Prestuplenie i nakazanie. English

by Fyodor Dostoyevsky

  CHAPTER VII

  An elegant carriage stood in the middle of the road with a pair ofspirited grey horses; there was no one in it, and the coachman had gotoff his box and stood by; the horses were being held by the bridle....A mass of people had gathered round, the police standing in front. Oneof them held a lighted lantern which he was turning on something lyingclose to the wheels. Everyone was talking, shouting, exclaiming; thecoachman seemed at a loss and kept repeating:

  "What a misfortune! Good Lord, what a misfortune!"

  Raskolnikov pushed his way in as far as he could, and succeeded at lastin seeing the object of the commotion and interest. On the ground aman who had been run over lay apparently unconscious, and covered withblood; he was very badly dressed, but not like a workman. Blood wasflowing from his head and face; his face was crushed, mutilated anddisfigured. He was evidently badly injured.

  "Merciful heaven!" wailed the coachman, "what more could I do? If I'dbeen driving fast or had not shouted to him, but I was going quietly,not in a hurry. Everyone could see I was going along just like everybodyelse. A drunken man can't walk straight, we all know.... I saw himcrossing the street, staggering and almost falling. I shouted againand a second and a third time, then I held the horses in, but he fellstraight under their feet! Either he did it on purpose or he was verytipsy.... The horses are young and ready to take fright... they started,he screamed... that made them worse. That's how it happened!"

  "That's just how it was," a voice in the crowd confirmed.

  "He shouted, that's true, he shouted three times," another voicedeclared.

  "Three times it was, we all heard it," shouted a third.

  But the coachman was not very much distressed and frightened. It wasevident that the carriage belonged to a rich and important person whowas awaiting it somewhere; the police, of course, were in no littleanxiety to avoid upsetting his arrangements. All they had to do was totake the injured man to the police station and the hospital. No one knewhis name.

  Meanwhile Raskolnikov had squeezed in and stooped closer over him. Thelantern suddenly lighted up the unfortunate man's face. He recognisedhim.

  "I know him! I know him!" he shouted, pushing to the front. "It's agovernment clerk retired from the service, Marmeladov. He lives closeby in Kozel's house.... Make haste for a doctor! I will pay, see?" Hepulled money out of his pocket and showed it to the policeman. He was inviolent agitation.

  The police were glad that they had found out who the man was.Raskolnikov gave his own name and address, and, as earnestly as if ithad been his father, he besought the police to carry the unconsciousMarmeladov to his lodging at once.

  "Just here, three houses away," he said eagerly, "the house belongs toKozel, a rich German. He was going home, no doubt drunk. I know him,he is a drunkard. He has a family there, a wife, children, he has onedaughter.... It will take time to take him to the hospital, and there issure to be a doctor in the house. I'll pay, I'll pay! At least he willbe looked after at home... they will help him at once. But he'll diebefore you get him to the hospital." He managed to slip somethingunseen into the policeman's hand. But the thing was straightforwardand legitimate, and in any case help was closer here. They raised theinjured man; people volunteered to help.

  Kozel's house was thirty yards away. Raskolnikov walked behind,carefully holding Marmeladov's head and showing the way.

  "This way, this way! We must take him upstairs head foremost. Turnround! I'll pay, I'll make it worth your while," he muttered.

  Katerina Ivanovna had just begun, as she always did at every freemoment, walking to and fro in her little room from window to stove andback again, with her arms folded across her chest, talking to herselfand coughing. Of late she had begun to talk more than ever to her eldestgirl, Polenka, a child of ten, who, though there was much she did notunderstand, understood very well that her mother needed her, and soalways watched her with her big clever eyes and strove her utmostto appear to understand. This time Polenka was undressing her littlebrother, who had been unwell all day and was going to bed. The boy waswaiting for her to take off his shirt, which had to be washed at night.He was sitting straight and motionless on a chair, with a silent,serious face, with his legs stretched out straight before him--heelstogether and toes turned out.

  He was listening to what his mother was saying to his sister, sittingperfectly still with pouting lips and wide-open eyes, just as all goodlittle boys have to sit when they are undressed to go to bed. A littlegirl, still younger, dressed literally in rags, stood at the screen,waiting for her turn. The door on to the stairs was open to relievethem a little from the clouds of tobacco smoke which floated in from theother rooms and brought on long terrible fits of coughing in the poor,consumptive woman. Katerina Ivanovna seemed to have grown even thinnerduring that week and the hectic flush on her face was brighter thanever.

