Part 2

Chapter 7

30 min

An elegant carriage stood in the middle of the road with a pair of spirited grey horses; there was no one in it, and the coachman had got off 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. One of them held a lighted lantern which he was turning on something lying close to the wheels. Everyone was talking, shouting, exclaiming; the coachman seemed at a loss and kept repeating:

An elegant carriage stood in the middle of the road, drawn by two spirited gray horses. The carriage was empty. The coachman had climbed down from his seat and stood beside it. Someone was holding the horses by their bridles.... A crowd had gathered around, with police standing in front. One officer held a lit lantern, shining it on something lying close to the wheels. Everyone was talking, shouting, and calling out. The coachman seemed confused and kept repeating:

“What a misfortune! Good Lord, what a misfortune!”

“What a disaster! Good Lord, what a disaster!”

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

Raskolnikov pushed his way as far in as he could. At last, he saw what had caused the commotion. A man who had been run over lay on the ground, apparently unconscious and covered in blood. He was very poorly dressed, but not like a worker. Blood flowed from his head and face. His face was crushed, mutilated, and disfigured. He was clearly badly injured.

“Merciful heaven!” wailed the coachman, “what more could I do? If I’d been 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 everybody else. A drunken man can’t walk straight, we all know.... I saw him crossing the street, staggering and almost falling. I shouted again and a second and a third time, then I held the horses in, but he fell straight under their feet! Either he did it on purpose or he was very tipsy.... The horses are young and ready to take fright... they started, he screamed... that made them worse. That’s how it happened!”

“Merciful heaven!” cried the coachman. “What else could I have done? If I’d been driving fast or hadn’t shouted to him, but I was driving slowly, in no hurry. Everyone could see I was going along just like everyone else. We all know a drunk man can’t walk straight.... I saw him crossing the street, staggering and almost falling. I shouted again, then a second and third time. Then I reined in the horses, but he fell right under their feet! Either he did it on purpose or he was very drunk.... The horses are young and easily frightened. They startled, and he screamed. That frightened them even more. That’s how it happened!”

“That’s just how it was,” a voice in the crowd confirmed.

“That’s exactly how it happened,” a voice in the crowd confirmed.

“He shouted, that’s true, he shouted three times,” another voice declared.

“He shouted, that’s true. He shouted three times,” another voice said.

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

“It was three times, we all heard it,” shouted a third person.

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

But the coachman was not very upset or frightened. The carriage clearly belonged to a rich and important person who was waiting for it somewhere. The police, of course, were quite anxious not to disrupt his plans. All they had to do was take the injured man to the police station and the hospital. No one knew his name.

Meanwhile Raskolnikov had squeezed in and stooped closer over him. The lantern suddenly lighted up the unfortunate man’s face. He recognised him.

Meanwhile, Raskolnikov squeezed in and bent closer over the man. The lantern suddenly lit up the unfortunate man’s face. Raskolnikov recognized him.

“I know him! I know him!” he shouted, pushing to the front. “It’s a government clerk retired from the service, Marmeladov. He lives close by in Kozel’s house.... Make haste for a doctor! I will pay, see?” He pulled money out of his pocket and showed it to the policeman. He was in violent agitation.

“I know him! I know him!” he shouted, pushing his way to the front. “He’s a retired government clerk, Marmeladov. He lives nearby in Kozel’s house.... Hurry and get a doctor! I’ll pay, see?” He pulled money from his pocket and showed it to the policeman. He was terribly agitated.

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 it had been his father, he besought the police to carry the unconscious Marmeladov to his lodging at once.

The police were glad to learn who the man was. Raskolnikov gave them his name and address. He begged them to carry the unconscious Marmeladov home at once, as earnestly as if Marmeladov were his own father.

“Just here, three houses away,” he said eagerly, “the house belongs to Kozel, 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 one daughter.... It will take time to take him to the hospital, and there is sure to be a doctor in the house. I’ll pay, I’ll pay! At least he will be looked after at home... they will help him at once. But he’ll die before you get him to the hospital.” He managed to slip something unseen into the policeman’s hand. But the thing was straightforward and legitimate, and in any case help was closer here. They raised the injured man; people volunteered to help.

“Right here, three houses away,” he said eagerly. “The house belongs to Kozel, a rich German. He was going home, probably drunk. I know him. He’s a drunkard. His family lives there. He has a wife, children, a daughter.... It will take time to get him to the hospital, and there’s sure to be a doctor in the house. I’ll pay, I’ll pay! At least he’ll be looked after at home... they’ll help him right away. But he’ll die before you get him to the hospital.” He managed to slip something into the policeman’s hand without being seen. But the matter was straightforward and legitimate, and in any case, help was closer here. They lifted the injured man, and people offered 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. Turn round! I’ll pay, I’ll make it worth your while,” he muttered.

“This way, this way! We have to carry him upstairs head first. Turn around! I’ll pay you. I’ll make it worth your while,” he muttered.

Katerina Ivanovna had just begun, as she always did at every free moment, walking to and fro in her little room from window to stove and back again, with her arms folded across her chest, talking to herself and coughing. Of late she had begun to talk more than ever to her eldest girl, Polenka, a child of ten, who, though there was much she did not understand, understood very well that her mother needed her, and so always watched her with her big clever eyes and strove her utmost to appear to understand. This time Polenka was undressing her little brother, who had been unwell all day and was going to bed. The boy was waiting 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—heels together and toes turned out.

Katerina Ivanovna had just begun pacing around her little room, as she always did whenever she had a free moment. She walked from the window to the stove and back again, her arms folded across her chest, talking to herself and coughing. Lately, she had begun talking more than ever to her eldest daughter, Polenka, who was ten. Though there was much Polenka did not understand, she knew very well that her mother needed her. So she always watched her with her big, clever eyes and tried her best to look as though she understood. This time, Polenka was undressing her little brother. He had been ill all day and was going to bed. He was waiting for her to take off his shirt, which had to be washed that night. He sat straight and still on a chair, silent and serious, with his legs stretched out in front of him, his heels together and his toes turned out.

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

He listened to what his mother was saying to his sister. He sat perfectly still, his lips pouting and his eyes wide open, just as all good little boys must sit when they are undressed for bed. An even younger girl, dressed in nothing but rags, stood by the screen, waiting for her turn. The door to the stairs was open to give them some relief from the clouds of tobacco smoke drifting in from the other rooms. The smoke brought on long, terrible coughing fits in the poor woman, who had tuberculosis. Katerina Ivanovna seemed to have grown even thinner that week, and the feverish flush on her face was brighter than ever.

