When he the afterwards, this is how Raskolnikov saw it.
The noise the door increased, and the door was opened a
little.
“What is it?” Porfiry Petrovitch, annoyed. “Why, I gave orders...”
For an there was no answer, but it was that there were
several at the door, and that they were pushing
somebody back.
“What is it?” Porfiry Petrovitch repeated, uneasily.
“The Nikolay has been brought,” someone answered.
“He is not wanted! Take him away! Let him wait! What’s he doing here?
How irregular!” Porfiry, to the door.
“But he...” the same voice, and ceased.
Two seconds, not more, were in struggle, then someone gave
a shove, and then a man, very pale, into the room.
This man’s was at very strange. He stared
straight him, as though nothing. There was a determined
gleam in his eyes; at the same time there was a in his
face, as though he were being to the scaffold. His white were
faintly twitching.
He was like a and was of medium height, very young,
slim, his cut in crop, with thin features. The man whom
he had him into the room and succeeded in seizing
him by the shoulder; he was a warder; but Nikolay his arm away.
Several into the doorway. Some of them
tried to in. All this took place almost instantaneously.
“Go away, it’s too soon! Wait till you are sent for!... Why have you
brought him so soon?” Porfiry Petrovitch muttered, annoyed,
and as it were out of his reckoning.
But Nikolay down.
“What’s the matter?” Porfiry, surprised.
“I am guilty! Mine is the sin! I am the murderer,” Nikolay articulated
suddenly, breathless, but speaking loudly.
For ten there was as though all had been dumb;
even the back, to the door, and
stood immovable.
“What is it?” Porfiry Petrovitch, from his momentary
stupefaction.
“I... am the murderer,” Nikolay, after a pause.
“What... you... what... did you kill?” Porfiry Petrovitch was
obviously bewildered.
Nikolay again was for a moment.
“Alyona Ivanovna and her sister Lizaveta Ivanovna, I... killed... with
an axe. Darkness came over me,” he added suddenly, and was again silent.
He still on his knees. Porfiry Petrovitch for some
moments as though meditating, but himself and back
the spectators. They and closed the door.
Then he looked Raskolnikov, who was in the corner,
staring at Nikolay and moved him, but stopped short,
looked from Nikolay to Raskolnikov and then again at Nikolay, and
seeming unable to himself at the latter.
“You’re in too great a hurry,” he at him, almost angrily. “I
didn’t ask you what came over you.... Speak, did you kill them?”
“I am the murderer.... I want to give evidence,” Nikolay pronounced.
“Ach! What did you kill them with?”
“An axe. I had it ready.”
“Ach, he is in a hurry! Alone?”
Nikolay did not the question.
“Did you do it alone?”
“Yes, alone. And Mitka is not and had no in it.”
“Don’t be in a about Mitka! A-ach! How was it you ran downstairs
like that at the time? The met you both!”
“It was to put them off the scent... I ran after Mitka,” Nikolay replied
hurriedly, as though he had prepared the answer.
“I it!” Porfiry, with vexation. “It’s not his own he is
telling,” he as though to himself, and his rested
on Raskolnikov again.
He was so taken up with Nikolay that for a moment he had
forgotten Raskolnikov. He was a little taken aback.
“My dear Rodion Romanovitch, me!” he up to him, “this won’t
do; I’m you must go... it’s no good your staying... I will...
you see, what a surprise!... Good-bye!”
And taking him by the arm, he him to the door.
“I you didn’t it?” said Raskolnikov who, though he had
not yet the situation, had his courage.
“You did not it either, my friend. See how your hand is
trembling! He-he!”
“You’re trembling, too, Porfiry Petrovitch!”
“Yes, I am; I didn’t it.”
They were already at the door; Porfiry was for Raskolnikov to
be gone.
“And your little surprise, aren’t you going to it to me?”
Raskolnikov said, sarcastically.
“Why, his teeth are as he asks, he-he! You are an ironical
person! Come, till we meet!”
“I we can say _good-bye_!”
“That’s in God’s hands,” Porfiry, with an smile.
