An in the middle of the road with a pair of
spirited horses; there was no one in it, and the had got
off his box and by; the were being by the bridle....
A of people had round, the police in front. One
of them a which he was on something lying
close to the wheels. Everyone was talking, shouting, exclaiming; the
coachman at a and repeating:
“What a misfortune! Good Lord, what a misfortune!”
Raskolnikov pushed his way in as as he could, and succeeded at last
in the object of the and interest. On the ground a
man who had been over unconscious, and with
blood; he was very dressed, but not like a workman. Blood was
flowing from his and face; his was crushed, and
disfigured. He was injured.
“Merciful heaven!” the coachman, “what more I do? If I’d
been fast or had not to him, but I was going quietly,
not in a hurry. Everyone see I was going along just like everybody
else. A man can’t walk straight, we all know.... I saw him
crossing the street, and almost falling. I again
and a second and a third time, then I the in, but he fell
straight under their feet! Either he did it on purpose or he was very
tipsy.... The are and to take fright... they started,
he screamed... that them worse. That’s how it happened!”
“That’s just how it was,” a voice in the confirmed.
“He shouted, that’s true, he three times,” another voice
declared.
“Three times it was, we all it,” a third.
But the was not very much and frightened. It was
evident that the to a rich and person who
was it somewhere; the police, of course, were in no little
anxiety to avoid his arrangements. All they had to do was to
take the man to the police station and the hospital. No one knew
his name.
Meanwhile Raskolnikov had in and closer over him. The
lantern up the man’s face. He recognised
him.
“I know him! I know him!” he shouted, pushing to the front. “It’s a
government retired from the service, Marmeladov. He close
by in Kozel’s house.... Make for a doctor! I will pay, see?” He
pulled money out of his pocket and it to the policeman. He was in
violent agitation.
The police were that they had out who the man was.
Raskolnikov gave his own name and address, and, as as if it
had been his father, he the police to the unconscious
Marmeladov to his at once.
“Just here, three houses away,” he said eagerly, “the house to
Kozel, a rich German. He was going home, no 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 him to the hospital.” He managed to something
unseen into the policeman’s hand. But the thing was straightforward
and legitimate, and in any case help was closer here. They the
injured man; people to help.
Kozel’s house was thirty yards away. Raskolnikov walked behind,
carefully Marmeladov’s and the way.
“This way, this way! We must take him foremost. Turn
round! I’ll pay, I’ll make it your while,” he muttered.
Katerina Ivanovna had just begun, as she always did at every free
moment, walking to and in her little room from window to and
back again, with her arms across her chest, talking to herself
and coughing. Of late she had to talk more than to her eldest
girl, Polenka, a child of ten, who, though there was much she did not
understand, very well that her mother needed her, and so
always her with her big and her utmost
to appear to understand. This time Polenka was her little
brother, who had been all day and was going to bed. The boy was
waiting for her to take off his shirt, which had to be at night.
He was and on a chair, with a silent,
serious face, with his out him--heels
together and out.
He was to what his mother was saying to his sister, sitting
perfectly still with and wide-open eyes, just as all good
little boys have to when they are to go to bed. A little
girl, still younger, in rags, 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 which in from the
other rooms and on long terrible of in the poor,
consumptive woman. Katerina Ivanovna to have thinner
during that week and the on her was than
ever.
“You wouldn’t believe, you can’t imagine, Polenka,” she said, walking
about the room, “what a happy life we had in my papa’s house
and how this has me, and will you all, to ruin!
Papa was a 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 violently, “oh, cursed
life,” she cried, her 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 when your father
and I were married, Polenka--she asked at once ‘Isn’t that the pretty
girl who the at the breaking-up?’ (You must mend
that tear, you must take your and it as I you, or
to-morrow--cough, cough, cough--he will make the bigger,” she
articulated with effort.) “Prince Schegolskoy, a kammerjunker, had just
come from Petersburg then... he the with me and wanted to
make me an offer next day; but I thanked him in expressions
and told him that my had long been another’s. That other was your
father, Polya; papa was angry.... Is the water ready? Give me
the shirt, and the stockings! Lida,” said she to the one, “you
must manage without your to-night... and your out
with it... I’ll wash them together.... How is it that vagabond
doesn’t come in? He has his shirt till it looks like a dish-clout,
he has 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 in the passage and the men,
who were pushing into her room, a burden. “What is it? What are
they bringing? Mercy on us!”