“You wouldn’t believe, you can’t imagine, Polenka,” she said, walking about the room, “what a happy luxurious life we had in my papa’s house and 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 that everyone who came to see him said, ‘We look upon you, Ivan Mihailovitch, as our governor!’ When I... when...” she coughed violently, “oh, cursed life,” she cried, clearing her throat and pressing her hands to her breast, “when I... when at the last ball... at the marshal’s... Princess Bezzemelny saw me—who gave me the blessing when your father and I were married, Polenka—she asked at once ‘Isn’t that the pretty girl who danced the shawl dance at the breaking-up?’ (You must mend that tear, you must take your needle and darn it as I showed you, or to-morrow—cough, cough, cough—he will make the hole bigger,” she articulated with effort.) “Prince Schegolskoy, a kammerjunker, had just come from Petersburg then... he danced the mazurka with me and wanted to make me an offer next day; but I thanked him in flattering expressions and told him that my heart had long been another’s. That other was your father, Polya; papa was fearfully angry.... Is the water ready? Give me the shirt, and the stockings! Lida,” said she to the youngest one, “you must manage without your chemise to-night... and lay your stockings out with it... I’ll wash them together.... How is it that drunken vagabond doesn’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 to work 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 are they bringing? Mercy on us!”

“You wouldn’t believe it, Polenka. You can’t imagine what a happy, luxurious life we had in my papa’s house,” she said, walking around the room. “And you can’t imagine how this drunkard has ruined me, and will ruin you all! Papa was a civil colonel and only one step away from becoming a governor. Everyone who visited him said, ‘We look on you as our governor, Ivan Mihailovitch!’ When I... when...” She coughed violently. “Oh, cursed life!” she cried, clearing her throat and pressing her hands to her chest. “When I... when I was at the last ball at the marshal’s... Princess Bezzemelny saw me. She was the one who blessed your father and me when we married, Polenka. She asked at once, ‘Isn’t that the pretty girl who danced the shawl dance at the school closing ceremony?’ (You must mend that tear. Take your needle and darn it as I showed you, or tomorrow, cough, cough, cough, he’ll make the hole bigger,” she said with effort.) “Prince Schegolskoy, a kammerjunker, had just come from Petersburg then... He danced the mazurka with me and wanted to propose the next day. But I thanked him graciously and told him my heart had long belonged to someone else. That someone was your father, Polya. Papa was terribly angry.... Is the water ready? Give me the shirt and the stockings! Lida,” she said to the youngest child, “you’ll have to go without your chemise tonight... and put your stockings with it... I’ll wash them together.... Why hasn’t that drunken vagabond come home? He’s worn his shirt until it looks like a dishcloth. He’s torn it to rags! I’d wash everything together, so I wouldn’t have to work two nights in a row! Oh, dear! (Cough, cough, cough, cough!) Again! What’s this?” she cried, noticing a crowd in the passage and the men pushing into her room, carrying a burden. “What is it? What are they bringing? Mercy on us!”

“Where are we to put him?” asked the policeman, looking round when Marmeladov, unconscious and covered with blood, had been carried in.

“Where should we put him?” asked the policeman, looking around. Marmeladov had been carried in, unconscious and covered in blood.

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

“On the sofa! Put him right on the sofa, with his head this way.” Raskolnikov showed him where.

“Run over in the road! Drunk!” someone shouted in the passage.

“Run over in the road! Drunk!” someone shouted in the hallway.

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

Katerina Ivanovna stood there, turning pale and gasping for breath. The children were terrified. Little Lida screamed, ran to Polenka, and clung to her, trembling all over.

Having laid Marmeladov down, Raskolnikov flew to Katerina Ivanovna.

After laying Marmeladov down, Raskolnikov rushed to Katerina Ivanovna.

“For God’s sake be calm, don’t be frightened!” he said, speaking quickly, “he was crossing the road and was run over by a carriage, don’t be frightened, he will come to, I told them to bring him here... I’ve been here already, you remember? He will come to; I’ll pay!”

“For God’s sake, stay calm. Don’t be frightened!” he said quickly. “He was crossing the road when a carriage ran over him. Don’t be frightened. He’ll come around. I told them to bring him here... I’ve been here before, remember? He’ll come around. I’ll pay!”

“He’s done it this time!” Katerina Ivanovna cried despairingly and she rushed to her husband.

“He’s done it this time!” Katerina Ivanovna cried in despair. She rushed to her husband.

Raskolnikov noticed at once that she was not one of those women who swoon easily. She instantly placed under the luckless man’s head a pillow, which no one had thought of and began undressing and examining him. She kept her head, forgetting herself, biting her trembling lips and stifling the screams which were ready to break from her.

Raskolnikov saw at once that she was not one of those women who faint easily. She immediately put a pillow under the unfortunate man’s head. No one else had thought of it. Then she began undressing and examining him. She kept her head and forgot about herself, biting her trembling lips and holding back the screams ready to burst from her.

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

Meanwhile, Raskolnikov persuaded someone to run for a doctor. Apparently, there was a doctor two doors away.

“I’ve sent for a doctor,” he kept assuring Katerina Ivanovna, “don’t be uneasy, 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, believe me.... We shall see what the doctor says!”

“I’ve sent for a doctor,” he kept assuring Katerina Ivanovna. “Don’t worry, I’ll pay. Don’t you have any water?... And give me a napkin or a towel, anything, as quickly as you can.... He’s injured, but he’s not dead, believe me.... We’ll see what the doctor says!”

Katerina Ivanovna ran to the window; there, on a broken chair in the corner, a large earthenware basin full of water had been stood, in readiness for washing her children’s and husband’s linen that night. This washing was done by Katerina Ivanovna at night at least twice a week, if not oftener. For the family had come to such a pass that they were practically without change of linen, and Katerina Ivanovna could not endure uncleanliness and, rather than see dirt in the house, she preferred to wear herself out at night, working beyond her strength when the rest were asleep, so as to get the wet linen hung on a line and dry by the morning. She took up the basin of water at Raskolnikov’s request, but almost fell down with her burden. But the latter had already succeeded in finding a towel, wetted it and begun washing the blood off Marmeladov’s face.

Katerina Ivanovna ran to the window. In the corner stood a broken chair with a large earthenware basin full of water on it. The water was ready for washing her children’s and husband’s linen that night. Katerina Ivanovna did this washing at night at least twice a week, if not more often. The family had become so poor that they had practically no clean linen to change into. Katerina Ivanovna could not bear uncleanliness. Rather than see dirt in the house, she wore herself out working at night while the others slept. She worked beyond her strength so she could hang the wet linen on a line to dry by morning. At Raskolnikov’s request, she picked up the basin of water, but almost fell under its weight. Raskolnikov, meanwhile, had already found a towel. He wet it and began washing the blood from Marmeladov’s face.

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

Katerina Ivanovna stood nearby, breathing painfully and pressing her hands to her chest. She needed attention herself. Raskolnikov began to realize that he might have made a mistake by having the injured man brought here. The policeman stood there hesitating too.

“Polenka,” cried Katerina Ivanovna, “run to Sonia, make haste. If you don’t find her at home, leave word that her father has been run over and that she is to come here at once... when she comes in. Run, Polenka! there, put on the shawl.”

