第5章

Thiswasagentlemannolongeryoung，ofastiffandportlyappearance，andacautiousandsourcountenance。Hebeganbystoppingshortinthedoorway，staringabouthimwithoffensiveandundisguisedastonishment，asthoughaskinghimselfwhatsortofplacehehadcometo。Mistrustfullyandwithanaffectationofbeingalarmedandalmostaffronted，hescannedRaskolnikov’slowandnarrow“cabin。”WiththesameamazementhestaredatRaskolnikov，wholayundressed，dishevelled，unwashed，onhismiserabledirtysofa，lookingfixedlyathim。Thenwiththesamedeliberationhescrutinisedtheuncouth，unkemptfigureandunshavenfaceofRazumihin，wholookedhimboldlyandinquiringlyinthefacewithoutrisingfromhisseat。Aconstrainedsilencelastedforacoupleofminutes，andthen，asmightbeexpected，somescene-shiftingtookplace。Reflecting，probablyfromcertainfairlyunmistakablesigns，thathewouldgetnothinginthis“cabin”byattemptingtooverawethem，thegentlemansoftenedsomewhat，andcivilly，thoughwithsomeseverity，emphasisingeverysyllableofhisquestion，addressedZossimov:

“RodionRomanovitchRaskolnikov，astudent，orformerlyastudent？”

Zossimovmadeaslightmovement，andwouldhaveanswered，hadnotRazumihinanticipatedhim。

“Hereheislyingonthesofa！Whatdoyouwant？”

Thisfamiliar“whatdoyouwant”seemedtocutthegroundfromthefeetofthepompousgentleman。HewasturningtoRazumihin，butcheckedhimselfintimeandturnedtoZossimovagain。

“ThisisRaskolnikov，”mumbledZossimov，noddingtowardshim。Thenhegaveaprolongedyawn，openinghismouthaswideaspossible。Thenhelazilyputhishandintohiswaistcoat-pocket，pulledoutahugegoldwatchinaroundhunter’scase，openedit，lookedatitandasslowlyandlazilyproceededtoputitback。

Raskolnikovhimselflaywithoutspeaking，onhisback，gazingpersistently，thoughwithoutunderstanding，atthestranger。Nowthathisfacewasturnedawayfromthestrangefloweronthepaper，itwasextremelypaleandworealookofanguish，asthoughhehadjustundergoneanagonisingoperationorjustbeentakenfromtherack。Butthenew-comergraduallybegantoarousehisattention，thenhiswonder，thensuspicionandevenalarm。WhenZossimovsaid“ThisisRaskolnikov”hejumpedupquickly，satonthesofaandwithanalmostdefiant，butweakandbreaking，voicearticulated:

“Yes，IamRaskolnikov！Whatdoyouwant？”

Thevisitorscrutinisedhimandpronouncedimpressively:

“PyotrPetrovitchLuzhin。IbelieveIhavereasontohopethatmynameisnotwhollyunknowntoyou？”

ButRaskolnikov，whohadexpectedsomethingquitedifferent，gazedblanklyanddreamilyathim，makingnoreply，asthoughheheardthenameofPyotrPetrovitchforthefirsttime。

“Isitpossiblethatyoucanuptothepresenthavereceivednoinformation？”askedPyotrPetrovitch，somewhatdisconcerted。

InreplyRaskolnikovsanklanguidlybackonthepillow，puthishandsbehindhisheadandgazedattheceiling。AlookofdismaycameintoLuzhin’sface。ZossimovandRazumihinstaredathimmoreinquisitivelythanever，andatlastheshowedunmistakablesignsofembarrassment。

“Ihadpresumedandcalculated，”hefaltered，“thataletterpostedmorethantendays，ifnotafortnightago…”

“Isay，whyareyoustandinginthedoorway？”Razumihininterruptedsuddenly。“Ifyou’vesomethingtosay，sitdown。Nastasyaandyouaresocrowded。Nastasya，makeroom。Here’sachair，threadyourwayin！”

Hemovedhischairbackfromthetable，madealittlespacebetweenthetableandhisknees，andwaitedinarathercrampedpositionforthevisitorto“threadhiswayin。”Theminutewassochosenthatitwasimpossibletorefuse，andthevisitorsqueezedhiswaythrough，hurryingandstumbling。Reachingthechair，hesatdown，lookingsuspiciouslyatRazumihin。

“Noneedtobenervous，”thelatterblurtedout。“Rodyahasbeenillforthelastfivedaysanddeliriousforthree，butnowheisrecoveringandhasgotanappetite。Thisishisdoctor，whohasjusthadalookathim。IamacomradeofRodya’s，likehim，formerlyastudent，andnowIamnursinghim；sodon’tyoutakeanynoticeofus，butgoonwithyourbusiness。”

“Thankyou。ButshallInotdisturbtheinvalidbymypresenceandconversation？”PyotrPetrovitchaskedofZossimov。

“N-no，”mumbledZossimov；“youmayamusehim。”Heyawnedagain。

“Hehasbeenconsciousalongtime，sincethemorning，”wentonRazumihin，whosefamiliarityseemedsomuchlikeunaffectedgood-naturethatPyotrPetrovitchbegantobemorecheerful，partly，perhaps，becausethisshabbyandimpudentpersonhadintroducedhimselfasastudent。

“Yourmamma，”beganLuzhin。

“Hm！”Razumihinclearedhisthroatloudly。Luzhinlookedathiminquiringly。

“That’sallright，goon。”

Luzhinshruggedhisshoulders。

“YourmammahadcommencedalettertoyouwhileIwassojourninginherneighbourhood。OnmyarrivalhereIpurposelyallowedafewdaystoelapsebeforecomingtoseeyou，inorderthatImightbefullyassuredthatyouwereinfullpossessionofthetidings；butnow，tomyastonishment…”

“Iknow，Iknow！”Raskolnikovcriedsuddenlywithimpatientvexation。“Soyouarethefiance？Iknow，andthat’senough！”

TherewasnodoubtaboutPyotrPetrovitch’sbeingoffendedthistime，buthesaidnothing。Hemadeaviolentefforttounderstandwhatitallmeant。Therewasamoment’ssilence。

MeanwhileRaskolnikov，whohadturnedalittletowardshimwhenheanswered，begansuddenlystaringathimagainwithmarkedcuriosity，asthoughhehadnothadagoodlookathimyet，orasthoughsomethingnewhadstruckhim；herosefromhispillowonpurposetostareathim。TherecertainlywassomethingpeculiarinPyotrPetrovitch’swholeappearance，somethingwhichseemedtojustifythetitleof“fiance”sounceremoniouslyappliedtohim。Inthefirstplace，itwasevident，fartoomuchsoindeed，thatPyotrPetrovitchhadmadeeageruseofhisfewdaysinthecapitaltogethimselfupandrighimselfoutinexpectationofhisbetrothed—aperfectlyinnocentandpermissibleproceeding，indeed。Evenhisown，perhapstoocomplacent，consciousnessoftheagreeableimprovementinhisappearancemighthavebeenforgiveninsuchcircumstances，seeingthatPyotrPetrovitchhadtakenuptheroleoffiance。Allhisclotheswerefreshfromthetailor’sandwereallright，exceptforbeingtoonewandtoodistinctlyappropriate。Eventhestylishnewroundhathadthesamesignificance。PyotrPetrovitchtreatedittoorespectfullyandheldittoocarefullyinhishands。Theexquisitepairoflavendergloves，realLouvain，toldthesametale，ifonlyfromthefactofhisnotwearingthem，butcarryingtheminhishandforshow。LightandyouthfulcolourspredominatedinPyotrPetrovitch’sattire。Heworeacharmingsummerjacketofafawnshade，lightthintrousers，awaistcoatofthesame，newandfinelinen，acravatofthelightestcambricwithpinkstripesonit，andthebestofitwas，thisallsuitedPyotrPetrovitch。Hisveryfreshandevenhandsomefacelookedyoungerthanhisforty-fiveyearsatalltimes。Hisdark，mutton-chopwhiskersmadeanagreeablesettingonbothsides，growingthicklyuponhisshining，clean-shavenchin。Evenhishair，touchedhereandtherewithgrey，thoughithadbeencombedandcurledatahairdresser’s，didnotgivehimastupidappearance，ascurledhairusuallydoes，byinevitablysuggestingaGermanonhiswedding-day。Iftherereallywassomethingunpleasingandrepulsiveinhisrathergood-lookingandimposingcountenance，itwasduetoquiteothercauses。AfterscanningMr。Luzhinunceremoniously，Raskolnikovsmiledmalignantly，sankbackonthepillowandstaredattheceilingasbefore。

ButMr。Luzhinhardenedhisheartandseemedtodeterminetotakenonoticeoftheiroddities。

“Ifeelthegreatestregretatfindingyouinthissituation，”hebegan，againbreakingthesilencewithaneffort。“IfIhadbeenawareofyourillnessIshouldhavecomeearlier。Butyouknowwhatbusinessis。Ihave，too，averyimportantlegalaffairintheSenate，nottomentionotherpreoccupationswhichyoumaywellconjecture。Iamexpectingyourmammaandsisteranyminute。”

