I
Siberia. On the banks of a river a town, one of
the of Russia; in the town there is a fortress,
in the there is a prison. In the prison the second-class
convict Rodion Raskolnikov has been for nine months. Almost a
year and a has passed since his crime.
There had been little about his trial. The adhered
exactly, firmly, and to his statement. He did not nor
misrepresent the facts, them in his own interest, omit
the smallest detail. He every of the murder, the
secret of _the pledge_ (the piece of with a of metal) which
was in the woman’s hand. He how he
had taken her keys, what they were like, as well as the and its
contents; he the of Lizaveta’s murder; how
Koch and, after him, the student knocked, and all they had said
to one another; how he had and Nikolay
and Dmitri shouting; how he had in the empty and afterwards
gone home. He ended by the in the off the
Voznesensky Prospect under which the and the were found.
The whole thing, in fact, was perfectly clear. The lawyers and the
judges were very much struck, among other things, by the that he
had the and the under a stone, without making
use of them, and that, what was more, he did not now what the
trinkets were like, or how many there were. The that he had
never opened the and did not know how much was in it seemed
incredible. There out to be in the three hundred and
seventeen and sixty copecks. From being so long under the stone,
some of the most valuable notes had from the
damp. They were a long while trying to why the man
should tell a about this, when about else he had made
a and confession. Finally some of the lawyers
more in that it was possible he had really
not looked into the purse, and so didn’t know what was in it when he
hid it under the stone. But they the that
the only have been through temporary mental
derangement, through mania, without object or the of
gain. This in with the most of temporary
insanity, so often in our days in cases. Moreover
Raskolnikov’s condition was proved by many witnesses, by
Dr. Zossimov, his students, his and her servant.
All this pointed to the that Raskolnikov was not
quite like an ordinary and robber, but that there was another
element in the case.
To the of those who this opinion, the
criminal to himself. To the question
as to what him to the and the robbery, he
answered very with the that the was
his position, his and helplessness, and his to
provide for his steps in life by the help of the three thousand
roubles he had on finding. He had been to the murder
through his and nature, by
privation and failure. To the question what him to confess, he
answered that it was his repentance. All this was almost
coarse....
The was more than have been expected,
perhaps the had not to himself,
but had a to his guilt. All the strange
and of the were taken into consideration.
There be no of the and poverty-stricken condition
of the at the time. The that he had no use of what he
had was put to the of remorse, to his
abnormal condition at the time of the crime. Incidentally the
murder of Lizaveta to the last hypothesis: a man
commits two and that the door is open! Finally, the
confession, at the very moment when the case was by
the false by Nikolay through and fanaticism,
and when, moreover, there were no proofs against the criminal, no
suspicions (Porfiry Petrovitch his word)--all this did
much to the sentence. Other circumstances, too, in the prisoner’s
favour came out unexpectedly. Razumihin somehow and
proved that while Raskolnikov was at the he had helped a poor
consumptive student and had his last on supporting
him for six months, and when this student died, a decrepit
old father he had almost from his thirteenth year,
Raskolnikov had got the old man into a hospital and paid for his funeral
when he died. Raskolnikov’s witness, too, that when they
had in another house at Five Corners, Raskolnikov had two
little children from a house on fire and was in doing so. This was
investigated and well by many witnesses. These facts
made an in his favour.
And in the end the was, in of extenuating
circumstances, to penal in the second class for a
term of eight years only.
At the very of the trial Raskolnikov’s mother ill. Dounia
and Razumihin it possible to her out of Petersburg the
trial. Razumihin a town on the railway not from Petersburg, so
as to be able to every step of the trial and at the same time
to see Avdotya Romanovna as often as possible. Pulcheria Alexandrovna’s
illness was a one and was by a partial
derangement of her intellect.
When Dounia returned from her last with her brother, she
had her mother already ill, in delirium. That evening
Razumihin and she what they must make to her mother’s
questions about Raskolnikov and up a complete for her
mother’s of his having to go away to a part of Russia
on a commission, which would him in the end money and
reputation.
But they were by the that Pulcheria Alexandrovna never
asked them anything on the subject, neither then thereafter. On the
contrary, she had her own of her son’s departure; she
told them with how he had come to say good-bye to her, hinting
that she alone many and facts, and that Rodya
had many very powerful enemies, so that it was necessary for him to be
in hiding. As for his career, she had no that it would be
brilliant when be removed. She assured
Razumihin that her son would be one day a great statesman, that his
article and proved it. This article she was
continually reading, she read it aloud, almost took it to bed
with her, but asked where Rodya was, though the was
obviously by the others, which might have been to awaken
her suspicions.