  "You wouldn't believe, you can't imagine, Polenka," she said, walkingabout the room, "what a happy luxurious life we had in my papa's houseand how this drunkard has brought me, and will bring you all, to ruin!Papa was a civil colonel and only a step from being a governor; so thateveryone who came to see him said, 'We look upon you, Ivan Mihailovitch,as our governor!' When I... when..." she coughed violently, "oh, cursedlife," she cried, clearing her throat and pressing her hands to herbreast, "when I... when at the last ball... at the marshal's...Princess Bezzemelny saw me--who gave me the blessing when your fatherand I were married, Polenka--she asked at once 'Isn't that the prettygirl who danced the shawl dance at the breaking-up?' (You must mendthat tear, you must take your needle and darn it as I showed you, orto-morrow--cough, cough, cough--he will make the hole bigger," shearticulated with effort.) "Prince Schegolskoy, a kammerjunker, had justcome from Petersburg then... he danced the mazurka with me and wanted tomake me an offer next day; but I thanked him in flattering expressionsand told him that my heart had long been another's. That other was yourfather, Polya; papa was fearfully angry.... Is the water ready? Give methe shirt, and the stockings! Lida," said she to the youngest one, "youmust manage without your chemise to-night... and lay your stockings outwith it... I'll wash them together.... How is it that drunken vagabonddoesn't come in? He has worn his shirt till it looks like a dish-clout,he has torn it to rags! I'd do it all together, so as not to have towork two nights running! Oh, dear! (Cough, cough, cough, cough!) Again!What's this?" she cried, noticing a crowd in the passage and the men,who were pushing into her room, carrying a burden. "What is it? What arethey bringing? Mercy on us!"

  "Where are we to put him?" asked the policeman, looking round whenMarmeladov, unconscious and covered with blood, had been carried in.

  "On the sofa! Put him straight on the sofa, with his head this way,"Raskolnikov showed him.

  "Run over in the road! Drunk!" someone shouted in the passage.

  Katerina Ivanovna stood, turning white and gasping for breath. Thechildren were terrified. Little Lida screamed, rushed to Polenka andclutched at her, trembling all over.

  Having laid Marmeladov down, Raskolnikov flew to Katerina Ivanovna.

  "For God's sake be calm, don't be frightened!" he said, speakingquickly, "he was crossing the road and was run over by a carriage, don'tbe frightened, he will come to, I told them bring him here... I've beenhere already, you remember? He will come to; I'll pay!"

  "He's done it this time!" Katerina Ivanovna cried despairingly and sherushed to her husband.

  Raskolnikov noticed at once that she was not one of those women whoswoon easily. She instantly placed under the luckless man's head apillow, which no one had thought of and began undressing and examininghim. She kept her head, forgetting herself, biting her trembling lipsand stifling the screams which were ready to break from her.

  Raskolnikov meanwhile induced someone to run for a doctor. There was adoctor, it appeared, next door but one.

  "I've sent for a doctor," he kept assuring Katerina Ivanovna, "don't beuneasy, I'll pay. Haven't you water?... and give me a napkin or a towel,anything, as quick as you can..
.. He is injured, but not killed, believeme.... We shall see what the doctor says!"

  Katerina Ivanovna ran to the window; there, on a broken chair in thecorner, a large earthenware basin full of water had been stood, inreadiness for washing her children's and husband's linen that night.This washing was done by Katerina Ivanovna at night at least twice aweek, if not oftener. For the family had come to such a pass that theywere practically without change of linen, and Katerina Ivanovna couldnot endure uncleanliness and, rather than see dirt in the house, shepreferred to wear herself out at night, working beyond her strength whenthe rest were asleep, so as to get the wet linen hung on a line and dryby the morning. She took up the basin of water at Raskolnikov's request,but almost fell down with her burden. But the latter had alreadysucceeded in finding a towel, wetted it and began washing the blood offMarmeladov's face.

  Katerina Ivanovna stood by, breathing painfully and pressing her handsto her breast. She was in need of attention herself. Raskolnikov beganto realise that he might have made a mistake in having the injured manbrought here. The policeman, too, stood in hesitation.

