When he into Sonia’s room, it was already 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 that Sonia knew. We will not the
conversation and of the two girls, and how they became.
Dounia one at least from that interview, that her
brother would not be alone. He had gone to her, Sonia, with his
confession; he had gone to her for when he needed it;
she would go with him might send him. Dounia did not ask,
but she it was so. She looked at Sonia almost with and
at almost embarrassed her by it. Sonia was almost on the point
of tears. She herself, on the contrary, to look at
Dounia. Dounia’s image when she had to her so attentively
and at their meeting in Raskolnikov’s room had
remained in her mind as one of the of her life.
Dounia at last and, Sonia, to her
brother’s room to him there; she that he would come
there first. When she had gone, Sonia to be by the dread
of his suicide, and Dounia too it. But they had spent
the day trying to each other that that not be, and both
were less while they were together. As soon as they parted, each
thought of nothing else. Sonia how Svidrigaïlov had said to
her the day that Raskolnikov had two alternatives--Siberia or...
Besides she his vanity, his and his of faith.
“Is it possible that he has nothing but and of death to
make him live?” she at last in despair.
Meanwhile the sun was setting. Sonia was in dejection, looking
intently out of the window, but from it she see nothing but the
unwhitewashed blank of the next house. At last when she to
feel sure of his death--he walked into the room.
She gave a of joy, but looking into his 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?”
Sonia at him astonished. His to her; a cold
shiver ran over her, but in a moment she that the and the
words were a mask. He spoke to her looking away, as though to avoid
meeting her eyes.
“You see, Sonia, I’ve that it will be so. There is one
fact.... But it’s a long and there’s no need to discuss it. But
do you know what me? It me that all those brutish
faces will be at me directly, pestering me with their stupid
questions, which I shall have to answer--they’ll point their at
me.... Tfoo! You know I am not going to Porfiry, I am of him. I’d
rather go to my friend, the Explosive Lieutenant; how I shall surprise
him, what a I shall make! But I must be cooler; I’ve become
too of late. You know I was nearly my at my
sister just now, she to take a last look at me. It’s
a to be in! Ah! what am I to! Well, where are the
crosses?”
He to know what he was doing. He not still or
concentrate his attention on anything; his ideas to after
one another, he talked incoherently, his hands slightly.
Without a word Sonia took out of the two crosses, one of cypress
wood and one of copper. She the of the over herself and
over him, and put the on his neck.
“It’s the symbol of my taking up the cross,” he laughed. “As though I
had not much till now! The 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 two like
these too, a one and a little ikon. I them on the old
woman’s neck. Those would be now, really, those are what I
ought to put on now.... But I am talking nonsense and what
matters; I’m somehow forgetful.... You see I have come to you,
Sonia, so that you might know... that’s all--that’s all I came for. But
I 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 it all!”
But his was stirred; his ached, as he looked at her. “Why
is she too?” he 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.”
“Cross yourself, say at least one prayer,” Sonia in a timid
broken voice.
“Oh certainly, as much as you like! And sincerely, Sonia, sincerely....”
But he wanted to say something different.
He himself times. Sonia took up her and put
it over her head. It was the green _drap de dames_ of which
Marmeladov had spoken, “the family shawl.” Raskolnikov of that
looking at it, but he did not ask. He to himself that he
was and was agitated. He was
frightened at this. He was too by the that Sonia
meant to go with him.
“What are you doing? Where are you going? Stay here, stay! I’ll go
alone,” he in vexation, and almost resentful, he moved
towards the door. “What’s the use of going in procession?” he muttered
going out.
Sonia in the middle of the room. He had not said
good-bye to her; he had her. A and doubt
surged in his heart.
“Was it right, was it right, all this?” he again as he down
the stairs. “Couldn’t he stop and it all... and not go?”
But still he went. He once for all that he mustn’t ask
himself questions. As he into the he 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 to after he had shouted
at her, and he stopped for a moment. At the same instant, another
thought upon him, as though it had been in wait to strike
him then.
“Why, with what object did I go to her just now? I told her--on
business; on what business? I had no of business! To tell her I was
_going_; but where was the need? Do I love her? No, no, I 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 to, something to me, some
friendly to see! And I to in myself, to of what
I would do! I am a wretch, contemptible!”
He walked along the bank, and he had not much to go. But
on the he stopped and out of his way along it
went to the Hay Market.
He looked to right and left, at every object and
could not his attention on anything; away. “In
another week, another month I shall be in a prison over this
bridge, how shall I look at the then? I should like to remember
this!” into his mind. “Look at this sign! How shall I read those
letters then? It’s here ‘Campany,’ that’s a thing to remember,
that _a_, and to look at it again in a month--how shall I look
at it then? What shall I be and then?... How trivial
it all must be, what I am about now! Of it must all be
interesting... in its way... (Ha-ha-ha! What am I about?) I am
becoming a baby, I am off to myself; why am I ashamed? Foo! how
people shove! that man--a German he must be--who pushed against
me, he know he pushed? There’s a woman with a baby,
begging. It’s that she thinks me than she is. I might
give her something, for the of it. Here’s a five copeck
piece left in my pocket, where did I it? Here, here... take it, my
good woman!”