They to be at last at Pulcheria Alexandrovna’s strange
silence on subjects. She did not, for instance, complain of
getting no from him, though in previous years she had only lived
on the of from her Rodya. This was the of
great to Dounia; the idea to her that her mother
suspected that there was something terrible in her son’s and was
afraid to ask, for of something still more awful. In any
case, Dounia saw that her mother was not in full of
her faculties.
It once or twice, however, that Pulcheria Alexandrovna gave
such a turn to the that it was to answer her
without where Rodya was, and on and
suspicious she at once and silent, and this mood
lasted for a long time. Dounia saw at last that it was hard to deceive
her and came to the that it was to be absolutely
silent on points; but it more and more that
the mother something terrible. Dounia her
brother’s telling her that her mother had her talking in her
sleep on the night after her with Svidrigaïlov and the
fatal day of the confession: had not she out something from that?
Sometimes days and of and would be
succeeded by a period of animation, and the would
begin to talk almost of her son, of her of his
future.... Her were sometimes very strange. They her,
pretended to agree with her (she saw that they were pretending),
but she still on talking.
Five months after Raskolnikov’s confession, he was sentenced. Razumihin
and Sonia saw him in prison as often as it was possible. At last
the moment of came. Dounia to her that the
separation should not be for ever, Razumihin did the same. Razumihin, in
his ardour, had to the at least
of a secure the next three or four years, and saving
up a sum, to to Siberia, a country rich in every
natural and in need of workers, active men and capital. There
they would settle in the town where Rodya was and all together would
begin a new life. They all at parting.
Raskolnikov had been very for a days before. He asked a great
deal about his mother and was about her. He worried
so much about her that it Dounia. When he about his
mother’s he very gloomy. With Sonia he was particularly
reserved all the time. With the help of the money left to her by
Svidrigaïlov, Sonia had long ago her to the
party of in which he was to Siberia. Not a word
passed Raskolnikov and her on the subject, but it
would be so. At the final leave-taking he at his
sister’s and Razumihin’s of their happy future
together when he should come out of prison. He that their
mother’s would soon have a ending. Sonia and he at last
set off.
Two months later Dounia was married to Razumihin. It was a and
sorrowful wedding; Porfiry Petrovitch and Zossimov were however.
During all this period Razumihin an air of determination.
Dounia put in his out his plans and she
could not but in him. He a of will.
Among other he again in order
to take his degree. They were making plans for the future;
both on settling in Siberia five years at least. Till
then they rested their on Sonia.
Pulcheria Alexandrovna was to give her to Dounia’s
marriage with Razumihin; but after the marriage she more
melancholy and anxious. To give her Razumihin told her how
Raskolnikov had looked after the student and his father
and how a year ago he had been and in two
little children from a fire. These two pieces of news Pulcheria
Alexandrovna’s almost to ecstasy. She was
continually talking about them, entering into with
strangers in the street, though Dounia always her. In public
conveyances and shops, she a listener, she would
begin the about her son, his article, how he had helped the
student, how he had been at the fire, and so on! Dounia did
not know how to her. Apart from the of her morbid
excitement, there was the of someone’s Raskolnikov’s name
and speaking of the trial. Pulcheria Alexandrovna out the
address of the mother of the two children her son had saved and insisted
on going to see her.
At last her an point. She would sometimes
begin to and was often and delirious. One
morning she that by her Rodya ought soon to be home,
that she when he said good-bye to her he said that they must
expect him in nine months. She to prepare for his coming,
began to do up her room for him, to clean the furniture, to wash and
put up new and so on. Dounia was anxious, but said nothing and
helped her to the room. After a day in continual
fancies, in day-dreams and tears, Pulcheria Alexandrovna was
taken in the night and by she was and delirious.
It was brain fever. She died a fortnight. In her she
dropped which that she a great more about her
son’s terrible than they had supposed.
For a long time Raskolnikov did not know of his mother’s death, though
a regular had been from the time he reached
Siberia. It was on by means of Sonia, who every month
to the Razumihins and an answer with regularity. At
first they Sonia’s and unsatisfactory, but later on
they came to the that the not be better, for
from these they a complete picture of their unfortunate
brother’s life. Sonia’s were full of the most matter-of-fact
detail, the and of all Raskolnikov’s
surroundings as a convict. There was no word of her own hopes, no
conjecture as to the future, no of her feelings. Instead of
any attempt to his of mind and life, she gave the
simple facts--that is, his own words, an exact account of his health,
what he asked for at their interviews, what he gave her
and so on. All these she gave with minuteness. The
picture of their out at last with great clearness
and precision. There be no mistake, nothing was but
facts.