“Polenka,” cried Katerina Ivanovna, “run to Sonia. Hurry! If she isn’t home, leave a message for her. Tell her that her father has been run over and that she must come here at once... when she gets home. Run, Polenka! Here, put on the shawl.”

“Run your fastest!” cried the little boy on the chair suddenly, after which he relapsed into the same dumb rigidity, with round eyes, his heels thrust forward and his toes spread out.

“Run as fast as you can!” the little boy on the chair suddenly cried. Then he fell silent and stiff again, his eyes wide, his heels thrust forward and his toes spread out.

Meanwhile the room had become so full of people that you couldn’t have dropped a pin. The policemen left, all except one, who remained for a time, trying to drive out the people who came in from the stairs. Almost all Madame Lippevechsel’s lodgers had streamed in from the inner rooms of the flat; at first they were squeezed together in the doorway, but afterwards they overflowed into the room. Katerina Ivanovna flew into a fury.

Meanwhile, the room had become so crowded that you couldn’t have dropped a pin. All the policemen left except one. He stayed for a while, trying to drive out the people coming in from the stairs. Almost all of Madame Lippevechsel’s lodgers had streamed in from the inner rooms of the apartment. At first they squeezed together in the doorway, but then they spilled into the room. Katerina Ivanovna flew into a fury.

“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 his hat!... Get away! You should respect the dead, at least!”

“You could at least let him die in peace,” she shouted at the crowd. “Is this a show for you to stare at? And you have cigarettes! (Cough, cough, cough!) You might as well keep your hats on.... And there’s someone wearing his hat!... Get away! You should at least respect the dead!”

Her cough choked her—but her reproaches were not without result. They evidently stood in some awe of Katerina Ivanovna. The lodgers, one after another, squeezed back into the doorway with that strange inner feeling of satisfaction which may be observed in the presence of a sudden accident, even in those nearest and dearest to the victim, from which no living man is exempt, even in spite of the sincerest sympathy and compassion.

Her cough choked her, but her scolding had an effect. The lodgers were evidently somewhat in awe of Katerina Ivanovna. One by one, they squeezed back into the doorway. They felt that strange inner satisfaction people can feel when a sudden accident happens, even those closest to the victim. No one is free from that feeling, even when their sympathy and compassion are most sincere.

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

However, voices outside could be heard talking about the hospital. They said they had no right to cause a disturbance here.

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

“No right to die!” cried Katerina Ivanovna. She rushed to the door to unleash her anger on them, but came face to face with Madame Lippevechsel in the doorway. Madame Lippevechsel had just heard about the accident and had rushed in to restore order. She was a particularly quarrelsome and irresponsible German.

“Ah, my God!” she cried, clasping her hands, “your husband drunken horses have trampled! To the hospital with him! I am the landlady!”

“Oh, my God!” she cried, clasping her hands. “Your drunk husband has been trampled by horses! Take him to the hospital! I’m the landlady!”

“Amalia Ludwigovna, I beg you to recollect what you are saying,” Katerina Ivanovna began haughtily (she always took a haughty tone with the landlady that she might “remember her place” and even now could not deny herself this satisfaction). “Amalia Ludwigovna...”

“Amalia Ludwigovna, please think about what you’re saying,” Katerina Ivanovna began haughtily. (She always spoke haughtily to the landlady so she would “remember her place.” Even now, Katerina Ivanovna could not deny herself that satisfaction.) “Amalia Ludwigovna...”

“I have you once before told that you to call me Amalia Ludwigovna may not dare; I am Amalia Ivanovna.”

“I have told you before, don't you dare call me Amalia Ludwigovna. I am Amalia Ivanovna.”

“You are not Amalia Ivanovna, but Amalia Ludwigovna, and as I am not one of your despicable flatterers like Mr. Lebeziatnikov, who’s laughing behind the door at this moment (a laugh and a cry of ‘they are at it again’ was in fact audible at the door) so I shall always call you Amalia Ludwigovna, though I fail to understand why you dislike that name. 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 knew me as a girl; he remembers Semyon Zaharovitch well and has often been a benefactor to him. Everyone knows that Semyon Zaharovitch had many friends and protectors, whom he abandoned himself from an honourable pride, knowing his unhappy weakness, but now (she pointed to Raskolnikov) a generous young man has come to our assistance, who has wealth and connections and whom Semyon Zaharovitch has known from a child. You may rest assured, Amalia Ludwigovna...”

“You are not Amalia Ivanovna, but Amalia Ludwigovna. I am not one of your despicable flatterers, like Mr. Lebeziatnikov, who is laughing behind the door right now.” (A laugh and a cry of ‘they are at it again’ could indeed be heard at the door.) “So I will always call you Amalia Ludwigovna, though I don’t understand why you dislike the name. You can see for yourself what has happened to Semyon Zaharovitch. He is dying. I beg you to close that door at once and let no one in. Let him at least die in peace! Otherwise, I warn you, the Governor-General himself will be told about your conduct tomorrow. “The prince knew me as a girl. He remembers Semyon Zaharovitch well and has often helped him. Everyone knows that Semyon Zaharovitch had many friends and protectors. He left them of his own accord, out of honorable pride, because he knew his unfortunate weakness. But now” (she pointed to Raskolnikov) “a generous young man has come to help us. He has wealth and connections, and Semyon Zaharovitch has known him since he was a child. 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 that instant the dying man recovered consciousness and uttered a groan; she ran to him. The injured man opened his eyes and without recognition or understanding gazed at Raskolnikov who was bending over him. He drew deep, slow, painful breaths; blood oozed at the corners of his mouth and drops of perspiration came out on his forehead. Not recognising Raskolnikov, he began looking round uneasily. Katerina Ivanovna looked at him with a sad but stern face, and tears trickled from her eyes.

Katerina Ivanovna said all this very rapidly, speaking faster and faster. But a cough suddenly cut her short. At that moment, the dying man regained consciousness and groaned. She ran to him. He opened his eyes and gazed at Raskolnikov, who was leaning over him. He did not recognize him or understand what was happening. He took deep, slow, painful breaths. Blood seeped from the corners of his mouth, and drops of sweat appeared on his forehead. Not recognizing Raskolnikov, he began looking around uneasily. Katerina Ivanovna looked at him with a sad but stern expression, and tears ran down her face.

“My God! His whole chest is crushed! How he is bleeding,” she said in despair. “We must take off his clothes. Turn a little, Semyon Zaharovitch, if you can,” she cried to him.

“My God! His whole chest is crushed! He’s bleeding so much,” she said in despair. “We need to take off his clothes. Turn a little, Semyon Zaharovitch, if you can,” she cried to him.

Marmeladov recognised her.

Marmeladov recognized her.

“A priest,” he articulated huskily.

“A priest,” he said in a husky voice.

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

Katerina Ivanovna walked to the window and rested her head against the frame. She cried out in despair:

“Oh, cursed life!”

“Oh, what a cursed life!”