  "Polenka," cried Katerina Ivanovna, "run to Sonia, make haste. If youdon't find her at home, leave word that her father has been run overand that she is to come here at once... when she comes in. Run, Polenka!there, put on the shawl."

  "Run your fastest!" cried the little boy on the chair suddenly, afterwhich he relapsed into the same dumb rigidity, with round eyes, hisheels thrust forward and his toes spread out.

  Meanwhile the room had become so full of people that you couldn't havedropped a pin. The policemen left, all except one, who remained for atime, trying to drive out the people who came in from the stairs. Almostall Madame Lippevechsel's lodgers had streamed in from the inner roomsof the flat; at first they were squeezed together in the doorway, butafterwards they overflowed into the room. Katerina Ivanovna flew into afury.

  "You might let him die in peace, at least," she shouted at the crowd,"is it a spectacle for you to gape at? With cigarettes! (Cough, cough,cough!) You might as well keep your hats on.... And there is one in hishat!... Get away! You should respect the dead, at least!"

  Her cough choked her--but her reproaches were not without result. Theyevidently stood in some awe of Katerina Ivanovna. The lodgers, one afteranother, squeezed back into the doorway with that strange inner feelingof satisfaction which may be observed in the presence of a suddenaccident, even in those nearest and dearest to the victim, from whichno living man is exempt, even in spite of the sincerest sympathy andcompassion.

  Voices outside were heard, however, speaking of the hospital and sayingthat they'd no business to make a disturbance here.

  "No business to die!" cried Katerina Ivanovna, and she was rushing tothe door to vent her wrath upon them, but in the doorway came face toface with Madame Lippevechsel who had only just heard of the accidentand ran in to restore order. She was a particularly quarrelsome andirresponsible German.

  "Ah, my God!" she cried, clasping her hands, "your husband drunkenhorses have trampled! To the hospital with him! I am the landlady!"

  "Amalia Ludwigovna, I beg you to recollect what you are saying,"Katerina Ivanovna began haughtily (she always took a haughty tone withthe landlady that she might "remember her place" and even now could notdeny herself this satisfaction). "Amalia Ludwigovna..."

  "I have you once before told that you to call me Amalia Ludwigovna maynot dare; I am Amalia Ivanovna."

  "You are not Amalia Ivanovna, but Amalia Ludwigovna, and as I am notone of your despicable flatterers like Mr. Lebeziatnikov, who's laughingbehind the door at this moment (a laugh and a cry of 'they are at itagain' was in fact audible at the door) so I shall always call youAmalia Ludwigovna, though I fail to understand why you dislike thatname. You can see for yourself what has happened to Semyon Zaharovitch;he is dying. I beg you to close that door at once and to admit no one.Let him at least die in peace! Or I warn you the Governor-General,himself, shall be informed of your conduct to-morrow. The prince knewme as a girl; he remembers Semyon Zaharovitch well and has often beena benefactor to him. Everyone knows that Semyon Zaharovitch had manyfriends and protectors, whom he abandoned himself from an honourablepride, knowing his unhappy weakness, but now (she pointed toRaskolnikov) a generous young man has come to our assistance, who haswealth and connections and whom Semyon Zaharovitch has known from achild. You may rest assured, Amalia Ludwigovna..."

  All this was uttered with extreme rapidity, getting quicker and quicker,but a cough suddenly cut short Katerina Ivanovna's eloquence. At thatinstant the dying man recovered consciousness and uttered a groan; sheran to him. The injured man opened his eyes and without recognition orunderstanding gazed at Raskolnikov who was bending over him. He drewdeep, slow, painful breaths; blood oozed at the corners of his mouthand drops of perspiration came out on his forehead. Not recognisingRaskolnikov, he began looking round uneasily. Katerina Ivanovna lookedat him with a sad but stern face, and tears trickled from her eyes.

  "My God! His whole chest is crushed! How he is bleeding," she saidin despair. "We must take off his clothes. Turn a little, SemyonZaharovitch, if you can," she cried to him.

  Marmeladov recognised her.

  "A priest," he articulated huskily.

  Katerina Ivanovna walked to the window, laid her head against the windowframe and exclaimed in despair:

  "Oh, cursed life!"

  "A priest," the dying man said again after a moment's silence.

  "They've gone for him," Katerina Ivanovna shouted to him, he obeyed hershout and was silent. With sad and timid eyes he looked for her; shereturned and stood by his pillow. He seemed a little easier but not forlong.