“Where are we to put him?” asked the policeman, looking when
Marmeladov, and with blood, had been in.
“On the sofa! Put him on the sofa, with his this way,”
Raskolnikov him.
“Run over in the road! Drunk!” someone in the passage.
Katerina Ivanovna stood, white and for breath. The
children were terrified. Little Lida screamed, to Polenka and
clutched at her, all over.
Having Marmeladov down, Raskolnikov to Katerina Ivanovna.
“For God’s be calm, don’t be frightened!” he said, speaking
quickly, “he was the road and was over by a carriage, don’t
be frightened, he will come to, I told them him here... I’ve been
here already, you remember? He will come to; I’ll pay!”
“He’s done it this time!” Katerina Ivanovna and she
rushed to her husband.
Raskolnikov noticed at once that she was not one of those who
swoon easily. She under the man’s a
pillow, which no one had of and and examining
him. She her head, herself, her lips
and the which were to from her.
Raskolnikov meanwhile someone to for a doctor. There was a
doctor, it appeared, next door but one.
“I’ve sent for a doctor,” he assuring Katerina Ivanovna, “don’t be
uneasy, I’ll pay. Haven’t you water?... and give me a or a towel,
anything, as quick as you can.... He is injured, but not killed, believe
me.... We shall see what the doctor says!”
Katerina Ivanovna ran to the window; there, on a chair in the
corner, a large full of water had been stood, in
readiness for her children’s and husband’s that night.
This 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 without of linen, and Katerina Ivanovna could
not and, than see in the house, she
preferred to wear herself out at night, her when
the were asleep, so as to the wet on a line and dry
by the morning. She took up the of water at Raskolnikov’s request,
but almost with her burden. But the had already
succeeded in a towel, it and the blood off
Marmeladov’s face.
Katerina Ivanovna by, and pressing her hands
to her breast. She was in need of attention herself. Raskolnikov began
to that he might have a mistake in having the man
brought here. The policeman, too, in hesitation.
“Polenka,” Katerina Ivanovna, “run to Sonia, make haste. If you
don’t her at home, word that her father has been over
and that she is to come here at once... when she comes in. Run, Polenka!
there, put on the shawl.”
“Run your fastest!” the little boy on the chair suddenly, after
which he into the same rigidity, with eyes, his
heels and his spread out.
Meanwhile the room had so full of people that you couldn’t have
dropped a pin. The left, all one, who for a
time, trying to drive out the people who came in from the stairs. Almost
all Madame Lippevechsel’s had in from the rooms
of the flat; at they were together in the doorway, but
afterwards they overflowed into the room. Katerina Ivanovna into a
fury.
“You might let him die in peace, at least,” she at the crowd,
“is it a for you to at? With cigarettes! (Cough, cough,
cough!) You might as well keep your on.... And there is one in his
hat!... Get away! You should respect the dead, at least!”
Her her--but her were not without result. They
evidently in some of Katerina Ivanovna. The lodgers, one after
another, into the with that feeling
of which may be in the presence of a sudden
accident, in those nearest and to the victim, from which
no man is exempt, in of the and
compassion.
Voices were heard, however, speaking of the hospital and saying
that they’d no to make a here.
“No to die!” Katerina Ivanovna, and she was to
the door to her upon them, but in the came to
face with Madame Lippevechsel who had only just of the accident
and ran in to order. She was a particularly and
irresponsible German.
“Ah, my God!” she cried, her hands, “your husband drunken
horses have trampled! To the hospital with him! I am the landlady!”
“Amalia Ludwigovna, I you to what you are saying,”
Katerina Ivanovna (she always took a with
the that she might “remember her place” and now not
deny herself this satisfaction). “Amalia Ludwigovna...”
“I have you once told that you to call me Amalia Ludwigovna may
not dare; I am Amalia Ivanovna.”
“You are not Amalia Ivanovna, but Amalia Ludwigovna, and as I am not
one of your like Mr. Lebeziatnikov, who’s laughing
behind the door at this moment (a laugh and a of ‘they are at it
again’ was in at the door) so I shall always call you
Amalia Ludwigovna, though I fail to why you that
name. You can see for what has to Semyon Zaharovitch;
he is dying. I you to close that door at once and to admit no one.