“A priest,” the dying man said again after a moment’s silence.

“A priest,” the dying man said again after a brief silence.

“They’ve gone for him,” Katerina Ivanovna shouted to him, he obeyed her shout and was silent. With sad and timid eyes he looked for her; she returned and stood by his pillow. He seemed a little easier but not for long.

“They’ve gone for him,” Katerina Ivanovna shouted to him. He obeyed her and fell silent. He looked for her with sad, timid eyes. She returned and stood by his pillow. He seemed a little more comfortable, but not for long.

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

Soon he looked at little Lida, his favorite. She was shaking in the corner, as if having a fit, and staring at him with wide, wondering eyes.

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

“A-ah,” he gestured uneasily toward her. He wanted to say something.

“What now?” cried Katerina Ivanovna.

“What now?” Katerina Ivanovna cried.

“Barefoot, barefoot!” he muttered, indicating with frenzied eyes the child’s bare feet.

“Barefoot, barefoot!” he muttered, pointing to the child’s bare feet with a frantic look in his eyes.

“Be silent,” Katerina Ivanovna cried irritably, “you know why she is barefooted.”

“Be quiet,” Katerina Ivanovna cried irritably, “you know why she’s barefoot.”

“Thank God, the doctor,” exclaimed Raskolnikov, relieved.

“Thank God, the doctor,” Raskolnikov exclaimed, relieved.

The doctor came in, a precise little old man, a German, looking about him mistrustfully; he went up to the sick man, took his pulse, carefully felt his head and with the help of Katerina Ivanovna he unbuttoned the blood-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-looking yellowish-black bruise—a cruel kick from the horse’s hoof. The doctor frowned. The policeman told him that he was caught in the wheel and turned round with it for thirty yards on the road.

The doctor came in. He was a precise little old man, a German, and he looked around distrustfully. He went up to the sick man, took his pulse, and carefully felt his head. With Katerina Ivanovna’s help, he unbuttoned the bloodstained shirt and exposed the injured man’s chest. It was cut, crushed, and broken, with several ribs fractured on the right side. On the left, just above his heart, was a large, ominous yellowish-black bruise, a cruel kick from the horse’s hoof. The doctor frowned. The policeman told him that the man had been caught in the wheel and carried around with it for thirty yards along the road.

“It’s wonderful that he has recovered consciousness,” the doctor whispered softly to Raskolnikov.

“It’s wonderful that he’s regained consciousness,” the doctor whispered 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.”

“Not the slightest chance! He’s breathing his last.... His head is badly injured, too... Hmm... I could bleed him if you like, but... it would be useless. He’s certain to die within the next five or ten minutes.”

“Better bleed him then.”

“Then you’d better bleed him.”

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

“If you like.... But I warn you, it will be completely 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 bearing the 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 his shoulders and remained.

At that moment, more footsteps were heard, and the crowd in the passage parted. The priest appeared in the doorway, carrying the sacrament. He was a small, gray-haired old man. A policeman had gone to fetch him when the accident happened. The doctor and the priest exchanged glances as they changed places. Raskolnikov begged the doctor to stay a little longer. The doctor shrugged and stayed.

All stepped back. The confession was soon over. The dying man probably understood little; he could only utter indistinct broken sounds. Katerina Ivanovna took little Lida, lifted the boy from the chair, knelt down in the corner by the stove and made the children kneel in front of her. The little girl was still trembling; but the boy, kneeling on his little bare knees, lifted his hand rhythmically, crossing himself with precision and bowed down, touching the floor with his forehead, which seemed to afford him especial satisfaction. Katerina Ivanovna bit her lips and held back her tears; she prayed, too, now and then pulling straight the boy’s shirt, and managed to cover the girl’s bare shoulders with a kerchief, which she took from the chest without rising from her knees or ceasing to pray. Meanwhile the door from the inner rooms was opened inquisitively again. In the passage the crowd of spectators from all the flats on the staircase grew denser and denser, but they did not venture beyond the threshold. A single candle-end lighted up the scene.

Everyone stepped back. The confession was soon over. The dying man probably understood little. He could only make faint, broken sounds. Katerina Ivanovna took little Lida and lifted the boy from the chair. She knelt in the corner by the stove and made the children kneel in front of her. The little girl was still trembling. But the boy knelt on his bare knees, moving his hand rhythmically as he crossed himself with care. He bowed down and touched the floor with his forehead, which seemed to give him particular satisfaction. Katerina Ivanovna bit her lips and held back her tears. She prayed, too, pulling the boy’s shirt straight now and then. Without getting up or stopping her prayers, she took a kerchief from the chest and covered the girl’s bare shoulders. Meanwhile, the door from the inner rooms opened again as someone peeked in. In the passage, the crowd of onlookers from all the flats along the staircase grew denser. But they did not dare cross the threshold. A single candle stub lit the scene.

At that moment Polenka forced her way through the crowd at the door. She came in panting from running so fast, took off her kerchief, looked for her mother, went up to her and said, “She’s coming, I met her in the street.” Her mother made her kneel beside her.

At that moment, Polenka pushed through the crowd at the door. She came in panting from running so fast and took off her headscarf. She looked for her mother, went up to her, and said, “She’s coming. I met her in the street.” 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 of the cheapest, but decked out in gutter finery of a special stamp, unmistakably betraying its shameful purpose. Sonia stopped short in the doorway and looked about her bewildered, unconscious of everything. She forgot her fourth-hand, gaudy silk dress, so unseemly here with its ridiculous long train, and her immense crinoline that filled up the whole doorway, and her light-coloured shoes, and the parasol she brought with her, though it was no use at night, and the absurd round straw hat with its flaring flame-coloured feather. Under this rakishly-tilted hat was a pale, frightened little face with lips parted and eyes staring in terror. Sonia was a small thin girl of eighteen with fair hair, rather pretty, with wonderful blue eyes. She looked intently at the bed and the priest; she too was out of breath with running. At last whispers, some words in the crowd probably, reached her. She looked down and took a step forward into the room, still keeping close to the door.

A young girl moved timidly and silently through the crowd. She looked strange in that room, surrounded by poverty, rags, death, and despair. She too wore rags, and all her clothes were cheap. But they were dressed up in a particular kind of street finery that unmistakably revealed their shameful purpose. Sonia stopped in the doorway and looked around in bewilderment, unaware of everything. She forgot her gaudy silk dress, already worn by three others, with its ridiculous long train. It was so out of place here. She forgot her enormous crinoline, which filled the whole doorway, and her light-colored shoes. She forgot the parasol she had brought, though it was useless at night. She forgot her absurd round straw hat with its bright, flame-colored feather. Beneath the hat, tilted at a jaunty angle, was a pale, frightened little face. Her lips were parted, and her eyes stared in terror. Sonia was a small, thin girl of eighteen, with fair hair. She was rather pretty, with wonderful blue eyes. She looked intently at the bed and the priest. She too was out of breath from running. At last she heard whispers, probably words spoken by someone in the crowd. She looked down and took a step into the room, still staying 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 and consolation to Katerina Ivanovna on leaving.