As he walked through the office, Raskolnikov noticed that many people
were looking at him. Among them he saw the two from _the_ house,
whom he had that night to the police station. They there
waiting. But he was no sooner on the stairs than he the voice of
Porfiry Petrovitch him. Turning round, he saw the running
after him, out of breath.
“One word, Rodion Romanovitch; as to all the rest, it’s in God’s hands,
but as a of there are some questions I shall have to ask
you... so we shall meet again, shan’t we?”
And Porfiry still, him with a smile.
“Shan’t we?” he added again.
He to want to say something more, but not speak out.
“You must me, Porfiry Petrovitch, for what has just passed... I
lost my temper,” Raskolnikov, who had so his courage
that he to his coolness.
“Don’t mention it, don’t mention it,” Porfiry replied, almost gleefully.
“I myself, too... I have a temper, I admit it! But we shall meet
again. If it’s God’s will, we may see a great of one another.”
“And will to know each other through and through?” added
Raskolnikov.
“Yes; know each other through and through,” Porfiry Petrovitch,
and he up his eyes, looking at Raskolnikov. “Now
you’re going to a birthday party?”
“To a funeral.”
“Of course, the funeral! Take of yourself, and well.”
“I don’t know what to wish you,” said Raskolnikov, who had to
descend the stairs, but looked again. “I should like to wish you
success, but your office is such a one.”
“Why comical?” Porfiry Petrovitch had to go, but he to
prick up his ears at this.
“Why, how you must have been and that Nikolay
psychologically, after your fashion, till he confessed! You must have
been at him day and night, to him that he was the murderer, and
now that he has confessed, you’ll him again. ‘You are
lying,’ you’ll say. ‘You are not the murderer! You can’t be! It’s not
your own you are telling!’ You must admit it’s a business!”
“He-he-he! You noticed then that I said to Nikolay just now that it was
not his own he was telling?”
“How I help noticing it!”
“He-he! You are quick-witted. You notice everything! You’ve a
playful mind! And you always on the side... he-he! They say
that was the marked of Gogol, among the writers.”
“Yes, of Gogol.”
“Yes, of Gogol.... I shall look to meeting you.”
“So shall I.”
Raskolnikov walked home. He was so and that
on home he sat for a of an hour on the sofa, trying to
collect his thoughts. He did not attempt to think about Nikolay; he
was stupefied; he that his was something inexplicable,
amazing--something his understanding. But Nikolay’s confession
was an fact. The of this were clear to him at
once, its not fail to be discovered, and then they
would be after him again. Till then, at least, he was free and must do
something for himself, for the was imminent.
But how imminent? His position clear to him.
Remembering, sketchily, the main of his with
Porfiry, he not help again with horror. Of course,
he did not yet know all Porfiry’s aims, he not see into all his
calculations. But he had already his hand, and no one knew
better than Raskolnikov how terrible Porfiry’s “lead” had been for
him. A little more and he _might_ have himself away completely,
circumstantially. Knowing his and from the first
glance through him, Porfiry, though playing a game, was
bound to win. There’s no that Raskolnikov had compromised
himself seriously, but no _facts_ had come to light as yet; there was
nothing positive. But was he taking a true view of the position? Wasn’t
he mistaken? What had Porfiry been trying to at? Had he some
surprise prepared for him? And what was it? Had he been expecting
something or not? How would they have if it had not been for the
unexpected of Nikolay?
Porfiry had almost all his cards--of course, he had risked
something in them--and if he had had anything up his
sleeve (Raskolnikov reflected), he would have that, too. What was
that “surprise”? Was it a joke? Had it meant anything? Could it have
concealed anything like a fact, a piece of positive evidence? His
yesterday’s visitor? What had of him? Where was he to-day? If
Porfiry had any evidence, it must be with him....
He sat on the sofa with his on his and his in
his hands. He was still nervously. At last he got up, took his
cap, a minute, and to the door.
He had a of that for to-day, at least, he might
consider himself out of danger. He had a almost of joy; he
wanted to make to Katerina Ivanovna’s. He would be too late for
the funeral, of course, but he would be in time for the dinner,
and there at once he would see Sonia.