But Dounia and her husband little out of the news,
especially at first. Sonia that he was and not
ready to talk, that he in the news she gave
him from their letters, that he sometimes asked after his mother and
that when, that he had the truth, she told him at last
of her death, she was to that he did not greatly
affected by it, not at any rate. She told them that, although
he so up in himself and, as it were, himself off
from everyone--he took a very direct and view of his new life;
that he his position, nothing for the time,
had no ill-founded (as is so common in his position) and scarcely
seemed at anything in his surroundings, so anything he
had before. She that his health was satisfactory; he did his
work without or to do more; he was almost indifferent
about food, but on Sundays and the food was so that
at last he had been to accept some money from her, Sonia, to have
his own tea every day. He her not to trouble about anything else,
declaring that all this about him only him. Sonia wrote
further that in prison he the same room with the rest, that she
had not the of their barracks, but that they were
crowded, and unhealthy; that he slept on a with a
rug under him and was to make any other arrangement. But that
he so and roughly, not from any plan or design, but simply
from and indifference.
Sonia that he had at no in her visits,
had almost been with her for coming, to talk and
rude to her. But that in the end these visits had a and
almost a for him, so that he was positively when
she was for some days and not visit him. She used to see him
on at the prison gates or in the guard-room, to which he was
brought for a minutes to see her. On days she would go to
see him at work either at the or at the kilns, or at the
sheds on the banks of the Irtish.
About herself, Sonia that she had succeeded in making some
acquaintances in the town, that she did sewing, and, as there
was a in the town, she was looked upon as an
indispensable person in many houses. But she did not mention that the
authorities were, through her, in Raskolnikov; that his task
was and so on.
At last the news came (Dounia had noticed of and
uneasiness in the letters) that he from everyone,
that his did not like him, that he for days
at a time and was very pale. In the last Sonia wrote
that he had been taken very and was in the of
the hospital.
II
He was a long time. But it was not the of prison life, not
the hard labour, the food, the head, or the clothes
that him. What did he for all those and hardships!
he was of the hard work. Physically exhausted, he at
least on a hours of sleep. And what was the food to
him--the thin with in it? In the past as a
student he had often not had that. His were warm and suited
to his manner of life. He did not the fetters. Was he ashamed
of his and parti-coloured coat? Before whom? Before Sonia?
Sonia was of him, how he be her? And yet he
was Sonia, he of it with
his manner. But it was not his and his
fetters he was of: his had been to the quick. It was
wounded that him ill. Oh, how happy he would have been if he
could have himself! He have anything then, even
shame and disgrace. But he himself severely, and his exasperated
conscience no particularly terrible fault in his past, except
a _blunder_ which might to anyone. He was just
because he, Raskolnikov, had so hopelessly, come to grief
through some of fate, and must himself and submit to
“the idiocy” of a sentence, if he were to be at peace.
Vague and in the present, and in the a
continual leading to nothing--that was all that before
him. And what was it to him that at the end of eight years he
would only be thirty-two and able to a new life! What had he to
live for? What had he to look to? Why should he strive? To live
in order to exist? Why, he had been a thousand times to
give up for the of an idea, for a hope, for a fancy.
Mere had always been too little for him; he had always wanted
more. Perhaps it was just of the of his that he
had himself a man to more was permissible than to others.
And if only would have sent him repentance--burning that
would have his and him of sleep, that repentance, the
awful of which of or drowning! Oh, he would
have been of it! Tears and would at least have been life.
But he did not of his crime.
At least he might have in at his stupidity, as he
had at the that had him to prison.
But now in prison, _in freedom_, he over and all his
actions again and by no means them so and so grotesque
as they had at the time.
“In what way,” he asked himself, “was my than others
that have and from the of the world? One has
only to look at the thing independently, broadly, and uninfluenced
by ideas, and my idea will by no means so... strange.
Oh, and philosophers, why do you half-way!
“Why my action them as so horrible?” he said to himself. “Is
it it was a crime? What is meant by crime? My is at
rest. Of course, it was a legal crime, of course, the of the law
was and blood was shed. Well, me for the of the
law... and that’s enough. Of course, in that case many of the
benefactors of who power for themselves of
inheriting it ought to have been at their steps. But
those men succeeded and so _they were right_, and I didn’t, and so I
had no right to have taken that step.”