The service was over. Katerina Ivanovna went back to her husband. As the priest was leaving, he stepped back and turned to offer Katerina Ivanovna a few words of advice and comfort.

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

“What am I supposed to do with them?” she interrupted sharply, pointing irritably at the little ones.

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

“God is merciful. Turn to the Most High for help,” the priest began.

“Ach! He is merciful, but not to us.”

“Oh! He is merciful, but not to us.”

“That’s a sin, a sin, madam,” observed the priest, shaking his head.

“That’s a sin, a sin, madam,” said the priest, shaking his head.

“And isn’t that a sin?” cried Katerina Ivanovna, pointing to the dying man.

“And isn’t that a sin?” Katerina Ivanovna cried, pointing to the dying man.

“Perhaps those who have involuntarily caused the accident will agree to compensate you, at least for the loss of his earnings.”

“Perhaps those who accidentally caused the accident will agree to pay you, at least for his lost earnings.”

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

“You don’t understand!” cried Katerina Ivanovna, angrily waving her hand. “Why should they pay me? He was drunk and threw himself under the horses! What earnings? He brought us nothing but misery. He drank away everything we had, the drunk! He stole from us to buy drink. He ruined their lives and mine for drink! And thank God he’s dying! One less person to support!”

“You must forgive in the hour of death, that’s a sin, madam, such feelings are a great sin.”

“You must forgive at the hour of death. Those feelings are a great sin, madam.”

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. Now she flew at him almost in a frenzy.

Katerina Ivanovna was busy tending the dying man. She gave him water, wiped the blood and sweat from his head, and straightened his pillow. She had only turned away now and then to speak briefly to the priest. Now she turned on him, almost in a frenzy.

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

“Ah, father! Those are just words! Forgive him! If he hadn’t been run over, he would have come home drunk today. His only shirt would have been dirty and in rags. He would have fallen asleep like a log. And I would have spent the night soaking and rinsing his rags and the children’s clothes until dawn. Then I would have dried them by the window. As soon as it was light, I would have started mending them. That’s how I spend my nights!... What’s the use of talking about forgiveness! I’ve already forgiven him!”

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

A terrible, hollow cough cut her off. She pressed her handkerchief to her lips and showed it to the priest. Her other hand pressed against her aching chest. The handkerchief was covered in blood. The priest bowed his head and said nothing.

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

Marmeladov was in his final agony. He kept his eyes on Katerina Ivanovna’s face as she bent over him again. He kept trying to say something to her. He struggled to move his tongue, but his words were unclear. Katerina Ivanovna understood that he wanted to ask her forgiveness, and she called out to him sharply:

“Be silent! No need! I know what you want to say!” And the sick man was silent, but at the same instant his wandering eyes strayed to the doorway and he saw Sonia.

“Be quiet! There’s no need! I know what you want to say!” The sick man fell silent. But at that same moment, his wandering eyes turned toward the doorway, and he saw Sonia.

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

Until then, he had not noticed her. She was standing in the shadows in a corner.

“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 his daughter was standing, and trying to sit up.

“Who’s that? Who’s that?” he said suddenly in a strained, gasping voice. Agitated, he looked in horror toward the door where his daughter stood and tried to sit up.

“Lie down! Lie do-own!” cried Katerina Ivanovna.

“Lie down! Lie down!” cried Katerina Ivanovna.

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

With unnatural strength, he managed to prop himself up on his elbow. He stared wildly at his daughter for some time, as if he did not recognize her. He had never seen her dressed like that before. Suddenly he recognized her. She was crushed and ashamed in her humiliation and gaudy clothes, quietly waiting her turn to say goodbye to her dying father. His face showed intense suffering.

“Sonia! Daughter! Forgive!” he cried, and he tried to hold out his hand to her, but losing his balance, he fell off the sofa, face downwards on the floor. They rushed to pick him up, they put him on the sofa; but he was dying. Sonia with a faint cry ran up, embraced him and remained so without moving. He died in her arms.

“Sonia! Daughter! Forgive me!” he cried. He tried to reach out to her, but lost his balance and fell face down on the floor. They rushed to pick him up and put him back on the sofa. But he was dying. Sonia gave a faint cry and ran to him. She held him and stayed there without moving. He died in her arms.

“He’s got what he wanted,” Katerina Ivanovna cried, seeing her husband’s dead body. “Well, what’s to be done now? How am I to bury him! What can I give them to-morrow to eat?”

“He got what he wanted,” Katerina Ivanovna cried, seeing her husband’s dead body. “Well, what do I do now? How am I going to bury him? What can I give them to eat tomorrow?”

Raskolnikov went up to Katerina Ivanovna.

Raskolnikov walked up to Katerina Ivanovna.

“Katerina Ivanovna,” he began, “last week your husband told me all his life and circumstances.... Believe me, he spoke of you with passionate reverence. From that evening, when I learnt how devoted he was to you all and how he loved and respected you especially, Katerina Ivanovna, in spite of his unfortunate weakness, from that evening we became friends.... Allow me now... to do something... to repay my debt to my dead friend. Here are twenty roubles, I think—and if that can be of any assistance to you, then... I... in short, I will come again, I will be sure to come again... I shall, perhaps, come again to-morrow.... Good-bye!”

“Katerina Ivanovna,” he began, “last week your husband told me all about his life and circumstances.... Believe me, he spoke of you with passionate reverence. That evening, I learned how devoted he was to all of you, despite his unfortunate weakness. I learned how much he loved and respected you in particular, Katerina Ivanovna. From that evening on, we were friends.... Please let me now... do something... to repay my debt to my dead friend. Here are twenty roubles, I think. If that can be of any help to you, then... I... well, I’ll come again. I’ll be sure to come again... Perhaps I’ll come again tomorrow.... Goodbye!”

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

He hurried out of the room, squeezing through the crowd toward the stairs. But in the crowd, he suddenly bumped into Nikodim Fomitch. He had heard about the accident and had come to give instructions in person. They had not met since the scene at the police station, but Nikodim Fomitch recognized him at once.

“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 is in consumption as it is. Try and cheer her up, if possible... you are a kind-hearted man, I know...” he added with a smile, looking straight in his face.

“He’s dead,” answered Raskolnikov. “The doctor and the priest have been here. Everything was done as it should have been. Don’t upset the poor woman too much. She already has tuberculosis. Try to cheer her up, if you can... You’re a kind-hearted man, I know...” he added with a smile, looking him straight in the face.

“But you are spattered with blood,” observed Nikodim Fomitch, noticing in the lamplight some fresh stains on Raskolnikov’s waistcoat.

“But you have blood splattered on you,” said Nikodim Fomitch. In the lamplight, he noticed some fresh stains on Raskolnikov’s vest.

