Part 6

Chapter 8

17 min

When he went into Sonia’s room, it was already getting dark. All day Sonia had been waiting for him in terrible anxiety. Dounia had been waiting with her. She had come to her that morning, remembering Svidrigaïlov’s words that Sonia knew. We will not describe the conversation and tears of the two girls, and how friendly they became. Dounia gained one comfort at least from that interview, that her brother would not be alone. He had gone to her, Sonia, first with his confession; he had gone to her for human fellowship when he needed it; she would go with him wherever fate might send him. Dounia did not ask, but she knew it was so. She looked at Sonia almost with reverence and at first almost embarrassed her by it. Sonia was almost on the point of tears. She felt herself, on the contrary, hardly worthy to look at Dounia. Dounia’s gracious image when she had bowed to her so attentively and respectfully at their first meeting in Raskolnikov’s room had remained in her mind as one of the fairest visions of her life.

When he entered Sonia’s room, it was already getting dark. Sonia had spent the whole day waiting for him in terrible anxiety. Dounia had been waiting with her. She had come to Sonia that morning, remembering Svidrigaïlov’s words that Sonia knew. We will not describe the girls’ conversation and tears, or how close they became. Dounia found at least one comfort in their meeting: her brother would not be alone. He had gone to Sonia first to confess. He had gone to her for human companionship when he needed it. She would go with him wherever fate sent him. Dounia did not ask, but she knew it was true. She looked at Sonia with almost reverent respect. At first, her regard nearly embarrassed Sonia. Sonia was almost in tears. She felt, on the contrary, that she was hardly worthy to look at Dounia. She remembered how gracious Dounia had been when they first met in Raskolnikov’s room. Dounia had bowed to her so attentively and respectfully. That image had stayed with Sonia as one of the most beautiful sights of her life.

Dounia at last became impatient and, leaving Sonia, went to her brother’s room to await him there; she kept thinking that he would come there first. When she had gone, Sonia began to be tortured by the dread of his committing suicide, and Dounia too feared it. But they had spent the day trying to persuade each other that that could not be, and both were less anxious while they were together. As soon as they parted, each thought of nothing else. Sonia remembered how Svidrigaïlov had said to her the day before that Raskolnikov had two alternatives—Siberia or... Besides she knew his vanity, his pride and his lack of faith.

At last Dounia grew impatient and left Sonia. She went to her brother’s room to wait for him, thinking he would come there first. After Dounia left, Sonia was tormented by the fear that he would kill himself. Dounia feared it too. But they had spent the day trying to convince each other that he would not do it. Both were less anxious while they were together. As soon as they parted, neither could think of anything else. Sonia remembered what Svidrigaïlov had said to her the day before. Raskolnikov had two choices: Siberia or... Besides, she knew his vanity, his pride, and his lack of faith.

“Is it possible that he has nothing but cowardice and fear of death to make him live?” she thought at last in despair.

“Could it be that only cowardice and fear of death keep him alive?” she thought at last, in despair.

Meanwhile the sun was setting. Sonia was standing in dejection, looking intently out of the window, but from it she could see nothing but the unwhitewashed blank wall of the next house. At last when she began to feel sure of his death—he walked into the room.

Meanwhile, the sun was setting. Sonia stood dejected, staring out the window. But she could see nothing except the bare, unwhitewashed wall of the next house. At last, just as she began to feel sure he was dead, he walked into the room.

She gave a cry of joy, but looking carefully into his face she turned pale.

She cried out with joy, but when she looked closely at his face, she turned pale.

“Yes,” said Raskolnikov, smiling. “I have come for your cross, Sonia. It was you told me to go to the cross-roads; why is it you are frightened now it’s come to that?”

“Yes,” said Raskolnikov, smiling. “I’ve come for your cross, Sonia. You told me to go to the crossroads. Why are you frightened now that the time has come?”

Sonia gazed at him astonished. His tone seemed strange to her; a cold shiver ran over her, but in a moment she guessed that the tone and the words were a mask. He spoke to her looking away, as though to avoid meeting her eyes.

Sonia stared at him in surprise. His tone sounded strange to her, and a cold shiver ran through her. But a moment later, she guessed that his tone and words were a mask. He looked away as he spoke to her, as if to avoid meeting her eyes.

“You see, Sonia, I’ve decided that it will be better so. There is one fact.... But it’s a long story and there’s no need to discuss it. But do you know what angers me? It annoys me that all those stupid brutish faces will be gaping at me directly, pestering me with their stupid questions, which I shall have to answer—they’ll point their fingers at me.... Tfoo! You know I am not going to Porfiry, I am sick of him. I’d rather go to my friend, the Explosive Lieutenant; how I shall surprise him, what a sensation I shall make! But I must be cooler; I’ve become too irritable of late. You know I was nearly shaking my fist at my sister just now, because she turned to take a last look at me. It’s a brutal state to be in! Ah! what am I coming to! Well, where are the crosses?”

