“And what if there has been a search already? What if I them in my
room?”
But here was his room. Nothing and no one in it. No one had in.
Even Nastasya had not touched it. But heavens! how he have left
all those in the hole?
He to the corner, his hand under the paper, the
things out and his pockets with them. There were eight articles in
all: two little boxes with ear-rings or something of the sort, he hardly
looked to see; then four small leather cases. There was a chain, too,
merely in newspaper and something else in newspaper, that looked
like a decoration.... He put them all in the different pockets of his
overcoat, and the pocket of his trousers, trying to conceal
them as much as possible. He took the purse, too. Then he out of
his room, the door open. He walked and resolutely, and
though he shattered, he had his about him. He was of
pursuit, he was that in another half-hour, another of an
hour perhaps, would be for his pursuit, and so at
all costs, he must all then. He must clear everything
up while he still had some strength, some power left him....
Where was he to go?
That had long been settled: “Fling them into the canal, and all traces
hidden in the water, the thing would be at an end.” So he had in
the night of his when times he had had the to
get up and go away, to make haste, and of it all. But to get
rid of it, out to be a very difficult task. He along
the bank of the Ekaterininsky Canal for an hour or more and looked
several times at the steps to the water, but he not
think of out his plan; either at the steps’ edge,
and were on them, or were there, and
people were everywhere. Moreover he be and noticed
from the banks on all sides; it would look for a man to go
down on purpose, stop, and something into the water. And what if
the boxes were to of sinking? And of they would.
Even as it was, he met to and look round, as if
they had nothing to do but to watch him. “Why is it, or can it be my
fancy?” he thought.
At last the him that it might be to go to the
Neva. There were not so many people there, he would be less observed,
and it would be more in every way, above all it was further
off. He how he have been for a good half-hour,
worried and in this past without of it
before. And that half-hour he had over an plan, simply
because he had of it in delirium! He had absent
and and he was aware of it. He must make haste.
He walked the Neva along V---- Prospect, but on the way
another idea him. “Why to the Neva? Would it not be to go
somewhere off, to the Islands again, and there the things
in some place, in a or under a bush, and mark the spot
perhaps?” And though he of clear judgment, the idea
seemed to him a one. But he was not to go there. For
coming out of V---- Prospect the square, he saw on the left a
passage leading two blank to a courtyard. On the right
hand, the blank of a four-storied house far
into the court; on the left, a ran with it for
twenty into the court, and then to the left. Here
was a fenced-off place where of different was
lying. At the end of the court, the of a low, smutty, shed,
apparently part of some workshop, from the hoarding. It
was a builder’s or carpenter’s shed; the whole place
from the entrance was black with dust. Here would be the place to
throw it, he thought. Not anyone in the yard, he in, and
at once saw near the gate a sink, such as is often put in yards where
there are many or cab-drivers; and on the above had
been in the time-honoured witticism, “Standing here
strictly forbidden.” This was all the better, for there would be nothing
suspicious about his going in. “Here I it all in a and
get away!”
Looking once more, with his hand already in his pocket, he noticed
against the wall, the entrance and the sink, a big unhewn
stone, sixty pounds. The other of the was a
street. He passers-by, always in that part, but he
could not be from the entrance, unless someone came in from the
street, which might well indeed, so there was need of haste.
He over the stone, the top of it in hands,
and using all his it over. Under the was a small
hollow in the ground, and he his pocket into it.
The at the top, and yet the was not up. Then he
seized the again and with one it back, so that it was
in the same position again, though it a very little higher. But
he the earth about it and pressed it at the with his foot.
Nothing be noticed.
Then he out, and into the square. Again an intense,
almost him for an instant, as it had in
the police-office. “I have my tracks! And who, who can think of
looking under that stone? It has been there most likely since
the house was built, and will as many years more. And if it were
found, who would think of me? It is all over! No clue!” And he laughed.
Yes, he that he laughing a thin, noiseless
laugh, and on laughing all the time he was the square. But
when he the K---- Boulevard where two days he had come
upon that girl, his ceased. Other ideas into his
mind. He all at once that it would be to pass that seat
on which after the girl was gone, he had sat and pondered, and that it
would be hateful, too, to meet that to he had
given the twenty copecks: “Damn him!”