  Soon his eyes rested on little Lida, his favourite, who was shaking inthe corner, as though she were in a fit, and staring at him with herwondering childish eyes.

  "A-ah," he signed towards her uneasily. He wanted to say something.

  "What now?" cried Katerina Ivanovna.

  "Barefoot, barefoot!" he muttered, indicating with frenzied eyes thechild's bare feet.

  "Be silent," Katerina Ivanovna cried irritably, "you know why she isbarefooted."

  "Thank God, the doctor," exclaimed Raskolnikov, relieved.

  The doctor came in, a precise little old man, a German, looking abouthim mistrustfully; he went up to the sick man, took his pulse, carefullyfelt his head and with the help of Katerina Ivanovna he unbuttoned theblood-stained shirt, and bared the injured man's chest. It was gashed,crushed and fractured, several ribs on the right side were broken.On the left side, just over the heart, was a large, sinister-lookingyellowish-black bruise--a cruel kick from the horse's hoof. The doctorfrowned. The policeman told him that he was caught in the wheel andturned round with it for thirty yards on the road.

  "It's wonderful that he has recovered consciousness," the doctorwhispered softly to Raskolnikov.

  "What do you think of him?" he asked.

  "He will die immediately."

  "Is there really no hope?"

  "Not the faintest! He is at the last gasp.... His head is badly injured,too... Hm... I could bleed him if you like, but... it would be useless.He is bound to die within the next five or ten minutes."

  "Better bleed him then."

  "If you like.... But I warn you it will be perfectly useless."

  At that moment other steps were heard; the crowd in the passage parted,and the priest, a little, grey old man, appeared in the doorway bearingthe sacrament. A policeman had gone for him at the time of the accident.The doctor changed places with him, exchanging glances with him.Raskolnikov begged the doctor to remain a little while. He shrugged hisshoulders and remained.

  All stepped back. The confession was soon over. The dying man probablyunderstood little; he could only utter indistinct broken sounds.Katerina Ivanovna took little Lida, lifted the boy from the chair, kneltdown in the corner by the stove and made the children kneel in front ofher. The little girl was still trembling; but the boy, kneeling on hislittle bare knees, lif
ted his hand rhythmically, crossing himself withprecision and bowed down, touching the floor with his forehead, whichseemed to afford him especial satisfaction. Katerina Ivanovna bit herlips and held back her tears; she prayed, too, now and then pullingstraight the boy's shirt, and managed to cover the girl's bare shoulderswith a kerchief, which she took from the chest without rising from herknees or ceasing to pray. Meanwhile the door from the inner rooms wasopened inquisitively again. In the passage the crowd of spectators fromall the flats on the staircase grew denser and denser, but they did notventure beyond the threshold. A single candle-end lighted up the scene.

  At that moment Polenka forced her way through the crowd at the door. Shecame in panting from running so fast, took off her kerchief, looked forher mother, went up to her and said, "She's coming, I met her in thestreet." Her mother made her kneel beside her.

  Timidly and noiselessly a young girl made her way through the crowd,and strange was her appearance in that room, in the midst of want, rags,death and despair. She, too, was in rags, her attire was all ofthe cheapest, but decked out in gutter finery of a special stamp,unmistakably betraying its shameful purpose. Sonia stopped short in thedoorway and looked about her bewildered, unconscious of everything.She forgot her fourth-hand, gaudy silk dress, so unseemly here withits ridiculous long train, and her immense crinoline that filled up thewhole doorway, and her light-coloured shoes, and the parasol she broughtwith her, though it was no use at night, and the absurd round straw hatwith its flaring flame-coloured feather. Under this rakishly-tilted hatwas a pale, frightened little face with lips parted and eyes staring interror. Sonia was a small thin girl of eighteen with fair hair, ratherpretty, with wonderful blue eyes. She looked intently at the bed and thepriest; she too was out of breath with running. At last whispers, somewords in the crowd probably, reached her. She looked down and took astep forward into the room, still keeping close to the door.

  The service was over. Katerina Ivanovna went up to her husband again.The priest stepped back and turned to say a few words of admonition andconsolation to Katerina Ivanovna on leaving.

  "What am I to do with these?" she interrupted sharply and irritably,pointing to the little ones.