“You see, Sonia, I’ve decided it will be better this way. There’s one fact.... But it’s a long story, and there’s no need to talk about it. But do you know what makes me angry? All those stupid, brutish faces will soon be staring at me. They’ll pester me with stupid questions I’ll have to answer, and they’ll point their fingers at me.... Pah! You know, I’m not going to Porfiry. I’m sick of him. I’d rather go to my friend, the Explosive Lieutenant. How I’ll surprise him! What a sensation I’ll make! But I must stay calmer. I’ve become too irritable lately. Just now, I almost shook my fist at my sister because she turned to take one last look at me. It’s a brutal state to be in! Ah! What am I coming to? Well, where are the crosses?”

He seemed hardly to know what he was doing. He could not stay still or concentrate his attention on anything; his ideas seemed to gallop after one another, he talked incoherently, his hands trembled slightly.

He hardly seemed to know what he was doing. He couldn't sit still or focus on anything. His thoughts seemed to race one after another. He spoke incoherently, and his hands trembled slightly.

Without a word Sonia took out of the drawer two crosses, one of cypress wood and one of copper. She made the sign of the cross over herself and over him, and put the wooden cross on his neck.

Without a word, Sonia took two crosses out of the drawer. One was made of cypress wood, and the other was copper. She made the sign of the cross over herself and him, then put the wooden cross around his neck.

“It’s the symbol of my taking up the cross,” he laughed. “As though I had not suffered much till now! The wooden cross, that is the peasant one; the copper one, that is Lizaveta’s—you will wear yourself, show me! So she had it on... at that moment? I remember two things like these too, a silver one and a little ikon. I threw them back on the old woman’s neck. Those would be appropriate now, really, those are what I ought to put on now.... But I am talking nonsense and forgetting what matters; I’m somehow forgetful.... You see I have come to warn you, Sonia, so that you might know... that’s all—that’s all I came for. But I thought I had more to say. You wanted me to go yourself. Well, now I am going to prison and you’ll have your wish. Well, what are you crying for? You too? Don’t. Leave off! Oh, how I hate it all!”

“It’s a symbol of my taking up the cross,” he laughed. “As if I hadn’t suffered enough already! The wooden cross is the peasant’s. The copper one is Lizaveta’s. You’ll wear that one yourself. Show me! So she was wearing it... at that moment? I remember two things like these too, a silver cross and a little icon. I threw them back onto the old woman’s neck. Those would be fitting now. Really, those are what I ought to wear now.... But I’m talking nonsense and forgetting what matters. I keep forgetting things.... You see, I came to warn you, Sonia, so you would know... that’s all. That’s all I came for. But I thought I had more to say. You wanted me to go yourself. Well, now I’m going to prison, and you’ll get your wish. Well, why are you crying? You too? Don’t. Stop it! Oh, how I hate it all!”

But his feeling was stirred; his heart ached, as he looked at her. “Why is she grieving too?” he thought to himself. “What am I to her? Why does she weep? Why is she looking after me, like my mother or Dounia? She’ll be my nurse.”

But he was moved. His heart ached as he looked at her. “Why is she grieving too?” he thought. “What am I to her? Why is she crying? Why is she looking after me, like my mother or Dounia? She’ll be my nurse.”

“Cross yourself, say at least one prayer,” Sonia begged in a timid broken voice.

“Make the sign of the cross, say at least one prayer,” Sonia begged in a timid, broken voice.

“Oh certainly, as much as you like! And sincerely, Sonia, sincerely....”

“Oh, of course, as much as you like! And sincerely, Sonia, sincerely....”

But he wanted to say something quite different.

But he wanted to say something completely different.

He crossed himself several times. Sonia took up her shawl and put it over her head. It was the green drap de dames shawl of which Marmeladov had spoken, “the family shawl.” Raskolnikov thought of that looking at it, but he did not ask. He began to feel himself that he was certainly forgetting things and was disgustingly agitated. He was frightened at this. He was suddenly struck too by the thought that Sonia meant to go with him.

He crossed himself several times. Sonia picked up her shawl and put it over her head. It was the green drap de dames shawl Marmeladov had spoken of, “the family shawl.” Looking at it, Raskolnikov remembered what Marmeladov had said, but he did not ask. He began to realize that he was certainly forgetting things and was disgustingly agitated. This frightened him. He was also suddenly struck by the thought that Sonia meant to go with him.