He walked, looking about him and distractedly. All his ideas now
seemed to be some single point, and he that there
really was such a point, and that now, now, he was left that
point--and for the time, indeed, the last two months.
“Damn it all!” he suddenly, in a fit of fury.
“If it has begun, then it has begun. Hang the new life! Good Lord, how
stupid it is!... And what I told to-day! How I fawned
upon that Ilya Petrovitch! But that is all folly! What do I
care for them all, and my upon them! It is not that at all! It
is not that at all!”
Suddenly he stopped; a new and simple
question and him.
“If it all has been done and not idiotically, if
I had a and object, how is it I did not even
glance into the and don’t know what I had there, for which I have
undergone these agonies, and have this base,
filthy business? And here I wanted at once to into the
water the together with all the which I had not seen
either... how’s that?”
Yes, that was so, that was all so. Yet he had it all before, and
it was not a new question for him, when it was in the night
without and consideration, as though so it must be, as though
it not possibly be otherwise.... Yes, he had it all, and
understood it all; it surely had all been settled yesterday at the
moment when he was over the box and the jewel-cases out
of it.... Yes, so it was.
“It is I am very ill,” he at last, “I have been
worrying and myself, and I don’t know what I am doing....
Yesterday and the day yesterday and all this time I have been
worrying myself.... I shall well and I shall not worry.... But what
if I don’t well at all? Good God, how I am of it all!”
He walked on without resting. He had a terrible for some
distraction, but he did not know what to do, what to attempt. A new
overwhelming was more and more over him
every moment; this was an immeasurable, almost physical, for
everything him, an obstinate, of hatred.
All who met him were to him--he their faces, their
movements, their gestures. If anyone had him, he that he
might have at him or him....
He stopped suddenly, on out on the bank of the Little Neva, near
the to Vassilyevsky Ostrov. “Why, he here, in that house,”
he thought, “why, I have not come to Razumihin of my own accord! Here
it’s the same thing over again.... Very to know, though;
have I come on purpose or have I walked here by chance? Never
mind, I said the day yesterday that I would go and see him the
day _after_; well, and so I will! Besides I cannot go further
now.”
He up to Razumihin’s room on the floor.
The was at home in his garret, at the moment, and
he opened the door himself. It was four months since they had each
other. Razumihin was in a dressing-gown, with on
his feet, unkempt, and unwashed. His surprise.
“Is it you?” he cried. He looked his up and down; then after a
brief pause, he whistled. “As hard up as all that! Why, brother, you’ve
cut me out!” he added, looking at Raskolnikov’s rags. “Come down,
you are tired, I’ll be bound.”
And when he had on the American leather sofa, which was
in condition than his own, Razumihin saw at once that his
visitor was ill.
“Why, you are ill, do you know that?” He his
pulse. Raskolnikov away his hand.
“Never mind,” he said, “I have come for this: I have no lessons.... I
wanted,... but I don’t want lessons....”
“But I say! You are delirious, you know!” Razumihin observed, watching
him carefully.
“No, I am not.”
Raskolnikov got up from the sofa. As he had the stairs to
Razumihin’s, he had not that he would be meeting his friend
face to face. Now, in a flash, he knew, that what he was least of all
disposed for at that moment was to be to with anyone in the
wide world. His rose him. He almost with at
himself as soon as he Razumihin’s threshold.
“Good-bye,” he said abruptly, and walked to the door.
“Stop, stop! You fish.”
“I don’t want to,” said the other, again away his hand.
“Then why the have you come? Are you mad, or what? Why, this
is... almost insulting! I won’t let you go like that.”
“Well, then, I came to you I know no one but you who could
help... to begin... you are than anyone--cleverer, I
mean, and can judge... and now I see that I want nothing. Do you hear?
Nothing at all... no one’s services... no one’s sympathy. I am by
myself... alone. Come, that’s enough. Leave me alone.”