Raskolnikovmadeamovementandseemedabouttospeak；hisfaceshowedsomeexcitement。PyotrPetrovitchpaused，waited，butasnothingfollowed，hewenton:

“…Anyminute。Ihavefoundalodgingforthemontheirarrival。”

“Where？”askedRaskolnikovweakly。

“Verynearhere，inBakaleyev’shouse。”

“That’sinVoskresensky，”putinRazumihin。“Therearetwostoreysofrooms，letbyamerchantcalledYushin；I’vebeenthere。”

“Yes，rooms…”

“Adisgustingplace—filthy，stinkingand，what’smore，ofdoubtfulcharacter。Thingshavehappenedthere，andthereareallsortsofqueerpeoplelivingthere。AndIwentthereaboutascandalousbusiness。It’scheap，though…”

“Icouldnot，ofcourse，findoutsomuchaboutit，forIamastrangerinPetersburgmyself，”PyotrPetrovitchrepliedhuffily。“However，thetworoomsareexceedinglyclean，andasitisforsoshortatime…Ihavealreadytakenapermanent，thatis，ourfutureflat，”hesaid，addressingRaskolnikov，“andIamhavingitdoneup。AndmeanwhileIammyselfcrampedforroominalodgingwithmyfriendAndreySemyonovitchLebeziatnikov，intheflatofMadameLippevechsel；itwashewhotoldmeofBakaleyev’shouse，too…”

“Lebeziatnikov？”saidRaskolnikovslowly，asifrecallingsomething。

“Yes，AndreySemyonovitchLebeziatnikov，aclerkintheMinistry。Doyouknowhim？”

“Yes…no，”Raskolnikovanswered。

“Excuseme，Ifanciedsofromyourinquiry。Iwasoncehisguardian。…Averyniceyoungmanandadvanced。Iliketomeetyoungpeople:onelearnsnewthingsfromthem。”Luzhinlookedroundhopefullyatthemall。

“Howdoyoumean？”askedRazumihin。

“Inthemostseriousandessentialmatters，”PyotrPetrovitchreplied，asthoughdelightedatthequestion。“Yousee，it’stenyearssinceIvisitedPetersburg。Allthenovelties，reforms，ideashavereachedusintheprovinces，buttoseeitallmoreclearlyonemustbeinPetersburg。Andit’smynotionthatyouobserveandlearnmostbywatchingtheyoungergeneration。AndIconfessIamdelighted…”

“Atwhat？”

“Yourquestionisawideone。Imaybemistaken，butIfancyIfindclearerviews，more，sotosay，criticism，morepracticality…”

“That’strue，”Zossimovletdrop。

“Nonsense！There’snopracticality。”Razumihinflewathim。“Practicalityisadifficultthingtofind；itdoesnotdropdownfromheaven。Andforthelasttwohundredyearswehavebeendivorcedfromallpracticallife。Ideas，ifyoulike，arefermenting，”hesaidtoPyotrPetrovitch，“anddesireforgoodexists，thoughit’sinachildishform，andhonestyyoumayfind，althoughtherearecrowdsofbrigands。Anyway，there’snopracticality。Practicalitygoeswellshod。”

“Idon’tagreewithyou，”PyotrPetrovitchreplied，withevidentenjoyment。“Ofcourse，peopledogetcarriedawayandmakemistakes，butonemusthaveindulgence；thosemistakesaremerelyevidenceofenthusiasmforthecauseandofabnormalexternalenvironment。Iflittlehasbeendone，thetimehasbeenbutshort；ofmeansIwillnotspeak。It’smypersonalview，ifyoucaretoknow，thatsomethinghasbeenaccomplishedalready。Newvaluableideas，newvaluableworksarecirculatingintheplaceofourolddreamyandromanticauthors。Literatureistakingamaturerform，manyinjuriousprejudicehavebeenrootedupandturnedintoridicule。…Inaword，wehavecutourselvesoffirrevocablyfromthepast，andthat，tomythinking，isagreatthing…”

“He’slearntitbyhearttoshowoff！”Raskolnikovpronouncedsuddenly。

“What？”askedPyotrPetrovitch，notcatchinghiswords；buthereceivednoreply。

“That’salltrue，”Zossimovhastenedtointerpose。

“Isn’titso？”PyotrPetrovitchwenton，glancingaffablyatZossimov。“Youmustadmit，”hewenton，addressingRazumihinwithashadeoftriumphandsuperciliousness—healmostadded“youngman”—“thatthereisanadvance，or，astheysaynow，progressinthenameofscienceandeconomictruth…”

“Acommonplace。”

“No，notacommonplace！Hitherto，forinstance，ifIweretold，‘lovethyneighbour，’whatcameofit？”PyotrPetrovitchwenton，perhapswithexcessivehaste。“Itcametomytearingmycoatinhalftosharewithmyneighbourandwebothwerelefthalfnaked。AsaRussianproverbhasit，‘Catchseveralharesandyouwon’tcatchone。’Sciencenowtellsus，loveyourselfbeforeallmen，foreverythingintheworldrestsonself-interest。Youloveyourselfandmanageyourownaffairsproperlyandyourcoatremainswhole。Economictruthaddsthatthebetterprivateaffairsareorganisedinsociety—themorewholecoats，sotosay—thefirmerareitsfoundationsandthebetteristhecommonwelfareorganisedtoo。Therefore，inacquiringwealthsolelyandexclusivelyformyself，Iamacquiring，sotospeak，forall，andhelpingtobringtopassmyneighbour’sgettingalittlemorethanatorncoat；andthatnotfromprivate，personalliberality，butasaconsequenceofthegeneraladvance。Theideaissimple，butunhappilyithasbeenalongtimereachingus，beinghinderedbyidealismandsentimentality。Andyetitwouldseemtowantverylittlewittoperceiveit…”

“Excuseme，I’veverylittlewitmyself，”Razumihincutinsharply，“andsoletusdropit。Ibeganthisdiscussionwithanobject，butI’vegrownsosickduringthelastthreeyearsofthischatteringtoamuseoneself，ofthisincessantflowofcommonplaces，alwaysthesame，that，byJove，Iblushevenwhenotherpeopletalklikethat。Youareinahurry，nodoubt，toexhibityouracquirements；andIdon’tblameyou，that’squitepardonable。Ionlywantedtofindoutwhatsortofmanyouare，forsomanyunscrupulouspeoplehavegotholdoftheprogressivecauseoflateandhavesodistortedintheirowninterestseverythingtheytouched，thatthewholecausehasbeendraggedinthemire。That’senough！”

“Excuseme，sir，”saidLuzhin，affronted，andspeakingwithexcessivedignity。“DoyoumeantosuggestsounceremoniouslythatItoo…”

“Oh，mydearsir…howcouldI？…Come，that’senough，”Razumihinconcluded，andheturnedabruptlytoZossimovtocontinuetheirpreviousconversation。

PyotrPetrovitchhadthegoodsensetoacceptthedisavowal。Hemadeuphismindtotakeleaveinanotherminuteortwo。

“Itrustouracquaintance，”hesaid，addressingRaskolnikov，“may，uponyourrecoveryandinviewofthecircumstancesofwhichyouareaware，becomecloser…Aboveall，Ihopeforyourreturntohealth…”

Raskolnikovdidnoteventurnhishead。PyotrPetrovitchbegangettingupfromhischair。

“Oneofhercustomersmusthavekilledher，”Zossimovdeclaredpositively。

“Notadoubtofit，”repliedRazumihin。“Porfirydoesn’tgivehisopinion，butisexaminingallwhohaveleftpledgeswithherthere。”

“Examiningthem？”Raskolnikovaskedaloud。

“Yes。Whatthen？”

“Nothing。”

“Howdoeshegetholdofthem？”askedZossimov。

“Kochhasgiventhenamesofsomeofthem，othernamesareonthewrappersofthepledgesandsomehavecomeforwardofthemselves。”

“Itmusthavebeenacunningandpractisedruffian！Theboldnessofit！Thecoolness！”

“That’sjustwhatitwasn’t！”interposedRazumihin。“That’swhatthrowsyoualloffthescent。ButImaintainthatheisnotcunning，notpractised，andprobablythiswashisfirstcrime！Thesuppositionthatitwasacalculatedcrimeandacunningcriminaldoesn’twork。Supposehimtohavebeeninexperienced，andit’sclearthatitwasonlyachancethatsavedhim—andchancemaydoanything。Why，hedidnotforeseeobstacles，perhaps！Andhowdidhesettowork？Hetookjewelsworthtenortwentyroubles，stuffinghispocketswiththem，ransackedtheoldwoman’strunks，herrags—andtheyfoundfifteenhundredroubles，besidesnotes，inaboxinthetopdrawerofthechest！Hedidnotknowhowtorob；hecouldonlymurder。Itwashisfirstcrime，Iassureyou，hisfirstcrime；helosthishead。Andhegotoffmorebyluckthangoodcounsel！”