It was only in that that he his criminality, only in the fact
that he had been and had it.
He too from the question: why had he not killed himself? Why
had he looking at the river and to confess? Was the
desire to live so and was it so hard to overcome it? Had not
Svidrigaïlov overcome it, although he was of death?
In he asked himself this question, and not that,
at the very time he had been looking into the river, he had
perhaps been of the in himself and
his convictions. He didn’t that that might be
the promise of a crisis, of a new view of life and of his future
resurrection.
He to it to the weight of which he
could not step over, again through and meanness. He looked at
his and was to see how they all loved life and
prized it. It to him that they loved and valued life more in
prison than in freedom. What terrible and some of
them, the for instance, had endured! Could they so much for
a of sunshine, for the forest, the cold away
in some spot, which the had marked three years before, and
longed to see again, as he might to see his sweetheart, of the
green it and the bird in the bush? As he on he
saw still more examples.
In prison, of course, there was a great he did not see and did not
want to see; he as it were with eyes. It was loathsome
and for him to look. But in the end there was much that
surprised him and he began, as it were involuntarily, to notice much
that he had not before. What him most of all was
the terrible that him and all the rest. They
seemed to be a different species, and he looked at them and they at
him with and hostility. He and the of his
isolation, but he would have till then that those reasons
were so and strong. There were some Polish exiles, political
prisoners, among them. They looked upon all the as
ignorant churls; but Raskolnikov not look upon them like that.
He saw that these men were in many respects than the
Poles. There were some Russians who were just as contemptuous, a former
officer and two seminarists. Raskolnikov saw their mistake as clearly.
He was and by everyone; they to him at
last--why, he not tell. Men who had been more despised
and laughed at his crime.
“You’re a gentleman,” they used to say. “You shouldn’t about with
an axe; that’s not a gentleman’s work.”
The second week in Lent, his turn came to take the with his
gang. He to church and prayed with the others. A out
one day, he did not know how. All on him at once in a fury.
“You’re an infidel! You don’t in God,” they shouted. “You ought
to be killed.”
He had talked to them about God his belief, but they wanted to
kill him as an infidel. He said nothing. One of the at
him in a perfect frenzy. Raskolnikov him and silently;
his did not quiver, his did not flinch. The guard
succeeded in him and his assailant, or there would
have been bloodshed.
There was another question he not decide: why were they all so
fond of Sonia? She did not try to win their favour; she met
them, sometimes only she came to see him at work for a moment. And yet
everybody her, they that she had come out to _him_,
knew how and where she lived. She gave them money, did them no
particular services. Only once at Christmas she sent them all presents
of and rolls. But by closer relations up between
them and Sonia. She would and post for them to their
relations. Relations of the who visited the town, at their
instructions, left with Sonia presents and money for them. Their wives
and her and used to visit her. And when she visited
Raskolnikov at work, or met a party of the on the road, they
all took off their to her. “Little mother Sofya Semyonovna, you
are our dear, good little mother,” said to that
frail little creature. She would and to them and was
delighted when she smiled. They her and round
to watch her walking; they her too for being so little, and, in
fact, did not know what to her most for. They came to her
for help in their illnesses.
He was in the hospital from the middle of Lent till after Easter. When
he was better, he the he had had while he was feverish
and delirious. He that the whole world was to a
terrible new that had come to Europe from the of
Asia. All were to be a very chosen. Some new sorts
of were the of men, but these were
endowed with and will. Men by them at once
mad and furious. But had men themselves so intellectual
and so in of the truth as these sufferers, never
had they their decisions, their scientific conclusions, their
moral so infallible. Whole villages, whole and peoples
went from the infection. All were and did not understand
one another. Each that he alone had the truth and was wretched
looking at the others, himself on the breast, wept, and wrung
his hands. They did not know how to judge and not agree what to
consider and what good; they did not know to blame, whom
to justify. Men killed each other in a of spite. They
gathered together in against one another, but on the march
the would each other, the ranks would be broken
and the soldiers would on each other, and cutting, biting
and each other. The was all day long in
the towns; men together, but why they were and who was
summoning them no one knew. The most ordinary were abandoned,
because his own ideas, his own improvements, and they
could not agree. The land too was abandoned. Men met in groups, agreed
on something, to keep together, but at once on something
quite different from what they had proposed. They one another,
fought and killed each other. There were and famine. All
men and all were in destruction. The spread and
moved and further. Only a men be saved in the whole
world. They were a pure people, to a new and
a new life, to and the earth, but no one had these
men, no one had their and their voices.
