Part 6

Chapter 1

16 min

A strange period began for Raskolnikov: it was as though a fog had fallen upon him and wrapped him in a dreary solitude from which there was no escape. Recalling that period long after, he believed that his mind had been clouded at times, and that it had continued so, with intervals, till the final catastrophe. He was convinced that he had been mistaken about many things at that time, for instance as to the date of certain events. Anyway, when he tried later on to piece his recollections together, he learnt a great deal about himself from what other people told him. He had mixed up incidents and had explained events as due to circumstances which existed only in his imagination. At times he was a prey to agonies of morbid uneasiness, amounting sometimes to panic. But he remembered, too, moments, hours, perhaps whole days, of complete apathy, which came upon him as a reaction from his previous terror and might be compared with the abnormal insensibility, sometimes seen in the dying. He seemed to be trying in that latter stage to escape from a full and clear understanding of his position. Certain essential facts which required immediate consideration were particularly irksome to him. How glad he would have been to be free from some cares, the neglect of which would have threatened him with complete, inevitable ruin.

A strange period began for Raskolnikov. It was as if a fog had descended on him, surrounding him in a bleak solitude with no escape. Looking back much later, he believed his mind had been clouded at times. He thought it had remained that way, on and off, until the final catastrophe. He was convinced that he had been mistaken about many things then, including the dates of certain events. In any case, when he later tried to piece together his memories, he learned much about himself from others. He had confused incidents and explained events by circumstances that existed only in his imagination. At times, he was tormented by an unhealthy anxiety that sometimes grew into panic. But he also remembered moments, hours, perhaps whole days of complete apathy. This came over him in reaction to his earlier terror. It was like the unnatural numbness sometimes seen in the dying. During this later state, he seemed to be trying to avoid fully and clearly understanding his situation. Certain essential facts that needed immediate attention were especially troubling to him. How gladly he would have escaped some of his worries, though neglecting them would have threatened him with complete, inevitable ruin.

He was particularly worried about Svidrigaïlov, he might be said to be permanently thinking of Svidrigaïlov. From the time of Svidrigaïlov’s too menacing and unmistakable words in Sonia’s room at the moment of Katerina Ivanovna’s death, the normal working of his mind seemed to break down. But although this new fact caused him extreme uneasiness, Raskolnikov was in no hurry for an explanation of it. At times, finding himself in a solitary and remote part of the town, in some wretched eating-house, sitting alone lost in thought, hardly knowing how he had come there, he suddenly thought of Svidrigaïlov. He recognised suddenly, clearly, and with dismay that he ought at once to come to an understanding with that man and to make what terms he could. Walking outside the city gates one day, he positively fancied that they had fixed a meeting there, that he was waiting for Svidrigaïlov. Another time he woke up before daybreak lying on the ground under some bushes and could not at first understand how he had come there.

He was especially worried about Svidrigaïlov. In fact, he might be said to be thinking about him constantly. Svidrigaïlov had spoken words in Sonia’s room that were too threatening and unmistakable to ignore. It was at the moment of Katerina Ivanovna’s death. From then on, Raskolnikov’s mind seemed unable to work normally. But although this new development made him extremely uneasy, he was in no hurry to explain it. At times, he found himself alone in a miserable eating-house in a remote part of town. He sat lost in thought, hardly knowing how he had gotten there. Then he would suddenly think of Svidrigaïlov. With sudden clarity and dismay, he realized that he must meet with the man at once and make whatever terms he could. One day, as he walked outside the city gates, he actually imagined they had arranged to meet there. He imagined he was waiting for Svidrigaïlov. Another time, he woke before dawn, lying on the ground under some bushes. At first, he could not understand how he had gotten there.

But during the two or three days after Katerina Ivanovna’s death, he had two or three times met Svidrigaïlov at Sonia’s lodging, where he had gone aimlessly for a moment. They exchanged a few words and made no reference to the vital subject, as though they were tacitly agreed not to speak of it for a time.

But in the two or three days after Katerina Ivanovna’s death, he met Svidrigaïlov two or three times at Sonia’s lodging. He had gone there without any particular purpose, intending to stay only a moment. They exchanged a few words but did not mention the vital subject. It was as if they had silently agreed not to speak of it for a while.