“What are you doing? Where are you going? Stay here, stay! I’ll go alone,” he cried in cowardly vexation, and almost resentful, he moved towards the door. “What’s the use of going in procession?” he muttered going out.

“What are you doing? Where are you going? Stay here, stay! I’ll go alone,” he cried, irritated and afraid. Almost resentfully, he moved toward the door. “What’s the point of all of us going together?” he muttered as he went out.

Sonia remained standing in the middle of the room. He had not even said good-bye to her; he had forgotten her. A poignant and rebellious doubt surged in his heart.

Sonia stood in the middle of the room. He had not even said goodbye to her. He had forgotten her. A painful, defiant doubt surged in his heart.

“Was it right, was it right, all this?” he thought again as he went down the stairs. “Couldn’t he stop and retract it all... and not go?”

“Was all this right? Was it right?” he thought again as he went down the stairs. “Couldn’t he stop and take it all back... and not go?”

But still he went. He felt suddenly once for all that he mustn’t ask himself questions. As he turned into the street he remembered that he had not said good-bye to Sonia, that he had left her in the middle of the room in her green shawl, not daring to stir after he had shouted at her, and he stopped short for a moment. At the same instant, another thought dawned upon him, as though it had been lying in wait to strike him then.

But he still went. Suddenly, he felt once and for all that he must not ask himself questions. As he turned into the street, he remembered that he had not said goodbye to Sonia. He had left her standing in the middle of the room in her green shawl. After he had shouted at her, she had not dared to move. He stopped for a moment. At that same instant, another thought came to him, as if it had been waiting to strike him.

“Why, with what object did I go to her just now? I told her—on business; on what business? I had no sort of business! To tell her I was going; but where was the need? Do I love her? No, no, I drove her away just now like a dog. Did I want her crosses? Oh, how low I’ve sunk! No, I wanted her tears, I wanted to see her terror, to see how her heart ached! I had to have something to cling to, something to delay me, some friendly face to see! And I dared to believe in myself, to dream of what I would do! I am a beggarly contemptible wretch, contemptible!”

“Why did I go to her just now? I told her I had business with her. What business? I had no business with her at all! I went to tell her I was leaving. But why did I need to tell her? Do I love her? No, no, I just drove her away like a dog. Did I want her crosses? Oh, how low I’ve sunk! No, I wanted her tears. I wanted to see her terror, to see how her heart ached! I needed something to cling to, something to delay me, a friendly face to see! And I dared to believe in myself, to dream about what I would do! I’m a miserable, contemptible wretch, contemptible!”

He walked along the canal bank, and he had not much further to go. But on reaching the bridge he stopped and turning out of his way along it went to the Hay Market.

He walked along the canal bank, and he did not have much farther to go. But when he reached the bridge, he stopped. He turned off his route and crossed the bridge to the Hay Market.

He looked eagerly to right and left, gazed intently at every object and could not fix his attention on anything; everything slipped away. “In another week, another month I shall be driven in a prison van over this bridge, how shall I look at the canal then? I should like to remember this!” slipped into his mind. “Look at this sign! How shall I read those letters then? It’s written here ‘Campany,’ that’s a thing to remember, that letter a, and to look at it again in a month—how shall I look at it then? What shall I be feeling and thinking then?... How trivial it all must be, what I am fretting about now! Of course it must all be interesting... in its way... (Ha-ha-ha! What am I thinking about?) I am becoming a baby, I am showing off to myself; why am I ashamed? Foo! how people shove! that fat man—a German he must be—who pushed against me, does he know whom he pushed? There’s a peasant woman with a baby, begging. It’s curious that she thinks me happier than she is. I might give her something, for the incongruity of it. Here’s a five copeck piece left in my pocket, where did I get it? Here, here... take it, my good woman!”

He looked eagerly to his right and left and stared at everything he saw. But he couldn’t focus on anything. Everything slipped away. “In another week or month, I’ll be driven over this bridge in a prison van. How will I look at the canal then? I want to remember this!” The thought slipped into his mind. “Look at this sign! How will I read those letters then? It says ‘Campany.’ I must remember that letter a and look at it again in a month. How will I look at it then? What will I be feeling and thinking then?... How trivial everything I’m worrying about now must be! Of course it must all be interesting... in its way... (Ha-ha-ha! What am I thinking about?) I’m becoming a baby, showing off to myself. Why am I ashamed? Ugh, how people shove! That fat man who pushed against me must be a German. Does he know whom he pushed? There’s a peasant woman with a baby, begging. It’s strange that she thinks I’m happier than she is. I might give her something, just because it’s so absurd. Here’s a five-copeck piece left in my pocket. Where did I get it? Here, here... take it, my good woman!”

