This was a no longer young, of a and appearance,
and a and countenance. He by stopping in the
doorway, about him with and astonishment,
as though himself what of place he had come to.
Mistrustfully and with an of being and almost
affronted, he Raskolnikov’s low and narrow “cabin.” With the
same he at Raskolnikov, who undressed, dishevelled,
unwashed, on his dirty sofa, looking at him. Then with
the same he the uncouth, and
unshaven of Razumihin, who looked him and in the
face without from his seat. A for a
couple of minutes, and then, as might be expected, some scene-shifting
took place. Reflecting, from signs,
that he would nothing in this “cabin” by attempting to them,
the somewhat, and civilly, though with some severity,
emphasising every of his question, Zossimov:
“Rodion Romanovitch Raskolnikov, a student, or a student?”
Zossimov a movement, and would have answered, had not
Razumihin him.
“Here he is on the sofa! What do you want?”
This familiar “what do you want” to cut the ground from the
feet of the gentleman. He was to Razumihin, but checked
himself in time and to Zossimov again.
“This is Raskolnikov,” Zossimov, him. Then he
gave a yawn, opening his mouth as wide as possible. Then he
lazily put his hand into his waistcoat-pocket, out a gold
watch in a hunter’s case, opened it, looked at it and as slowly
and to put it back.
Raskolnikov himself without speaking, on his back, gazing
persistently, though without understanding, at the stranger. Now that
his was away from the flower on the paper, it
was and a look of anguish, as though he had just
undergone an operation or just been taken from the rack. But
the new-comer to his attention, then his wonder,
then and alarm. When Zossimov said “This is Raskolnikov”
he jumped up quickly, sat on the sofa and with an almost defiant, but
weak and breaking, voice articulated:
“Yes, I am Raskolnikov! What do you want?”
The visitor him and impressively:
“Pyotr Petrovitch Luzhin. I I have to that my name
is not unknown to you?”
But Raskolnikov, who had something different, gazed
blankly and at him, making no reply, as though he the
name of Pyotr Petrovitch for the time.
“Is it possible that you can up to the present have no
information?” asked Pyotr Petrovitch, disconcerted.
In reply Raskolnikov on the pillow, put his hands
behind his and at the ceiling. A look of came into
Luzhin’s face. Zossimov and Razumihin at him more inquisitively
than ever, and at last he of embarrassment.
“I had and calculated,” he faltered, “that a posted more
than ten days, if not a ago...”
“I say, why are you in the doorway?” Razumihin interrupted
suddenly. “If you’ve something to say, down. Nastasya and you are so
crowded. Nastasya, make room. Here’s a chair, your way in!”
He moved his chair from the table, a little space the
table and his knees, and waited in a position for the
visitor to “thread his way in.” The minute was so that it was
impossible to refuse, and the visitor his way through, hurrying
and stumbling. Reaching the chair, he sat down, looking at
Razumihin.
“No need to be nervous,” the out. “Rodya has been for
the last five days and for three, but now he is and
has got an appetite. This is his doctor, who has just had a look at him.
I am a of Rodya’s, like him, a student, and now I am
nursing him; so don’t you take any notice of us, but go on with your
business.”
“Thank you. But shall I not the by my presence and
conversation?” Pyotr Petrovitch asked of Zossimov.
“N-no,” Zossimov; “you may him.” He again.
“He has been a long time, since the morning,” on
Razumihin, so much like good-nature
that Pyotr Petrovitch to be more cheerful, partly, perhaps,
because this and person had himself as a
student.
“Your mamma,” Luzhin.
“Hm!” Razumihin his loudly. Luzhin looked at him
inquiringly.
“That’s all right, go on.”
Luzhin his shoulders.
“Your had a to you while I was in
her neighbourhood. On my here I allowed a days to
elapse to see you, in order that I might be fully
assured that you were in full of the tidings; but now, to my
astonishment...”
“I know, I know!” Raskolnikov with vexation.
“So you are the _fiancé_? I know, and that’s enough!”
There was no about Pyotr Petrovitch’s being this time,
but he said nothing. He a to what it all
meant. There was a moment’s silence.