Katerina Ivanovna’s body was still lying in the coffin, Svidrigaïlov was busy making arrangements for the funeral. Sonia too was very busy. At their last meeting Svidrigaïlov informed Raskolnikov that he had made an arrangement, and a very satisfactory one, for Katerina Ivanovna’s children; that he had, through certain connections, succeeded in getting hold of certain personages by whose help the three orphans could be at once placed in very suitable institutions; that the money he had settled on them had been of great assistance, as it is much easier to place orphans with some property than destitute ones. He said something too about Sonia and promised to come himself in a day or two to see Raskolnikov, mentioning that “he would like to consult with him, that there were things they must talk over....”

Katerina Ivanovna’s body was still lying in the coffin. Svidrigaïlov was busy arranging the funeral. Sonia was very busy too. At their last meeting, Svidrigaïlov told Raskolnikov he had made a very satisfactory arrangement for Katerina Ivanovna’s children. Through certain connections, he had reached some influential people who could help place the three orphans in suitable institutions immediately. The money he had set aside for them had helped greatly. It was much easier to find places for orphans with some money than for those with none. He also said something about Sonia and promised to visit Raskolnikov himself in a day or two. He mentioned that “he would like to consult with him, that there were things they must talk over....”

This conversation took place in the passage on the stairs. Svidrigaïlov looked intently at Raskolnikov and suddenly, after a brief pause, dropping his voice, asked: “But how is it, Rodion Romanovitch; you don’t seem yourself? You look and you listen, but you don’t seem to understand. Cheer up! We’ll talk things over; I am only sorry, I’ve so much to do of my own business and other people’s. Ah, Rodion Romanovitch,” he added suddenly, “what all men need is fresh air, fresh air... more than anything!”

The conversation took place in the stairwell. Svidrigaïlov looked intently at Raskolnikov. After a brief pause, he suddenly lowered his voice and asked: “But what’s wrong, Rodion Romanovitch? You don’t seem yourself. You look and listen, but you don’t seem to understand. Cheer up! We’ll talk things over. I’m only sorry I have so much to do, both for myself and for others. Ah, Rodion Romanovitch,” he added suddenly, “what all men need is fresh air, fresh air... more than anything!”

He moved to one side to make way for the priest and server, who were coming up the stairs. They had come for the requiem service. By Svidrigaïlov’s orders it was sung twice a day punctually. Svidrigaïlov went his way. Raskolnikov stood still a moment, thought, and followed the priest into Sonia’s room. He stood at the door. They began quietly, slowly and mournfully singing the service. From his childhood the thought of death and the presence of death had something oppressive and mysteriously awful; and it was long since he had heard the requiem service. And there was something else here as well, too awful and disturbing. He looked at the children: they were all kneeling by the coffin; Polenka was weeping. Behind them Sonia prayed, softly and, as it were, timidly weeping.

He stepped aside to let the priest and server pass as they came up the stairs. They had come for the requiem service. By Svidrigaïlov’s orders, it was sung punctually twice a day. Svidrigaïlov went on his way. Raskolnikov stood still for a moment, thinking, then followed the priest into Sonia’s room. He stood at the door. They began to sing the service quietly, slowly, and mournfully. Since childhood, he had found the thought and presence of death oppressive and mysteriously dreadful. He had not heard the requiem service for a long time. And there was something else here too, something terribly disturbing. He looked at the children. They were all kneeling by the coffin. Polenka was crying. Behind them, Sonia prayed, weeping softly and almost timidly.

“These last two days she hasn’t said a word to me, she hasn’t glanced at me,” Raskolnikov thought suddenly. The sunlight was bright in the room; the incense rose in clouds; the priest read, “Give rest, oh Lord....” Raskolnikov stayed all through the service. As he blessed them and took his leave, the priest looked round strangely. After the service, Raskolnikov went up to Sonia. She took both his hands and let her head sink on his shoulder. This slight friendly gesture bewildered Raskolnikov. It seemed strange to him that there was no trace of repugnance, no trace of disgust, no tremor in her hand. It was the furthest limit of self-abnegation, at least so he interpreted it.

“These past two days she hasn’t said a word to me or even looked at me,” Raskolnikov suddenly thought. Sunlight filled the room. Incense rose in clouds, and the priest read, “Give rest, oh Lord....” Raskolnikov stayed for the whole service. As the priest blessed them and took his leave, he looked around strangely. After the service, Raskolnikov went up to Sonia. She took both his hands and rested her head on his shoulder. This small gesture of friendship bewildered Raskolnikov. It seemed strange to him that she showed no sign of revulsion or disgust. Her hand did not even tremble. He saw it as the utmost act of self-denial.