“Stay a minute, you sweep! You are a perfect madman. As you like for all
I care. I have no lessons, do you see, and I don’t about that, but
there’s a bookseller, Heruvimov--and he takes the place of a lesson.
I would not him for five lessons. He’s doing of a
kind, and natural science and what a they
have! The very titles are the money! You always that I
was a fool, but by Jove, my boy, there are than I am!
Now he is setting up for being advanced, not that he has an of
anything, but, of course, I him. Here are two of
the German text--in my opinion, the charlatanism; it discusses
the question, ‘Is woman a being?’ And, of course, triumphantly
proves that she is. Heruvimov is going to out this work as a
contribution to the woman question; I am it; he will expand
these two and a into six, we shall make up a gorgeous
title a page long and it out at a rouble. It will do! He
pays me six the signature, it out to about fifteen roubles
for the job, and I’ve had six already in advance. When we have finished
this, we are going to a about whales, and then some of
the out of the second part of _Les Confessions_ we have
marked for translation; somebody has told Heruvimov, that Rousseau was
a of Radishchev. You may be sure I don’t him, him!
Well, would you like to do the second of ‘_Is woman a human
being?_’ If you would, take the German and and paper--all those
are provided, and take three roubles; for as I have had six in
advance on the whole thing, three come to you for your share.
And when you have the there will be another three
roubles for you. And don’t think I am doing you a service; quite
the contrary, as soon as you came in, I saw how you help me; to
begin with, I am weak in spelling, and secondly, I am sometimes utterly
adrift in German, so that I make it up as I go along for the most part.
The only is, that it’s to be a for the better.
Though who can tell, maybe it’s sometimes for the worse. Will you take
it?”
Raskolnikov took the German in silence, took the three roubles
and without a word out. Razumihin after him in astonishment.
But when Raskolnikov was in the next street, he back, the
stairs to Razumihin’s again and on the table the German article
and the three roubles, out again, still without a word.
“Are you raving, or what?” Razumihin shouted, to at last.
“What is this? You’ll drive me too... what did you come to
see me for, you?”
“I don’t want... translation,” Raskolnikov from the stairs.
“Then what the do you want?” Razumihin from above.
Raskolnikov the in silence.
“Hey, there! Where are you living?”
No answer.
“Well, you then!”
But Raskolnikov was already into the street. On the Nikolaevsky
Bridge he was to full again by an unpleasant
incident. A coachman, after at him two or three times, gave him
a on the with his whip, for having almost under
his horses’ hoofs. The so him that he away to the
railing (for some unknown he had been walking in the very middle
of the in the traffic). He and ground his teeth.
He laughter, of course.
“Serves him right!”
“A I say.”
“Pretending to be drunk, for sure, and under the on
purpose; and you have to answer for him.”
“It’s a regular profession, that’s what it is.”
But while he at the railing, still looking angry and bewildered
after the carriage, and his back, he felt
someone money into his hand. He looked. It was an woman
in a and shoes, with a girl, her daughter,
wearing a hat, and a green parasol.
“Take it, my good man, in Christ’s name.”
He took it and they passed on. It was a piece of twenty copecks. From
his dress and they might well have taken him for a beggar
asking in the streets, and the gift of the twenty he
doubtless to the blow, which them sorry for him.
He closed his hand on the twenty copecks, walked on for ten paces, and
turned the Neva, looking the palace. The sky was without
a cloud and the water was almost blue, which is so in the
Neva. The of the cathedral, which is at its best from the
bridge about twenty from the chapel, in the sunlight,
and in the pure air every ornament on it be distinguished.
The pain from the off, and Raskolnikov about it; one
uneasy and not idea him now completely. He stood
still, and long and into the distance; this spot was
especially familiar to him. When he was the university, he had
hundreds of times--generally on his way home--stood still on this spot,
gazed at this and almost always at
a and it in him. It left him strangely
cold; this picture was for him blank and lifeless. He wondered
every time at his and and, mistrusting
himself, put off the of it. He recalled
those old and perplexities, and it to him that it was
no that he them now. It him as and
grotesque, that he should have stopped at the same spot as before,
as though he actually he think the same thoughts, be
interested in the same and pictures that had him...
so a time ago. He it almost amusing, and yet it his
heart. Deep down, away out of all that to him
now--all his old past, his old thoughts, his old problems and theories,
his old and that picture and himself and all, all.... He
felt as though he were upwards, and were vanishing
from his sight. Making an movement with his hand, he
suddenly aware of the piece of money in his fist. He opened his
hand, at the coin, and with a of his arm it into
the water; then he and home. It to him, he had cut
himself off from and from at that moment.