“God bless you,” the beggar chanted in a lachrymose voice.

“God bless you,” the beggar chanted in a tearful voice.

He went into the Hay Market. It was distasteful, very distasteful to be in a crowd, but he walked just where he saw most people. He would have given anything in the world to be alone; but he knew himself that he would not have remained alone for a moment. There was a man drunk and disorderly in the crowd; he kept trying to dance and falling down. There was a ring round him. Raskolnikov squeezed his way through the crowd, stared for some minutes at the drunken man and suddenly gave a short jerky laugh. A minute later he had forgotten him and did not see him, though he still stared. He moved away at last, not remembering where he was; but when he got into the middle of the square an emotion suddenly came over him, overwhelming him body and mind.

He went into the Hay Market. Being in a crowd was unpleasant, very unpleasant, but he walked toward the largest groups. He would have given anything in the world to be alone. But he knew he would not have stayed alone for even a moment. A drunk man in the crowd was making a scene. He kept trying to dance and falling down, and people had gathered in a circle around him. Raskolnikov squeezed through the crowd and stared at the man for several minutes. Then he suddenly gave a short, abrupt laugh. A minute later he had forgotten the man. He no longer saw him, though he was still staring. At last he walked away, forgetting where he was. But when he reached the middle of the square, a sudden emotion overwhelmed his body and mind.

He suddenly recalled Sonia’s words, “Go to the cross-roads, bow down to the people, kiss the earth, for you have sinned against it too, and say aloud to the whole world, ‘I am a murderer.’” He trembled, remembering that. And the hopeless misery and anxiety of all that time, especially of the last hours, had weighed so heavily upon him that he positively clutched at the chance of this new unmixed, complete sensation. It came over him like a fit; it was like a single spark kindled in his soul and spreading fire through him. Everything in him softened at once and the tears started into his eyes. He fell to the earth on the spot....

He suddenly remembered Sonia’s words: “Go to the crossroads, bow down to the people, kiss the earth, because you have sinned against it too, and say aloud to the whole world, ‘I am a murderer.’” He trembled at the memory. The hopeless misery and anxiety of that whole time had weighed heavily on him, especially during the last few hours. So he eagerly seized the chance to feel this new, pure, all-consuming emotion. It came over him like a fit. It was like a single spark igniting in his soul and spreading fire through him. Everything inside him softened at once, and tears filled his eyes. He fell to the ground right there....

He knelt down in the middle of the square, bowed down to the earth, and kissed that filthy earth with bliss and rapture. He got up and bowed down a second time.

He knelt in the middle of the square and bowed to the ground. He kissed the filthy earth with bliss and rapture. He stood up and bowed down a second time.

“He’s boozed,” a youth near him observed.

“He’s drunk,” a young man near him said.

There was a roar of laughter.

There was a burst of loud laughter.

“He’s going to Jerusalem, brothers, and saying good-bye to his children and his country. He’s bowing down to all the world and kissing the great city of St. Petersburg and its pavement,” added a workman who was a little drunk.

“He’s going to Jerusalem, brothers, and saying goodbye to his children and his country. He’s bowing to the whole world and kissing the great city of St. Petersburg and its pavement,” added a workman who was a little drunk.

“Quite a young man, too!” observed a third.

“And he’s so young!” said a third person.

“And a gentleman,” someone observed soberly.

“And a gentleman,” someone said seriously.

“There’s no knowing who’s a gentleman and who isn’t nowadays.”

“You can’t tell who’s a gentleman and who isn’t these days.”

These exclamations and remarks checked Raskolnikov, and the words, “I am a murderer,” which were perhaps on the point of dropping from his lips, died away. He bore these remarks quietly, however, and, without looking round, he turned down a street leading to the police office. He had a glimpse of something on the way which did not surprise him; he had felt that it must be so. The second time he bowed down in the Hay Market he saw, standing fifty paces from him on the left, Sonia. She was hiding from him behind one of the wooden shanties in the market-place. She had followed him then on his painful way! Raskolnikov at that moment felt and knew once for all that Sonia was with him for ever and would follow him to the ends of the earth, wherever fate might take him. It wrung his heart... but he was just reaching the fatal place.