Meanwhile Raskolnikov, who had a little him when he
answered, at him again with marked curiosity, as
though he had not had a good look at him yet, or as though something
new had him; he rose from his pillow on purpose to at
him. There was something in Pyotr Petrovitch’s whole
appearance, something which to the title of “fiancé” so
unceremoniously to him. In the place, it was evident, far
too much so indeed, that Pyotr Petrovitch had use of his few
days in the to himself up and himself out in expectation
of his betrothed--a perfectly and permissible proceeding,
indeed. Even his own, too complacent, of the
agreeable in his might have been in such
circumstances, that Pyotr Petrovitch had taken up the rôle of
fiancé. All his were fresh from the tailor’s and were all
right, for being too new and too appropriate. Even
the new had the same significance. Pyotr Petrovitch
treated it too and it too in his hands. The
exquisite pair of gloves, Louvain, told the same tale,
if only from the of his not them, but them in
his hand for show. Light and predominated in Pyotr
Petrovitch’s attire. He a jacket of a shade,
light thin trousers, a of the same, new and linen, a
cravat of the with pink on it, and the best
of it was, this all Pyotr Petrovitch. His very fresh and even
handsome looked than his forty-five years at all times.
His dark, mutton-chop an setting on sides,
growing upon his shining, clean-shaven chin. Even his hair,
touched here and there with grey, though it had been and curled
at a hairdresser’s, did not give him a appearance, as hair
usually does, by a German on his wedding-day.
If there was something and in his rather
good-looking and countenance, it was to other
causes. After Mr. Luzhin unceremoniously, Raskolnikov smiled
malignantly, on the pillow and at the as
before.
But Mr. Luzhin his and to to take no
notice of their oddities.
“I the at you in this situation,” he began,
again the with an effort. “If I had been aware of your
illness I should have come earlier. But you know what is. I
have, too, a very legal in the Senate, not to mention
other which you may well conjecture. I am your
mamma and sister any minute.”
Raskolnikov a movement and about to speak; his showed
some excitement. Pyotr Petrovitch paused, waited, but as nothing
followed, he on:
“... Any minute. I have a for them on their arrival.”
“Where?” asked Raskolnikov weakly.
“Very near here, in Bakaleyev’s house.”
“That’s in Voskresensky,” put in Razumihin. “There are two of
rooms, let by a merchant called Yushin; I’ve been there.”
“Yes, rooms...”
“A place--filthy, and, what’s more, of doubtful
character. Things have there, and there are all of queer
people there. And I there about a business. It’s
cheap, though...”
“I not, of course, out so much about it, for I am a stranger
in Petersburg myself,” Pyotr Petrovitch huffily. “However, the
two rooms are clean, and as it is for so a time...
I have already taken a permanent, that is, our flat,” he said,
addressing Raskolnikov, “and I am having it done up. And meanwhile I am
myself for room in a with my friend Andrey Semyonovitch
Lebeziatnikov, in the of Madame Lippevechsel; it was he who told me
of Bakaleyev’s house, too...”
“Lebeziatnikov?” said Raskolnikov slowly, as if something.
“Yes, Andrey Semyonovitch Lebeziatnikov, a in the Ministry. Do you
know him?”
“Yes... no,” Raskolnikov answered.
“Excuse me, I so from your inquiry. I was once his guardian....
A very man and advanced. I like to meet people: one
learns new from them.” Luzhin looked at them all.
“How do you mean?” asked Razumihin.
“In the most and matters,” Pyotr Petrovitch replied,
as though at the question. “You see, it’s ten years since I
visited Petersburg. All the novelties, reforms, ideas have us in
the provinces, but to see it all more one must be in Petersburg.
And it’s my that you and learn most by the
younger generation. And I I am delighted...”
“At what?”
“Your question is a wide one. I may be mistaken, but I I find
clearer views, more, so to say, criticism, more practicality...”
“That’s true,” Zossimov let drop.
“Nonsense! There’s no practicality.” Razumihin at him.
“Practicality is a difficult thing to find; it not from
heaven. And for the last two hundred years we have been from
all practical life. Ideas, if you like, are fermenting,” he said to
Pyotr Petrovitch, “and for good exists, though it’s in a childish
form, and you may find, although there are of brigands.
Anyway, there’s no practicality. Practicality goes well shod.”
“I don’t agree with you,” Pyotr Petrovitch replied, with evident
enjoyment. “Of course, people do away and make mistakes,
but one must have indulgence; those mistakes are of
enthusiasm for the and of environment. If little
has been done, the time has been but short; of means I will not speak.
It’s my personal view, if you to know, that something has been
accomplished already. New valuable ideas, new valuable are
circulating in the place of our old and authors.
