. I appeal particularly to you, honoured Pulcheria Alexandrovna, on this subject, the more as my letter was addressed to you and to no one else. Pulcheria Alexandrovna was a little offended. You seem to think we are completely under your authority, Piotr Petrovic. Dunya has told you the reason your desire was disregarded. She had the best intentions. And indeed, you write as though you were laying commands upon me. Are we to consider every desire of yours as a command? Let me tell you, on the contrary, that you ought to show particular delicacy and consideration for us now, because we have thrown up everything and have come here relying on you, and so we are in any case, in a sense, in your hands. That is not quite true, Pulcheria Alexandrovna, especially at the present moment, when the news has come of Petrovna's legacy, which seems indeed very apropos, judging from the new tone you take to me, he added sarcastically. Judging from that remark, we may certainly presume that you were reckoning on our helplessness, Dunya observed irritably. But now, in any case, I cannot reckon on it, and I particularly desire not to hinder your discussion of the secret proposals of Arkady Ivanovich Svetigailov, which he has entrusted to your brother, and which have I perceive a great, and possibly a very agreeable interest for you. Good heavens! cried Pulcheria Alexandrovna, presuming he could not sit still on his chair. Aren't you ashamed now, sister? Aztras Konikov? I am ashamed, Rodja, said Dunya. Piotr Petrovich, go away! She turned to him, white with anger. Piotr Petrovich had apparently not at all expected such a conclusion. He had too much confidence in himself, in his power and in the helplessness of his victims. He could not believe it even now. He turned pale, and his lips quivered. Avdotya Romanovna, if I go out of this door now, after such a dismissal, then you may reckon on it I will never come back. Consider what you are doing. My word is not to be shaken. What insolence! cried Dunya, springing up from her seat. I don't want you to come back again. What! So that's how it stands, cried Luzhin, utterly unable to the last moment to believe in the rupture, and so completely thrown out of his reckoning now. So that's how it stands. But do you know, Avdotya Romanovna, that I might protest? What right have you to speak to her like that? Pulcheria Alexandrovna intervened hotly. And what can you protest about? What rights have you? Am I to give my Dunya to a man like you? Go away, leave us all together. We are to blame for having agreed to a wrong action, and I above all. But you have bound me, Pulcheria Alexandrovna, Luzhin stormed in a frenzy, by her promise, and now you deny it, and, besides, I've been led on account of that into expenses. This last complaint was so characteristic of Petropetovic that Raskolnikov, pale with anger and with the effort of restraining it, could not help breaking into laughter. But Pulcheria Alexandrovna was furious. Expenses? What expenses? Are you speaking of our trunk? But the conductor brought it for nothing for you. Masyonas, we have bound you. What are you thinking about, Petropetovic? It was you bound us, hand and foot, not we. Enough, mother, no more please, Avdotya Romanovna implored. Petropetovic, do be kind and go. I am going, but one last word, he said, quite unable to control himself. Your mama seems to have entirely forgotten that I made up my mind to take you, so to speak, after the gossip of the town had spread all over the district in regard to your reputation. Disregarding public opinion for your sake, and reinstating your reputation, I certainly might very well reckon on a fitting return, and might indeed look for gratitude on your part, and my eyes have only now been opened. I see myself that I may have acted very, very recklessly in disregarding the universal verdict. Does the fellow want his head smashed? cried Razumihin, jumping up. You are a mean and spiteful man, cried Dunya. Not a word, not a movement, cried Raskolnikov, holding Razumihin back. Then, going close up to Lucien, kindly leave the room, he said quietly and distinctly, and not a word more, or— Petropetovic gazed at him for some seconds, with a pale face that worked with anger. Then he turned, went out, and rarely has any man carried away in his heart such vindictive hatred as he felt against Raskolnikov. Him and him alone he blamed for everything. It is noteworthy that as he went downstairs, he still imagined that his case was perhaps not utterly lost, and that, so far as the ladies were concerned, all might very well indeed be said right again. End of Part 4, Chapter 2. Crime and Punishment, Part 4, Chapter 3. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Crime and Punishment, by Fedor Dostoevsky. Part 4, Chapter 3. The fact was that up to the last moment, he had never expected such an ending. He had been overbearing to the last degree, never dreaming that two destitute and defenseless women could escape from his control. This conviction was strengthened by his vanity and conceit, a conceit to the point of fatuity. Peter Petrovic, who had made his way up from insignificance, was morbidly given to self-admiration, had the highest opinion of his intelligence and capacities, and sometimes even gloated in solitude over his image in the glass. But what he loved and valued above all was the money he had amassed by his labor, and by all sorts of devices. That money made him the equal of all who had been his superiors. When he had bitterly reminded Dunia that he had decided to take her in spite of evil report, Peter Petrovic had spoken with perfect sincerity, and had, indeed, felt genuinely indignant at such black ingratitude. And yet, when he made Dunia his offer, he was fully aware of the groundlessness of all the gossip. The story had been everywhere contradicted by Marfa Petrovna, and was by then disbelieved by all the townspeople who were warm in Dunia's defense. And he would not have denied that he knew that at the time. Yet he still thought highly of his own resolution in lifting Dunia to his level and regarded it as something heroic. In speaking of it to Dunia, he had let out the secret feeling he cherished and admired, and he could not understand that others should fail to admire it too. He had called on Raskolnikov with the feelings of a benefactor who was about to reap the fruits of his good deeds and to hear agreeable flattery. As he went downstairs now, he considered himself most undeservedly injured and unrecognized. Dunia was simply essential to him. To do without her was unthinkable. For many years he had voluptuous dreams of marriage, but he had gone on waiting and amassing money. He brooded with relish in profound secret over the image of a girl. Virtuous, poor, she must be poor. Very young, very pretty, of good birth and education, very timid, one who had suffered much and was completely humbled before him, one who would all her life look on him as her savior, worship him, admire him, and only him. How many scenes, how many amorous episodes he had imagined on this seductive and playful theme when his work was over. And behold, the dream of so many years was all but realized. The beauty and education of Avdotya Romanovna had impressed him. Her helpless position had been a great allurement. In her he had found even more than he dreamed of. Here was a girl of pride, character, virtue, of education and breeding superior to his own, he felt that. And this creature would be slavishly grateful all her life for his heroic condescension and would humble herself in the dust before him, and he would have absolute unbounded power over her. Not long before, he had too, after long reflection and hesitation, made an important change in his career and was now entering on a wider circle of business. With this change, his cherished dreams of rising into a higher class of society seemed likely to be realized. He was, in fact, determined to try his fortune in Petersburg. He knew that women could do a very great deal. The fascination of a charming, virtuous, highly educated woman might make his way easier, might do wonders in attracting people to him, throwing an oriole around him, and now everything was in ruins. This sudden horrible rupture affected him like a clap of thunder. It was like a hideous joke, an absurdity. He had only been a tiny bit masterful, had not even time to speak out, had simply made a joke, been carried away, and it had ended so seriously. And of course, too, he did love Dunya in his own way. He already possessed her in his dreams, and all at once, no! The next day, the very next day, it must all be set right, smoothed over, settled. Above all, he must crush that conceited milksop who was the cause of it all. With a sick feeling, he could not help recalling Razumihin, too. But he soon reassured himself on that score, as though a fellow like that could be put on a level with him. The man he really dreaded in earnest was Fidrogelov. He had, in short, a great deal to attend to. No, I, I am more to blame than anyone, said Dunya, kissing and embracing her mother. I was tempted by his money, but on my honor, brother, I had no idea he was such a base man. If I had seen through him before, nothing would have tempted me. Don't blame me, brother. God has delivered us, God has delivered us! Pulcheria Alexandrovna muttered, but half-consciously, as though scarcely able to realize what had happened. They were all relieved, and in five minutes they were laughing. Only now and then, Dunya turned white and frowned, remembering what had passed. Pulcheria Alexandrovna was surprised to find that she, too, was glad. She had only that morning thought rupture with Lugin a terrible misfortune. Razumihin was delighted. He did not yet dare to express his joy fully, but he was in a fever of excitement as though a ton weight had fallen off his heart. Now he had the right to devote his life to them, to serve them. Anything might happen now, but he felt afraid to think of further possibilities and dared not let his imagination range. But Raskolnikov's death still in the same place, almost sullen and indifferent. Though he had been the most insistent on getting rid of Lugin, he seemed now the least concerned at what had happened. Dunya could not help thinking that he was still angry with her, and Pulcheria Alexandrovna watched him timidly. What did Svidrigalov say to you, said Dunya, approaching him? Yes, yes, cried Pulcheria Alexandrovna. Raskolnikov raised his head. He wants to make you a present of ten thousand rubles, and he desires to see you once in my presence. See her? A no-account! cried