Sonia said nothing. Raskolnikov pressed her hand and went out. He felt very miserable. If it had been possible to escape to some solitude, he would have thought himself lucky, even if he had to spend his whole life there. But although he had almost always been by himself of late, he had never been able to feel alone. Sometimes he walked out of the town on to the high road, once he had even reached a little wood, but the lonelier the place was, the more he seemed to be aware of an uneasy presence near him. It did not frighten him, but greatly annoyed him, so that he made haste to return to the town, to mingle with the crowd, to enter restaurants and taverns, to walk in busy thoroughfares. There he felt easier and even more solitary. One day at dusk he sat for an hour listening to songs in a tavern and he remembered that he positively enjoyed it. But at last he had suddenly felt the same uneasiness again, as though his conscience smote him. “Here I sit listening to singing, is that what I ought to be doing?” he thought. Yet he felt at once that that was not the only cause of his uneasiness; there was something requiring immediate decision, but it was something he could not clearly understand or put into words. It was a hopeless tangle. “No, better the struggle again! Better Porfiry again... or Svidrigaïlov.... Better some challenge again... some attack. Yes, yes!” he thought. He went out of the tavern and rushed away almost at a run. The thought of Dounia and his mother suddenly reduced him almost to a panic. That night he woke up before morning among some bushes in Krestovsky Island, trembling all over with fever; he walked home, and it was early morning when he arrived. After some hours’ sleep the fever left him, but he woke up late, two o’clock in the afternoon.

Sonia said nothing. Raskolnikov squeezed her hand and left. He felt miserable. If he could have escaped somewhere to be alone, he would have considered himself lucky, even for the rest of his life. But although he had been by himself almost all the time lately, he had never been able to feel alone. Sometimes he walked out of town onto the main road. Once he had even reached a small wood. But the more deserted the place, the more he seemed to sense an unsettling presence near him. It did not frighten him, but it annoyed him greatly. So he hurried back to town to mingle with the crowd, go into restaurants and taverns, and walk along busy streets. There he felt more comfortable and even more alone. One day at dusk, he sat in a tavern for an hour, listening to songs. He remembered that he had actually enjoyed it. But then he had suddenly felt the same uneasiness again, as if his conscience were troubling him. “Here I am, listening to singing. Is that what I should be doing?” he thought. Yet he immediately felt that this was not the only cause of his uneasiness. Something needed an immediate decision, but he could not clearly understand it or put it into words. It was a hopeless tangle. “No, better to struggle again! Better Porfiry again... or Svidrigaïlov.... Better some challenge again... some attack. Yes, yes!” he thought. He left the tavern and hurried away, almost running. The thought of Dounia and his mother suddenly brought him close to panic. That night, before morning, he woke among some bushes on Krestovsky Island, trembling all over with fever. He walked home and arrived early in the morning. After a few hours of sleep, the fever left him, but he woke late, at two in the afternoon.

He remembered that Katerina Ivanovna’s funeral had been fixed for that day, and was glad that he was not present at it. Nastasya brought him some food; he ate and drank with appetite, almost with greediness. His head was fresher and he was calmer than he had been for the last three days. He even felt a passing wonder at his previous attacks of panic.

He remembered that Katerina Ivanovna’s funeral was scheduled for that day and was glad he wasn’t there. Nastasya brought him some food. He ate and drank eagerly, almost greedily. His head felt clearer, and he was calmer than he had been for the past three days. He even wondered briefly at his earlier bouts of panic.

The door opened and Razumihin came in.

The door opened, and Razumihin came in.

“Ah, he’s eating, then he’s not ill,” said Razumihin. He took a chair and sat down at the table opposite Raskolnikov.

“Ah, he’s eating, so he’s not sick,” said Razumihin. He pulled up a chair and sat at the table across from Raskolnikov.

He was troubled and did not attempt to conceal it. He spoke with evident annoyance, but without hurry or raising his voice. He looked as though he had some special fixed determination.

He was troubled and made no attempt to hide it. He spoke with clear annoyance, but he didn't rush or raise his voice. He looked as though he was firmly set on something.