“Youaretalkingofthemurderoftheoldpawnbroker，Ibelieve？”PyotrPetrovitchputin，addressingZossimov。Hewasstanding，hatandglovesinhand，butbeforedepartinghefeltdisposedtothrowoffafewmoreintellectualphrases。Hewasevidentlyanxioustomakeafavourableimpressionandhisvanityovercamehisprudence。

“Yes。You’veheardofit？”

“Oh，yes，beingintheneighbourhood。”

“Doyouknowthedetails？”

“Ican’tsaythat；butanothercircumstanceinterestsmeinthecase—thewholequestion，sotosay。Nottospeakofthefactthatcrimehasbeengreatlyontheincreaseamongthelowerclassesduringthelastfiveyears，nottospeakofthecasesofrobberyandarsoneverywhere，whatstrikesmeasthestrangestthingisthatinthehigherclasses，too，crimeisincreasingproportionately。Inoneplaceonehearsofastudent’srobbingthemailonthehighroad；inanotherplacepeopleofgoodsocialpositionforgefalsebanknotes；inMoscowoflateawholeganghasbeencapturedwhousedtoforgelotterytickets，andoneoftheringleaderswasalecturerinuniversalhistory；thenoursecretaryabroadwasmurderedfromsomeobscuremotiveofgain。…Andifthisoldwoman，thepawnbroker，hasbeenmurderedbysomeoneofahigherclassinsociety—forpeasantsdon’tpawngoldtrinkets—howarewetoexplainthisdemoralisationofthecivilisedpartofoursociety？”

“Therearemanyeconomicchanges，”putinZossimov。

“Howarewetoexplainit？”Razumihincaughthimup。“Itmightbeexplainedbyourinveterateimpracticality。”

“Howdoyoumean？”

“WhatanswerhadyourlecturerinMoscowtomaketothequestionwhyhewasforgingnotes？‘Everybodyisgettingrichonewayoranother，soIwanttomakehastetogetrichtoo。’Idon’tremembertheexactwords，buttheupshotwasthathewantsmoneyfornothing，withoutwaitingorworking！We’vegrownusedtohavingeverythingready-made，towalkingoncrutches，tohavingourfoodchewedforus。Thenthegreathourstruck，1andeverymanshowedhimselfinhistruecolours。”

“Butmorality？Andsotospeak，principles…”

“Butwhydoyouworryaboutit？”Raskolnikovinterposedsuddenly。“It’sinaccordancewithyourtheory！”

“Inaccordancewithmytheory？”

“Why，carryoutlogicallythetheoryyouwereadvocatingjustnow，anditfollowsthatpeoplemaybekilled…”

“Uponmyword！”criedLuzhin。

“No，that’snotso，”putinZossimov。

Raskolnikovlaywithawhitefaceandtwitchingupperlip，breathingpainfully。

“There’sameasureinallthings，”Luzhinwentonsuperciliously。“Economicideasarenotanincitementtomurder，andonehasbuttosuppose…”

“Andisittrue，”Raskolnikovinterposedoncemoresuddenly，againinavoicequiveringwithfuryanddelightininsultinghim，“isittruethatyoutoldyourfiancee…withinanhourofheracceptance，thatwhatpleasedyoumost…wasthatshewasabeggar…becauseitwasbettertoraiseawifefrompoverty，sothatyoumayhavecompletecontroloverher，andreproachherwithyourbeingherbenefactor？”

“Uponmyword，”Luzhincriedwrathfullyandirritably，crimsonwithconfusion，“todistortmywordsinthisway！Excuseme，allowmetoassureyouthatthereportwhichhasreachedyou，orrather，letmesay，hasbeenconveyedtoyou，hasnofoundationintruth，andI…suspectwho…inaword…thisarrow…inaword，yourmamma…Sheseemedtomeinotherthings，withallherexcellentqualities，ofasomewhathigh-flownandromanticwayofthinking。…ButIwasathousandmilesfromsupposingthatshewouldmisunderstandandmisrepresentthingsinsofancifulaway。…Andindeed…indeed…”

“Itellyouwhat，”criedRaskolnikov，raisinghimselfonhispillowandfixinghispiercing，glitteringeyesuponhim，“Itellyouwhat。”

“What？”Luzhinstoodstill，waitingwithadefiantandoffendedface。Silencelastedforsomeseconds。

“Why，ifeveragain…youdaretomentionasingleword…aboutmymother…Ishallsendyouflyingdownstairs！”

“What’sthematterwithyou？”criedRazumihin。

“Sothat’showitis？”Luzhinturnedpaleandbithislip。“Letmetellyou，sir，”hebegandeliberately，doinghisutmosttorestrainhimselfbutbreathinghard，“atthefirstmomentIsawyouyouwereill-disposedtome，butIremainedhereonpurposetofindoutmore。Icouldforgiveagreatdealinasickmanandaconnection，butyou…neverafterthis…”

“Iamnotill，”criedRaskolnikov。

“Somuchtheworse…”

“Gotohell！”

ButLuzhinwasalreadyleavingwithoutfinishinghisspeech，squeezingbetweenthetableandthechair；Razumihingotupthistimetolethimpass。Withoutglancingatanyone，andnotevennoddingtoZossimov，whohadforsometimebeenmakingsignstohimtoletthesickmanalone，hewentout，liftinghishattothelevelofhisshoulderstoavoidcrushingitashestoopedtogooutofthedoor。Andeventhecurveofhisspinewasexpressiveofthehorribleinsulthehadreceived。

“Howcouldyou—howcouldyou！”Razumihinsaid，shakinghisheadinperplexity。

“Letmealone—letmealoneallofyou！”Raskolnikovcriedinafrenzy。“Willyoueverleaveofftormentingme？Iamnotafraidofyou！Iamnotafraidofanyone，anyonenow！Getawayfromme！Iwanttobealone，alone，alone！”

“Comealong，”saidZossimov，noddingtoRazumihin。

“Butwecan’tleavehimlikethis！”

“Comealong，”Zossimovrepeatedinsistently，andhewentout。Razumihinthoughtaminuteandrantoovertakehim。

“Itmightbeworsenottoobeyhim，”saidZossimovonthestairs。“Hemustn’tbeirritated。”

“What’sthematterwithhim？”

“Ifonlyhecouldgetsomefavourableshock，that’swhatwoulddoit！Atfirsthewasbetter。…Youknowhehasgotsomethingonhismind！Somefixedideaweighingonhim。…Iamverymuchafraidso；hemusthave！”

“Perhapsit’sthatgentleman，PyotrPetrovitch。FromhisconversationIgatherheisgoingtomarryhissister，andthathehadreceivedaletteraboutitjustbeforehisillness。…”

“Yes，confoundtheman！hemayhaveupsetthecasealtogether。Buthaveyounoticed，hetakesnointerestinanything，hedoesnotrespondtoanythingexceptonepointonwhichheseemsexcited—that’sthemurder？”

“Yes，yes，”Razumihinagreed，“Inoticedthat，too。Heisinterested，frightened。Itgavehimashockonthedayhewasillinthepoliceoffice；hefainted。”

“TellmemoreaboutthatthiseveningandI’lltellyousomethingafterwards。Heinterestsmeverymuch！InhalfanhourI’llgoandseehimagain。…There’llbenoinflammationthough。”

“Thanks！AndI’llwaitwithPashenkameantimeandwillkeepwatchonhimthroughNastasya。…”

Raskolnikov，leftalone，lookedwithimpatienceandmiseryatNastasya，butshestilllingered。

“Won’tyouhavesometeanow？”sheasked。

“Later！Iamsleepy！Leaveme。”

Heturnedabruptlytothewall；Nastasyawentout。

Butassoonasshewentout，hegotup，latchedthedoor，undidtheparcelwhichRazumihinhadbroughtinthateveningandhadtiedupagainandbegandressing。Strangetosay，heseemedimmediatelytohavebecomeperfectlycalm；notatraceofhisrecentdeliriumnorofthepanicfearthathadhauntedhimoflate。Itwasthefirstmomentofastrangesuddencalm。Hismovementswerepreciseanddefinite；afirmpurposewasevidentinthem。“To-day，to-day，”hemutteredtohimself。Heunderstoodthathewasstillweak，buthisintensespiritualconcentrationgavehimstrengthandself-confidence。Hehoped，moreover，thathewouldnotfalldowninthestreet。Whenhehaddressedinentirelynewclothes，helookedatthemoneylyingonthetable，andafteramoment’sthoughtputitinhispocket。Itwastwenty-fiveroubles。HetookalsoallthecopperchangefromthetenroublesspentbyRazumihinontheclothes。Thenhesoftlyunlatchedthedoor，wentout，slippeddownstairsandglancedinattheopenkitchendoor。Nastasyawasstandingwithherbacktohim，blowingupthelandlady’ssamovar。Sheheardnothing。Whowouldhavedreamedofhisgoingout，indeed？Aminutelaterhewasinthestreet。