Pulcheria Alexandrovna. And how dare he offer her money! Then Raskolnikov repeated, rather dryly, his conversation with Svidrigalov, omitting his account of the ghostly visitations of Marfa Petrovna, wishing to avoid all unnecessary talk. What answer did you give him? Asked Dunya. At first I said I would not take any message to you. Then he said that he would do his utmost to obtain an interview with you without my help. He assured me that his passion for you was a passing infatuation. Now he has no feeling for you. He doesn't want you to marry Lugin. His talk was altogether rather muddled. How do you explain him to yourself, Rodya? How did he strike you? I must confess, I don't quite understand him. He offers you ten thousand, and yet he says he's not well off. He says he is going away, and in ten minutes he forgets he has said it. Then he says he is going to be married and has already fixed on the girl. No doubt he has a motive, and probably a bad one. But it's odd that he should be so clumsy about it if he had any designs on you. Of course, I refused this money on your account once for all. Altogether I thought him very strange. One might almost think he was mad. But I may be mistaken. That may only be the part, he assumes. The death of Marfa Petrovna seems to have made a great impression on him. God rest her soul, exclaimed Pulcheria Aleglundrovna. I shall always, always pray for her. Where should we be now, Dunya, without this three thousand? It's as though it had fallen from heaven. Why, Rodya, this morning we had only three rubles in our pocket, and Dunya and I were just planning to pawn her watch, so as to avoid borrowing from that man until he offered help. Dunya seems strangely impressed by Svidrigelov's offer. She still stood, meditating. He has got some terrible plan, she said, and a half whisper to herself, almost shuddering. Raskolnikov noticed this disproportionate terror. I fancy I shall have to see him more than once again, he said to Dunya. We will watch him. I will track him out, cried Razumihin vigorously. I won't lose sight of him. Rodya has given me leave. He said to me himself just now, take care of my sister. Will you give me leave too, Avdotya Romanovna? Raskolnikov smiled and held out her hand, but the look of anxiety did not leave her face. Polcharia Elegantrovna gazed at her timidly, but the three thousand rubles had obviously a soothing effect on her. A quarter of an hour later they were all engaged in a lively conversation. Even Raskolnikov listened attentively for some time, though he did not talk. Razumihin was the speaker. And why, why should you go away? He floated on ecstatically. And what are you to do in a little town? The great thing is, you are all here together and you need one another. You do need one another, believe me. For a time, anyway. Take me into partnership and I assure you we'll plan a capital enterprise. Listen, I'll explain it all in detail to you, the whole project. It all flashed into my head this morning before anything had happened. I tell you what, I have an uncle, I must introduce him to you, the most accommodating and respectable old man. This uncle has got a capital of a thousand rubles and he lives on his pension and has no need of that money. For the last two years he has been bothering me to borrow it from him and pay him six percent interest. I know what that means, he simply wants to help me. Last year I had no need of it, but this year I resolved to borrow it as soon as he arrived. Then you lend me another thousand of your three and we have enough for a start, so we'll go into partnership. And what are we going to do? Then Razumihin began to unfold his project and he explained at length that almost all our publishers and booksellers know nothing at all of what they are selling and for that reason they are usually bad publishers and that any decent publications pay as a rule and give a profit, sometimes a considerable one. Razumihin had indeed been dreaming of setting up as a publisher. For the last two years he had been working in publishers offices and knew three European languages well, though he had told Raskolnikov six days before that he was schwaach in German with an object of persuading him to take half his translation and half the payment for it. He had told a lie then and Raskolnikov knew he was lying. Why, why should we let our chance slip when we have one of the chief means of success, money of our own, cried Razumihin warmly? Of course there will be a lot of work, but we will work. You, Avdatya Romanovna, I, Brodian. You get a splendid profit on some books nowadays and the great point of the business is that we shall know just what wants translating and we shall be translating, publishing, learning all at once. I can be of use because I have experience. For nearly two years I've been scuttling about among the publishers and now I know every detail of their business. You need not be a saint to make pots, believe me. And why, why should we let our chance slip? Why, I know, and I kept the secret. Two or three books which one might get a hundred rubles simply for thinking of translating and publishing. Indeed, and I would not take five hundred for the very idea of one of them. And what do you think? If I were to tell a publisher, I dare say he'd hesitate. There are such