“Listen,” he began resolutely. “As far as I am concerned, you may all go to hell, but from what I see, it’s clear to me that I can’t make head or tail of it; please don’t think I’ve come to ask you questions. I don’t want to know, hang it! If you begin telling me your secrets, I dare say I shouldn’t stay to listen, I should go away cursing. I have only come to find out once for all whether it’s a fact that you are mad? There is a conviction in the air that you are mad or very nearly so. I admit I’ve been disposed to that opinion myself, judging from your stupid, repulsive and quite inexplicable actions, and from your recent behavior to your mother and sister. Only a monster or a madman could treat them as you have; so you must be mad.”

“Listen,” he began firmly. “As far as I’m concerned, you can all go to hell. But from what I can see, I can’t make sense of it. Please don’t think I’ve come to ask you questions. I don’t want to know, damn it! If you start telling me your secrets, I doubt I’d stay to listen. I’d leave cursing. I’ve only come to find out once and for all if you really are mad. People are convinced that you’re mad, or very nearly so. I admit I’ve been inclined to think so myself. Your actions have been stupid, repulsive, and completely inexplicable. And there’s the way you’ve treated your mother and sister lately. Only a monster or a madman could treat them as you have. So you must be mad.”

“When did you see them last?”

“When did you last see them?”

“Just now. Haven’t you seen them since then? What have you been doing with yourself? Tell me, please. I’ve been to you three times already. Your mother has been seriously ill since yesterday. She had made up her mind to come to you; Avdotya Romanovna tried to prevent her; she wouldn’t hear a word. ‘If he is ill, if his mind is giving way, who can look after him like his mother?’ she said. We all came here together, we couldn’t let her come alone all the way. We kept begging her to be calm. We came in, you weren’t here; she sat down, and stayed ten minutes, while we stood waiting in silence. She got up and said: ‘If he’s gone out, that is, if he is well, and has forgotten his mother, it’s humiliating and unseemly for his mother to stand at his door begging for kindness.’ She returned home and took to her bed; now she is in a fever. ‘I see,’ she said, ‘that he has time for his girl.’ She means by your girl Sofya Semyonovna, your betrothed or your mistress, I don’t know. I went at once to Sofya Semyonovna’s, for I wanted to know what was going on. I looked round, I saw the coffin, the children crying, and Sofya Semyonovna trying them on mourning dresses. No sign of you. I apologised, came away, and reported to Avdotya Romanovna. So that’s all nonsense and you haven’t got a girl; the most likely thing is that you are mad. But here you sit, guzzling boiled beef as though you’d not had a bite for three days. Though as far as that goes, madmen eat too, but though you have not said a word to me yet... you are not mad! That I’d swear! Above all, you are not mad! So you may go to hell, all of you, for there’s some mystery, some secret about it, and I don’t intend to worry my brains over your secrets. So I’ve simply come to swear at you,” he finished, getting up, “to relieve my mind. And I know what to do now.”

“Just now. Haven’t you seen them since then? What have you been doing? Please, tell me. I’ve been to see you three times already. Your mother has been seriously ill since yesterday. She was determined to come to you. Avdotya Romanovna tried to stop her, but she wouldn’t listen. ‘If he’s ill, if his mind is giving way, who can look after him like his mother?’ she said. We all came here together because we couldn’t let her come all this way alone. We kept begging her to stay calm. We came in, but you weren’t here. She sat down and stayed for ten minutes, while we stood waiting in silence. Then she got up and said: ‘If he’s gone out, that means he’s well and has forgotten his mother. It’s humiliating and improper for his mother to stand at his door begging for kindness.’ She went home and took to her bed. Now she has a fever. “‘I see,’ she said, ‘that he has time for his girl.’ By your girl she means Sofya Semyonovna. She thinks Sofya Semyonovna is your fiancée or your mistress, I don’t know which. I went straight to Sofya Semyonovna’s because I wanted to know what was going on. I looked around and saw the coffin and the children crying. Sofya Semyonovna was trying mourning dresses on the children. There was no sign of you. I apologized, left, and told Avdotya Romanovna what I’d seen. “So that’s all nonsense, and you don’t have a girl. Most likely, you’re mad. But here you sit, stuffing yourself with boiled beef as if you hadn’t eaten for three days. Though madmen eat too. Still, even though you haven’t said a word to me yet... you’re not mad! I’d swear to it! Above all, you’re not mad! So you can all go to hell. There’s some mystery, some secret behind it, and I don’t intend to rack my brains over your secrets. So I just came to curse you,” he finished, getting up, “to get it off my chest. And now I know what to do.”

“What do you mean to do now?”