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

“Yes... I’m covered with blood,” Raskolnikov said with a strange manner. Then he smiled, nodded, and went downstairs.

He walked down slowly and deliberately, feverish but not conscious of it, entirely absorbed in a new overwhelming sensation of life and strength that surged up suddenly within him. This sensation might be compared to that of a man condemned to death who has suddenly been pardoned. Halfway down the staircase he was overtaken by the priest on his way home; Raskolnikov let him pass, exchanging a silent greeting with him. He was just descending the last steps when he heard rapid footsteps behind him. Someone overtook him; it was Polenka. She was running after him, calling “Wait! wait!”

He walked down slowly and deliberately. He was feverish, though he did not know it. He was completely absorbed in a sudden, overwhelming feeling of life and strength. It was like the feeling of a man sentenced to death who has suddenly been pardoned. Halfway down the stairs, the priest caught up with him on his way home. Raskolnikov let him pass, and they exchanged a silent greeting. As he was coming down the last few steps, he heard quick footsteps behind him. Someone caught up with him. It was Polenka. She was running after him, calling “Wait! wait!”

He turned round. She was at the bottom of the staircase and stopped short a step above him. A dim light came in from the yard. Raskolnikov could distinguish the child’s thin but pretty little face, looking at him with a bright childish smile. She had run after him with a message which she was evidently glad to give.

He turned around. She was at the bottom of the staircase and stopped one step above him. Dim light came in from the yard. Raskolnikov could make out the child’s thin but pretty face. She looked at him with a bright, childish smile. She had run after him with a message she was clearly glad to deliver.

“Tell me, what is your name?... and where do you live?” she said hurriedly in a breathless voice.

“Tell me, what's your name?... and where do you live?” she asked hurriedly, out of breath.

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

He put both hands on her shoulders and looked at her with a kind of wonder. Looking at her brought him such joy, though he could not have said why.

“Who sent you?”

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

“Sister Sonia sent me,” the girl replied, smiling even more brightly.

“I knew it was sister Sonia sent you.”

“I knew sister Sonia sent you.”

“Mamma sent me, too... when sister Sonia was sending me, mamma came up, too, and said ‘Run fast, Polenka.’”

“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 peculiar earnestness, and her smile became graver.

“I love her more than anyone,” Polenka answered with unusual sincerity, and her smile grew more serious.

“And will you love me?”

By way of answer he saw the little girl’s face approaching him, her full lips naïvely held out to kiss him. Suddenly her arms as thin as sticks held him tightly, her head rested on his shoulder and the little girl wept softly, pressing her face against him.

In answer, the little girl leaned toward him, holding out her full lips for a kiss. Suddenly, her arms, thin as sticks, held him tightly. She rested her head on his shoulder and wept softly, pressing her face against him.

“I am sorry for father,” she said a moment later, raising her tear-stained face and brushing away the tears with her hands. “It’s nothing but misfortunes now,” she added suddenly with that peculiarly sedate air which children try hard to assume when they want to speak like grown-up people.

“I feel sorry for father,” she said a moment later. She raised her tear-stained face and wiped away her tears with her hands. “It’s nothing but trouble now,” she added suddenly. She spoke with the serious air children try hard to adopt when they want to sound like adults.

“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 and because she is ill, too. And he always used to bring her presents. But he taught us to read and me grammar and scripture, too,” she added with dignity. “And mother never used to say anything, but we knew that she liked it and father knew it, too. And mother wants to teach me French, for it’s time my education began.”

“He loved Lida most,” she went on very seriously, without smiling, just like a grown-up. “He loved her because she is little and because she is ill, too. And he always brought her presents. But he taught us to read. He taught me grammar and scripture, too,” she added with dignity. “And mother never said anything, but we knew she liked it, and father knew it, too. And mother wants to teach me French, because 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 myself as 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 and bless our second father.’ For our elder father is dead and this is another one, but we do pray for the other as well.”

“Of course we do! We learned them long ago. I say my prayers silently because I’m a big girl now, but Kolya and Lida say theirs aloud with mother. First they say the ‘Ave Maria,’ and then another prayer: ‘Lord, forgive and bless sister Sonia.’ Then they say another: ‘Lord, forgive and bless our second father.’ Our first father is dead, and this is another father. But we pray for our first father too.”

“Polenka, my name is Rodion. Pray sometimes for me, too. ‘And Thy servant Rodion,’ nothing more.”

“Polenka, my name is Rodion. Pray for me sometimes, too. ‘And your servant Rodion,’ nothing more.”

“I’ll pray for you all the rest of my life,” the little girl declared hotly, and suddenly smiling again she rushed at him and hugged him warmly once more.

“I’ll pray for you for the rest of my life,” the little girl said passionately. Then she suddenly smiled again, rushed over to him, and hugged him warmly once more.

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

Raskolnikov told her his name and address and promised to come the next day. The child went away delighted with him. It was past ten when he came out into the street. Five minutes later, he was standing on the bridge where the woman had jumped in.

“Enough,” he pronounced resolutely and triumphantly. “I’ve done with fancies, imaginary terrors and phantoms! Life is real! haven’t I lived just now? My life has not yet died with that old woman! The Kingdom of Heaven to her—and now enough, madam, leave me in peace! Now for the reign of reason and light... and of will, and of strength... and now we will see! We will try our strength!” he added defiantly, as though challenging some power of darkness. “And I was ready to consent to live in a square of space!

“Enough,” he declared firmly and triumphantly. “I’m done with fantasies, imaginary fears, and ghosts! Life is real! Didn’t I just live? My life didn’t die with that old woman! May she rest in the Kingdom of Heaven. And now enough, madam, leave me in peace! Now for the reign of reason and light... and of will and strength... now we’ll see! We’ll test our strength!” he added defiantly, as if challenging some dark power. “And I was ready to agree to live in a tiny 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 house is only a few steps away. I certainly must go to Razumihin even if it were not close by... let him win his bet! Let us give him some satisfaction, too—no matter! Strength, strength is what one wants, you can get nothing without it, and strength must be won by strength—that’s what they don’t know,” he added proudly and self-confidently and he walked with flagging footsteps from the bridge. Pride and self-confidence grew continually stronger in him; he was becoming a different man every moment. What was it had happened to work this revolution in him? He did not know himself; like a man catching at a straw, he suddenly felt that he, too, ‘could live, that there was still life for him, that his life had not died with the old woman.’ Perhaps he was in too great a hurry with his conclusions, but he did not think of that.

“I’m very weak right now, but... I believe my illness is completely over. I knew it would be over when I went out. By the way, Potchinkov’s house is only a few steps away. I must go to Razumihin even if it weren’t so close... let him win his bet! Let’s give him some satisfaction too. It doesn’t matter! Strength, strength is what a person needs. You can get nothing without it, and strength must be won by strength. That’s what they don’t know,” he added proudly and confidently as he walked away from the bridge with faltering steps. His pride and confidence kept growing. He was becoming a different man every moment. What had happened to bring about this change in him? He did not know himself. Like a man grasping at a straw, he suddenly felt that he, too, ‘could live, that there was still life for him, that his life had not died with the old woman.’ Perhaps he had reached these conclusions too quickly, but he did not think of that.