Let him at least die in peace! Or I you the Governor-General,
himself, shall be of your to-morrow. The knew
me as a girl; he Semyon Zaharovitch well and has often been
a to him. Everyone that Semyon Zaharovitch had many
friends and protectors, he himself from an honourable
pride, his weakness, but now (she pointed to
Raskolnikov) a man has come to our assistance, who has
wealth and and Semyon Zaharovitch has from a
child. You may assured, Amalia Ludwigovna...”
All this was with rapidity, and quicker,
but a cut Katerina Ivanovna’s eloquence. At that
instant the man and a groan; she
ran to him. The man opened his and without or
understanding at Raskolnikov who was over him. He drew
deep, slow, painful breaths; blood at the of his mouth
and of came out on his forehead. Not recognising
Raskolnikov, he looking uneasily. Katerina Ivanovna looked
at him with a sad but face, and from her eyes.
“My God! His whole 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 to him.
Marmeladov her.
“A priest,” he huskily.
Katerina Ivanovna walked to the window, her against the window
frame and in despair:
“Oh, life!”
“A priest,” the man said again after a moment’s silence.
“They’ve gone for him,” Katerina Ivanovna to him, he her
shout and was silent. With sad and he looked for her; she
returned and by his pillow. He a little but not for
long.
Soon his rested on little Lida, his favourite, who was in
the corner, as though she were in a fit, and at him with her
wondering eyes.
“A-ah,” he her uneasily. He wanted to say something.
“What now?” Katerina Ivanovna.
“Barefoot, barefoot!” he muttered, with the
child’s feet.
“Be silent,” Katerina Ivanovna irritably, “you know why she is
barefooted.”
“Thank God, the doctor,” Raskolnikov, relieved.
The doctor came in, a little old man, a German, looking about
him mistrustfully; he up to the man, took his pulse, carefully
felt his and with the help of Katerina Ivanovna he the
blood-stained shirt, and the man’s chest. It was gashed,
crushed and fractured, on the right were broken.
On the left side, just over the heart, was a large, sinister-looking
yellowish-black bruise--a from the horse’s hoof. The doctor
frowned. The told him that he was in the wheel and
turned with it for thirty yards on the road.
“It’s that he has consciousness,” the doctor
whispered to Raskolnikov.
“What do you think of him?” he asked.
“He will die immediately.”
“Is there no hope?”
“Not the faintest! He is at the last gasp.... His is injured,
too... Hm... I him if you like, but... it would be useless.
He is to die the next five or ten minutes.”
“Better him then.”
“If you like.... But I you it will be perfectly useless.”
At that moment other steps were heard; the in the passage parted,
and the priest, a little, old man, appeared in the bearing
the sacrament. A had gone for him at the time of the accident.
The doctor places with him, with him.
Raskolnikov the doctor to a little while. He his
shoulders and remained.
All back. The was soon over. The man probably
understood little; he only sounds.
Katerina Ivanovna took little Lida, the boy from the chair, knelt
down in the by the and the children in of
her. The little girl was still trembling; but the boy, on his
little knees, his hand rhythmically, himself with
precision and down, the with his forehead, which
seemed to him satisfaction. Katerina Ivanovna her
lips and her tears; she prayed, too, now and then pulling
straight the boy’s shirt, and managed to the girl’s shoulders
with a kerchief, which she took from the without from her
knees or to pray. Meanwhile the door from the rooms was
opened again. In the passage the of from
all the on the and denser, but they did not
venture the threshold. A single candle-end up the scene.
At that moment Polenka her way through the at the door. She
came in from so fast, took off her kerchief, looked for
her mother, up to her and said, “She’s coming, I met her in the
street.” Her mother her her.
Timidly and a girl her way through the crowd,
and was her in that room, in the of want, rags,
death and despair. She, too, was in rags, her was all of
the cheapest, but out in of a special stamp,
unmistakably its purpose. Sonia stopped in the
doorway and looked about her bewildered, of everything.
She her fourth-hand, dress, so here with
its long train, and her that up the
whole doorway, and her light-coloured shoes, and the she brought
with her, though it was no use at night, and the hat
with its flame-coloured feather. Under this rakishly-tilted hat
was a pale, little with and in
terror. Sonia was a small thin girl of eighteen with hair, rather
pretty, with eyes. She looked at the and the
priest; she too was out of with running. At last whispers, some
words in the probably, her. She looked and took a
step into the room, still close to the door.
The service was over. Katerina Ivanovna up to her husband again.
The and to say a of and
consolation to Katerina Ivanovna on leaving.