  "God is merciful; look to the Most High for succour," the priest began.

  "Ach! He is merciful, but not to us."

  "That's a sin, a sin, madam," observed the priest, shaking his head.

  "And isn't that a sin?" cried Katerina Ivanovna, pointing to the dyingman.

  "Perhaps those who have involuntarily caused the accident will agree tocompensate you, at least for the loss of his earnings."

  "You don't understand!" cried Katerina Ivanovna angrily waving her hand."And why should they compensate me? Why, he was drunk and threw himselfunder the horses! What earnings? He brought us in nothing but misery.He drank everything away, the drunkard! He robbed us to get drink, hewasted their lives and mine for drink! And thank God he's dying! Oneless to keep!"

  "You must forgive in the hour of death, that's a sin, madam, suchfeelings are a great sin."

  Katerina Ivanovna was busy with the dying man; she was giving him water,wiping the blood and sweat from his head, setting his pillow straight,and had only turned now and then for a moment to address the priest. Nowshe flew at him almost in a frenzy.

  "Ah, father! That's words and only words! Forgive! If he'd not been runover, he'd have come home to-day drunk and his only shirt dirty andin rags and he'd have fallen asleep like a log, and I should have beensousing and rinsing till daybreak, washing his rags and the children'sand then drying them by the window and as soon as it was daylight Ishould have been darning them. That's how I spend my nights!... What'sthe use of talking of forgiveness! I have forgiven as it is!"

  A terrible hollow cough interrupted her words. She put her handkerchiefto her lips and showed it to the priest, pressing her other hand to heraching chest. The handkerchief was covered with blood. The priest bowedhis head and said nothing.

  Marmeladov was in the last agony; he did not take his eyes off the faceof Katerina Ivanovna, who was bending over him again. He kept tryingto say something to her; he began moving his tongue with difficulty andarticulating indistinctly, but Katerina Ivanovna, understanding that hewanted to ask her forgiveness, called peremptorily to him:

  "Be silent! No need! I know what you want to say!" And the sick manwas silent, but at the same instant his wandering eyes strayed to thedoorway and he saw Sonia.

  Till then he had not noticed her: she was standing in the shadow in acorner.

  "Who's that? Who's that?" he said suddenly in a thick gasping voice,in agitation, turning his eyes in horror towards the door where hisdaughter was standing, and trying to sit up.

  "Lie down! Lie do-own!" cried Katerina Ivanovna.

  With unnatural strength he had succeeded in propping himself on hiselbow. He looked wildly and fixedly for some time on his daughter, asthough not recognising her. He had never seen her before in such attire.Suddenly he recognised her, crushed and ashamed in her humiliation andgaudy finery, meekly awaiting her turn to say good-bye to her dyingfather. His face showed intense suffering.

  "Sonia! Daughter! Forgive!" he cried, and he tried to hold out his handto her, but losing his balance, he fell off the sofa, face downwards onthe floor. They rushed to pick him up, they put him on the sofa; but hewas dying. Sonia with a faint cry ran up, embraced him and remained sowithout moving. He died in her arms.

  "He's got what he wanted," Katerina Ivanovna cried, seeing her husband'sdead body. "Well, what's to be done now? How am I to bury him! What canI give them to-morrow to eat?"

  Raskolnikov went up to Katerina Ivanovna.

  "Katerina Ivanovna," he began, "last week your husband told me all hislife and circumstances.... Believe me, he spoke of you with passionatereverence. From that evening, when I learnt how devoted he was to youall and how he loved and respected you especially, Katerina Ivanovna,in spite of his unfortunate weakness, from that evening we becamefriends.... Allow me now... to do something... to repay my debt to mydead friend. Here are twenty roubles, I think--and if that can be of anyassistance to you, then... I... in short, I will come again, I willbe sure to come again... I shall, perhaps, come again to-morrow....Good-bye!"

  And he went quickly out of the room, squeezing his way through the crowdto the stairs. But in the crowd he suddenly jostled against NikodimFomitch, who had heard of the accident and had come to give instructionsin person. They had not met since the scene at the police station, butNikodim Fomitch knew him instantly.

  "Ah, is that you?" he asked him.

  "He's dead," answered Raskolnikov. "The doctor and the priest have been,all as it should have been. Don't worry the poor woman too much, she isin consumption as it is. Try and cheer her up, if possible... you are akind-hearted man, I know..." he added with a smile, looking straight inhis face.