Itwasnearlyeighto’clock，thesunwassetting。Itwasasstiflingasbefore，butheeagerlydrankinthestinking，dustytownair。Hisheadfeltratherdizzy；asortofsavageenergygleamedsuddenlyinhisfeverisheyesandhiswasted，paleandyellowface。Hedidnotknowanddidnotthinkwherehewasgoing，hehadonethoughtonly:“thatallthismustbeendedto-day，onceforall，immediately；thathewouldnotreturnhomewithoutit，becausehewouldnotgoonlivinglikethat。”How，withwhattomakeanend？Hehadnotanideaaboutit，hedidnotevenwanttothinkofit。Hedroveawaythought；thoughttorturedhim。Allheknew，allhefeltwasthateverythingmustbechanged“onewayoranother，”herepeatedwithdesperateandimmovableself-confidenceanddetermination。

FromoldhabithetookhisusualwalkinthedirectionoftheHayMarket。Adark-hairedyoungmanwithabarrelorganwasstandingintheroadinfrontofalittlegeneralshopandwasgrindingoutaverysentimentalsong。Hewasaccompanyingagirloffifteen，whostoodonthepavementinfrontofhim。Shewasdressedupinacrinoline，amantleandastrawhatwithaflame-colouredfeatherinit，allveryoldandshabby。Inastrongandratheragreeablevoice，crackedandcoarsenedbystreetsinging，shesanginhopeofgettingacopperfromtheshop。Raskolnikovjoinedtwoorthreelisteners，tookoutafivecopeckpieceandputitinthegirl’shand。Shebrokeoffabruptlyonasentimentalhighnote，shoutedsharplytotheorgangrinder“Comeon，”andbothmovedontothenextshop。

“Doyoulikestreetmusic？”saidRaskolnikov，addressingamiddle-agedmanstandingidlybyhim。Themanlookedathim，startledandwondering。

“Ilovetohearsingingtoastreetorgan，”saidRaskolnikov，andhismannerseemedstrangelyoutofkeepingwiththesubject—“Ilikeitoncold，dark，dampautumnevenings—theymustbedamp—whenallthepassers-byhavepalegreen，sicklyfaces，orbetterstillwhenwetsnowisfallingstraightdown，whenthere’snowind—youknowwhatImean？—andthestreetlampsshinethroughit…”

“Idon’tknow。…Excuseme…”mutteredthestranger，frightenedbythequestionandRaskolnikov’sstrangemanner，andhecrossedovertotheothersideofthestreet。

RaskolnikovwalkedstraightonandcameoutatthecorneroftheHayMarket，wherethehucksterandhiswifehadtalkedwithLizaveta；buttheywerenottherenow。Recognisingtheplace，hestopped，lookedroundandaddressedayoungfellowinaredshirtwhostoodgapingbeforeacornchandler’sshop。

“Isn’tthereamanwhokeepsaboothwithhiswifeatthiscorner？”

“Allsortsofpeoplekeepboothshere，”answeredtheyoungman，glancingsuperciliouslyatRaskolnikov。

“What’shisname？”

“Whathewaschristened。”

“Aren’tyouaZaraiskyman，too？Whichprovince？”

TheyoungmanlookedatRaskolnikovagain。

“It’snotaprovince，yourexcellency，butadistrict。Graciouslyforgiveme，yourexcellency！”

“Isthatatavernatthetopthere？”

“Yes，it’saneating-houseandthere’sabilliard-roomandyou’llfindprincessestheretoo。…La-la！”

Raskolnikovcrossedthesquare。Inthatcornertherewasadensecrowdofpeasants。Hepushedhiswayintothethickestpartofit，lookingatthefaces。Hefeltanunaccountableinclinationtoenterintoconversationwithpeople。Butthepeasantstooknonoticeofhim；theywereallshoutingingroupstogether。HestoodandthoughtalittleandtookaturningtotherightinthedirectionofV。

Hehadoftencrossedthatlittlestreetwhichturnsatanangle，leadingfromthemarket-placetoSadovyStreet。Oflatehehadoftenfeltdrawntowanderaboutthisdistrict，whenhefeltdepressed，thathemightfeelmoreso。

Nowhewalkedalong，thinkingofnothing。Atthatpointthereisagreatblockofbuildings，entirelyletoutindramshopsandeating-houses；womenwerecontinuallyrunninginandout，bare-headedandintheirindoorclothes。Hereandtheretheygatheredingroups，onthepavement，especiallyabouttheentrancestovariousfestiveestablishmentsinthelowerstoreys。Fromoneofthesealouddin，soundsofsinging，thetinklingofaguitarandshoutsofmerriment，floatedintothestreet。Acrowdofwomenwerethrongingroundthedoor；someweresittingonthesteps，othersonthepavement，otherswerestandingtalking。Adrunkensoldier，smokingacigarette，waswalkingnearthemintheroad，swearing；heseemedtobetryingtofindhiswaysomewhere，buthadforgottenwhere。Onebeggarwasquarrellingwithanother，andamandeaddrunkwaslyingrightacrosstheroad。Raskolnikovjoinedthethrongofwomen，whoweretalkinginhuskyvoices。Theywerebare-headedandworecottondressesandgoatskinshoes。Therewerewomenoffortyandsomenotmorethanseventeen；almostallhadblackenedeyes。

Hefeltstrangelyattractedbythesingingandallthenoiseanduproarinthesaloonbelow。…someonecouldbeheardwithindancingfrantically，markingtimewithhisheelstothesoundsoftheguitarandofathinfalsettovoicesingingajauntyair。Helistenedintently，gloomilyanddreamily，bendingdownattheentranceandpeepinginquisitivelyinfromthepavement。

“Oh，myhandsomesoldier

Don’tbeatmefornothing，”

trilledthethinvoiceofthesinger。Raskolnikovfeltagreatdesiretomakeoutwhathewassinging，asthougheverythingdependedonthat。

“ShallIgoin？”hethought。“Theyarelaughing。Fromdrink。ShallIgetdrunk？”

“Won’tyoucomein？”oneofthewomenaskedhim。Hervoicewasstillmusicalandlessthickthantheothers，shewasyoungandnotrepulsive—theonlyoneofthegroup。

“Why，she’spretty，”hesaid，drawinghimselfupandlookingather。

Shesmiled，muchpleasedatthecompliment。

“You’reverynicelookingyourself，”shesaid。

“Isn’thethinthough！”observedanotherwomaninadeepbass。“Haveyoujustcomeoutofahospital？”

“They’reallgenerals’daughters，itseems，buttheyhaveallsnubnoses，”interposedatipsypeasantwithaslysmileonhisface，wearingaloosecoat。“Seehowjollytheyare。”

“Goalongwithyou！”

“I’llgo，sweetie！”

Andhedarteddownintothesaloonbelow。Raskolnikovmovedon。

“Isay，sir，”thegirlshoutedafterhim。

“Whatisit？”

Shehesitated。

“I’llalwaysbepleasedtospendanhourwithyou，kindgentleman，butnowIfeelshy。Givemesixcopecksforadrink，there’saniceyoungman！”

Raskolnikovgaveherwhatcamefirst—fifteencopecks。

“Ah，whatagood-naturedgentleman！”

“What’syourname？”

“AskforDuclida。”

“Well，that’stoomuch，”oneofthewomenobserved，shakingherheadatDuclida。“Idon’tknowhowyoucanasklikethat。IbelieveIshoulddropwithshame。…”

Raskolnikovlookedcuriouslyatthespeaker。Shewasapock-markedwenchofthirty，coveredwithbruises，withherupperlipswollen。Shemadehercriticismquietlyandearnestly。“Whereisit，”thoughtRaskolnikov。“WhereisitI’vereadthatsomeonecondemnedtodeathsaysorthinks，anhourbeforehisdeath，thatifhehadtoliveonsomehighrock，onsuchanarrowledgethathe’donlyroomtostand，andtheocean，everlastingdarkness，everlastingsolitude，everlastingtempestaroundhim，ifhehadtoremainstandingonasquareyardofspaceallhislife，athousandyears，eternity，itwerebettertolivesothantodieatonce！Onlytolive，toliveandlive！Life，whateveritmaybe！…Howtrueitis！GoodGod，howtrue！Manisavilecreature！…Andvileishewhocallshimvileforthat，”headdedamomentlater。

Hewentintoanotherstreet。“Bah，thePalaisdeCristal！RazumihinwasjusttalkingofthePalaisdeCristal。ButwhatonearthwasitIwanted？Yes，thenewspapers。…Zossimovsaidhe’dreaditinthepapers。Haveyouthepapers？”heasked，goingintoaveryspaciousandpositivelycleanrestaurant，consistingofseveralrooms，whichwere，however，ratherempty。Twoorthreepeopleweredrinkingtea，andinaroomfurtherawayweresittingfourmendrinkingchampagne。RaskolnikovfanciedthatZametovwasoneofthem，buthecouldnotbesureatthatdistance。“Whatifitis？”hethought。

