Prestuplenie i nakazanie. English

by Fyodor Dostoyevsky

  CHAPTER V

  This was a gentleman no longer young, of a stiff and portly appearance,and a cautious and sour countenance. He began by stopping short in thedoorway, staring about him with offensive and undisguised astonishment,as though asking himself what sort of place he had come to.Mistrustfully and with an affectation of being alarmed and almostaffronted, he scanned Raskolnikov's low and narrow "cabin." With thesame amazement he stared at Raskolnikov, who lay undressed, dishevelled,unwashed, on his miserable dirty sofa, looking fixedly at him. Then withthe same deliberation he scrutinised the uncouth, unkempt figure andunshaven face of Razumihin, who looked him boldly and inquiringly in theface without rising from his seat. A constrained silence lasted for acouple of minutes, and then, as might be expected, some scene-shiftingtook place. Reflecting, probably from certain fairly unmistakable signs,that he would get nothing in this "cabin" by attempting to overawe them,the gentleman softened somewhat, and civilly, though with some severity,emphasising every syllable of his question, addressed Zossimov:

  "Rodion Romanovitch Raskolnikov, a student, or formerly a student?"

  Zossimov made a slight movement, and would have answered, had notRazumihin anticipated him.

  "Here he is lying on the sofa! What do you want?"

  This familiar "what do you want" seemed to cut the ground from thefeet of the pompous gentleman. He was turning to Razumihin, but checkedhimself in time and turned to Zossimov again.

  "This is Raskolnikov," mumbled Zossimov, nodding towards him. Then hegave a prolonged yawn, opening his mouth as wide as possible. Then helazily put his hand into his waistcoat-pocket, pulled out a huge goldwatch in a round hunter's case, opened it, looked at it and as slowlyand lazily proceeded to put it back.

  Raskolnikov himself lay without speaking, on his back, gazingpersistently, though without understanding, at the stranger. Now thathis face was turned away from the strange flower on the paper, itwas extremely pale and wore a look of anguish, as though he had justundergone an agonising operation or just been taken from the rack. Butthe new-comer gradually began to arouse his attention, then his wonder,then suspicion and even alarm. When Zossimov said "This is Raskolnikov"he jumped up quickly, sat on the sofa and with an almost defiant, butweak and breaking, voice articulated:

  "Yes, I am Raskolnikov! What do you want?"

  The visitor scrutinised him and pronounced impressively:

  "Pyotr Petrovitch Luzhin. I believe I have reason to hope that my nameis not wholly unknown to you?"

  But Raskolnikov, who had expected something quite different, gazedblankly and dreamily at him, making no reply, as though he heard thename of Pyotr Petrovitch for the first time.

  "Is it possible that you can up to the present have received noinformation?" asked Pyotr Petrovitch, somewhat disconcerted.

  In reply Raskolnikov sank languidly back on the pillow, put his handsbehind his head and gazed at the ceiling. A look of dismay came intoLuzhin's face. Zossimov and Razumihin stared at him more inquisitivelythan ever, and at last he showed unmistakable signs of embarrassment.

  "I had presumed and calculated," he faltered, "that a letter posted morethan ten days, if not a fortnight ago..."

  "I say, why are you standing in the doorway?" Razumihin interruptedsuddenly. "If you've something to say, sit down. Nastasya and you are socrowded. Nastasya, make room. Here's a chair, thread your way in!"

  He moved his chair back from the table, made a little space between thetable and his knees, and waited in a rather cramped position for thevisitor to "thread his way in." The minute was so chosen that it wasimpossible to refuse, and the visitor squeezed his way through, hurryingand stumbling. Reaching the chair, he sat down, looking suspiciously atRazumihin.

  "No need to be nervous," the latter blurted out. "Rodya has been ill forthe last five days and delirious for three, but now he is recovering andhas got an appetite. This is his doctor, who has just had a look at him.I am a comrade of Rodya's, like him, formerly a student, and now I amnursing him; so don't you take any notice of us, but go on with yourbusiness."

  "Thank you. But shall I not disturb the invalid by my presence andconversation?" Pyotr Petrovitch asked of Zossimov.

  "N-no," mumbled Zossimov; "you may amuse him." He yawned again.