“But I did ask her to remember ‘Thy servant Rodion’ in her prayers,” the idea struck him. “Well, that was... in case of emergency,” he added and laughed himself at his boyish sally. He was in the best of spirits.

“But I did ask her to remember ‘your servant Rodion’ in her prayers,” he suddenly thought. “Well, that was... in case of emergency,” he added, laughing at his own boyish joke. He was in the best of spirits.

He easily found Razumihin; the new lodger was already known at Potchinkov’s and the porter at once showed him the way. Half-way upstairs he could hear the noise and animated conversation of a big gathering of people. The door was wide open on the stairs; he could hear exclamations and discussion. Razumihin’s room was fairly large; the company consisted of fifteen people. Raskolnikov stopped in the entry, where two of the landlady’s servants were busy behind a screen with two samovars, bottles, plates and dishes of pie and savouries, brought up from the landlady’s kitchen. Raskolnikov sent in for Razumihin. He ran out delighted. At the first glance it was apparent that he had had a great deal to drink and, though no amount of liquor made Razumihin quite drunk, this time he was perceptibly affected by it.

He found Razumihin easily. The new lodger was already known at Potchinkov’s, and the porter showed him the way at once. Halfway upstairs, he could hear the noise and lively conversation of a large gathering. The door stood wide open onto the stairs, and he could hear people exclaiming and arguing. Razumihin’s room was fairly large, and there were fifteen people in the group. Raskolnikov stopped in the entryway. Behind a screen, two of the landlady’s servants were busy with two samovars, bottles, plates, and dishes of pie and savory snacks. The food had been brought up from the landlady’s kitchen. Raskolnikov sent for Razumihin, who ran out delighted. It was clear at once that he had drunk a great deal. No amount of liquor ever made Razumihin completely drunk, but this time he was noticeably affected by it.

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

“Listen,” Raskolnikov said quickly, “I’ve just come to tell you that you won your bet. No one really knows what might happen to them. I can’t come in. I’m so weak that I’ll fall down any moment. So good evening and goodbye! Come see me tomorrow.”

“Do you know what? I’ll see you home. If you say you’re weak yourself, you must...”

“You know what? I’ll walk you home. If you say you’re weak yourself, you must...”

“And your visitors? Who is the curly-headed one who has just peeped out?”

“And your visitors? Who is the curly-haired one who just peeked out?”

“He? Goodness only knows! Some friend of uncle’s, I expect, or perhaps he has come without being invited... I’ll leave uncle with them, he is an invaluable person, pity I can’t introduce you to him now. But confound them all now! They won’t notice me, and I need a little fresh air, for you’ve come just in the nick of time—another two minutes and I should 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 you imagine? Don’t we talk nonsense ourselves? And let them... that’s the way to learn not to!... Wait a minute, I’ll fetch Zossimov.”

“He? Goodness knows! I expect he’s a friend of uncle’s, or perhaps he came without being invited... I’ll leave uncle with them. He’s invaluable, and it’s a shame I can’t introduce you to him now. But damn them all! They won’t notice me, and I need some fresh air. You’ve come just in time. Another two minutes and I would have come to blows! They’re talking such wild nonsense... you can’t imagine what men will say! Though why shouldn’t you be able to imagine it? Don’t we talk nonsense ourselves? And let them talk... that’s how they’ll learn not to! ... Wait a minute, I’ll fetch Zossimov.”

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

Zossimov pounced on Raskolnikov almost greedily. He showed a special interest in him, and soon his face lit up.

“You must go to bed at once,” he pronounced, examining the patient as far as he could, “and take something for the night. Will you take it? I got it ready some time ago... a powder.”

“You must go to bed right away,” he said, examining the patient as thoroughly as he could. “And take something for the night. Will you take it? I prepared it some time ago... a powder.”

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

“Two, if you like,” Raskolnikov replied. The powder was taken immediately.

“It’s a good thing you are taking him home,” observed Zossimov to Razumihin—“we shall see how he is to-morrow, to-day he’s not at all amiss—a considerable change since the afternoon. Live and learn...”

“It’s a good thing you’re taking him home,” Zossimov said to Razumihin. “We’ll see how he is tomorrow. Today he’s doing quite well, much better than he was this 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 tell you everything, brother, because they are such fools. Zossimov told me to talk freely to you on the way and get you to talk freely to me, and afterwards I am to tell him about it, for he’s got a notion in his head that 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 mental diseases, and what’s brought him to this conclusion about you was your conversation to-day with Zametov.”

“Do you know what Zossimov whispered to me as we were leaving?” Razumihin blurted out as soon as they reached the street. “I won’t tell you everything, brother, because they’re such fools. Zossimov told me to speak freely with you on the way and get you to do the same. Then I’m supposed to tell him what we talked about. He’s got this idea that you’re... insane, or close to it. Just imagine! First, you’ve got three times his brains. Second, if you’re not insane, you don’t have to care a damn about his wild idea. And third, that lump of beef specializes in surgery, but he’s become obsessed with mental illness. He came to this conclusion about you because of your conversation with Zametov today.”

“Zametov told you all about it?”

“Yes, and he did well. Now I understand what it all means and so does Zametov.... Well, the fact is, Rodya... the point is... I am a little drunk now.... But that’s... no matter... the point is that this idea... you understand? was just being hatched in their brains... you understand? That is, no one ventured to say it aloud, because the idea is too absurd and especially since the arrest of that painter, that bubble’s burst and gone for ever. But why are they such fools? I gave Zametov 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 noticed he is a ticklish subject; it was at Luise Ivanovna’s. But to-day, to-day it’s all cleared up. That Ilya Petrovitch is at the bottom of it! He took advantage of your fainting at the police station, but he is ashamed of it himself now; I know that...”

“Yes, and he did the right thing. Now I understand what it all means, and so does Zametov.... Well, the fact is, Rodya... the point is... I’m a little drunk now.... But that... doesn’t matter... The point is, this idea... you understand? It was just starting to form in their minds... you understand? I mean, no one dared say it aloud, because the idea is too absurd. And especially since the painter was arrested, that bubble has burst and is gone forever. But why are they such fools? I gave Zametov a bit of a beating at the time. That’s between us, brother. Please don’t let him know you’ve heard about it. I’ve noticed he’s sensitive about it. It happened at Luise Ivanovna’s. But today, today it’s all cleared up. That Ilya Petrovitch is behind it! He took advantage of your fainting at the police station, but he’s ashamed of it himself now. I know that...”

Raskolnikov listened greedily. Razumihin was drunk enough to talk too freely.

Raskolnikov listened eagerly. Razumihin was drunk enough to talk too freely.

“I fainted then because it was so close and the smell of paint,” said Raskolnikov.