“Willyouhavevodka？”askedthewaiter。

“Givemesometeaandbringmethepapers，theoldonesforthelastfivedays，andI’llgiveyousomething。”

“Yes，sir，here’sto-day’s。Novodka？”

Theoldnewspapersandtheteawerebrought。Raskolnikovsatdownandbegantolookthroughthem。

“Oh，damn…thesearetheitemsofintelligence。Anaccidentonastaircase，spontaneouscombustionofashopkeeperfromalcohol，afireinPeski…afireinthePetersburgquarter…anotherfireinthePetersburgquarter…andanotherfireinthePetersburgquarter。…Ah，hereitis！”Hefoundatlastwhathewasseekingandbegantoreadit。Thelinesdancedbeforehiseyes，buthereaditallandbeganeagerlyseekinglateradditionsinthefollowingnumbers。Hishandsshookwithnervousimpatienceasheturnedthesheets。Suddenlysomeonesatdownbesidehimathistable。Helookedup，itwastheheadclerkZametov，lookingjustthesame，withtheringsonhisfingersandthewatch-chain，withthecurly，blackhair，partedandpomaded，withthesmartwaistcoat，rathershabbycoatanddoubtfullinen。Hewasinagoodhumour，atleasthewassmilingverygailyandgood-humouredly。Hisdarkfacewasratherflushedfromthechampagnehehaddrunk。

“What，youhere？”hebeganinsurprise，speakingasthoughhe’dknownhimallhislife。“Why，Razumihintoldmeonlyyesterdayyouwereunconscious。Howstrange！AnddoyouknowI’vebeentoseeyou？”

Raskolnikovknewhewouldcomeuptohim。HelaidasidethepapersandturnedtoZametov。Therewasasmileonhislips，andanewshadeofirritableimpatiencewasapparentinthatsmile。

“Iknowyouhave，”heanswered。“I’veheardit。Youlookedformysock。…AndyouknowRazumihinhaslosthishearttoyou？Hesaysyou’vebeenwithhimtoLuiseIvanovna’s—youknow，thewomanyoutriedtobefriend，forwhomyouwinkedtotheExplosiveLieutenantandhewouldnotunderstand。Doyouremember？Howcouldhefailtounderstand—itwasquiteclear，wasn’tit？”

“Whatahotheadheis！”

“Theexplosiveone？”

“No，yourfriendRazumihin。”

“Youmusthaveajollylife，Mr。Zametov；entrancefreetothemostagreeableplaces。Who’sbeenpouringchampagneintoyoujustnow？”

“We’vejustbeen…havingadrinktogether。…Youtalkaboutpouringitintome！”

“Bywayofafee！Youprofitbyeverything！”Raskolnikovlaughed，“it’sallright，mydearboy，”headded，slappingZametovontheshoulder。“Iamnotspeakingfromtemper，butinafriendlyway，forsport，asthatworkmanofyourssaidwhenhewasscufflingwithDmitri，inthecaseoftheoldwoman。…”

“Howdoyouknowaboutit？”

“PerhapsIknowmoreaboutitthanyoudo。”

“Howstrangeyouare。…Iamsureyouarestillveryunwell。Yououghtn’ttohavecomeout。”

“Oh，doIseemstrangetoyou？”

“Yes。Whatareyoudoing，readingthepapers？”

“Yes。”

“There’salotaboutthefires。”

“No，Iamnotreadingaboutthefires。”HerehelookedmysteriouslyatZametov；hislipsweretwistedagaininamockingsmile。“No，Iamnotreadingaboutthefires，”hewenton，winkingatZametov。“Butconfessnow，mydearfellow，you’reawfullyanxioustoknowwhatIamreadingabout？”

“Iamnotintheleast。Mayn’tIaskaquestion？Whydoyoukeepon…？”

“Listen，youareamanofcultureandeducation？”

“Iwasinthesixthclassatthegymnasium，”saidZametovwithsomedignity。

“Sixthclass！Ah，mycock-sparrow！Withyourpartingandyourrings—youareagentlemanoffortune。Foo！whatacharmingboy！”HereRaskolnikovbrokeintoanervouslaughrightinZametov’sface。Thelatterdrewback，moreamazedthanoffended。

“Foo！howstrangeyouare！”Zametovrepeatedveryseriously。“Ican’thelpthinkingyouarestilldelirious。”

“Iamdelirious？Youarefibbing，mycock-sparrow！SoIamstrange？Youfindmecurious，doyou？”

“Yes，curious。”

“ShallItellyouwhatIwasreadingabout，whatIwaslookingfor？SeewhatalotofpapersI’vemadethembringme。Suspicious，eh？”

“Well，whatisit？”

“Youprickupyourears？”

“Howdoyoumean—‘prickupmyears’？”

“I’llexplainthatafterwards，butnow，myboy，Ideclaretoyou…no，better‘Iconfess’…No，that’snotrighteither；‘Imakeadepositionandyoutakeit。’IdeposethatIwasreading，thatIwaslookingandsearching。…”hescreweduphiseyesandpaused。“Iwassearching—andcamehereonpurposetodoit—fornewsofthemurderoftheoldpawnbrokerwoman，”hearticulatedatlast，almostinawhisper，bringinghisfaceexceedinglyclosetothefaceofZametov。Zametovlookedathimsteadily，withoutmovingordrawinghisfaceaway。WhatstruckZametovafterwardsasthestrangestpartofitallwasthatsilencefollowedforexactlyaminute，andthattheygazedatoneanotherallthewhile。

“Whatifyouhavebeenreadingaboutit？”hecriedatlast，perplexedandimpatient。“That’snobusinessofmine！Whatofit？”

“Thesameoldwoman，”Raskolnikovwentoninthesamewhisper，notheedingZametov’sexplanation，“aboutwhomyouweretalkinginthepolice-office，youremember，whenIfainted。Well，doyouunderstandnow？”

“Whatdoyoumean？Understand…what？”Zametovbroughtout，almostalarmed。

Raskolnikov’ssetandearnestfacewassuddenlytransformed，andhesuddenlywentoffintothesamenervouslaughasbefore，asthoughutterlyunabletorestrainhimself。Andinoneflashherecalledwithextraordinaryvividnessofsensationamomentintherecentpast，thatmomentwhenhestoodwiththeaxebehindthedoor，whilethelatchtrembledandthemenoutsidesworeandshookit，andhehadasuddendesiretoshoutatthem，toswearatthem，toputouthistongueatthem，tomockthem，tolaugh，andlaugh，andlaugh！

“Youareeithermad，or…”beganZametov，andhebrokeoff，asthoughstunnedbytheideathathadsuddenlyflashedintohismind。

“Or？Orwhat？What？Come，tellme！”

“Nothing，”saidZametov，gettingangry，“it’sallnonsense！”

Bothweresilent。AfterhissuddenfitoflaughterRaskolnikovbecamesuddenlythoughtfulandmelancholy。Heputhiselbowonthetableandleanedhisheadonhishand。HeseemedtohavecompletelyforgottenZametov。Thesilencelastedforsometime。

“Whydon’tyoudrinkyourtea？It’sgettingcold，”saidZametov。

“What！Tea？Oh，yes。…”Raskolnikovsippedtheglass，putamorselofbreadinhismouthand，suddenlylookingatZametov，seemedtoremembereverythingandpulledhimselftogether。Atthesamemomenthisfaceresumeditsoriginalmockingexpression。Hewentondrinkingtea。

“Therehavebeenagreatmanyofthesecrimeslately，”saidZametov。“OnlytheotherdayIreadintheMoscowNewsthatawholegangoffalsecoinershadbeencaughtinMoscow。Itwasaregularsociety。Theyusedtoforgetickets！”

“Oh，butitwasalongtimeago！Ireadaboutitamonthago，”Raskolnikovansweredcalmly。“Soyouconsiderthemcriminals？”headded，smiling。

“Ofcoursetheyarecriminals。”

“They？Theyarechildren，simpletons，notcriminals！Why，halfahundredpeoplemeetingforsuchanobject—whatanidea！Threewouldbetoomany，andthentheywanttohavemorefaithinoneanotherthaninthemselves！Onehasonlytoblabinhiscupsanditallcollapses。Simpletons！Theyengageduntrustworthypeopletochangethenotes—whatathingtotrusttoacasualstranger！Well，letussupposethatthesesimpletonssucceedandeachmakesamillion，andwhatfollowsfortherestoftheirlives？Eachisdependentontheothersfortherestofhislife！Betterhangoneselfatonce！Andtheydidnotknowhowtochangethenoteseither；themanwhochangedthenotestookfivethousandroubles，andhishandstrembled。Hecountedthefirstfourthousand，butdidnotcountthefifththousand—hewasinsuchahurrytogetthemoneyintohispocketandrunaway。Ofcourseherousedsuspicion。Andthewholethingcametoacrashthroughonefool！Isitpossible？”