The shouts and remarks stopped Raskolnikov. He was perhaps about to say, “I am a murderer,” but the words died on his lips. Still, he took the remarks quietly. Without looking around, he turned down a street leading to the police office. On the way, he caught sight of something that did not surprise him. He had felt it must be so. When he bowed down for the second time in the Hay Market, he saw Sonia standing fifty paces to his left. She was hiding from him behind one of the wooden shanties in the market. She had followed him on his painful journey! At that moment, Raskolnikov felt and knew once and for all that Sonia would be with him forever. She would follow him to the ends of the earth, wherever fate might take him. It broke his heart... but he was just reaching the fateful place.

He went into the yard fairly resolutely. He had to mount to the third storey. “I shall be some time going up,” he thought. He felt as though the fateful moment was still far off, as though he had plenty of time left for consideration.

He walked into the yard with some determination. He had to climb to the third floor. “It will take me some time to get up there,” he thought. He felt as though the fateful moment was still far away, as though he had plenty of time left to think.

Again the same rubbish, the same eggshells lying about on the spiral stairs, again the open doors of the flats, again the same kitchens and the same fumes and stench coming from them. Raskolnikov had not been here since that day. His legs were numb and gave way under him, but still they moved forward. He stopped for a moment to take breath, to collect himself, so as to enter like a man. “But why? what for?” he wondered, reflecting. “If I must drink the cup what difference does it make? The more revolting the better.” He imagined for an instant the figure of the “explosive lieutenant,” Ilya Petrovitch. Was he actually going to him? Couldn’t he go to someone else? To Nikodim Fomitch? Couldn’t he turn back and go straight to Nikodim Fomitch’s lodgings? At least then it would be done privately.... No, no! To the “explosive lieutenant”! If he must drink it, drink it off at once.

Again the same rubbish and eggshells lay scattered on the spiral stairs. Again the apartment doors stood open. Again the same fumes and stench came from the kitchens. Raskolnikov had not been here since that day. His legs were numb and gave way beneath him, but he kept moving forward. He stopped for a moment to catch his breath and collect himself, so he could enter like a man. “But why? What for?” he wondered. “If I must drink the cup, what difference does it make? The more revolting the better.” For a moment he pictured the “explosive lieutenant,” Ilya Petrovitch. Was he really going to him? Couldn’t he go to someone else? To Nikodim Fomitch? Couldn’t he turn back and go straight to Nikodim Fomitch’s lodgings? At least then it would be done privately.... No, no! To the “explosive lieutenant”! If he had to drink the cup, he would drink it all at once.

Turning cold and hardly conscious, he opened the door of the office. There were very few people in it this time—only a house porter and a peasant. The doorkeeper did not even peep out from behind his screen. Raskolnikov walked into the next room. “Perhaps I still need not speak,” passed through his mind. Some sort of clerk not wearing a uniform was settling himself at a bureau to write. In a corner another clerk was seating himself. Zametov was not there, nor, of course, Nikodim Fomitch.

Feeling cold and barely conscious, he opened the office door. Very few people were there this time, only a building porter and a peasant. The doorkeeper did not even look out from behind his screen. Raskolnikov walked into the next room. “Perhaps I still don’t have to speak,” he thought. A clerk of some kind, not wearing a uniform, was settling down at a desk to write. Another clerk was sitting down in a corner. Zametov was not there, nor, of course, was Nikodim Fomitch.

“No one in?” Raskolnikov asked, addressing the person at the bureau.

“Is no one in?” Raskolnikov asked the person at the desk.

“Whom do you want?”

“Who do you want?”

“A-ah! Not a sound was heard, not a sight was seen, but I scent the Russian... how does it go on in the fairy tale... I’ve forgotten! ‘At your service!’” a familiar voice cried suddenly.

“Aha! No sound was heard, nothing was seen, but I smell a Russian... how does the fairy tale go on... I’ve forgotten! ‘At your service!’” a familiar voice suddenly cried.

Raskolnikov shuddered. The Explosive Lieutenant stood before him. He had just come in from the third room. “It is the hand of fate,” thought Raskolnikov. “Why is he here?”

Raskolnikov shuddered. The Explosive Lieutenant stood in front of him. He had just come in from the third room. “It’s the hand of fate,” Raskolnikov thought. “Why is he here?”

“You’ve come to see us? What about?” cried Ilya Petrovitch. He was obviously in an exceedingly good humour and perhaps a trifle exhilarated. “If it’s on business you are rather early.[*] It’s only a chance that I am here... however I’ll do what I can. I must admit, I... what is it, what is it? Excuse me....”

“You’ve come to see us? What about?” cried Ilya Petrovitch. He was clearly in a very good mood and perhaps a little excited. “If you’re here on business, you’re rather early.[*] It’s just by chance that I’m here... But I’ll do what I can. I must admit, I... what is it, what is it? Excuse me....”