  "But you are spattered with blood," observed Nikodim Fomitch, noticingin the lamplight some fresh stains on Raskolnikov's waistcoat.

  "Yes... I'm covered with blood," Raskolnikov said with a peculiar air;then he smiled, nodded and went downstairs.

  He walked down slowly and deliberately, feverish but not consciousof it, entirely absorbed in a new overwhelming sensation of life andstrength that surged up suddenly within him. This sensation might becompared to that of a man condemned to death who has suddenly beenpardoned. Halfway down the staircase he was overtaken by the priest onhis way home; Raskolnikov let him pass, exchanging a silent greetingwith him. He was just descending the last steps when he heard rapidfootsteps behind him. Someone overtook him; it was Polenka. She wasrunning after him, calling "Wait! wait!"

  He turned round. She was at the bottom of the staircase and stoppedshort a step above him. A dim light came in from the yard. Raskolnikovcould distinguish the child's thin but pretty little face, looking athim with a bright childish smile. She had run after him with a messagewhich she was evidently glad to give.

  "Tell me, what is your name?... and where do you liv
e?" she saidhurriedly in a breathless voice.

  He laid both hands on her shoulders and looked at her with a sort ofrapture. It was such a joy to him to look at her, he could not have saidwhy.

  "Who sent you?"

  "Sister Sonia sent me," answered the girl, smiling still more brightly.

  "I knew it was sister Sonia sent you."

  "Mamma sent me, too... when sister Sonia was sending me, mamma came up,too, and said 'Run fast, Polenka.'"

  "Do you love sister Sonia?"

  "I love her more than anyone," Polenka answered with a peculiarearnestness, and her smile became graver.

  "And will you love me?"

  By way of answer he saw the little girl's face approaching him, her fulllips naively held out to kiss him. Suddenly her arms as thin as sticksheld him tightly, her head rested on his shoulder and the little girlwept softly, pressing her face against him.

  "I am sorry for father," she said a moment later, raising hertear-stained face and brushing away the tears with her hands. "It'snothing but misfortunes now," she added suddenly with that peculiarlysedate air which children try hard to assume when they want to speaklike grown-up people.

  "Did your father love you?"

  "He loved Lida most," she went on very seriously without a smile,exactly like grown-up people, "he loved her because she is little andbecause she is ill, too. And he always used to bring her presents. Buthe taught us to read and me grammar and scripture, too," she added withdignity. "And mother never used to say anything, but we knew that sheliked it and father knew it, too. And mother wants to teach me French,for it's time my education began."

  "And do you know your prayers?"

  "Of course, we do! We knew them long ago. I say my prayers to myselfas I am a big girl now, but Kolya and Lida say them aloud with mother.First they repeat the 'Ave Maria' and then another prayer: 'Lord,forgive and bless sister Sonia,' and then another, 'Lord, forgive andbless our second father.' For our elder father is dead and this isanother one, but we do pray for the other as well."

  "Polenka, my name is Rodion. Pray sometimes for me, too. 'And Thyservant Rodion,' nothing more."

  "I'll pray for you all the rest of my life," the little girl declaredhotly, and suddenly smiling again she rushed at him and hugged himwarmly once more.

  Raskolnikov told her his name and address and promised to be sure tocome next day. The child went away quite enchanted with him. It was pastten when he came out into the street. In five minutes he was standing onthe bridge at the spot where the woman had jumped in.

  "Enough," he pronounced resolutely and triumphantly. "I've done withfancies, imaginary terrors and phantoms! Life is real! haven't I livedjust now? My life has not yet died with that old woman! The Kingdom ofHeaven to her--and now enough, madam, leave me in peace! Now for thereign of reason and light... and of will, and of strength... and nowwe will see! We will try our strength!" he added defiantly, as thoughchallenging some power of darkness. "And I was ready to consent to livein a square of space!

  "I am very weak at this moment, but... I believe my illness is all over.I knew it would be over when I went out. By the way, Potchinkov's houseis only a few steps away. I certainly must go to Razumihin even ifit were not close by... let him win his bet! Let us give him somesatisfaction, too--no matter! Strength, strength is what one wants, youcan get nothing without it, and strength must be won by strength--that'swhat they don't know," he added proudly and self-confidently andhe walked with flagging footsteps from the bridge. Pride andself-confidence grew continually stronger in him; he was becominga different man every moment. What was it had happened to work thisrevolution in him? He did not know himself; like a man catching at astraw, he suddenly felt that he, too, 'could live, that there was stilllife for him, that his life had not died with the old woman.' Perhaps hewas in too great a hurry with his conclusions, but he did not think ofthat.