“What am I to do with these?” she and irritably,
pointing to the little ones.
“God is merciful; look to the Most High for succour,” the began.
“Ach! He is merciful, but not to us.”
“That’s a sin, a sin, madam,” the priest, his head.
“And isn’t that a sin?” Katerina Ivanovna, pointing to the dying
man.
“Perhaps those who have the accident will agree to
compensate you, at least for the of his earnings.”
“You don’t understand!” Katerina Ivanovna her hand.
“And why should they me? Why, he was and himself
under the horses! What earnings? He us in nothing but misery.
He away, the drunkard! He us to drink, he
wasted their and mine for drink! And thank God he’s dying! One
less to keep!”
“You must in the hour of death, that’s a sin, madam, such
feelings are a great sin.”
Katerina Ivanovna was with the man; she was him water,
wiping the blood and from his head, setting his pillow straight,
and had only now and then for a moment to address the priest. Now
she at him almost in a frenzy.
“Ah, father! That’s and only words! Forgive! If he’d not been run
over, he’d have come home to-day and his only shirt dirty and
in and he’d have asleep like a log, and I should have been
sousing and till daybreak, his and the children’s
and then them by the window and as soon as it was I
should have been them. That’s how I my nights!... What’s
the use of talking of forgiveness! I have as it is!”
A terrible her words. She put her handkerchief
to her and it to the priest, pressing her other hand to her
aching chest. The was with blood. The bowed
his and said nothing.
Marmeladov was in the last agony; he did not take his off the face
of Katerina Ivanovna, who was over him again. He trying
to say something to her; he moving his with and
articulating indistinctly, but Katerina Ivanovna, that he
wanted to ask her forgiveness, called to him:
“Be silent! No need! I know what you want to say!” And the man
was silent, but at the same his to the
doorway and he saw Sonia.
Till then he had not noticed her: she was in the in a
corner.
“Who’s that? Who’s that?” he said in a thick voice,
in agitation, his in the door where his
daughter was standing, and trying to up.
“Lie down! Lie do-own!” Katerina Ivanovna.
With he had succeeded in himself on his
elbow. He looked and for some time on his daughter, as
though not her. He had her in such attire.
Suddenly he her, and in her and
gaudy finery, her turn to say good-bye to her dying
father. His suffering.
“Sonia! Daughter! Forgive!” he cried, and he to out his hand
to her, but his balance, he off the sofa, on
the floor. They to him up, they put him on the sofa; but he
was dying. Sonia with a ran up, him and so
without moving. He died in her arms.
“He’s got what he wanted,” Katerina Ivanovna cried, her husband’s
dead body. “Well, what’s to be done now? How am I to him! What can
I give them to-morrow to eat?”
Raskolnikov 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 he was to you
all and how he loved and you especially, Katerina Ivanovna,
in of his weakness, from that we became
friends.... Allow me now... to do something... to my 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!”
And he out of the room, his way through the crowd
to the stairs. But in the he against Nikodim
Fomitch, who had of the accident and had come to give instructions
in person. They had not met since the at the police station, but
Nikodim Fomitch him instantly.
“Ah, is that you?” he asked him.
“He’s dead,” answered Raskolnikov. “The doctor and the have been,
all as it should have been. Don’t worry the woman too much, she is
in as it is. Try and her up, if possible... you are a
kind-hearted man, I know...” he added with a smile, looking in
his face.
“But you are with blood,” Nikodim Fomitch, noticing
in the some fresh on Raskolnikov’s waistcoat.
“Yes... I’m with blood,” Raskolnikov said with a air;
then he smiled, and downstairs.
He walked slowly and deliberately, but not conscious
of it, in a new of life and
strength that up him. This might be
compared to that of a man to death who has been
pardoned. Halfway the he was overtaken by the on
his way home; Raskolnikov let him pass, a greeting
with him. He was just the last steps when he rapid
footsteps him. Someone him; it was Polenka. She was
running after him, calling “Wait! wait!”
He round. She was at the of the and stopped
short a step above him. A light came in from the yard. Raskolnikov
could the child’s thin but little face, looking at
him with a smile. She had after him with a message
which she was to give.
“Tell me, what is your name?... and where do you live?” she said
hurriedly in a voice.
He hands on her and looked at her with a of
rapture. It was such a to him to look at her, he not have said
why.
“Who sent you?”
“Sister Sonia sent me,” answered the girl, still more brightly.