“What do you plan to do now?”

“What business is it of yours what I mean to do?”

“What business is it of yours what I plan to do?”

“You are going in for a drinking bout.”

“You're going on a drinking binge.”

“How... how did you know?”

“Why, it’s pretty plain.”

“Well, it’s pretty obvious.”

Razumihin paused for a minute.

“You always have been a very rational person and you’ve never been mad, never,” he observed suddenly with warmth. “You’re right: I shall drink. Good-bye!”

“You’ve always been a very rational person, and you’ve never been crazy, never,” he said suddenly and warmly. “You’re right. I’ll drink. Goodbye!”

And he moved to go out.

And he started to leave.

“I was talking with my sister—the day before yesterday, I think it was—about you, Razumihin.”

“I was talking with my sister about you, Razumihin. I think it was the day before yesterday.”

“About me! But... where can you have seen her the day before yesterday?” Razumihin stopped short and even turned a little pale.

“About me! But... where did you see her the day before yesterday?” Razumihin stopped suddenly and even turned a little pale.

One could see that his heart was throbbing slowly and violently.

You could see his heart beating slowly and violently.

“She came here by herself, sat there and talked to me.”

“She came here by herself, sat there, and talked to me.”

“She did!”

“Yes.”

“What did you say to her... I mean, about me?”

“I told her you were a very good, honest, and industrious man. I didn’t tell her you love her, because she knows that herself.”

“I told her you were a very good, honest, and hardworking man. I didn’t tell her you love her, because she already knows that.”

“She knows that herself?”

“Does she know that herself?”

“Well, it’s pretty plain. Wherever I might go, whatever happened to me, you would remain to look after them. I, so to speak, give them into your keeping, Razumihin. I say this because I know quite well how you love her, and am convinced of the purity of your heart. I know that she too may love you and perhaps does love you already. Now decide for yourself, as you know best, whether you need go in for a drinking bout or not.”

“Well, it’s pretty clear. Wherever I go, whatever happens to me, you’ll stay and look after them. I’m entrusting them to your care, so to speak, Razumihin. I say this because I know very well how much you love her. I’m also convinced that your heart is pure. I know she may love you too, and perhaps she already does. Now decide for yourself whether you need to go on a drinking binge. You know best.”

“Rodya! You see... well.... Ach, damn it! But where do you mean to go? Of course, if it’s all a secret, never mind.... But I... I shall find out the secret... and I am sure that it must be some ridiculous nonsense and that you’ve made it all up. Anyway you are a capital fellow, a capital fellow!...”

“Rodya! You see... well.... Oh, damn it! But where are you planning to go? Of course, if it’s all a secret, never mind.... But I... I’ll find out the secret... and I’m sure it’s some ridiculous nonsense you’ve made up. Anyway, you’re a great fellow, a great fellow!...”

“That was just what I wanted to add, only you interrupted, that that was a very good decision of yours not to find out these secrets. Leave it to time, don’t worry about it. You’ll know it all in time when it must be. Yesterday a man said to me that what a man needs is fresh air, fresh air, fresh air. I mean to go to him directly to find out what he meant by that.”

“That’s just what I wanted to add before you interrupted. You made a very good decision not to find out those secrets. Leave it to time, and don’t worry about it. You’ll know everything when the time comes. Yesterday a man told me that what a person needs is fresh air, fresh air, fresh air. I’m going straight to him to find out what he meant by that.”

Razumihin stood lost in thought and excitement, making a silent conclusion.

Razumihin stood there, lost in thought and excitement, silently drawing a conclusion.

“He’s a political conspirator! He must be. And he’s on the eve of some desperate step, that’s certain. It can only be that! And... and Dounia knows,” he thought suddenly.

“He’s a political conspirator! He must be. And he’s about to do something desperate, that’s certain. It can only be that! And... and Dounia knows,” he thought suddenly.

“So Avdotya Romanovna comes to see you,” he said, weighing each syllable, “and you’re going to see a man who says we need more air, and so of course that letter... that too must have something to do with it,” he concluded to himself.

“So Avdotya Romanovna comes to see you,” he said, choosing each word carefully. “And you’re going to see a man who says we need more air. So of course that letter... that must have something to do with it too,” he concluded to himself.

“What letter?”

“She got a letter to-day. It upset her very much—very much indeed. Too much so. I began speaking of you, she begged me not to. Then... then she said that perhaps we should very soon have to part... then she began warmly thanking me for something; then she went to her room and locked herself in.”