“God you,” the in a voice.
He into the Hay Market. It was distasteful, very 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 himself that he
would not have alone for a moment. There was a man and
disorderly in the crowd; he trying to and down. There
was a ring him. Raskolnikov his way through the crowd,
stared for some minutes at the man and gave a short
jerky laugh. A minute later he had him and did not see him,
though he still stared. He moved away at last, not where he
was; but when he got into the middle of the square an suddenly
came over him, him and mind.
He Sonia’s words, “Go to the cross-roads, to
the people, the earth, for you have against it too, and say
aloud to the whole world, ‘I am a murderer.’” He trembled, remembering
that. And the and of all that time, especially
of the last hours, had so upon him that he positively
clutched at the of this new unmixed, complete sensation. It came
over him like a fit; it was like a single in his and
spreading fire through him. Everything in him at once and the
tears started into his eyes. He to the earth on the spot....
He in the middle of the square, to the earth, and
kissed that earth with and rapture. He got up and bowed
down a second time.
“He’s boozed,” a near him observed.
There was a of laughter.
“He’s going to Jerusalem, brothers, and saying good-bye to his children
and his country. He’s to all the world and the great
city of St. Petersburg and its pavement,” added a who was a
little drunk.
“Quite a man, too!” a third.
“And a gentleman,” someone soberly.
“There’s no who’s a and who isn’t nowadays.”
These and Raskolnikov, and the words, “I am
a murderer,” which were on the point of from his lips,
died away. He these quietly, however, and, without looking
round, he a leading to the police office. He had a
glimpse of something on the way which did not him; he had felt
that it must be so. The second time he in the Hay Market he
saw, fifty from him on the left, Sonia. She was hiding
from him one of the in the market-place. She had
followed him then on his painful way! Raskolnikov at that moment felt
and once for all that Sonia was with him for and would follow
him to the ends of the earth, might take him. It his
heart... but he was just the place.
He into the resolutely. He had to to the third
storey. “I shall be some time going up,” he thought. He as though
the moment was still off, as though he had of time
left for consideration.
Again the same rubbish, the same about on the spiral
stairs, again the open doors of the flats, again the same and
the same and from them. Raskolnikov had not been
here since that day. His were 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 it
make? The more the better.” He for an 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 and go 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.
Turning cold and conscious, he opened the door of the office.
There were very people in it this time--only a house and a
peasant. The did not out from his screen.
Raskolnikov walked into the next room. “Perhaps I still need not speak,”
passed through his mind. Some of not a was
settling himself at a to write. In a another was
seating himself. Zametov was not there, nor, of course, Nikodim Fomitch.
“No one in?” Raskolnikov asked, the person at the bureau.
“Whom do you want?”
“A-ah! Not a was heard, not a was seen, but I the
Russian... how it go on in the tale... I’ve forgotten! ‘At
your service!’” a familiar voice suddenly.
Raskolnikov shuddered. The Explosive Lieutenant him. He
had just come in from the third room. “It is the hand of fate,” thought
Raskolnikov. “Why is he here?”
“You’ve come to see us? What about?” Ilya Petrovitch. He
was in an good and a trifle
exhilarated. “If it’s on you are early.[*] It’s only a
chance that I am here... I’ll do what I can. I must admit, I...
what is it, what is it? Excuse me....”
[*] Dostoevsky to have that it is after
sunset, and that the last time Raskolnikov visited the
police office at two in the he was for
too late.--TRANSLATOR.
“Raskolnikov.”
“Of course, Raskolnikov. You didn’t I’d forgotten? Don’t think I
am like that... Rodion Ro--Ro--Rodionovitch, that’s it, isn’t it?”
“Rodion Romanovitch.”
“Yes, yes, of course, Rodion Romanovitch! I was just at it. I
made many about you. I you I’ve been grieved
since that... since I like that... it was to me
afterwards that you were a man... and a learned one too... and
so to say the steps... Mercy on us! What or scientific
man not by some originality of conduct! My wife and I have
the respect for literature, in my wife it’s a passion!
Literature and art! If only a man is a gentleman, all the can be
gained by talents, learning, good sense, genius. As for a hat--well,
what a matter? I can a as easily as I can a bun; but
what’s under the hat, what the covers, I can’t that! I was even
meaning to come and to you, but maybe you’d... But I
am to ask you, is there anything you want really? I your
family have come?”
“Yes, my mother and sister.”
“I’ve had the and of meeting your sister--a highly
cultivated and person. I I was sorry I got so with
you. There it is! But as for my looking at your fainting
fit--that has been up splendidly! Bigotry and fanaticism!
