Crime and Punishment by Fyodor Dostoevsky (sight word books .TXT) 📕

I’ve noticed he is a ticklish subject; it was at Luise Ivanovna’s. But to-day, to-day it’s all cleared up. That Ilya Petrovitch is at the bottom of it!

He took advantage of your fainting at the police station, but he is ashamed of it himself now; I know that …’

Raskolnikov listened greedily. Razumihin was drunk enough to talk too freely.

‘I fainted then because it was so close and the smell of paint,’ said Raskolnikov.

‘No need to explain that! And it wasn’t the paint only: the fever had been coming on for a month; Zossimov testifies to that! But how crushed that boy is now, you wouldn’t believe! ‘I am not worth his little finger,’ he says.

Yours, he means. He has good feelings 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 frightened him at first, you know, he nearly went into convulsions! You almost convinced him again of the truth of all that hideous nonsense, and then you suddenly—put out your tongue at him: ‘There now, what do you make 348 of 967

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of it?’ It was perfect! He is crushed, annihilated now! It was masterly, by Jove, it’s what they deserve! Ah, that I wasn’t there! He was hoping to see you awfully. Porfiry, too, wants to make your acquaintance …’

‘Ah! … he too … but why did they put me down as mad?’

‘Oh, not mad. I must have said too much, brother….

What struck him, you see, was that only that subject seemed to interest you; now it’s clear why it did interest you; knowing all the circumstances … and how that irritated you and worked in with your illness … I am a little drunk, brother, only, confound him, he has some idea of his own … I tell you, he’s mad on mental diseases.

But don’t you mind him …’

For half a minute both were silent.

‘Listen, Razumihin,’ began Raskolnikov, ‘I want to tell you plainly: I’ve just been at a death-bed, a clerk who died

… I gave them all my money … and besides I’ve just been kissed by someone who, if I had killed anyone, would just the same … in fact 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

…’

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‘What’s the matter? What’s the matter 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 foot of the last flight of stairs, at the level of the landlady’s door, and they could, as a fact, see from below that there was a light in Raskolnikov’s garret.

‘Queer! Nastasya, perhaps,’ observed Razumihin.

‘She is never in my room at this time and she must be in bed long ago, but … I don’t care! Good-bye!’

‘What do you mean? I am coming 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 matter with you, Rodya?’

‘Nothing … come along … you shall be witness.’

They began mounting the stairs, and the idea struck Razumihin that perhaps Zossimov might be right after all.

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‘Ah, I’ve upset him with my chatter!’ he muttered to himself.

When they reached the door they heard voices in the room.

‘What is it?’ cried Razumihin. Raskolnikov was the first to open the door; he flung it wide and stood still in the doorway, dumbfoundered.

His mother and sister were sitting on his sofa and had been waiting an hour and a half for him. Why had he never expected, never thought of them, though the news that they had started, were on their way and would arrive immediately, had been repeated to him only that day?

They had spent that hour and a half plying Nastasya with questions. She was standing before them and had told them everything by now. They were beside themselves with alarm when they heard of his ‘running away’ to-day, ill and, as they understood from her story, delirious! ‘Good Heavens, what had become of him?’ Both had been weeping, both had been in anguish for that hour and a half.

A cry of joy, of ecstasy, greeted Raskolnikov’s entrance. Both rushed to him. But he stood like one dead; a sudden intolerable sensation struck him like a thunderbolt. He did not lift his arms to embrace them, he 351 of 967

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could not. His mother and sister clasped him in their arms, kissed him, laughed and cried. He took a step, tottered and fell to the ground, fainting.

Anxiety, cries of horror, moans … Razumihin who was standing in the doorway flew into the room, seized the sick man in his strong arms and in a moment had him on the sofa.

‘It’s nothing, nothing!’ he cried to the mother and sister—‘it’s only a faint, a mere trifle! Only just now the doctor said he was much better, that he is perfectly well!

Water! See, he is coming to himself, he is all right again!’

And seizing Dounia by the arm so that he almost dislocated it, he made her bend down to see that ‘he is all right again.’ The mother and sister looked on him with emotion and gratitude, as their Providence. They had heard already from Nastasya all that had been done for their Rodya during his illness, by this ‘very competent young man,’ as Pulcheria Alexandrovna Raskolnikov called him that evening in conversation with Dounia.

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PART III

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Chapter I

Raskolnikov got up, and sat down on the sofa. He waved his hand weakly to Razumihin to cut short the flow of warm and incoherent consolations he was addressing to his mother and sister, took them both by the hand and for a minute or two gazed from one to the other without speaking. His mother was alarmed by his expression. It revealed an emotion agonisingly poignant, and at the same time something immovable, almost insane.

Pulcheria Alexandrovna began to cry.

Avdotya Romanovna was pale; her hand trembled in her brother’s.

‘Go home … with him,’ he said in a broken voice, pointing to Razumihin, ‘good-bye till to-morrow; to-morrow everything … Is it long since you arrived?’

‘This evening, Rodya,’ answered Pulcheria

Alexandrovna, ‘the train was awfully late. But, Rodya, nothing would induce me to leave you now! I will spend the night here, near you …’

‘Don’t torture me!’ he said with a gesture of irritation.