“She got a letter today. It upset her very much. Too much, in fact. I started talking about you, but she begged me not to. Then... then she said that perhaps we would have to part very soon... then she thanked me warmly for something. Then she went to her room and locked herself in.”

“She got a letter?” Raskolnikov asked thoughtfully.

“Yes, and you didn’t know? hm...”

“Yes, and you didn’t know? Hmm...”

They were both silent.

“Good-bye, Rodion. There was a time, brother, when I.... Never mind, good-bye. You see, there was a time.... Well, good-bye! I must be off too. I am not going to drink. There’s no need now.... That’s all stuff!”

“Goodbye, Rodion. There was a time, brother, when I.... Never mind, goodbye. You see, there was a time.... Well, goodbye! I have to go too. I’m not going to drink. There’s no need now.... It’s all nonsense!”

He hurried out; but when he had almost closed the door behind him, he suddenly opened it again, and said, looking away:

He hurried out. But just as he was about to close the door behind him, he suddenly opened it again. Looking away, he said:

“Oh, by the way, do you remember that murder, you know Porfiry’s, that old woman? Do you know the murderer has been found, he has confessed and given the proofs. It’s one of those very workmen, the painter, only fancy! Do you remember I defended them here? Would you believe it, all that scene of fighting and laughing with his companion on the stairs while the porter and the two witnesses were going up, he got up on purpose to disarm suspicion. The cunning, the presence of mind of the young dog! One can hardly credit it; but it’s his own explanation, he has confessed it all. And what a fool I was about it! Well, he’s simply a genius of hypocrisy and resourcefulness in disarming the suspicions of the lawyers—so there’s nothing much to wonder at, I suppose! Of course people like that are always possible. And the fact that he couldn’t keep up the character, but confessed, makes him easier to believe in. But what a fool I was! I was frantic on their side!”

“Oh, by the way, do you remember that murder, the old woman in Porfiry’s case? The murderer has been found. He confessed and gave proof. It was one of those very workers, the painter. Imagine that! Do you remember how I defended them here? Would you believe he staged that whole scene on the stairs to throw off suspicion? He fought and laughed with his companion while the porter and the two witnesses were coming up. What a cunning young devil, and what presence of mind! It’s almost impossible to believe, but that’s his own explanation. He’s confessed everything. And what a fool I was about it! Well, he’s a genius at deception and finding ways to throw the lawyers off his trail. So I suppose there’s not much to be surprised about! Of course, people like that can always exist. And the fact that he couldn’t keep up the act, but confessed, makes him easier to believe in. But what a fool I was! I defended them like crazy!”

“Tell me, please, from whom did you hear that, and why does it interest you so?” Raskolnikov asked with unmistakable agitation.

“Please tell me, who did you hear that from? And why are you so interested?” Raskolnikov asked, clearly agitated.

“What next? You ask me why it interests me!... Well, I heard it from Porfiry, among others... It was from him I heard almost all about it.”

“What now? You ask why it interests me! Well, I heard about it from Porfiry and others... I heard almost everything about it from him.”

“From Porfiry?”

“From Porfiry.”

“What... what did he say?” Raskolnikov asked in dismay.

“What... what did he say?” Raskolnikov asked, dismayed.

“He gave me a capital explanation of it. Psychologically, after his fashion.”

“He gave me an excellent explanation of it. A psychological one, in his own way.”

“He explained it? Explained it himself?”

“He explained it? He explained it himself?”

“Yes, yes; good-bye. I’ll tell you all about it another time, but now I’m busy. There was a time when I fancied... But no matter, another time!... What need is there for me to drink now? You have made me drunk without wine. I am drunk, Rodya! Good-bye, I’m going. I’ll come again very soon.”

“Yes, yes, goodbye. I’ll tell you all about it another time, but I’m busy now. There was a time when I thought... But never mind, another time! Why should I drink now? You’ve made me drunk without wine. I’m drunk, Rodya! Goodbye, I’m going. I’ll come back very soon.”

He went out.