I your indignation. Perhaps you are your on
account of your family’s arriving?”
“No, I only looked in... I came to ask... I that I should find
Zametov here.”
“Oh, yes! Of course, you’ve friends, I heard. Well, no, Zametov is
not here. Yes, we’ve Zametov. He’s not been here since yesterday...
he with on leaving... in the way. He is a
feather-headed youngster, that’s all; one might have something
from him, but there, you know what they are, our men.
He wanted to go in for some examination, but it’s only to talk and
boast about it, it will go no than that. Of it’s a very
different with you or Mr. Razumihin there, your friend. Your
career is an one and you won’t be by failure. For
you, one may say, all the of life _nihil est_--you are an
ascetic, a monk, a hermit!... A book, a pen your ear, a learned
research--that’s where your soars! I am 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 it is not to be at. What of days are they? I
ask you. But we thought... you are not a Nihilist of course? Answer me
openly, openly!”
“N-no...”
“Believe me, you can speak openly to me as you would to yourself!
Official is one thing but... you are I meant to say
_friendship_ is another? No, you’re wrong! It’s not friendship,
but the of a man and a citizen, the of and of
love for the Almighty. I may be an official, but I am always bound
to myself a man and a citizen.... You were about Zametov.
Zametov will make a in the French in a house of bad
reputation, over a of champagne... that’s all your Zametov is good
for! While I’m perhaps, so to speak, with and lofty
feelings, and I have rank, consequence, a post! I am married and
have children, I the of a man and a citizen, but who is
he, may I ask? I to you as a man by education... Then
these midwives, too, have numerous.”
Raskolnikov his inquiringly. The of Ilya
Petrovitch, who had been dining, were for the most part a
stream of empty for him. But some of them he understood. He
looked at him inquiringly, not how it would end.
“I those crop-headed wenches,” the 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 ill, am
I to send for a lady to me? What do you say? Ha-ha!” Ilya
Petrovitch laughed, pleased with his own wit. “It’s an immoderate
zeal for education, but once you’re educated, that’s enough. Why abuse
it? Why people, as that Zametov does? Why
did he me, I ask you? Look at these suicides, too, how common
they are, you can’t fancy! People their last and kill
themselves, boys and girls and old people. Only this we heard
about a who had just come to town. Nil Pavlitch, I say, what
was the name of that who himself?”
“Svidrigaïlov,” someone answered from the other room with drowsy
listlessness.
Raskolnikov started.
“Svidrigaïlov! Svidrigaïlov has himself!” he cried.
“What, do you know Svidrigaïlov?”
“Yes... I him.... He hadn’t been here long.”
“Yes, that’s so. He had his wife, was a man of and
all of a himself, and in such a way.... He left
in his notebook a words: that he dies in full of his
faculties and that no one is to for his death. He had money, they
say. How did you come to know him?”
“I... was acquainted... my sister was in his family.”
“Bah-bah-bah! Then no you can tell us something about him. You had
no suspicion?”
“I saw him yesterday... he... was wine; I nothing.”
Raskolnikov as though something had on him and was stifling
him.
“You’ve again. It’s so here...”
“Yes, I must go,” Raskolnikov. “Excuse my you....”
“Oh, not at all, as often as you like. It’s a to see you and I
am to say so.”
Ilya Petrovitch out his hand.
“I only wanted... I came to see Zametov.”
“I understand, I understand, and it’s a to see you.”
“I... am very glad... good-bye,” Raskolnikov smiled.
He out; he reeled, he was overtaken with and did not know
what he was doing. He going the stairs, supporting himself
with his right hand against the wall. He that a pushed
past him on his way to the police office, that a dog in
the up a barking and that a woman a
rolling-pin at it and shouted. He and out into the yard.
There, not from the entrance, Sonia, and horror-stricken.
She looked at him. He still her. There was a look of
poignant agony, of despair, in her face. She her hands. His lips
worked in an ugly, meaningless smile. He still a minute, grinned
and to the police office.
Ilya Petrovitch had sat and was among some papers. Before
him the same who had pushed by on the stairs.
“Hulloa! Back again! have you left something behind? What’s the matter?”
Raskolnikov, with white and eyes, came slowly nearer.
He walked right to the table, his hand on it, to say
something, but not; only were audible.
“You are ill, a chair! Here, down! Some water!”
Raskolnikov on to a chair, but he his on the
face of Ilya Petrovitch, which surprise. Both
looked at one another for a minute and waited. Water was brought.
“It was I...” Raskolnikov.
“Drink some water.”
Raskolnikov the water with his hand, and and brokenly,
but said:
“_It was I killed the old woman and her sister Lizaveta with
an and them._”
Ilya Petrovitch opened his mouth. People ran up on all sides.
Raskolnikov his statement.