“I it was sister Sonia sent you.”
“Mamma sent me, too... when sister Sonia was sending me, 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 graver.
“And will you love me?”
By way of answer he saw the little girl’s him, her full
lips naïvely out to him. Suddenly her arms as thin as sticks
held him tightly, her rested on his and the little girl
wept softly, pressing her against him.
“I am sorry for father,” she said a moment later, her
tear-stained and away the with her hands. “It’s
nothing but now,” she added with that peculiarly
sedate air which children try hard to assume when they want to speak
like grown-up people.
“Did your father love you?”
“He loved Lida most,” she on very without a smile,
exactly like grown-up people, “he loved her she is little and
because she is ill, too. And he always used to her presents. But
he us to read and me and scripture, too,” she added with
dignity. “And mother used to say anything, but we that she
liked it and father it, too. And mother wants to teach me French,
for it’s time my education began.”
“And do you know your prayers?”
“Of course, we do! We them long ago. I say my prayers to myself
as I am a big girl now, but Kolya and Lida say them with mother.
First they repeat the ‘Ave Maria’ and then another prayer: ‘Lord,
forgive and sister Sonia,’ and then another, ‘Lord, and
bless our second father.’ For our father is and this is
another one, but we do pray for the other as well.”
“Polenka, my name is Rodion. Pray sometimes for me, too. ‘And Thy
servant Rodion,’ nothing more.”
“I’ll pray for you all the of my life,” the little girl declared
hotly, and again she at him and him
warmly once more.
Raskolnikov told her his name and address and promised to be sure to
come next day. The child away with him. It was past
ten when he came out into the street. In five minutes he was on
the at the spot where the woman had jumped in.
“Enough,” he and triumphantly. “I’ve done with
fancies, 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, me in peace! Now for the
reign of 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 to to live
in a square of space!
“I am very weak at this moment, but... I my is all over.
I it would be over when I out. By the way, Potchinkov’s house
is only a steps away. I must go to Razumihin if
it were not close by... let him win his bet! Let us give him some
satisfaction, too--no matter! Strength, is what one wants, you
can nothing without it, and must be by strength--that’s
what they don’t know,” he added proudly and self-confidently and
he walked with from the bridge. Pride and
self-confidence in him; he was becoming
a different man every moment. What was it had to work this
revolution in him? He did not know himself; like a man at a
straw, he 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 with his conclusions, but he did not think of
that.
“But I did ask her to ‘Thy Rodion’ in her prayers,” the
idea him. “Well, that was... in case of emergency,” he added and
laughed himself at his sally. He was in the best of spirits.
He easily Razumihin; the new was already at
Potchinkov’s and the at once him the way. Half-way
upstairs he the noise and of a big
gathering of people. The door was wide open on the stairs; he could
hear and discussion. Razumihin’s room was large; the
company of fifteen people. Raskolnikov stopped in the entry,
where two of the landlady’s were a screen with two
samovars, bottles, plates and of and savouries, up
from the landlady’s kitchen. Raskolnikov sent in for Razumihin. He ran
out delighted. At the it was that he had had a
great to drink and, though no amount of Razumihin quite
drunk, this time he was by it.
“Listen,” Raskolnikov to say, “I’ve only just come to tell you
you’ve your and that no one what may not to
him. I can’t come in; I am so weak that I shall directly. And
so good and good-bye! Come and see me to-morrow.”
“Do you know what? I’ll see 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?”
“He? Goodness only knows! Some friend of uncle’s, I expect, or perhaps
he has come without being invited... I’ll uncle with them, he
is an person, I can’t 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 of time--another two minutes and I
should have come to blows! They are talking such a of wild stuff...
you can’t 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 Zossimov.”
Zossimov upon Raskolnikov almost greedily; he a special
interest in him; soon his brightened.
“You must go to at once,” he pronounced, the patient as
far as he could, “and take something for the night. Will you take it? I
got it some time ago... a powder.”
“Two, if you like,” answered Raskolnikov. The was taken at once.
“It’s a good thing you are taking him home,” Zossimov to
Razumihin--“we shall see how he is to-morrow, to-day he’s not at all
amiss--a since the afternoon. Live and learn...”
“Do you know what Zossimov to me when we were out?”