“Thathishandstrembled？”observedZametov，“yes，that’squitepossible。That，Ifeelquitesure，ispossible。Sometimesonecan’tstandthings。”

“Can’tstandthat？”

“Why，couldyoustanditthen？No，Icouldn’t。Forthesakeofahundredroublestofacesuchaterribleexperience？Togowithfalsenotesintoabankwhereit’stheirbusinesstospotthatsortofthing！No，Ishouldnothavethefacetodoit。Wouldyou？”

Raskolnikovhadanintensedesireagain“toputhistongueout。”Shiverskeptrunningdownhisspine。

“Ishoulddoitquitedifferently，”Raskolnikovbegan。“ThisishowIwouldchangethenotes:I’dcountthefirstthousandthreeorfourtimesbackwardsandforwards，lookingateverynoteandthenI’dsettothesecondthousand；I’dcountthathalf-waythroughandthenholdsomefifty-roublenotetothelight，thenturnit，thenholdittothelightagain—toseewhetheritwasagoodone。‘Iamafraid，’Iwouldsay，‘arelationofminelosttwenty-fiveroublestheotherdaythroughafalsenote，’andthenI’dtellthemthewholestory。AndafterIbegancountingthethird，‘No，excuseme，’Iwouldsay，‘IfancyImadeamistakeintheseventhhundredinthatsecondthousand，Iamnotsure。’AndsoIwouldgiveupthethirdthousandandgobacktothesecondandsoontotheend。AndwhenIhadfinished，I’dpickoutonefromthefifthandonefromthesecondthousandandtakethemagaintothelightandaskagain，‘Changethem，please，’andputtheclerkintosuchastewthathewouldnotknowhowtogetridofme。WhenI’dfinishedandhadgoneout，I’dcomeback，‘No，excuseme，’andaskforsomeexplanation。That’showI’ddoit。”

“Foo！whatterriblethingsyousay！”saidZametov，laughing。“Butallthatisonlytalk。Idaresaywhenitcametodeedsyou’dmakeaslip。Ibelievethatevenapractised，desperatemancannotalwaysreckononhimself，muchlessyouandI。Totakeanexamplenearhome—thatoldwomanmurderedinourdistrict。Themurdererseemstohavebeenadesperatefellow，heriskedeverythinginopendaylight，wassavedbyamiracle—buthishandsshook，too。Hedidnotsucceedinrobbingtheplace，hecouldn’tstandit。Thatwasclearfromthe…”

Raskolnikovseemedoffended。

“Clear？Whydon’tyoucatchhimthen？”hecried，maliciouslygibingatZametov。

“Well，theywillcatchhim。”

“Who？You？Doyousupposeyoucouldcatchhim？You’veatoughjob！Agreatpointforyouiswhetheramanisspendingmoneyornot。Ifhehadnomoneyandsuddenlybeginsspending，hemustbetheman。Sothatanychildcanmisleadyou。”

“Thefactistheyalwaysdothat，though，”answeredZametov。“Amanwillcommitaclevermurderattheriskofhislifeandthenatoncehegoesdrinkinginatavern。Theyarecaughtspendingmoney，theyarenotallascunningasyouare。Youwouldn’tgotoatavern，ofcourse？”

RaskolnikovfrownedandlookedsteadilyatZametov。

“YouseemtoenjoythesubjectandwouldliketoknowhowIshouldbehaveinthatcase，too？”heaskedwithdispleasure。

“Ishouldliketo，”Zametovansweredfirmlyandseriously。Somewhattoomuchearnestnessbegantoappearinhiswordsandlooks。

“Verymuch？”

“Verymuch！”

“Allrightthen。ThisishowIshouldbehave，”Raskolnikovbegan，againbringinghisfaceclosetoZametov’s，againstaringathimandspeakinginawhisper，sothatthelatterpositivelyshuddered。“ThisiswhatIshouldhavedone。Ishouldhavetakenthemoneyandjewels，Ishouldhavewalkedoutofthereandhavegonestraighttosomedesertedplacewithfencesrounditandscarcelyanyonetobeseen，somekitchengardenorplaceofthatsort。Ishouldhavelookedoutbeforehandsomestoneweighingahundredweightormorewhichhadbeenlyinginthecornerfromthetimethehousewasbuilt。Iwouldliftthatstone—therewouldsuretobeahollowunderit，andIwouldputthejewelsandmoneyinthathole。ThenI’drollthestonebacksothatitwouldlookasbefore，wouldpressitdownwithmyfootandwalkaway。Andforayearortwo，threemaybe，Iwouldnottouchit。And，well，theycouldsearch！There’dbenotrace。”

“Youareamadman，”saidZametov，andforsomereasonhetoospokeinawhisper，andmovedawayfromRaskolnikov，whoseeyeswereglittering。Hehadturnedfearfullypaleandhisupperlipwastwitchingandquivering。HebentdownascloseaspossibletoZametov，andhislipsbegantomovewithoututteringaword。Thislastedforhalfaminute；heknewwhathewasdoing，butcouldnotrestrainhimself。Theterriblewordtrembledonhislips，likethelatchonthatdoor；inanothermomentitwillbreakout，inanothermomenthewillletitgo，hewillspeakout。

“AndwhatifitwasIwhomurderedtheoldwomanandLizaveta？”hesaidsuddenlyand—realisedwhathehaddone。

Zametovlookedwildlyathimandturnedwhiteasthetablecloth。Hisfaceworeacontortedsmile。

“Butisitpossible？”hebroughtoutfaintly。Raskolnikovlookedwrathfullyathim。

“Ownupthatyoubelievedit，yes，youdid？”

“Notabitofit，Ibelieveitlessthanevernow，”Zametovcriedhastily。

“I’vecaughtmycock-sparrow！Soyoudidbelieveitbefore，ifnowyoubelievelessthanever？”

“Notatall，”criedZametov，obviouslyembarrassed。“Haveyoubeenfrighteningmesoastoleaduptothis？”

“Youdon’tbelieveitthen？WhatwereyoutalkingaboutbehindmybackwhenIwentoutofthepolice-office？AndwhydidtheexplosivelieutenantquestionmeafterIfainted？Hey，there，”heshoutedtothewaiter，gettingupandtakinghiscap，“howmuch？”

“Thirtycopecks，”thelatterreplied，runningup。

“Andthereistwentycopecksforvodka。Seewhatalotofmoney！”heheldouthisshakinghandtoZametovwithnotesinit。“Rednotesandblue，twenty-fiveroubles。WheredidIgetthem？Andwheredidmynewclothescomefrom？YouknowIhadnotacopeck。You’vecross-examinedmylandlady，I’llbebound。…Well，that’senough！Assezcause！Tillwemeetagain！”

Hewentout，tremblingalloverfromasortofwildhystericalsensation，inwhichtherewasanelementofinsufferablerapture。Yethewasgloomyandterriblytired。Hisfacewastwistedasafterafit。Hisfatigueincreasedrapidly。Anyshock，anyirritatingsensationstimulatedandrevivedhisenergiesatonce，buthisstrengthfailedasquicklywhenthestimuluswasremoved。

Zametov，leftalone，satforalongtimeinthesameplace，plungedinthought。Raskolnikovhadunwittinglyworkedarevolutioninhisbrainonacertainpointandhadmadeuphismindforhimconclusively。

“IlyaPetrovitchisablockhead，”hedecided。

RaskolnikovhadhardlyopenedthedooroftherestaurantwhenhestumbledagainstRazumihinonthesteps。Theydidnotseeeachothertilltheyalmostknockedagainsteachother。Foramomenttheystoodlookingeachotherupanddown。Razumihinwasgreatlyastounded，thenanger，realangergleamedfiercelyinhiseyes。

“Sohereyouare！”heshoutedatthetopofhisvoice—“youranawayfromyourbed！AndhereI’vebeenlookingforyouunderthesofa！Wewentuptothegarret。IalmostbeatNastasyaonyouraccount。Andhereheisafterall。Rodya！Whatisthemeaningofit？Tellmethewholetruth！Confess！Doyouhear？”

“ItmeansthatI’msicktodeathofyouallandIwanttobealone，”Raskolnikovansweredcalmly。

“Alone？Whenyouarenotabletowalk，whenyourfaceisaswhiteasasheetandyouaregaspingforbreath！Idiot！…WhathaveyoubeendoinginthePalaisdeCristal？Ownupatonce！”

“Letmego！”saidRaskolnikovandtriedtopasshim。ThiswastoomuchforRazumihin；hegrippedhimfirmlybytheshoulder。

“Letyougo？Youdaretellmetoletyougo？DoyouknowwhatI’lldowithyoudirectly？I’llpickyouup，tieyouupinabundle，carryyouhomeundermyarmandlockyouup！”