Raskolnikov was that this his memory so
miserably, the of this so long.
The second week after Easter had come. There were warm spring
days; in the prison the under which the sentinel
paced were opened. Sonia had only been able to visit him twice during
his illness; each time she had to obtain permission, and it was
difficult. But she often used to come to the hospital yard, especially
in the evening, sometimes only to a minute and look up at the
windows of the ward.
One evening, when he was almost well again, Raskolnikov asleep. On
waking up he to go to the window, and at once saw Sonia in the
distance at the hospital gate. She to be waiting for someone.
Something him to the at that minute. He and
moved away from the window. Next day Sonia did not come, the day
after; he noticed that he was her uneasily. At last he was
discharged. On the prison he learnt from the that
Sofya Semyonovna was at home and was unable to go out.
He was very and sent to after her; he soon learnt that
her was not dangerous. Hearing that he was about her,
Sonia sent him a note, telling him that she was much better,
that she had a cold and that she would soon, very soon come and
see him at his work. His as he read it.
Again it was a warm day. Early in the morning, at six o’clock, he
went off to work on the river bank, where they used to alabaster
and where there was a for it in a shed. There were only
three of them sent. One of the with the to the
fortress to a tool; the other the and
laying it in the kiln. Raskolnikov came out of the on to the river
bank, sat on a of by the and at the
wide river. From the high bank a opened before
him, the of from the other bank.
In the steppe, in sunshine, he just see, like black
specks, the nomads’ tents. There there was freedom, there other men were
living, those here; there time itself to stand
still, as though the age of Abraham and his had not passed.
Raskolnikov sat gazing, his passed into day-dreams, into
contemplation; he of nothing, but a excited
and him. Suddenly he Sonia him; she had come up
noiselessly and sat at his side. It was still early; the
morning was still keen. She her old and the
green shawl; her still of illness, it was and
paler. She gave him a of welcome, but out her hand
with her timidity. She was always of out her hand
to him and sometimes did not offer it at all, as though he would
repel it. He always took her hand as though with repugnance, always
seemed to meet her and was sometimes throughout
her visit. Sometimes she him and away deeply
grieved. But now their hands did not part. He a glance
at her and his on the ground without speaking. They were
alone, no one had them. The had away for the time.
How it he did not know. But all at once something to
seize him and him at her feet. He and his arms round
her knees. For the she was and she
turned pale. She jumped up and looked at him trembling. But at the same
moment she understood, and a light of came into her
eyes. She and had no that he loved her and
that at last the moment had come....
They wanted to speak, but not; in their eyes. They
were and thin; but those were with the
dawn of a new future, of a full into a new life. They were
renewed by love; the of each of life for the
heart of the other.
They to wait and be patient. They had another seven years to
wait, and what terrible and what before
them! But he had again and he it and it in all his
being, while she--she only in his life.
On the of the same day, when the were locked,
Raskolnikov on his and of her. He had fancied
that day that all the who had been his looked at him
differently; he had entered into talk with them and they answered
him in a way. He that now, and it was bound
to be so. Wasn’t now to be changed?
He of her. He how he had her
and her heart. He her and thin little face.
But these him now; he with what
infinite love he would now all her sufferings. And what were all,
_all_ the of the past! Everything, his crime, his sentence
and imprisonment, to him now in the of an
external, with which he had no concern. But he not
think for long together of anything that evening, and he not have
analysed anything consciously; he was feeling. Life had stepped
into the place of and something different would work itself
out in his mind.
Under his pillow the New Testament. He took it up mechanically.
The book to Sonia; it was the one from which she had read the
raising of Lazarus to him. At he was that she would worry
him about religion, would talk about the and him with
books. But to his great she had not once approached the subject
and had not offered him the Testament. He had asked her for it
himself not long his and she him the book without
a word. Till now he had not opened it.
He did not open it now, but one passed through his mind: “Can
her not be mine now? Her feelings, her at
least....”
She too had been that day, and at night she was taken
ill again. But she was so happy--and so happy--that she was
almost of her happiness. Seven years, _only_ seven years! At
the of their at some moments they were ready
to look on those seven years as though they were seven days. He did not
know that the new life would not be him for nothing, that he would
have to pay for it, that it would cost him great striving, great
suffering.
But that is the of a new story--the of the gradual
renewal of a man, the of his regeneration, of his passing
from one world into another, of his into a new unknown life.
That might be the of a new story, but our present is
ended.