  "He has been conscious a long time, since the morning," went onRazumihin, whose familiarity seemed so much like unaffected good-naturethat Pyotr Petrovitch began to be more cheerful, partly, perhaps,because this shabby and impudent person had introduced himself as astudent.

  "Your mamma," began Luzhin.

  "Hm!" Razumihin cleared his throat loudly. Luzhin looked at himinquiringly.

  "That's all right, go on."

  Luzhin shrugged his shoulders.

  "Your mamma had commenced a letter to you while I was sojourning inher neighbourhood. On my arrival here I purposely allowed a few days toelapse before coming to see you, in order that I might be fullyassured that you were in full possession of the tidings; but now, to myastonishment..."

  "I know, I know!" Raskolnikov cried suddenly with impatient vexation."So you are the _fiance_? I know, and that's enough!"

  There was no doubt about Pyotr Petrovitch's being offended this time,but he said nothing. He made a violent effort to understand what it allmeant. There was a moment's silence.

  Meanwhile Raskolnikov, who had turned a little towards him when heanswered, began suddenly staring at him again with marked curiosity, asthough he had not had a good look at him yet, or as though somethingnew had struck him; he rose from his pillow on purpose to stare athim. There certainly was something peculiar in Pyotr Petrovitch's wholeappearance, something which seemed to justify the title of "fiance" sounceremoniously applied to him. In the first place, it was evident, fartoo much so indeed, that Pyotr Petrovitch had made eager use of his fewdays in the capital to get himself up and rig himself out in expectationof his betrothed--a perfectly innocent and permissible proceeding,indeed. Even his own, perhaps too complacent, consciousness of theagreeable improvement in his appearance might have been forgiven in suchcircumstances, seeing that Pyotr Petrovitch had taken up the role offiance. All his clothes were fresh from the tailor's and were allright, except for being too new and too distinctly appropriate. Eventhe stylish new round hat had the same significance. Pyotr Petrovitchtreated it too respectfully and held it too carefully in his hands. Theexquisite pair of lavender gloves, real Louvain, told the same tale,if only from the fact of his not wearing them, but carrying them inhis hand for show. Light and youthful colours predominated in PyotrPetrovitch's attire. He wore a charming summer jacket of a fawn shade,light thin trousers, a waistcoat of the same, new and fine linen, acravat of the lightest cambric with pink stripes on it, and the bestof it was, this all suited Pyotr Petrovitch. His very fresh and evenhandsome face looked younger than his forty-five years at all times.His dark, mutton-chop whiskers made an agreeable setting on both sides,growing thickly upon his shining, clean-shaven chin. Even his hair,touched here and there with grey, though it had been combed and curledat a hairdresser's, did not give him a stupid appearance, as curled hairusually does, by inevitably suggesting a German on his wedding-day.If there really was something unpleasing and repulsive in his rathergood-looking and imposing countenance, it was due to quite othercauses. After scanning Mr. Luzhin unceremoniously, Raskolnikov smiledmalignantly, sank back on the pillow and stared at the ceiling asbefore.

  But Mr. Luzhin hardened his heart and seemed to determine to take nonotice of their oddities.

  "I feel the greatest regret at finding you in this situation," he began,again breaking the silence with an effort. "If I had been aware of yourillness I should have come earlier. But you know what business is. Ihave, too, a very important legal affair in the Senate, not to mentionother preoccupations which you may well conjecture. I am expecting yourmamma and sister any minute."

  Raskolnikov made a movement and seemed about to speak; his face showedsome excitement. Pyotr Petrovitch paused, waited, but as nothingfollowed
, he went on:

  "... Any minute. I have found a lodging for them on their arrival."

  "Where?" asked Raskolnikov weakly.

  "Very near here, in Bakaleyev's house."

  "That's in Voskresensky," put in Razumihin. "There are two storeys ofrooms, let by a merchant called Yushin; I've been there."

  "Yes, rooms..."

  "A disgusting place--filthy, stinking and, what's more, of doubtfulcharacter. Things have happened there, and there are all sorts of queerpeople living there. And I went there about a scandalous business. It'scheap, though..."