“I fainted then because the air was so stuffy and smelled of paint,” said Raskolnikov.

“No need to explain that! And it wasn’t the paint only: the fever had been coming on for a month; Zossimov testifies to that! But how crushed that boy is now, you wouldn’t believe! ‘I am not worth his little finger,’ he says. Yours, he means. He has good feelings at times, brother. But the lesson, the lesson you gave him to-day in the Palais de Cristal, that was too good for anything! You frightened him at first, you know, he nearly went into convulsions! You almost convinced him again of the truth of all that hideous nonsense, and then you suddenly—put out your tongue at him: ‘There now, what do you make of it?’ It was perfect! He is crushed, annihilated now! It was masterly, by Jove, it’s what they deserve! Ah, that I wasn’t there! He was hoping to see you awfully. Porfiry, too, wants to make your acquaintance...”

“No need to explain that! And it wasn’t just the paint. The fever had been coming on for a month. Zossimov can confirm that! But you wouldn’t believe how crushed that boy is now! ‘I’m not worth his little finger,’ he says. He means yours. He has good feelings sometimes, brother. But the lesson you gave him today at the Palais de Cristal was priceless! You frightened him at first, you know. He nearly went into convulsions! You almost convinced him again that all that horrible nonsense was true. Then you suddenly stuck out your tongue at him: ‘There now, what do you make of it?’ It was perfect! He’s crushed, annihilated now! It was masterful, by God. It’s what they deserve! Ah, if only I’d been there! He was terribly eager to see you. Porfiry wants to meet you too...”

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

“Ah!... he too... but why did they think I was crazy?”

“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’s clear why it did interest you; knowing all the circumstances... and how that irritated you and worked in with your illness... I am a little drunk, brother, only, confound him, he has some idea of his own... I tell you, he’s mad on mental diseases. But don’t you mind him...”

“Oh, not mad. I must have said too much, brother.... You see, what struck him was that only that subject seemed to interest you. Now it’s clear why it interested you, knowing all the circumstances... and how it irritated you and affected your illness... I’m a little drunk, brother. But damn him, he has some idea of his own... I tell you, he’s obsessed with mental illness. But don’t pay him any mind...”

For half a minute both were silent.

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 my money... and besides I’ve just been kissed by someone who, if I had killed anyone, would just the same... in fact I saw someone else there... with a flame-coloured feather... but I am talking nonsense; I am very weak, support me... we shall be at the stairs directly...”

“Listen, Razumihin,” Raskolnikov began, “I want to tell you plainly: I’ve just been at the bedside of a dying clerk. He died... I gave them all my money... And I’ve just been kissed by someone who would have done the same even if I had killed someone... In fact, I saw someone else there... with a flame-colored feather... But I’m talking nonsense. I’m very weak. Support me... We’ll be at the stairs in a moment...”

“What’s the matter? What’s the matter with you?” Razumihin asked anxiously.

“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!”

“I’m a little dizzy, but that’s not the point. I’m 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...”

“Don’t you see? There’s a light in my room, see? Through the crack...”

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

They had reached the bottom of the last flight of stairs, level with the landlady’s door. From below, they could see a light in Raskolnikov’s attic room.

“Queer! Nastasya, perhaps,” observed Razumihin.

“Strange! Maybe Nastasya,” said 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!”

“She’s never in my room at this hour, and she must have gone to bed long ago, but... I don’t care! Goodbye!”

“What do you mean? I am coming with you, we’ll come in together!”

“What do you mean? I’m coming with you. We’ll go in together!”

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

“I know we’re going in together, but I want to shake hands and say goodbye here. So give me your hand. Goodbye!”

“What’s the matter with you, Rodya?”

“Nothing... come along... you shall be witness.”

“Nothing... come along... you’ll be a witness.”

They began mounting the stairs, and the idea struck Razumihin that perhaps Zossimov might be right after all. “Ah, I’ve upset him with my chatter!” he muttered to himself.

As they started up the stairs, Razumihin thought that perhaps Zossimov might be right after all. “Ah, I’ve upset him with all my talk!” he muttered to himself.

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

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

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

“What is it?” Razumihin cried. Raskolnikov was the first to open the door. He flung it wide and stood frozen in the doorway, stunned.

His mother and sister were sitting on his sofa and had been waiting an hour and a half for him. Why had he never expected, never thought of them, though the news that they had started, were on their way and would arrive immediately, had been repeated to him only that day? They had spent that hour and a half plying Nastasya with questions. She was still standing before them and had told them everything by now. They were beside themselves with alarm when they heard of his “running away” to-day, ill and, as they understood from her story, delirious! “Good Heavens, what had become of him?” Both had been weeping, both had been in anguish for that hour and a half.

His mother and sister were sitting on his sofa. They had been waiting for him for an hour and a half. Why had he never expected them, never even thought of them? Only that day, he had been told repeatedly that they had set out and would arrive at any moment. They had spent the hour and a half asking Nastasya questions. She was still standing in front of them and had told them everything by now. They were frantic with worry when they heard that he had “run away” today. He was ill and, from what Nastasya told them, delirious! “Good heavens, what had happened to him?” Both had been weeping and in anguish for that hour and a half.

A cry of joy, of ecstasy, greeted Raskolnikov’s entrance. Both rushed to him. But he stood like one dead; a sudden intolerable sensation struck him like a thunderbolt. He did not lift his arms to embrace them, he could 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.

A cry of joy and ecstasy greeted Raskolnikov as he entered. Both rushed to him. But he stood as if dead. A sudden, unbearable sensation struck him like a thunderbolt. He could not raise his arms to embrace them. His mother and sister wrapped their arms around him, kissed him, laughed, and cried. He took a step, staggered, and fell to the ground, unconscious.

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

Anxiety, cries of horror, moans... Razumihin was standing in the doorway. He rushed into the room, seized the sick man in his strong arms, and quickly laid him on the sofa.

“It’s nothing, nothing!” he cried to the mother and sister—“it’s only a faint, 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 is all right again!”

“It’s nothing, nothing!” he cried to the mother and sister. “He only fainted. It’s nothing serious! The doctor just said he was much better, that he’s perfectly well! Water! Look, he’s coming around. He’s all right again!”

And seizing Dounia by the arm so that he almost dislocated it, he made her bend down to see that “he is all right again.” The mother and sister looked on him with emotion and gratitude, as their Providence. They had heard already from Nastasya all that had been done for their Rodya during his illness, by this “very competent young man,” as Pulcheria Alexandrovna Raskolnikov called him that evening in conversation with Dounia.

He grabbed Dounia’s arm so hard that he nearly dislocated it, and made her bend down to see that “he is all right again.” His mother and sister looked at him with emotion and gratitude, as if he were their savior. Nastasya had already told them all that this “very competent young man” had done for their Rodya during his illness. That was what Pulcheria Alexandrovna Raskolnikov called him that evening when she spoke with Dounia.