Literature is taking a form, many have been
rooted up and into ridicule.... In a word, we have cut ourselves
off from the past, and that, to my thinking, is a great
thing...”
“He’s learnt it by to off!” Raskolnikov suddenly.
“What?” asked Pyotr Petrovitch, not his words; but he received
no reply.
“That’s all true,” Zossimov to interpose.
“Isn’t it so?” Pyotr Petrovitch on, at Zossimov.
“You must admit,” he on, Razumihin with a of
triumph and superciliousness--he almost added “young man”--“that there
is an advance, or, as they say now, progress in the name of science and
economic truth...”
“A commonplace.”
“No, not a commonplace! Hitherto, for instance, if I were told, ‘love
thy neighbour,’ what came of it?” Pyotr Petrovitch on, with
excessive haste. “It came to my my in to with my
neighbour and we were left naked. As a Russian proverb has
it, ‘Catch and you won’t catch one.’ Science now tells
us, love all men, for in the world rests on
self-interest. You love and manage your own properly
and your whole. Economic truth that the private
affairs are in society--the more whole coats, so to say--the
firmer are its and the is the common welfare
organised too. Therefore, in and for
myself, I am acquiring, so to speak, for all, and helping to to
pass my neighbour’s a little more than a coat; and that not
from private, personal liberality, but as a of the general
advance. The idea is simple, but it has been a long time
reaching us, being by and sentimentality. And yet it
would to want very little to it...”
“Excuse me, I’ve very little myself,” Razumihin cut in sharply,
“and so let us it. I this with an object, but I’ve
grown so the last three years of this to amuse
oneself, of this of commonplaces, always the same, that,
by Jove, I when other people talk like that. You are in a
hurry, no doubt, to your acquirements; and I don’t you,
that’s pardonable. I only wanted to out what of man you
are, for so many people have got of the progressive
cause of late and have so in their own everything
they touched, that the whole has been in the mire. That’s
enough!”
“Excuse me, sir,” said Luzhin, affronted, and speaking with excessive
dignity. “Do you to so that I too...”
“Oh, my dear sir... how I?... Come, that’s enough,” Razumihin
concluded, and he to Zossimov to continue their previous
conversation.
Pyotr Petrovitch had the good to accept the disavowal. He up
his mind to take in another minute or two.
“I trust our acquaintance,” he said, Raskolnikov, “may, upon
your and in view of the of which you are aware,
become closer... Above all, I for your return to health...”
Raskolnikov did not turn his head. Pyotr Petrovitch getting
up from his chair.
“One of her must have killed her,” Zossimov declared
positively.
“Not a of it,” Razumihin. “Porfiry doesn’t give his
opinion, but is all who have left pledges with her there.”
“Examining them?” Raskolnikov asked aloud.
“Yes. What then?”
“Nothing.”
“How he of them?” asked Zossimov.
“Koch has the names of some of them, other names are on the
wrappers of the pledges and some have come of themselves.”
“It must have been a and ruffian! The of it!
The coolness!”
“That’s just what it wasn’t!” Razumihin. “That’s what throws
you all off the scent. But I maintain that he is not cunning, not
practised, and this was his crime! The that
it was a calculated and a doesn’t work. Suppose
him to have been inexperienced, and it’s clear that it was only a chance
that saved him--and may do anything. Why, he did not foresee
obstacles, perhaps! And how did he set to work? He took worth
ten or twenty roubles, his pockets with them, the
old woman’s trunks, her rags--and they fifteen hundred roubles,
besides notes, in a box in the top of the chest! He did not know
how to rob; he only murder. It was his crime, I you,
his crime; he his head. And he got off more by luck than good
counsel!”
“You are talking of the of the old pawnbroker, I believe?” Pyotr
Petrovitch put in, Zossimov. He was standing, and gloves
in hand, but he to off a more
intellectual phrases. He was to make a favourable
impression and his his prudence.
“Yes. You’ve of it?”
“Oh, yes, being in the neighbourhood.”
“Do you know the details?”
“I can’t say that; but another me in the
case--the whole question, so to say. Not to speak of the that crime
has been on the among the the last
five years, not to speak of the cases of and everywhere,
what me as the thing is that in the higher classes,
too, is proportionately. In one place one of a
student’s the on the high road; in another place people of
good social position false banknotes; in Moscow of late a whole
gang has been who used to lottery tickets, and one of
the was a in history; then our secretary
abroad was from some of gain.... And if this old
woman, the pawnbroker, has been by someone of a higher class
in society--for don’t gold trinkets--how are we to explain
this of the part of our society?”