  "I could not, of course, find out so much about it, for I am a strangerin Petersburg myself," Pyotr Petrovitch replied huffily. "However, thetwo rooms are exceedingly clean, and as it is for so short a time...I have already taken a permanent, that is, our future flat," he said,addressing Raskolnikov, "and I am having it done up. And meanwhile I ammyself cramped for room in a lodging with my friend Andrey SemyonovitchLebeziatnikov, in the flat of Madame Lippevechsel; it was he who told meof Bakaleyev's house, too..."

  "Lebeziatnikov?" said Raskolnikov slowly, as if recalling something.

  "Yes, Andrey Semyonovitch Lebeziatnikov, a clerk in the Ministry. Do youknow him?"

  "Yes... no," Raskolnikov answered.

  "Excuse me, I fancied so from your inquiry. I was once his guardian....A very nice young man and advanced. I like to meet young people: onelearns new things from them." Luzhin looked round hopefully at them all.

  "How do you mean?" asked Razumihin.

  "In the most serious and essential matters," Pyotr Petrovitch replied,as though delighted at the question. "You see, it's ten years since Ivisited Petersburg. All the novelties, reforms, ideas have reached us inthe provinces, but to see it all more clearly one must be in Petersburg.And it's my notion that you observe and learn most by watching theyounger generation. And I confess I am delighted..."

  "At what?"

  "Your question is a wide one. I may be mistaken, but I fancy I findclearer views, more, so to say, criticism, more practicality..."

  "That's true," Zossimov let drop.

  "Nonsense! There's no practicality." Razumihin flew at him."Practicality is a difficult thing to find; it does not drop down fromheaven. And for the last two hundred years we have been divorced fromall practical life. Ideas, if you like, are fermenting," he said toPyotr Petrovitch, "and desire for good exists, though it's in a childishform, and honesty you may find, although there are crowds of brigands.Anyway, there's no practicality. Practicality goes well shod."

  "I don't agree with you," Pyotr Petrovitch replied, with evidentenjoyment. "Of course, people do get carried away and make mistakes,but one must have indulgence; those mistakes are merely evidence ofenthusiasm for the cause and of abnormal external environment. If littlehas been done, the time has been but short; of means I will not speak.It's my personal view, if you care to know, that something has beenaccomplished already. New valuable ideas, new valuable works arecirculating in the place of our old dreamy and romantic authors.Literature is taking a maturer form, many injurious prejudices have beenrooted up and turned into ridicule.... In a word, we have cut ourselvesoff irrevocably from the past, and that, to my thinking, is a greatthing..."

  "He's learnt it by heart to show off!" Raskolnikov pronounced suddenly.

  "What?" asked Pyotr Petrovitch, not catching his words; but he receivedno reply.

  "That's all true," Zossimov hastened to interpose.

  "Isn't it so?" Pyotr Petrovitch went on, glancing affably at Zossimov."You must admit," he went on, addressing Razumihin with a shade oftriumph and superciliousness--he almost added "young man"--"that thereis an advance, or, as they say now, progress in the name of science andeconomic truth..."

  "A commonplace."

  "No, not a commonplace! Hitherto, for instance, if I were told, 'lovethy neighbour,' what came of it?" Pyotr Petrovitch went on, perhaps withexcessive haste. "It came to my tearing my coat in half to share with myneighbour and we both were left half naked. As a Russian proverb hasit, 'Catch several hares and you won't catch one.' Science now tellsus, love yourself before all men, for everything in the world rests onself-interest. You love yourself and manage your own affairs properlyand your coat remains whole. Economic truth adds that the better privateaffairs are organised in society--the more whole coats, so to say--thefirmer are its foundations and the better is the common welfareorganised too. Therefore, in acquiring wealth solely and exclusively formyself, I am acquiring, so to speak, for all, and helping to bring topass my neighbour's getting a little more than a torn coat; and that notfrom private, personal liberality, but as a consequence of the generaladvance. The idea is simple, but unhappily it has been a long timereaching us, being hindered by idealism and sentimentality. And yet itwould seem to want very little wit to perceive it..."

  "Excuse me, I've very little wit myself," Razumihin cut in sharply,"and so let us drop it. I began this discussion with an object, but I'vegrown so sick during the last three years of this chattering to amuseoneself, of this incessant flow of commonplaces, always the same, that,by Jove, I blush even when other people talk like that. You are in ahurry, no doubt, to exhibit your acquirements; and I don't blame you,that's quite pardonable. I only wanted to find out what sort of man youare, for so many unscrupulous people have got hold of the progressivecause of late and have so distorted in their own interests everythingthey touched, that the whole cause has been dragged in the mire. That'senough!"