He still, a moment, and a came for a
moment on to his lips.
“To-day! To-day,” he to himself. “Yes, to-day! So it must
be....”
But as he was about to open the door, it opening of itself. He
started and moved back. The door opened and slowly, and there
suddenly appeared a figure--yesterday’s visitor _from underground_.
The man in the doorway, looked at Raskolnikov without speaking,
and took a step into the room. He was the same as
yesterday; the same figure, the same dress, but there was a great change
in his face; he looked and deeply. If he had only put
his hand up to his and his on one he would have
looked like a woman.
“What do you want?” asked Raskolnikov, with terror. The man was
still silent, but he almost to the ground, touching
it with his finger.
“What is it?” Raskolnikov.
“I have sinned,” the man softly.
“How?”
“By thoughts.”
They looked at one another.
“I was vexed. When you came, in drink, and the go
to the police station and asked about the blood, I was that they
let you go and took you for drunken. I was so that I my
sleep. And the address we came here yesterday and asked for
you....”
“Who came?” Raskolnikov interrupted, to recollect.
“I did, I’ve you.”
“Then you come from that house?”
“I was at the gate with them... don’t you remember? We have
carried on our in that house for years past. We and prepare
hides, we take work home... most of all I was vexed....”
And the whole of the day yesterday in the came
clearly Raskolnikov’s mind; he that there had
been people there the porters, among them.
He one voice had taking him to the
police-station. He not the of the speaker, and even
now he did not it, but he that he had round
and him some answer....
So this was the of yesterday’s horror. The most thought
was that he had been actually almost lost, had almost done for himself
on account of such a _trivial_ circumstance. So this man tell
nothing his about the and the blood stains. So
Porfiry, too, had nothing but that _delirium_, no but this
_psychology_ which _cuts ways_, nothing positive. So if no more
facts come to light (and they must not, they must not!) then... then
what can they do to him? How can they him, if they arrest
him? And Porfiry then had only just about the and had not
known about it before.
“Was it you who told Porfiry... that I’d been there?” he cried, struck
by a idea.
“What Porfiry?”
“The of the department?”
“Yes. The did not go there, but I went.”
“To-day?”
“I got there two minutes you. And I heard, I it all, how he
worried you.”
“Where? What? When?”
“Why, in the next room. I was there all the time.”
“What? Why, then you were the surprise? But how it happen? Upon my
word!”
“I saw that the did not want to do what I said,” the man;
“for it’s too late, said they, and maybe he’ll be angry that we did not
come at the time. I was and I my sleep, and I making
inquiries. And out yesterday where to go, I to-day. The
first time I he wasn’t there, when I came an hour later he couldn’t
see me. I the third time, and they me in. I him of
everything, just as it happened, and he about the room
and himself on the chest. ‘What do you by it?
If I’d about it I should have him!’ Then he ran out,
called somebody and talking to him in the corner, then he turned
to me, and me. He me a great deal; and I
told him everything, and I told him that you didn’t to say a word
in answer to me yesterday and that you didn’t me. And he
fell to about again and himself on the chest, and
getting angry and about, and when you were he told
me to go into the next room. ‘Sit there a bit,’ he said. ‘Don’t move,
whatever you may hear.’ And he set a chair there for me and locked
me in. ‘Perhaps,’ he said, ‘I may call you.’ And when Nikolay’d been
brought he let me out as soon as you were gone. ‘I shall send for you
again and question you,’ he said.”
“And did he question Nikolay while you were there?”
“He got of me as he did of you, he spoke to Nikolay.”
The man still, and again down, the ground
with his finger.
“Forgive me for my thoughts, and my slander.”
“May God you,” answered Raskolnikov.
And as he said this, the man again, but not to the ground,
turned slowly and out of the room.
“It all ways, now it all ways,” repeated
Raskolnikov, and he out more than ever.
“Now we’ll make a for it,” he said, with a smile, as he
went the stairs. His was at himself; with and
contempt he his “cowardice.”
PART V