  "But I did ask her to remember 'Thy servant Rodion' in her prayers," theidea struck him. "Well, that was... in case of emergency," he added andlaughed himself at his boyish sally. He was in the best of spirits.

  He easily found Razumihin; the new lodger was already known atPotchinkov's and the porter at once showed him the way. Half-wayupstairs he could hear the noise and animated conversation of a biggathering of people. The door was wide open on the stairs; he couldhear exclamations and discussion. Razumihin's room was fairly large; thecompany consisted of fifteen people. Raskolnikov stopped in the entry,where two of the landlady's servants were busy behind a screen with twosamovars, bottles, plates and dishes of pie and savouries, brought upfrom the landlady's kitchen. Raskolnikov sent in for Razumihin. He ranout delighted. At the first glance it was apparent that he had had agreat deal to drink and, though no amount of liquor made Razumihin quitedrunk, this time he was perceptibly affected by it.

  "Listen," Raskolnikov hastened to say, "I've only just come to tell youyou've won your bet and that no one really knows what may not happen tohim. I can't come in; I am so weak that I shall fall down directly. Andso good evening and good-bye! Come and see me to-morrow."

  "Do you know what? I'll see you home. If you say you're weak yourself,you must..."

  "And your visitors? Who is the curly-headed one who has just peepedout?"

  "He? Goodness only knows! Some friend of uncle's, I expect, or perhapshe has come without being invited... I'll leave uncle with them, heis an invaluable person, pity I can't introduce you to him now. Butconfound them all now! They won't notice me, and I need a little freshair, for you've come just in the nick of time--another two minutes and Ishould have come to blows! They are talking such a lot of wild stuff...you simply can't imagine what men will say! Though why shouldn't youimagine? Don't we talk nonsense ourselves? And let them... that's theway to learn not to!... Wait a minute, I'll fetch Zossimov."

  Zossimov pounced upon Raskolnikov almost greedily; he showed a specialinterest in him; soon his face brightened.

  "You must go to bed at once," he pronounced, examining the patient asfar as he could, "and take something for the night. Will you take it? Igot it ready some time ago... a powder."

  "Two, if you like," answered Raskolnikov. The powder was taken at once.

  "It's a good thing you are taking him home," observed Zossimov toRazumihin--"we shall see how he is to-morrow, to-day he's not at allamiss--a considerable change since the afternoon. Live and learn..."

  "Do you know what Zossimov whispered to me when we were coming out?"Razumihin blurted out, as soon as they were in the street. "I won't tellyou everything, brother, because they are such fools. Zossimov told meto talk freely to you on the way and get you to talk freely to me, andafterwards I am to tell him about it, for he's got a notion in his headthat you are... mad or close on it. Only fancy! In the first place,you've three times the brains he has; in the second, if you are not mad,you needn't care a hang that he has got such a wild idea; and thirdly,that piece of beef whose specialty is surgery has gone mad on mentaldiseases, and what's brought him to this conclusion about you was yourconversation to-day with Zametov."

  "Zametov told you all about it?"

  "Yes, and he did well. Now I understand what it all means and so doesZametov.... Well, the fact is, Rodya... the point is... I am a littledrunk now.... But that's... no matter... the point is that thisidea... you understand? was just being hatched in their brains... youunderstand? That is, no one ventured to say it aloud, because the ideais too absurd and especially since the arrest of that painter, thatbubble's burst and gone for ever. But why are they such fools? I gaveZametov a bit of a thrashing at the time--that's between ourselves,brother; please don't let out a hint that you know of it; I've noticedhe is a ticklish subject; it was at Luise Ivanovna's. But to-day, to-dayit's all cleared up. That Ilya Petrovitch is at the bottom of it! Hetook advantage of your fainting at the police station, but he is ashamedof it himself now; I know that..."

  Raskolnikov listened greedily. Razumihin was drunk enough to talk toofreely.

  "I fainted then becaus
e it was so close and the smell of paint," saidRaskolnikov.