blockheads. And as for the business side, printing, paper, selling, you trust to me, I know my way about. We'll begin in a small way and go on to a large. In any case, it will get us our living and we shall get back our capital. Dunia's eyes shone. I like what you are saying, Dmitri Prokofovich, she said. I know nothing about it, of course, put in Pulcheria Alexandrovna. It may be a good idea, but again, God knows. It's new and untried. Of course, we must remain here at least for a time. She looked at Rodia. What do you think, brother? Said Dunia. I think he's got a very good idea, he answered. Of course, it's too soon to dream of a publishing firm, but we might certainly bring out five or six books and be sure of success. I know of one book myself which would be sure to go well. And as for his being able to manage it, there's no doubt about that either. He knows the business. But we can talk it over later. Hurrah, cried Razumihin. Now stay, there's a flat here in this house belonging to the same owner. It's a special flat apart, not communicating with these lodgings. It's furnished, rent moderate, three rooms. Suppose you take them to begin with. I'll pawn your watch tomorrow and bring you the money and everything can be arranged then. You can all three live together and Rodia will be with you. But where are you off to, Rodia? What, Rodia, are you going already? Polcharia Alexandrovna asked in dismay. At such a minute, cried Razumihin. Dunia looked at her brother with incredulous wonder. He held his cap in his hand. He was preparing to leave them. One would think you were burying me or saying goodbye forever, he said somewhat oddly. He attempted to smile, but it did not turn out a smile. But who knows, perhaps it is the last time we shall see each other, he let slip accidentally. It was what he was thinking that somehow was uttered aloud. What is the matter with you? cried his mother. Where are you going, Rodia? asked Dunia rather strangely. Oh, I'm quite obliged to, he answered vaguely, as though hesitating what he would say. But there was a look of sharp determination in his white face. I meant to say as I was coming here. I meant to tell you, mother and you, Dunia, that it would be better for us to part for a time. I feel ill, I am not at peace. I will come afterwards. I will come of myself when it's possible. I remember you and love you. Leave me, leave me alone. I decided this even before. I'm absolutely resolved on it. Whatever may come to me, whether I come to ruin or not, I want to be alone. Forget me altogether, it's better. Don't inquire about me. When I can, I'll come of myself or I'll send for you. Perhaps it will all come back, but now if you love me, give me up. Else I shall begin to hate you. I feel it. Goodbye. Good God! cried Pulcheria Elegslandrovna. Both his mother and his sister were terribly alarmed. Razumihin was also. Rodia, Rodia, be reconciled with us. Let us be as before, cried his poor mother. He turned slowly to the door and slowly went out of the room. Dunia overtook him. Brother, what are you doing to mother? She whispered, her eyes flashing with indignation. He looked dully at her. No matter, I shall come. I'm coming, he muttered in an undertone, as though not fully conscious of what he was saying and he went out of the room. Wicked, heartless, egoist, cried Dunia. He's insane, but not heartless. He's mad. Don't you see it? You're heartless after that. Razumihin whispered in her ear, squeezing her hand tightly. I shall be back directly. He shouted to the horror-stricken mother and he ran out of the room. Raskolnikov was waiting for him at the end of the passage. I knew you would run after me. He said, go back to them, be with them. Be with them tomorrow and always. I, perhaps I shall come, if I can. Goodbye. And without holding out his hand, he walked away. But where are you going? What are you doing? What's the matter with you? How can you go on like this? Razumihin muttered at his wid's end. Raskolnikov stopped once more. Once for all, never ask me about anything. I have nothing to tell you. Don't come to see me. Maybe I'll come here. Leave me, but don't leave them. Do you understand me? It was dark in the corridor. They were standing near the lamp. For a minute they were looking at one another in silence. Razumihin remembered that minute all his life. Raskolnikov's burning and intent eyes grew more penetrating every moment, piercing into his soul, into his consciousness. Suddenly Razumihin started. Something strange as it were passed between them. Some idea, some hint as it were, slipped. Something awful, hideous, and suddenly understood on both sides. Razumihin turned pale. Do you understand now? said Raskolnikov, his face twitching nervously. Go back. Go to them. He said suddenly, and turning quickly, he went out of the house. I will not attempt to describe how Razumihin went back to the ladies, how he soothed them, how he protested that Rodia needed rest in his illness, protested that Rodia was sure to come, that he would come every day, that he was very, very much upset, that he must not be irritated, that he, Razumihin, would watch over him, would get him a doctor, the best doctor, a consultation. In fact, from that evening, Razumihin took his place with them as a son and a brother. End of Part 4, Chapter 3.