‘I will stay with him,’ cried Razumihin, ‘I won’t leave him for a moment. Bother all my visitors! Let them rage to their hearts’ content! My uncle is presiding there.’

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‘How, how can I thank you!’ Pulcheria Alexandrovna was beginning, once more pressing Razumihin’s hands, but Raskolnikov interrupted her again.

‘I can’t have it! I can’t have it!’ he repeated irritably,

‘don’t worry me! Enough, go away … I can’t stand it!’

‘Come, mamma, come out of the room at least for a minute,’ Dounia whispered in dismay; ‘we are distressing him, that’s evident.’

‘Mayn’t I look at him after three years?’ wept Pulcheria Alexandrovna.

‘Stay,’ he stopped them again, ‘you keep interrupting me, and my ideas get muddled…. Have you seen Luzhin?’

‘No, Rodya, but he knows already of our arrival. We have heard, Rodya, that Pyotr Petrovitch was so kind as to visit you today,’ Pulcheria Alexandrovna added somewhat timidly.

‘Yes … he was so kind … Dounia, I promised Luzhin I’d throw him downstairs and told him to go to hell….’

‘Rodya, what are you saying! Surely, you don’t mean to tell us …’ Pulcheria Alexandrovna began in alarm, but she stopped, looking at Dounia.

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succeeded in understanding and reporting it, and were in painful perplexity and suspense.

‘Dounia,’ Raskolnikov continued with an effort, ‘I don’t want that marriage, so at the first opportunity to-morrow you must refuse Luzhin, so that we may never hear his name again.’

‘Good Heavens!’ cried Pulcheria Alexandrovna.

‘Brother, think what you are saying!’ Avdotya

Romanovna began impetuously, but immediately checked herself. ‘You are not fit to talk now, perhaps; you are tired,’ she added gently.

‘You think I am delirious? No … You are marrying Luzhin for my sake. But I won’t accept the sacrifice. And so write a letter before to-morrow, to refuse him … Let me read it in the morning and that will be the end of it!’

‘That I can’t do!’ the girl cried, offended, ‘what right have you …’

‘Dounia, you are hasty, too, be quiet, to-morrow …

Don’t you see …’ the mother interposed in dismay.

‘Better come away!’

‘He is raving,’ Razumihin cried tipsily, ‘or how would he dare! To-morrow all this nonsense will be over … today he certainly did drive him away. That was so. And 356 of 967

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Luzhin got angry, too…. He made speeches here, wanted to show off his learning and he went out crest- fallen….’

‘Then it’s true?’ cried Pulcheria Alexandrovna.

‘Good-bye till to-morrow, brother,’ said Dounia compassionately—‘let us go, mother … Good-bye, Rodya.’

‘Do you hear, sister,’ he repeated after them, making a last effort, ‘I am not delirious; this marriage is—an infamy.

Let me act like a scoundrel, but you mustn’t … one is enough … and though I am a scoundrel, I wouldn’t own such a sister. It’s me or Luzhin! Go now….’

‘But you’re out of your mind! Despot!’ roared

Razumihin; but Raskolnikov did not and perhaps could not answer. He lay down on the sofa, and turned to the wall, utterly exhausted. Avdotya Romanovna looked with interest at Razumihin; her black eyes flashed; Razumihin positively started at her glance.

Pulcheria Alexandrovna stood overwhelmed.

‘Nothing would induce me to go,’ she whispered in despair to Razumihin. ‘I will stay somewhere here …

escort Dounia home.’

‘You’ll spoil everything,’ Razumihin answered in the same whisper, losing patience—‘come out on to the stairs, anyway. Nastasya, show a light! I assure you,’ he went on 357 of 967

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in a half whisper on the stairs- ‘that he was almost beating the doctor and me this afternoon! Do you understand?

The doctor himself! Even he gave way and left him, so as not to irritate him. I remained downstairs on guard, but he dressed at once and slipped off. And he will slip off again if you irritate him, at this time of night, and will do himself some mischief….’

‘What are you saying?’

‘And Avdotya Romanovna can’t possibly be left in those lodgings without you. Just think where you are staying! That blackguard Pyotr Petrovitch couldn’t find you better lodgings … But you know I’ve had a little to drink, and that’s what makes me … swear; don’t mind it….’

‘But I’ll go to the landlady here,’ Pulcheria

Alexandrovna insisted, ‘Ill beseech her to find some corner for Dounia and me for the night. I can’t leave him like that, I cannot!’

This conversation took place on the landing just before the landlady’s door. Nastasya lighted them from a step below. Razumihin was in extraordinary excitement. Half an hour earlier, while he was bringing Raskolnikov home, he had indeed talked too freely, but he was aware of it himself, and his head was clear in spite of the vast 358 of 967

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quantities he had imbibed. Now he was in a state bordering on ecstasy, and all that he had drunk seemed to fly to his head with redoubled effect. He stood with the two ladies, seizing both by their hands, persuading them, and giving them reasons with astonishing plainness of speech, and at almost every word he