“Listen，Razumihin，”Raskolnikovbeganquietly，apparentlycalm—“can’tyouseethatIdon’twantyourbenevolence？Astrangedesireyouhavetoshowerbenefitsonamanwho…cursesthem，whofeelsthemaburdeninfact！Whydidyouseekmeoutatthebeginningofmyillness？MaybeIwasverygladtodie。Didn’tItellyouplainlyenoughto-daythatyouweretorturingme，thatIwas…sickofyou！Youseemtowanttotorturepeople！Iassureyouthatallthatisseriouslyhinderingmyrecovery，becauseit’scontinuallyirritatingme。YousawZossimovwentawayjustnowtoavoidirritatingme。Youleavemealonetoo，forgoodness’sake！Whatrighthaveyou，indeed，tokeepmebyforce？Don’tyouseethatIaminpossessionofallmyfacultiesnow？How，howcanIpersuadeyounottopersecutemewithyourkindness？Imaybeungrateful，Imaybemean，onlyletmebe，forGod’ssake，letmebe！Letmebe，letmebe！”

Hebegancalmly，gloatingbeforehandoverthevenomousphraseshewasabouttoutter，butfinished，pantingforbreath，inafrenzy，ashehadbeenwithLuzhin。

Razumihinstoodamoment，thoughtandlethishanddrop。

“Well，gotohellthen，”hesaidgentlyandthoughtfully。“Stay，”heroared，asRaskolnikovwasabouttomove。“Listentome。Letmetellyou，thatyouareallasetofbabbling，posingidiots！Ifyou’veanylittletroubleyoubroodoveritlikeahenoveranegg。Andyouareplagiaristseveninthat！Thereisn’tasignofindependentlifeinyou！Youaremadeofspermacetiointmentandyou’velymphinyourveinsinsteadofblood。Idon’tbelieveinanyoneofyou！Inanycircumstancesthefirstthingforallofyouistobeunlikeahumanbeing！Stop！”hecriedwithredoubledfury，noticingthatRaskolnikovwasagainmakingamovement—“hearmeout！YouknowI’mhavingahouse-warmingthisevening，Idaresaythey’vearrivedbynow，butIleftmyunclethere—Ijustranin—toreceivetheguests。Andifyouweren’tafool，acommonfool，aperfectfool，ifyouwereanoriginalinsteadofatranslation…yousee，Rodya，Irecogniseyou’reacleverfellow，butyou’reafool！—andifyouweren’tafoolyou’dcomeroundtomethiseveninginsteadofwearingoutyourbootsinthestreet！Sinceyouhavegoneout，there’snohelpforit！I’dgiveyouasnugeasychair，mylandladyhasone…acupoftea，company。…Oryoucouldlieonthesofa—anywayyouwouldbewithus。…Zossimovwillbetheretoo。Willyoucome？”

“No。”

“R-rubbish！”Razumihinshouted，outofpatience。“Howdoyouknow？Youcan’tanswerforyourself！Youdon’tknowanythingaboutit。…ThousandsoftimesI’vefoughttoothandnailwithpeopleandrunbacktothemafterwards。…Onefeelsashamedandgoesbacktoaman！Soremember，Potchinkov’shouseonthethirdstorey。…”

“Why，Mr。Razumihin，Idobelieveyou’dletanybodybeatyoufromsheerbenevolence。”

“Beat？Whom？Me？I’dtwisthisnoseoffatthemereidea！Potchinkov’shouse，47，Babushkin’sflat。…”

“Ishallnotcome，Razumihin。”Raskolnikovturnedandwalkedaway。

“Ibetyouwill，”Razumihinshoutedafterhim。“Irefusetoknowyouifyoudon’t！Stay，hey，isZametovinthere？”

“Yes。”

“Didyouseehim？”

“Yes。”

“Talkedtohim？”

“Yes。”

“Whatabout？Confoundyou，don’ttellmethen。Potchinkov’shouse，47，Babushkin’sflat，remember！”

RaskolnikovwalkedonandturnedthecornerintoSadovyStreet。Razumihinlookedafterhimthoughtfully。Thenwithawaveofhishandhewentintothehousebutstoppedshortofthestairs。

“Confoundit，”hewentonalmostaloud。“Hetalkedsensiblybutyet…Iamafool！Asifmadmendidn’ttalksensibly！AndthiswasjustwhatZossimovseemedafraidof。”Hestruckhisfingeronhisforehead。“Whatif…howcouldIlethimgooffalone？Hemaydrownhimself。…Ach，whatablunder！Ican’t。”AndheranbacktoovertakeRaskolnikov，buttherewasnotraceofhim。WithacursehereturnedwithrapidstepstothePalaisdeCristaltoquestionZametov。

RaskolnikovwalkedstraighttoX——Bridge，stoodinthemiddle，andleaningbothelbowsontherailstaredintothedistance。OnpartingwithRazumihin，hefeltsomuchweakerthathecouldscarcelyreachthisplace。Helongedtositorliedownsomewhereinthestreet。Bendingoverthewater，hegazedmechanicallyatthelastpinkflushofthesunset，attherowofhousesgrowingdarkinthegatheringtwilight，atonedistantatticwindowontheleftbank，flashingasthoughonfireinthelastraysofthesettingsun，atthedarkeningwaterofthecanal，andthewaterseemedtocatchhisattention。Atlastredcirclesflashedbeforehiseyes，thehousesseemedmoving，thepassers-by，thecanalbanks，thecarriages，alldancedbeforehiseyes。Suddenlyhestarted，savedagainperhapsfromswooningbyanuncannyandhideoussight。Hebecameawareofsomeonestandingontherightsideofhim；helookedandsawatallwomanwithakerchiefonherhead，withalong，yellow，wastedfaceandredsunkeneyes。Shewaslookingstraightathim，butobviouslyshesawnothingandrecognisednoone。Suddenlysheleanedherrighthandontheparapet，liftedherrightlegovertherailing，thenherleftandthrewherselfintothecanal。Thefilthywaterpartedandswallowedupitsvictimforamoment，butaninstantlaterthedrowningwomanfloatedtothesurface，movingslowlywiththecurrent，herheadandlegsinthewater，herskirtinflatedlikeaballoonoverherback。

“Awomandrowning！Awomandrowning！”shouteddozensofvoices；peopleranup，bothbankswerethrongedwithspectators，onthebridgepeoplecrowdedaboutRaskolnikov，pressingupbehindhim。

“Mercyonit！it’sourAfrosinya！”awomancriedtearfullycloseby。“Mercy！saveher！kindpeople，pullherout！”

“Aboat，aboat”wasshoutedinthecrowd。Buttherewasnoneedofaboat；apolicemanrandownthestepstothecanal，threwoffhisgreatcoatandhisbootsandrushedintothewater。Itwaseasytoreachher:shefloatedwithinacoupleofyardsfromthesteps，hecaughtholdofherclotheswithhisrighthandandwithhisleftseizedapolewhichacomradeheldouttohim；thedrowningwomanwaspulledoutatonce。Theylaidheronthegranitepavementoftheembankment。Shesoonrecoveredconsciousness，raisedherhead，satupandbegansneezingandcoughing，stupidlywipingherwetdresswithherhands。Shesaidnothing。

“She’sdrunkherselfoutofhersenses，”thesamewoman’svoicewailedatherside。“Outofhersenses。Theotherdayshetriedtohangherself，wecutherdown。Iranouttotheshopjustnow，leftmylittlegirltolookafterher—andhereshe’sintroubleagain！Aneighbour，gentleman，aneighbour，welivecloseby，thesecondhousefromtheend，seeyonder。…”

Thecrowdbrokeup。Thepolicestillremainedroundthewoman，someonementionedthepolicestation。…Raskolnikovlookedonwithastrangesensationofindifferenceandapathy。Hefeltdisgusted。“No，that’sloathsome…water…it’snotgoodenough，”hemutteredtohimself。“Nothingwillcomeofit，”headded，“nousetowait。Whataboutthepoliceoffice…？Andwhyisn’tZametovatthepoliceoffice？Thepoliceofficeisopentillteno’clock。…”Heturnedhisbacktotherailingandlookedabouthim。

“Verywellthen！”hesaidresolutely；hemovedfromthebridgeandwalkedinthedirectionofthepoliceoffice。Hisheartfelthollowandempty。Hedidnotwanttothink。Evenhisdepressionhadpassed，therewasnotatracenowoftheenergywithwhichhehadsetout“tomakeanendofitall。”Completeapathyhadsucceededtoit。

“Well，it’sawayoutofit，”hethought，walkingslowlyandlistlesslyalongthecanalbank。“AnywayI’llmakeanend，forIwantto。…Butisitawayout？Whatdoesitmatter！There’llbethesquareyardofspace—ha！Butwhatanend！Isitreallytheend？ShallItellthemornot？Ah…damn！HowtiredIam！IfIcouldfindsomewheretositorliedownsoon！WhatIammostashamedofisitsbeingsostupid。ButIdon’tcareaboutthateither！Whatidioticideascomeintoone’shead。”