“Raskolnikov.”

“Of course, Raskolnikov. You didn’t imagine I’d forgotten? Don’t think I am like that... Rodion Ro—Ro—Rodionovitch, that’s it, isn’t it?”

“Of course, Raskolnikov. You didn’t think I’d forgotten, did you? Don’t think I’m like that... Rodion Ro, Ro, Rodionovitch. That’s right, isn’t it?”

“Rodion Romanovitch.”

“Yes, yes, of course, Rodion Romanovitch! I was just getting at it. I made many inquiries about you. I assure you I’ve been genuinely grieved since that... since I behaved like that... it was explained to me afterwards that you were a literary man... and a learned one too... and so to say the first steps... Mercy on us! What literary or scientific man does not begin by some originality of conduct! My wife and I have the greatest respect for literature, in my wife it’s a genuine passion! Literature and art! If only a man is a gentleman, all the rest can be gained by talents, learning, good sense, genius. As for a hat—well, what does a hat matter? I can buy a hat as easily as I can a bun; but what’s under the hat, what the hat covers, I can’t buy that! I was even meaning to come and apologise to you, but thought maybe you’d... But I am forgetting to ask you, is there anything you want really? I hear your family have come?”

“Yes, yes, of course, Rodion Romanovitch! I was just coming to that. I asked a lot of people about you. I assure you, I’ve felt truly sorry since that... since I behaved like that... Afterwards, someone explained that you were a writer... and a scholar too... and that you were just starting out, so to speak... Good heavens! What writer or scientist doesn’t behave a little unusually at first! My wife and I have the greatest respect for literature. For her, it’s a real passion! Literature and art! If a man is a gentleman, all the rest can be gained through talent, learning, good sense, genius. As for a hat, well, what does a hat matter? I can buy a hat as easily as a bun. But I can’t buy what’s under the hat, what the hat covers! I even meant to come and apologize to you, but I thought perhaps you’d... But I’m forgetting to ask, is there anything you really need? I hear your family has arrived?”

“Yes, my mother and sister.”

“I’ve even had the honour and happiness of meeting your sister—a highly cultivated and charming person. I confess I was sorry I got so hot with you. There it is! But as for my looking suspiciously at your fainting fit—that affair has been cleared up splendidly! Bigotry and fanaticism! I understand your indignation. Perhaps you are changing your lodging on account of your family’s arriving?”

“I’ve even had the honor and pleasure of meeting your sister. She’s a very educated and charming person. I admit I was sorry I got so angry with you. There you have it! But as for my suspicion about your fainting spell, that matter has been cleared up splendidly! Bigotry and fanaticism! I understand why you’re indignant. Perhaps you’re moving because your family is arriving?”

“No, I only looked in... I came to ask... I thought that I should find Zametov here.”

“No, I just stopped by... I came to ask... I thought I’d find Zametov here.”

“Oh, yes! Of course, you’ve made friends, I heard. Well, no, Zametov is not here. Yes, we’ve lost Zametov. He’s not been here since yesterday... he quarrelled with everyone on leaving... in the rudest way. He is a feather-headed youngster, that’s all; one might have expected something from him, but there, you know what they are, our brilliant young men. He wanted to go in for some examination, but it’s only to talk and boast about it, it will go no further than that. Of course it’s a very different matter with you or Mr. Razumihin there, your friend. Your career is an intellectual one and you won’t be deterred by failure. For you, one may say, all the attractions of life nihil est—you are an ascetic, a monk, a hermit!... A book, a pen behind your ear, a learned research—that’s where your spirit soars! I am the same way myself.... Have you read Livingstone’s Travels?”

“Oh, yes! Of course, I heard you’ve become friends. Well, no, Zametov isn’t here. Yes, we’ve lost Zametov. He hasn’t been here since yesterday... He quarreled with everyone when he left... and was very rude about it. He’s a scatterbrained young man, that’s all. You might have expected something of him, but there you are. You know what our brilliant young men are like. He wanted to take some exam, but he’ll only talk and boast about it. It won’t go any further than that. Of course, it’s very different with you or your friend, Mr. Razumihin. Yours is an intellectual career, and failure won’t stop you. You might say that for you, all the attractions of life are nihil est, nothing. You’re an ascetic, a monk, a hermit!... A book, a pen behind your ear, scholarly research. That’s where your spirit soars! I’m the same way myself.... Have you read Livingstone’s Travels?”

“No.”

“Oh, I have. There are a great many Nihilists about nowadays, you know, and indeed it is not to be wondered at. What sort of days are they? I ask you. But we thought... you are not a Nihilist of course? Answer me openly, openly!”