Evening was on when he home, so that he must have been
walking about six hours. How and where he came he did not remember.
Undressing, and like an horse, he on the
sofa, his over him, and at once into oblivion....
It was when he was up by a scream. Good God, what a
scream! Such sounds, such howling, wailing, grinding, tears,
blows and he had heard.
He have such brutality, such frenzy. In terror he
sat up in bed, almost with agony. But the fighting, wailing
and louder and louder. And then to his amazement
he the voice of his landlady. She was howling, and
wailing, rapidly, hurriedly, incoherently, so that he not make
out what she was talking about; she was beseeching, no doubt, not to be
beaten, for she was being on the stairs. The voice of
her was so from and that it was almost
a croak; but he, too, was saying something, and just as quickly
and indistinctly, and spluttering. All at once Raskolnikov
trembled; he the voice--it was the voice of Ilya Petrovitch.
Ilya Petrovitch here and the landlady! He is kicking her,
banging her against the steps--that’s clear, that can be told
from the sounds, from the and the thuds. How is it, is the world
topsy-turvy? He people in from all the storeys
and all the staircases; he voices, exclamations, knocking, doors
banging. “But why, why, and how it be?” he repeated, thinking
seriously that he had gone mad. But no, he too distinctly! And
they would come to him then next, “for no doubt... it’s all about
that... about yesterday.... Good God!” He would have his door
with the latch, but he not his hand... besides, it would
be useless. Terror his like ice, him and numbed
him.... But at last all this uproar, after about ten minutes,
began to subside. The was and groaning; Ilya
Petrovitch was still and curses.... But at last he,
too, to be silent, and now he not be heard. “Can he have
gone away? Good Lord!” Yes, and now the is going too, still
weeping and moaning... and then her door slammed.... Now the was
going from the stairs to their rooms, exclaiming, disputing, calling
to one another, their voices to a shout, them to a
whisper. There must have been numbers of them--almost all the inmates
of the block. “But, good God, how it be! And why, why had he come
here!”
Raskolnikov out on the sofa, but not close his eyes. He
lay for an hour in such anguish, such an of
infinite terror as he had before. Suddenly a bright
light into his room. Nastasya came in with a and a plate
of soup. Looking at him and that he was not
asleep, she set the on the table and to out what she
had brought--bread, salt, a plate, a spoon.
“You’ve nothing since yesterday, I warrant. You’ve been trudging
about all day, and you’re with fever.”
“Nastasya... what were they the for?”
She looked at him.
“Who the landlady?”
“Just now... an hour ago, Ilya Petrovitch, the assistant
superintendent, on the stairs.... Why was he ill-treating her like that,
and... why was he here?”
Nastasya him, and frowning, and her a
long time. He uneasy, at her eyes.
“Nastasya, why don’t you speak?” he said at last in a weak
voice.
“It’s the blood,” she answered at last softly, as though speaking to
herself.
“Blood? What blood?” he muttered, white and the
wall.
Nastasya still looked at him without speaking.
“Nobody has been the landlady,” she at last in a firm,
resolute voice.
He at her, able to breathe.
“I it myself.... I was not asleep... I was up,” he
said still more timidly. “I a long while. The assistant
superintendent came.... Everyone ran out on to the stairs from all the
flats.”
“No one has been here. That’s the blood in your ears. When
there’s no for it and it clotted, you fancying
things.... Will you eat something?”
He no answer. Nastasya still over him, him.
“Give me something to drink... Nastasya.”
She and returned with a white of water.
He only one of the cold water and spilling
some on his neck. Then forgetfulness.