“He’s a political conspirator, there’s not a doubt about it,” Razumihin decided, as he slowly descended the stairs. “And he’s drawn his sister in; that’s quite, quite in keeping with Avdotya Romanovna’s character. There are interviews between them!... She hinted at it too... So many of her words.... and hints... bear that meaning! And how else can all this tangle be explained? Hm! And I was almost thinking... Good heavens, what I thought! Yes, I took leave of my senses and I wronged him! It was his doing, under the lamp in the corridor that day. Pfoo! What a crude, nasty, vile idea on my part! Nikolay is a brick, for confessing.... And how clear it all is now! His illness then, all his strange actions... before this, in the university, how morose he used to be, how gloomy.... But what’s the meaning now of that letter? There’s something in that, too, perhaps. Whom was it from? I suspect...! No, I must find out!”

“He’s a political conspirator, there’s no doubt about it,” Razumihin decided as he slowly went down the stairs. “And he’s drawn his sister into it. That’s exactly like Avdotya Romanovna. They’ve been meeting in private!... She hinted at it too... So many of her words and hints... point to that! How else can this whole mess be explained? Hm! And I almost thought... Good heavens, what was I thinking! Yes, I lost my senses and judged him wrongly! I thought he did it, that day under the lamp in the corridor. Pfoo! What a crude, nasty, vile idea! Nikolay is a fine fellow for confessing.... And how clear it all is now! His illness then, all his strange behavior... and before that, at the university, how sullen and gloomy he used to be.... But what does that letter mean? Perhaps there’s something in that too. Who was it from? I suspect...! No, I must find out!”

He thought of Dounia, realising all he had heard and his heart throbbed, and he suddenly broke into a run.

He thought of Dounia and realized the full meaning of all he had heard. His heart pounded, and he suddenly began to run.

As soon as Razumihin went out, Raskolnikov got up, turned to the window, walked into one corner and then into another, as though forgetting the smallness of his room, and sat down again on the sofa. He felt, so to speak, renewed; again the struggle, so a means of escape had come.

As soon as Razumihin left, Raskolnikov got up and turned to the window. He walked from one corner to another, as if forgetting how small his room was. Then he sat down on the sofa again. He felt, in a way, renewed. The struggle had begun again, and so a way of escape had come.

“Yes, a means of escape had come! It had been too stifling, too cramping, the burden had been too agonising. A lethargy had come upon him at times. From the moment of the scene with Nikolay at Porfiry’s he had been suffocating, penned in without hope of escape. After Nikolay’s confession, on that very day had come the scene with Sonia; his behaviour and his last words had been utterly unlike anything he could have imagined beforehand; he had grown feebler, instantly and fundamentally! And he had agreed at the time with Sonia, he had agreed in his heart he could not go on living alone with such a thing on his mind!

“Yes, a way out had come! Everything had been too suffocating, too confining. The burden had been too agonizing. At times he had felt a deep weariness. Ever since the scene with Nikolay at Porfiry’s, he had been suffocating, trapped with no hope of escape. After Nikolay’s confession, he had the scene with Sonia that very same day. His behavior and his last words had been nothing like what he could have imagined beforehand. He had become weaker, instantly and fundamentally! And at the time, he had agreed with Sonia. In his heart, he had agreed that he could not go on living alone with such a thing on his mind!

“And Svidrigaïlov was a riddle... He worried him, that was true, but somehow not on the same point. He might still have a struggle to come with Svidrigaïlov. Svidrigaïlov, too, might be a means of escape; but Porfiry was a different matter.

“And Svidrigaïlov was a mystery... He did worry him, but somehow not in the same way. He might still have to struggle with Svidrigaïlov. Svidrigaïlov might also offer a way out, but Porfiry was different.

“And so Porfiry himself had explained it to Razumihin, had explained it psychologically. He had begun bringing in his damned psychology again! Porfiry? But to think that Porfiry should for one moment believe that Nikolay was guilty, after what had passed between them before Nikolay’s appearance, after that tête-à-tête interview, which could have only one explanation? (During those days Raskolnikov had often recalled passages in that scene with Porfiry; he could not bear to let his mind rest on it.) Such words, such gestures had passed between them, they had exchanged such glances, things had been said in such a tone and had reached such a pass, that Nikolay, whom Porfiry had seen through at the first word, at the first gesture, could not have shaken his conviction.

“And so Porfiry himself had explained it to Razumihin, explained it psychologically. He had started in with his damned psychology again! Porfiry? But could Porfiry really have believed for a moment that Nikolay was guilty? Not after what had passed between them before Nikolay appeared, after that private interview, which could have only one explanation? (During those days, Raskolnikov had often recalled parts of that scene with Porfiry. He could not bear to dwell on it.) So much had passed between them: words, gestures, and glances. Things had been said in such a tone, and matters had gone so far. Porfiry had seen through Nikolay at his first word, his first gesture. Nikolay could not have shaken his conviction.