  "No need to explain that! And it wasn't the paint only: the fever hadbeen coming on for a month; Zossimov testifies to that! But how crushedthat boy is now, you wouldn't believe! 'I am not worth his littlefinger,' he says. Yours, he means. He has good feelings at times,brother. But the lesson, the lesson you gave him to-day in the Palaisde Cristal, that was too good for anything! You frightened him at first,you know, he nearly went into convulsions! You almost convincedhim again of the truth of all that hideous nonsense, and then yousuddenly--put out your tongue at him: 'There now, what do you make ofit?' It was perfect! He is crushed, annihilated now! It was masterly, byJove, it's what they deserve! Ah, that I wasn't there! He was hoping tosee you awfully. Porfiry, too, wants to make your acquaintance..."

  "Ah!... he too... but why did they put me down as mad?"

  "Oh, not mad. I must have said too much, brother.... What struck him,you see, was that only that subject seemed to interest you; now it'sclear why it did interest you; knowing all the circumstances... andhow that irritated you and worked in with your illness... I am a littledrunk, brother, only, confound him, he has some idea of his own... Itell you, he's mad on mental diseases. But don't you mind him..."

  For half a minute both were silent.

  "Listen, Razumihin," began Raskolnikov, "I want to tell you plainly:I've just been at a death-bed, a clerk who died... I gave them all mymoney... and besides I've just been kissed by someone who, if I hadkilled anyone, would just the same... in fact I saw someone elsethere... with a flame-coloured feather... but I am talking nonsense; Iam very weak, support me... we shall be at the stairs directly..."

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

  "I am a little giddy, but that's not the point, I am so sad, so sad...like a woman. Look, what's that? Look, look!"

  "What is it?"

  "Don't you see? A light in my room, you see? Through the crack..."

  They were already at the foot of the last flight of stairs, at the levelof the landlady's door, and they could, as a fact, see from below thatthere was a light in Raskolnikov's garret.

  "Queer! Nastasya, perhaps," observed Razumihin.

  "She is never in my room at this time and she must be in bed long ago,but... I don't care! Good-bye!"

  "What do you mean? I am coming with you, we'll come in together!"

  "I know we are going in together, but I want to shake hands here and saygood-bye to you here. So give me your hand, good-bye!"

  "What's the matter with you, Rodya?"

  "Nothing... come along... you shall be witness."

  They began mounting the stairs, and the idea struck Razumihin thatperhaps Zossimov might be right after all. "Ah, I've upset him with mychatter!" he muttered to himself.

  When they reached the door they heard voices in the room.

  "What is it?" cried Razumihin. Raskolnikov was the first to open thedoor; he flung it wide and stood still in the doorway, dumbfoundered.

  His mother and sister were sitting on his sofa and had been waiting anhour and a half for him. Why had he never expected, never thought ofthem, though the news that they had started, were on their way and wouldarrive immediately, had been repeated to him only that day? They hadspent that hour and a half plying Nastasya with questions. She wasstanding before them and had told them everything by now. They werebeside themselves with alarm when they heard of his "running away"to-day, ill and, as they understood from her story, delirious! "GoodHeavens, what had become of him?" Both had been weeping, both had beenin anguish for that hour and a half.

  A cry of joy, of ecstasy, greeted Raskolnikov's entrance. Both rushed tohim. But he stood like one dead; a sudden intolerable sensation struckhim like a thunderbolt. He did not lift his arms to embrace them, hecould not. His mother and sister clasped him in their arms, kissed him,laughed and cried. He took a step, tottered and fell to the ground,fainting.

  Anxiety, cries of horror, moans... Razumihin who was standing in thedoorway flew into the room, seized the sick man in his strong arms andin a moment had him on the sofa.

  "It's nothing, nothing!" he cried to the mother and sister--"it's only afaint, a mere trifle! Only just now the doctor said he was much better,that he is perfectly well! Water! See, he is coming to himself, he isall right again!"

  And seizing Dounia by the arm so that he almost dislocated it, he madeher bend down to see that "he is all right again." The mother and sisterlooked on him with emotion and gratitude, as their Providence. Theyhad heard already from Nastasya all that had been done for their Rodyaduring his illness, by this "very competent young man," as PulcheriaAlexandrovna Raskolnikov called him that evening in conversation withDounia.

  PART III