Toreachthepoliceofficehehadtogostraightforwardandtakethesecondturningtotheleft。Itwasonlyafewpacesaway。Butatthefirstturninghestoppedand，afteraminute’sthought，turnedintoasidestreetandwenttwostreetsoutofhisway，possiblywithoutanyobject，orpossiblytodelayaminuteandgaintime。Hewalked，lookingattheground；suddenlysomeoneseemedtowhisperinhisear；heliftedhisheadandsawthathewasstandingattheverygateofthehouse。Hehadnotpassedit，hehadnotbeennearitsincethatevening。Anoverwhelming，unaccountablepromptingdrewhimon。Hewentintothehouse，passedthroughthegateway，thenintothefirstentranceontheright，andbeganmountingthefamiliarstaircasetothefourthstorey。Thenarrow，steepstaircasewasverydark。Hestoppedateachlandingandlookedroundhimwithcuriosity；onthefirstlandingtheframeworkofthewindowhadbeentakenout。“Thatwasn’tsothen，”hethought。HerewastheflatonthesecondstoreywhereNikolayandDmitrihadbeenworking。“It’sshutupandthedoornewlypainted。Soit’stolet。”Thenthethirdstoreyandthefourth。“Here！”Hewasperplexedtofindthedooroftheflatwideopen。Therewerementhere，hecouldhearvoices；hehadnotexpectedthat。Afterbriefhesitationhemountedthelaststairsandwentintotheflat。It，too，wasbeingdoneup；therewereworkmeninit。Thisseemedtoamazehim；hesomehowfanciedthathewouldfindeverythingasheleftit，evenperhapsthecorpsesinthesameplacesonthefloor。Andnow，barewalls，nofurniture；itseemedstrange。Hewalkedtothewindowandsatdownonthewindow-sill。Thereweretwoworkmen，bothyoungfellows，butonemuchyoungerthantheother。Theywerepaperingthewallswithanewwhitepapercoveredwithlilacflowers，insteadoftheold，dirty，yellowone。Raskolnikovforsomereasonfelthorriblyannoyedbythis。Helookedatthenewpaperwithdislike，asthoughhefeltsorrytohaveitallsochanged。Theworkmenhadobviouslystayedbeyondtheirtimeandnowtheywerehurriedlyrollinguptheirpaperandgettingreadytogohome。TheytooknonoticeofRaskolnikov’scomingin；theyweretalking。Raskolnikovfoldedhisarmsandlistened。

“Shecomestomeinthemorning，”saidtheeldertotheyounger，“veryearly，alldressedup。‘Whyareyoupreeningandprinking？’saysI。‘Iamreadytodoanythingtopleaseyou，TitVassilitch！’That’sawayofgoingon！Andshedresseduplikearegularfashionbook！”

“Andwhatisafashionbook？”theyoungeroneasked。Heobviouslyregardedtheotherasanauthority。

“Afashionbookisalotofpictures，coloured，andtheycometothetailorshereeverySaturday，bypostfromabroad，toshowfolkshowtodress，themalesexaswellasthefemale。They’repictures。Thegentlemenaregenerallywearingfurcoatsandfortheladies’fluffles，they’rebeyondanythingyoucanfancy。”

“There’snothingyoucan’tfindinPetersburg，”theyoungercriedenthusiastically，“exceptfatherandmother，there’severything！”

“Exceptthem，there’severythingtobefound，myboy，”theelderdeclaredsententiously。

Raskolnikovgotupandwalkedintotheotherroomwherethestrongbox，thebed，andthechestofdrawershadbeen；theroomseemedtohimverytinywithoutfurnitureinit。Thepaperwasthesame；thepaperinthecornershowedwherethecaseofikonshadstood。Helookedatitandwenttothewindow。Theelderworkmanlookedathimaskance。

“Whatdoyouwant？”heaskedsuddenly。

InsteadofansweringRaskolnikovwentintothepassageandpulledthebell。Thesamebell，thesamecrackednote。Herangitasecondandathirdtime；helistenedandremembered。Thehideousandagonisinglyfearfulsensationhehadfeltthenbegantocomebackmoreandmorevividly。Heshudderedateveryringanditgavehimmoreandmoresatisfaction。

“Well，whatdoyouwant？Whoareyou？”theworkmanshouted，goingouttohim。Raskolnikovwentinsideagain。

“Iwanttotakeaflat，”hesaid。“Iamlookinground。”

“It’snotthetimetolookatroomsatnight！andyououghttocomeupwiththeporter。”

“Thefloorshavebeenwashed，willtheybepainted？”Raskolnikovwenton。“Istherenoblood？”

“Whatblood？”

“Why，theoldwomanandhersisterweremurderedhere。Therewasaperfectpoolthere。”

“Butwhoareyou？”theworkmancried，uneasy。

“WhoamI？”

“Yes。”

“Youwanttoknow？Cometothepolicestation，I’lltellyou。”

Theworkmenlookedathiminamazement。

“It’stimeforustogo，wearelate。Comealong，Alyoshka。Wemustlockup，”saidtheelderworkman。

“Verywell，comealong，”saidRaskolnikovindifferently，andgoingoutfirst，hewentslowlydownstairs。“Hey，porter，”hecriedinthegateway。

Attheentranceseveralpeoplewerestanding，staringatthepassers-by；thetwoporters，apeasantwoman，amaninalongcoatandafewothers。Raskolnikovwentstraightuptothem。

“Whatdoyouwant？”askedoneoftheporters。

“Haveyoubeentothepoliceoffice？”

“I’vejustbeenthere。Whatdoyouwant？”

“Isitopen？”

“Ofcourse。”

“Istheassistantthere？”

“Hewasthereforatime。Whatdoyouwant？”

Raskolnikovmadenoreply，butstoodbesidethemlostinthought。

“He’sbeentolookattheflat，”saidtheelderworkman，comingforward。

“Whichflat？”

“Whereweareatwork。‘Whyhaveyouwashedawaytheblood？’sayshe。‘Therehasbeenamurderhere，’sayshe，‘andI’vecometotakeit。’Andhebeganringingatthebell，allbutbrokeit。‘Cometothepolicestation，’sayshe。‘I’lltellyoueverythingthere。’Hewouldn’tleaveus。”

TheporterlookedatRaskolnikov，frowningandperplexed。

“Whoareyou？”heshoutedasimpressivelyashecould。

“IamRodionRomanovitchRaskolnikov，formerlyastudent，IliveinShil’shouse，notfarfromhere，flatNumber14，asktheporter，heknowsme。”Raskolnikovsaidallthisinalazy，dreamyvoice，notturninground，butlookingintentlyintothedarkeningstreet。

“Whyhaveyoubeentotheflat？”

“Tolookatit。”

“Whatistheretolookat？”

“Takehimstraighttothepolicestation，”themaninthelongcoatjerkedinabruptly。

Raskolnikovlookedintentlyathimoverhisshoulderandsaidinthesameslow，lazytones:

“Comealong。”

“Yes，takehim，”themanwentonmoreconfidently。“Whywashegoingintothat，what’sinhismind，eh？”

“He’snotdrunk，butGodknowswhat’sthematterwithhim，”mutteredtheworkman。

“Butwhatdoyouwant？”theportershoutedagain，beginningtogetangryinearnest—“Whyareyouhangingabout？”

“Youfunkthepolicestationthen？”saidRaskolnikovjeeringly。

“Howfunkit？Whyareyouhangingabout？”

“He’sarogue！”shoutedthepeasantwoman。

“Whywastetimetalkingtohim？”criedtheotherporter，ahugepeasantinafullopencoatandwithkeysonhisbelt。“Getalong！Heisarogueandnomistake。Getalong！”

AndseizingRaskolnikovbytheshoulderheflunghimintothestreet。Helurchedforward，butrecoveredhisfooting，lookedatthespectatorsinsilenceandwalkedaway。

“Strangeman！”observedtheworkman。

“Therearestrangefolksaboutnowadays，”saidthewoman。

“Youshouldhavetakenhimtothepolicestationallthesame，”saidthemaninthelongcoat。

“Betterhavenothingtodowithhim，”decidedthebigporter。“Aregularrogue！Justwhathewants，youmaybesure，butoncetakehimup，youwon’tgetridofhim。…Weknowthesort！”

“ShallIgothereornot？”thoughtRaskolnikov，standinginthemiddleofthethoroughfareatthecross-roads，andhelookedabouthim，asthoughexpectingfromsomeoneadecisiveword。Butnosoundcame，allwasdeadandsilentlikethestonesonwhichhewalked，deadtohim，tohimalone。…Allatonceattheendofthestreet，twohundredyardsaway，inthegatheringduskhesawacrowdandheardtalkandshouts。Inthemiddleofthecrowdstoodacarriage。…Alightgleamedinthemiddleofthestreet。“Whatisit？”Raskolnikovturnedtotherightandwentuptothecrowd。Heseemedtoclutchateverythingandsmiledcoldlywhenherecognisedit，forhehadfullymadeuphismindtogotothepolicestationandknewthatitwouldallsoonbeover。