  "Excuse me, sir," said Luzhin, affronted, and speaking with excessivedignity. "Do you mean to suggest so unceremoniously that I too..."

  "Oh, my dear sir... how could I?... Come, that's enough," Razumihinconcluded, and he turned abruptly to Zossimov to continue their previousconversation.

  Pyotr Petrovitch had the good sense to accept the disavowal. He made uphis mind to take leave in another minute or two.

  "I trust our acquaintance," he said, addressing Raskolnikov, "may, uponyour recovery and in view of the circumstances of which you are aware,become closer... Above all, I hope for your return to health..."

  Raskolnikov did not even turn his head. Pyotr Petrovitch began gettingup from his chair.

  "One of her customers must have killed her," Zossimov declaredpositively.

  "Not a doubt of it," replied Razumihin. "Porfiry doesn't give hisopinion, but is examining all who have left pledges with her there."

  "Examining them?" Raskolnikov asked aloud.

  "Yes. What then?"

  "Nothing."

  "How does he get hold of them?" asked Zossimov.

  "Koch has given the names of some of them, other names are on thewrappers of the pledges and some have come forward of themselves."

  "It must have been a cunning and practised ruffian! The boldness of it!The coolness!"

  "That's just what it wasn't!" interposed Razumihin. "That's what throwsyou all off the scent. But I maintain that he is not cunning, notpractised, and probably this was his first crime! The supposition thatit was a calculated crime and a cunning criminal doesn't work. Supposehim to have been inexperienced, and it's clear that it was only a chancethat saved him--and chance may do anything. Why, he did not foreseeobstacles, perhaps! And how did he set to work? He took jewels worthten or twenty roubles, stuffing his pockets with them, ransacked theold woman's trunks, her rags--and they found fifteen hundred roubles,besides notes, in a box in the top drawer of the chest! He did not knowhow to rob; he could only murder. It was his first crime, I assure you,his first crime; he lost his head. And he got off more by luck than goodcounsel!"

  "You are talking of the murder of the old pawnbroker, I believe?" PyotrPetrovitch put in, addressing Zossimov. He was standing, hat and glovesin hand, but before departing he felt disposed to throw off a few moreintellectual phrases. He was evidently anxious to make a favourableimpression and his vanity overcame his prudence.

  "Yes. You've heard of it?"

  "Oh, yes, being in the neighbourhood."

  "Do you know the d
etails?"

  "I can't say that; but another circumstance interests me in thecase--the whole question, so to say. Not to speak of the fact that crimehas been greatly on the increase among the lower classes during the lastfive years, not to speak of the cases of robbery and arson everywhere,what strikes me as the strangest thing is that in the higher classes,too, crime is increasing proportionately. In one place one hears of astudent's robbing the mail on the high road; in another place people ofgood social position forge false banknotes; in Moscow of late a wholegang has been captured who used to forge lottery tickets, and one ofthe ringleaders was a lecturer in universal history; then our secretaryabroad was murdered from some obscure motive of gain.... And if this oldwoman, the pawnbroker, has been murdered by someone of a higher classin society--for peasants don't pawn gold trinkets--how are we to explainthis demoralisation of the civilised part of our society?"

  "There are many economic changes," put in Zossimov.

  "How are we to explain it?" Razumihin caught him up. "It might beexplained by our inveterate impracticality."

  "How do you mean?"

  "What answer had your lecturer in Moscow to make to the question why hewas forging notes? 'Everybody is getting rich one way or another, so Iwant to make haste to get rich too.' I don't remember the exact words,but the upshot was that he wants money for nothing, without waiting orworking! We've grown used to having everything ready-made, to walkingon crutches, to having our food chewed for us. Then the great hourstruck,[*] and every man showed himself in his true colours."

  [*] The emancipation of the serfs in 1861 is meant. --TRANSLATOR'S NOTE.

  "But morality? And so to speak, principles..."

  "But why do you worry about it?" Raskolnikov interposed suddenly. "It'sin accordance with your theory!"

  "In accordance with my theory?"