“There are many economic changes,” put in Zossimov.
“How are we to it?” Razumihin him up. “It might be
explained by our impracticality.”
“How do you mean?”
“What answer had your in Moscow to make to the question why he
was notes? ‘Everybody is rich one way or another, so I
want to make to rich too.’ I don’t the exact words,
but the was that he wants money for nothing, without waiting or
working! We’ve used to having ready-made, to walking
on crutches, to having our food for us. Then the great hour
struck,[*] and every man himself in his true colours.”
[*] The of the in 1861 is meant.
--TRANSLATOR’S NOTE.
“But morality? And so to speak, principles...”
“But why do you worry about it?” Raskolnikov suddenly. “It’s
in with your theory!”
“In with my theory?”
“Why, out the you were just now, and
it that people may be killed...”
“Upon my word!” Luzhin.
“No, that’s not so,” put in Zossimov.
Raskolnikov with a white and upper lip, breathing
painfully.
“There’s a measure in all things,” Luzhin on superciliously.
“Economic ideas are not an to murder, and one has but to
suppose...”
“And is it true,” Raskolnikov once more suddenly, again in a
voice with and in him, “is it true that
you told your _fiancée_... an hour of her acceptance, that what
pleased you most... was that she was a beggar... it was better
to a wife from poverty, so that you may have complete over
her, and her with your being her benefactor?”
“Upon my word,” Luzhin and irritably, with
confusion, “to my in this way! Excuse me, allow me to
assure you that the report which has you, or rather, let me say,
has been to you, has no in truth, and I... suspect
who... in a word... this arrow... in a word, your mamma... She seemed
to me in other things, with all her excellent qualities, of a somewhat
high-flown and way of thinking.... But I was a thousand miles
from that she would and in
so a way.... And indeed... indeed...”
“I tell you what,” Raskolnikov, himself on his pillow and
fixing his piercing, upon him, “I tell you what.”
“What?” Luzhin still, waiting with a and face.
Silence for some seconds.
“Why, if again... you to mention a single word... about my
mother... I shall send you downstairs!”
“What’s the with you?” Razumihin.
“So that’s how it is?” Luzhin and his lip. “Let me tell
you, sir,” he deliberately, doing his to himself
but hard, “at the moment I saw you you were ill-disposed
to me, but I here on purpose to out more. I forgive
a great in a man and a connection, but you... after
this...”
“I am not ill,” Raskolnikov.
“So much the worse...”
“Go to hell!”
But Luzhin was already without his speech, squeezing
between the table and the chair; Razumihin got up this time to let him
pass. Without at anyone, and not to Zossimov, who
had for some time been making to him to let the man alone,
he out, his to the level of his to avoid
crushing it as he to go out of the door. And the of
his was of the he had received.
“How you--how you!” Razumihin said, his in
perplexity.
“Let me alone--let me alone all of you!” Raskolnikov in a frenzy.
“Will you off me? I am not of you! I am
not of anyone, anyone now! Get away from me! I want to be alone,
alone, alone!”
“Come along,” said Zossimov, to Razumihin.
“But we can’t him like this!”
“Come along,” Zossimov insistently, and he out. Razumihin
thought a minute and ran to overtake him.
“It might be not to him,” said Zossimov on the stairs. “He
mustn’t be irritated.”
“What’s the with him?”
“If only he some shock, that’s what would do it! At
first he was better.... You know he has got something on his mind! Some
fixed idea on him.... I am very much so; he must have!”
“Perhaps it’s that gentleman, Pyotr Petrovitch. From his conversation
I he is going to his sister, and that he had a
letter about it just his illness....”
“Yes, the man! he may have the case altogether. But have
you noticed, he takes no in anything, he not respond to
anything one point on which he excited--that’s the murder?”
“Yes, yes,” Razumihin agreed, “I noticed that, too. He is interested,
frightened. It gave him a on the day he was in the police
office; he fainted.”
“Tell me more about that this and I’ll tell you something
afterwards. He me very much! In an hour I’ll go and see
him again.... There’ll be no though.”
“Thanks! And I’ll wait with Pashenka meantime and will keep watch on him
through Nastasya....”
Raskolnikov, left alone, looked with and at Nastasya,
but she still lingered.
“Won’t you have some tea now?” she asked.
“Later! I am sleepy! Leave me.”
He to the wall; Nastasya out.