Razumihin out, as soon as they were in the street. “I won’t tell
you everything, brother, they are such fools. Zossimov told me
to talk to you on the way and you to talk to me, and
afterwards I am to tell him about it, for he’s got a in his head
that you are... or close on it. Only fancy! In the place,
you’ve three times the he has; in the second, if you are not mad,
you needn’t a that he has got such a wild idea; and thirdly,
that piece of is has gone on mental
diseases, and what’s him to this about you was your
conversation to-day with Zametov.”
“Zametov told you all about it?”
“Yes, and he did well. Now I what it all means and so does
Zametov.... Well, the 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 in their brains... you
understand? That is, no one to say it aloud, the idea
is too and since the of that painter, that
bubble’s and gone for ever. But why are they such fools? I gave
Zametov a of a at the time--that’s ourselves,
brother; don’t let out a hint that you know of it; I’ve noticed
he is a subject; it was at Luise Ivanovna’s. But to-day, to-day
it’s all up. That Ilya Petrovitch is at the of it! He
took of your at the police station, but he is ashamed
of it himself now; I know that...”
Raskolnikov greedily. Razumihin was to talk too
freely.
“I then it was so close and the of paint,” said
Raskolnikov.
“No need to that! And it wasn’t the paint only: the had
been on for a month; Zossimov to that! But how crushed
that boy is now, you wouldn’t believe! ‘I am not his little
finger,’ he says. Yours, he means. He has good 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 him at first,
you know, he nearly into convulsions! You almost convinced
him again of the truth of all that nonsense, and then you
suddenly--put out your at him: ‘There now, what do you make of
it?’ It was perfect! He is crushed, now! It was masterly, by
Jove, it’s what they deserve! Ah, that I wasn’t there! He was to
see you awfully. Porfiry, too, wants to make your acquaintance...”
“Ah!... he too... but why did they put me as mad?”
“Oh, not mad. I must have said too much, brother.... What him,
you see, was that only that to you; now it’s
clear why it did you; all the circumstances... and
how that you and in with your illness... I am a little
drunk, brother, only, him, he has some idea of his own... I
tell you, he’s on diseases. But don’t you mind him...”
For a minute were silent.
“Listen, Razumihin,” Raskolnikov, “I want to tell you plainly:
I’ve just been at a death-bed, a who died... I gave them all my
money... and I’ve just been by someone who, if I had
killed anyone, would just the same... in 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...”
“What’s the matter? What’s the 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!”
“What is it?”
“Don’t you see? A light in my room, you see? Through the crack...”
They were already at the of the last of stairs, at the level
of the landlady’s door, and they could, as a fact, see from that
there was a light in Raskolnikov’s garret.
“Queer! Nastasya, perhaps,” Razumihin.
“She is in my room at this time and she must be in long ago,
but... I don’t care! Good-bye!”
“What do you mean? I am with you, we’ll come 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!”
“What’s the with you, Rodya?”
“Nothing... come along... you shall be witness.”
They the stairs, and the idea Razumihin that
perhaps Zossimov might be right after all. “Ah, I’ve him with my
chatter!” he to himself.
When they the door they voices in the room.
“What is it?” Razumihin. Raskolnikov was the to open the
door; he it wide and still in the doorway, dumbfoundered.
His mother and sister were on his sofa and had been waiting an
hour and a for him. Why had he expected, of
them, though the news that they had started, were on their way and would
arrive immediately, had been to him only that day? They had
spent that hour and a Nastasya with questions. She was
standing them and had told them by now. They were
beside themselves with when they of his “running away”
to-day, and, as they from her story, delirious! “Good
Heavens, what had of him?” Both had been weeping, had been
in for that hour and a half.
A of joy, of ecstasy, Raskolnikov’s entrance. Both to
him. But he like one dead; a struck
him like a thunderbolt. He did not his arms to them, he
could not. His mother and sister him in their arms, him,
laughed and cried. He took a step, and to the ground,
fainting.
Anxiety, of horror, moans... Razumihin who was in the
doorway into the room, the man in his arms and
in a moment had him on the sofa.
“It’s nothing, nothing!” he to the mother and sister--“it’s only a
faint, a trifle! Only just now the doctor said he was much better,
that he is perfectly well! Water! See, he is to himself, he is
all right again!”
And Dounia by the arm so that he almost it, he made
her to see that “he is all right again.” The mother and sister
looked on him with and gratitude, as their Providence. They
had already from Nastasya all that had been done for their Rodya
during his illness, by this “very man,” as Pulcheria
Alexandrovna Raskolnikov called him that in with
Dounia.
PART III