  "Why, carry out logically the theory you were advocating just now, andit follows that people may be killed..."

  "Upon my word!" cried Luzhin.

  "No, that's not so," put in Zossimov.

  Raskolnikov lay with a white face and twitching upper lip, breathingpainfully.

  "There's a measure in all things," Luzhin went on superciliously."Economic ideas are not an incitement to murder, and one has but tosuppose..."

  "And is it true," Raskolnikov interposed once more suddenly, again in avoice quivering with fury and delight in insulting him, "is it true thatyou told your _fiancee_... within an hour of her acceptance, that whatpleased you most... was that she was a beggar... because it was betterto raise a wife from poverty, so that you may have complete control overher, and reproach her with your being her benefactor?"

  "Upon my word," Luzhin cried wrathfully and irritably, crimson withconfusion, "to distort my words in this way! Excuse me, allow me toassure you that the report which has reached you, or rather, let me say,has been conveyed to you, has no foundation in truth, and I... suspectwho... in a word... this arrow... in a word, your mamma... She seemedto me in other things, with all her excellent qualities, of a somewhathigh-flown and romantic way of thinking.... But I was a thousand milesfrom supposing that she would misunderstand and misrepresent things inso fanciful a way.... And indeed... indeed..."

  "I tell you what," cried Raskolnikov, raising himself on his pillow andfixing his piercing, glittering eyes upon him, "I tell you what."

  "What?" Luzhin stood still, waiting with a defiant and offended face.Silence lasted for some seconds.

  "Why, if ever again... you dare to mention a single word... about mymother... I shall send you flying downstairs!"

  "What's the matter with you?" cried Razumihin.

  "So that's how it is?" Luzhin turned pale and bit his lip. "Let me tellyou, sir," he began deliberately, doing his utmost to restrain himselfbut breathing hard, "at the first moment I saw you you were ill-disposedto me, but I remained here on purpose to find out more. I could forgivea great deal in a sick man and a connection, but you... never afterthis..."

  "I am not ill," cried Raskolnikov.

  "So much the worse..."

  "Go to hell!"

  But Luzhin was already leaving without finishing his speech, squeezingbetween the table and the chair; Razumihin got up this time to let himpass. Without glancing at anyone, and not even nodding to Zossimov, whohad for some time been making signs to him to let the sick man alone,he went out, lifting his hat to the level of his shoulders to avoidcrushing it as he stooped to go out of the door. And even the curve ofhis spine was expressive of the horrible insult he had received.

  "How could you--how could you!" Razumihin said, shaking his head inperplexity.

  "Let me alone--let me alone all of you!" Raskolnikov cried in a frenzy."Will you ever leave off tormenting me? I am not afraid of you! I amnot afraid of anyone, anyone now! Get away from me! I want to be alone,alone, alone!"

  "Come along," said Zossimov, nodding to Razumihin.

  "But we can't leave him like this!"

  "Come along," Zossimov repeated insistently, and he went out. Razumihinthought a minute and ran to overtake him.

  "It might be worse not to obey him," said Zossimov on the stairs. "Hemustn't be irritated."

  "What's the matter with him?"

  "If only he could get some favourable shock, that's what would do it! Atfirst he was better.... You know he has got something on his mind! Somefixed idea weighing on him.... I am very much afraid so; he must have!"

  "Perhaps it's that gentleman, Pyotr Petrovitch. From his conversationI gather he is going to marry his sister, and that he had received aletter about it just before his illness...."

  "Yes, confound the man! he may have upset the case altogether. But haveyou noticed, he takes no interest in anything, he does not respond toanything except one point on which he seems excited--that's the murder?"

  "Yes, yes," Razumihin agreed, "I noticed that, too. He is interested,frightened. It gave him a shock on the day he was ill in the policeoffice; he fainted."

  "Tell me more about that this evening and I'll tell you somethingafterwards. He interests me very much! In half an hour I'll go and seehim again.... There'll be no inflammation though."

  "Thanks! And I'll wait with Pashenka meantime and will keep watch on himthrough Nastasya...."

  Raskolnikov, left alone, looked with impatience and misery at Nastasya,but she still lingered.

  "Won't you have some tea now?" she asked.

  "Later! I am sleepy! Leave me."

  He turned abruptly to the wall; Nastasya went out.