“Oh, I have. There are a great many Nihilists around these days, you know. And really, it’s no wonder. What kind of times are these? I ask you. But we thought... You’re not a Nihilist, of course? Answer me honestly, honestly!”

“N-no...”

“Believe me, you can speak openly to me as you would to yourself! Official duty is one thing but... you are thinking I meant to say friendship is quite another? No, you’re wrong! It’s not friendship, but the feeling of a man and a citizen, the feeling of humanity and of love for the Almighty. I may be an official, but I am always bound to feel myself a man and a citizen.... You were asking about Zametov. Zametov will make a scandal in the French style in a house of bad reputation, over a glass of champagne... that’s all your Zametov is good for! While I’m perhaps, so to speak, burning with devotion and lofty feelings, and besides I have rank, consequence, a post! I am married and have children, I fulfil the duties of a man and a citizen, but who is he, may I ask? I appeal to you as a man ennobled by education... Then these midwives, too, have become extraordinarily numerous.”

“Believe me, you can speak as openly to me as you would to yourself! Official duty is one thing, but... you think I’m going to say friendship is another? No, you’re wrong! It’s not friendship. It’s the feeling of a man and a citizen, a feeling of humanity and love for the Almighty. I may be an official, but I must always remember that I am a man and a citizen.... You were asking about Zametov. Zametov will make a scandal, French-style, in a brothel over a glass of champagne... that’s all your Zametov is good for! While I’m perhaps, so to speak, burning with devotion and noble feelings. And besides, I have rank, importance, a position! I’m married and have children. I fulfill my duties as a man and a citizen. But who is he, may I ask? I appeal to you as a man made noble by education... And then there are these midwives, too. They’ve become extraordinarily numerous.”

Raskolnikov raised his eyebrows inquiringly. The words of Ilya Petrovitch, who had obviously been dining, were for the most part a stream of empty sounds for him. But some of them he understood. He looked at him inquiringly, not knowing how it would end.

Raskolnikov raised his eyebrows in a questioning look. Ilya Petrovitch had obviously been drinking. Most of what he said sounded meaningless to Raskolnikov. But Raskolnikov understood some of it. He looked at Ilya Petrovitch questioningly, unsure how it would end.

“I mean those crop-headed wenches,” the talkative Ilya Petrovitch continued. “Midwives is my name for them. I think it a very satisfactory one, ha-ha! They go to the Academy, study anatomy. If I fall ill, am I to send for a young lady to treat me? What do you say? Ha-ha!” Ilya Petrovitch laughed, quite pleased with his own wit. “It’s an immoderate zeal for education, but once you’re educated, that’s enough. Why abuse it? Why insult honourable people, as that scoundrel Zametov does? Why did he insult me, I ask you? Look at these suicides, too, how common they are, you can’t fancy! People spend their last halfpenny and kill themselves, boys and girls and old people. Only this morning we heard about a gentleman who had just come to town. Nil Pavlitch, I say, what was the name of that gentleman who shot himself?”

“I mean those short-haired girls,” the talkative Ilya Petrovitch continued. “I call them midwives. I think it’s a very good name for them, ha-ha! They go to the Academy and study anatomy. If I get sick, am I supposed to call a young lady to treat me? What do you say? Ha-ha!” Ilya Petrovitch laughed, quite pleased with his own wit. “They’re far too eager for education. But once you’re educated, that’s enough. Why misuse it? Why insult respectable people, as that scoundrel Zametov does? Why did he insult me, I ask you? And look at all these suicides. You can’t imagine how common they are! People spend their last penny and kill themselves, boys and girls and old people. Just this morning we heard about a gentleman who had just arrived in town. Nil Pavlitch, I say, what was the name of that gentleman who shot himself?”

“Svidrigaïlov,” someone answered from the other room with drowsy listlessness.

“Svidrigaïlov,” someone answered from the other room, sounding sleepy and listless.

Raskolnikov started.

Raskolnikov flinched.

“Svidrigaïlov! Svidrigaïlov has shot himself!” he cried.

“Svidrigaïlov! Svidrigaïlov has shot himself!” he shouted.

“What, do you know Svidrigaïlov?”

“What? Do you know Svidrigaïlov?”

“Yes... I knew him.... He hadn’t been here long.”

“Yes, that’s so. He had lost his wife, was a man of reckless habits and all of a sudden shot himself, and in such a shocking way.... He left in his notebook a few words: that he dies in full possession of his faculties and that no one is to blame for his death. He had money, they say. How did you come to know him?”