“And to think that even Razumihin had begun to suspect! The scene in the corridor under the lamp had produced its effect then. He had rushed to Porfiry.... But what had induced the latter to deceive him like that? What had been his object in putting Razumihin off with Nikolay? He must have some plan; there was some design, but what was it? It was true that a long time had passed since that morning—too long a time—and no sight nor sound of Porfiry. Well, that was a bad sign....”

“And to think that even Razumihin had begun to suspect! So the scene in the corridor under the lamp had affected him. He had rushed to Porfiry.... But why had Porfiry deceived him like that? Why had he put Razumihin off with Nikolay? He must have a plan, some purpose, but what was it? A long time had passed since that morning. Too long, and still no sight or sound of Porfiry. Well, that was a bad sign....”

Raskolnikov took his cap and went out of the room, still pondering. It was the first time for a long while that he had felt clear in his mind, at least. “I must settle Svidrigaïlov,” he thought, “and as soon as possible; he, too, seems to be waiting for me to come to him of my own accord.” And at that moment there was such a rush of hate in his weary heart that he might have killed either of those two—Porfiry or Svidrigaïlov. At least he felt that he would be capable of doing it later, if not now.

Raskolnikov took his cap and left the room, still thinking. For the first time in a long while, at least, his mind felt clear. “I must deal with Svidrigaïlov,” he thought, “and as soon as possible. He, too, seems to be waiting for me to come to him of my own free will.” At that moment, such a rush of hatred filled his weary heart that he might have killed either Porfiry or Svidrigaïlov. At least he felt capable of doing it later, if not now.

“We shall see, we shall see,” he repeated to himself.

“We’ll see, we’ll see,” he repeated to himself.

But no sooner had he opened the door than he stumbled upon Porfiry himself in the passage. He was coming in to see him. Raskolnikov was dumbfounded for a minute, but only for one minute. Strange to say, he was not very much astonished at seeing Porfiry and scarcely afraid of him. He was simply startled, but was quickly, instantly, on his guard. “Perhaps this will mean the end? But how could Porfiry have approached so quietly, like a cat, so that he had heard nothing? Could he have been listening at the door?”

But as soon as he opened the door, he ran into Porfiry himself in the hallway. Porfiry was coming to see him. Raskolnikov was stunned for a moment, but only for a moment. Strangely, he was not very surprised to see Porfiry and was hardly afraid of him. He was simply startled, but instantly put himself on guard. “Perhaps this will mean the end? But how could Porfiry have come so quietly, like a cat, without him hearing anything? Could he have been listening at the door?”

“You didn’t expect a visitor, Rodion Romanovitch,” Porfiry explained, laughing. “I’ve been meaning to look in a long time; I was passing by and thought why not go in for five minutes. Are you going out? I won’t keep you long. Just let me have one cigarette.”

“You weren’t expecting a visitor, Rodion Romanovitch,” Porfiry said, laughing. “I’ve been meaning to stop by for a long time. I was passing by and thought, why not come in for five minutes? Are you going out? I won’t keep you long. Just let me have one cigarette.”

“Sit down, Porfiry Petrovitch, sit down.” Raskolnikov gave his visitor a seat with so pleased and friendly an expression that he would have marvelled at himself, if he could have seen it.

“Sit down, Porfiry Petrovitch, sit down.” Raskolnikov offered his visitor a seat with a pleased, friendly expression. If he could have seen himself, he would have been amazed.

The last moment had come, the last drops had to be drained! So a man will sometimes go through half an hour of mortal terror with a brigand, yet when the knife is at his throat at last, he feels no fear.

The last moment had come, and the last drops had to be drained! A man may spend half an hour terrified for his life while facing a robber. Yet when the knife is finally at his throat, he feels no fear.

Raskolnikov seated himself directly facing Porfiry, and looked at him without flinching. Porfiry screwed up his eyes and began lighting a cigarette.

Raskolnikov sat down directly across from Porfiry and looked at him without flinching. Porfiry squinted and began lighting a cigarette.

“Speak, speak,” seemed as though it would burst from Raskolnikov’s heart. “Come, why don’t you speak?”

“Speak, speak,” seemed ready to burst from Raskolnikov’s heart. “Come on, why don’t you speak?”