“Yes, that’s right. He had lost his wife and lived recklessly. Then he suddenly shot himself, and in such a shocking way.... He left a few words in his notebook. He wrote that he was of sound mind and that no one was to blame for his death. They say he had money. How did you come to know him?”

“I... was acquainted... my sister was governess in his family.”

“I... knew him... my sister was a governess for his family.”

“Bah-bah-bah! Then no doubt you can tell us something about him. You had no suspicion?”

“Bah-bah-bah! Then surely you can tell us something about him. You didn't suspect anything?”

“I saw him yesterday... he... was drinking wine; I knew nothing.”

“I saw him yesterday... he... was drinking wine. I knew nothing.”

Raskolnikov felt as though something had fallen on him and was stifling him.

Raskolnikov felt as if something had fallen on him and was suffocating him.

“You’ve turned pale again. It’s so stuffy here...”

“You’ve gone pale again. It’s so stuffy in here...”

“Yes, I must go,” muttered Raskolnikov. “Excuse my troubling you....”

“Yes, I have to go,” Raskolnikov muttered. “Sorry to bother you....”

“Oh, not at all, as often as you like. It’s a pleasure to see you and I am glad to say so.”

“Oh, not at all. Come as often as you like. It’s a pleasure to see you, and I’m glad to say so.”

Ilya Petrovitch held out his hand.

“I only wanted... I came to see Zametov.”

“I just wanted... I came to see Zametov.”

“I understand, I understand, and it’s a pleasure to see you.”

“I understand, I understand, and it’s good to see you.”

“I... am very glad... good-bye,” Raskolnikov smiled.

“I... am very glad... goodbye,” Raskolnikov said with a smile.

He went out; he reeled, he was overtaken with giddiness and did not know what he was doing. He began going down the stairs, supporting himself with his right hand against the wall. He fancied that a porter pushed past him on his way upstairs to the police office, that a dog in the lower storey kept up a shrill barking and that a woman flung a rolling-pin at it and shouted. He went down and out into the yard. There, not far from the entrance, stood Sonia, pale and horror-stricken. She looked wildly at him. He stood still before her. There was a look of poignant agony, of despair, in her face. She clasped her hands. His lips worked in an ugly, meaningless smile. He stood still a minute, grinned and went back to the police office.

He went out, staggering and dizzy, not knowing what he was doing. He started down the stairs, steadying himself with his right hand against the wall. He thought a porter pushed past him on his way up to the police office. He thought a dog was barking shrilly on the lower floor, and a woman threw a rolling pin at it and shouted. He went downstairs and out into the yard. Sonia stood near the entrance, pale and horrified. She looked at him wildly. He stopped in front of her. Her face was full of anguish and despair. She clasped her hands. His lips twisted into an ugly, meaningless smile. He stood still for a minute, then grinned and went back to the police office.

Ilya Petrovitch had sat down and was rummaging among some papers. Before him stood the same peasant who had pushed by on the stairs.

Ilya Petrovitch had sat down and was sorting through some papers. The same peasant who had pushed past him on the stairs stood in front of him.

“Hulloa! Back again! have you left something behind? What’s the matter?”

“Hello! Back again! Did you leave something behind? What’s the matter?”

Raskolnikov, with white lips and staring eyes, came slowly nearer. He walked right to the table, leaned his hand on it, tried to say something, but could not; only incoherent sounds were audible.

Raskolnikov slowly came closer, his lips white and his eyes staring. He walked right up to the table and rested his hand on it. He tried to speak but could not. Only jumbled sounds came out.

“You are feeling ill, a chair! Here, sit down! Some water!”

“You’re feeling sick. A chair! Here, sit down! Some water!”

Raskolnikov dropped on to a chair, but he kept his eyes fixed on the face of Ilya Petrovitch, which expressed unpleasant surprise. Both looked at one another for a minute and waited. Water was brought.

Raskolnikov dropped into a chair, but kept his eyes fixed on Ilya Petrovitch, whose face showed unpleasant surprise. They looked at each other for a minute and waited. Water was brought.

“It was I...” began Raskolnikov.

“It was me...” Raskolnikov began.

“Drink some water.”

Raskolnikov refused the water with his hand, and softly and brokenly, but distinctly said:

Raskolnikov waved away the water and spoke softly and haltingly, but clearly:

“It was I killed the old pawnbroker woman and her sister Lizaveta with an axe and robbed them.”

“I killed the old pawnbroker and her sister Lizaveta with an axe and robbed them.”

Ilya Petrovitch opened his mouth. People ran up on all sides.

Ilya Petrovitch opened his mouth. People ran up from all sides.

Raskolnikov repeated his statement.

Raskolnikov repeated what he had said.