A strange period began for Raskolnikov: it was as though a fog had fallen upon him and wrapped him in a dreary solitude from which there was no escape. Recalling that period long after, he believed that his mind had been clouded at times, and that it had continued so, with intervals, till the final catastrophe. He was convinced that he had been mistaken about many things at that time, for instance as to the date of certain events. Anyway, when he tried later on to piece his recollections together, he learnt a great deal about himself from what other people told him. He had mixed up incidents and had explained events as due to circumstances which existed only in his imagination. At times he was a prey to agonies of morbid uneasiness, amounting sometimes to panic. But he remembered, too, moments, hours, perhaps whole days, of complete apathy, which came upon him as a reaction from his previous terror and might be compared with the abnormal insensibility, sometimes seen in the dying. He seemed to be trying in that latter stage to escape from a full and clear understanding of his position. Certain essential facts which required immediate consideration were particularly irksome to him. How glad he would have been to be free from some cares, the neglect of which would have threatened him with complete, inevitable ruin.
He was particularly worried about Svidrigailov, he might be said to be permanently thinking of Svidrigailov. From the time of Svidrigailov's too menacing and unmistakable words in Sonia's room at the moment of Katerina Ivanovna's death, the normal working of his mind seemed to break down. But although this new fact caused him extreme uneasiness, Raskolnikov was in no hurry for an explanation of it. At times, finding himself in a solitary and remote part of the town, in some wretched eating-house, sitting alone lost in thought, hardly knowing how he had come there, he suddenly thought of Svidrigailov. He recognised suddenly, clearly, and with dismay that he ought at once to come to an understanding with that man and to make what terms he could. Walking outside the city gates one day, he positively fancied that they had fixed a meeting there, that he was waiting for Svidrigailov. Another time he woke up before daybreak lying on the ground under some bushes and could not at first understand how he had come there.
But during the two or three days after Katerina Ivanovna's death, he had two or three times met Svidrigailov at Sonia's lodging, where he had gone aimlessly for a moment. They exchanged a few words and made no reference to the vital subject, as though they were tacitly agreed not to speak of it for a time.
Katerina Ivanovna's body was still lying in the coffin, Svidrigailov was busy making arrangements for the funeral. Sonia too was very busy. At their last meeting Svidrigailov informed Raskolnikov that he had made an arrangement, and a very satisfactory one, for Katerina Ivanovna's children; that he had, through certain connections, succeeded in getting hold of certain personages by whose help the three orphans could be at once placed in very suitable institutions; that the money he had settled on them had been of great assistance, as it is much easier to place orphans with some property than destitute ones. He said something too about Sonia and promised to come himself in a day or two to see Raskolnikov, mentioning that "he would like to consult with him, that there were things they must talk over. . . ."
This conversation took place in the passage on the stairs. Svidrigailov looked intently at Raskolnikov and suddenly, after a brief pause, dropping his voice, asked: "But how is it, Rodion Romanovitch; you don't seem yourself? You look and you listen, but you don't seem to understand. Cheer up! We'll talk things over; I am only sorry, I've so much to do of my own business and other people's. Ah, Rodion Romanovitch," he added suddenly, "what all men need is fresh air, fresh air . . . more than anything!"
He moved to one side to make way for the priest and server, who were coming up the stairs. They had come for the requiem service. By Svidrigailov's orders it was sung twice a day punctually. Svidrigailov went his way. Raskolnikov stood still a moment, thought, and followed the priest into Sonia's room. He stood at the door. They began quietly, slowly and mournfully singing the service. From his childhood the thought of death and the presence of death had something oppressive and mysteriously awful; and it was long since he had heard the requiem service. And there was something else here as well, too awful and disturbing. He looked at the children: they were all kneeling by the coffin; Polenka was weeping. Behind them Sonia prayed, softly and, as it were, timidly weeping.
"These last two days she hasn't said a word to me, she hasn't glanced at me," Raskolnikov thought suddenly. The sunlight was bright in the room; the incense rose in clouds; the priest read, "Give rest, oh Lord. . . ." Raskolnikov stayed all through the service. As he blessed them and took his leave, the priest looked round strangely. After the service, Raskolnikov went up to Sonia. She took both his hands and let her head sink on his shoulder. This slight friendly gesture bewildered Raskolnikov. It seemed strange to him that there was no trace of repugnance, no trace of disgust, no tremor in her hand. It was the furthest limit of self-abnegation, at least so he interpreted it.
Sonia said nothing. Raskolnikov pressed her hand and went out. He felt very miserable. If it had been possible to escape to some solitude, he would have thought himself lucky, even if he had to spend his whole life there. But although he had almost always been by himself of late, he had never been able to feel alone. Sometimes he walked out of the town on to the high road, once he had even reached a little wood, but the lonelier the place was, the more he seemed to be aware of an uneasy presence near him. It did not frighten him, but greatly annoyed him, so that he made haste to return to the town, to mingle with the crowd, to enter restaurants and taverns, to walk in busy thoroughfares. There he felt easier and even more solitary. One day at dusk he sat for an hour listening to songs in a tavern and he remembered that he positively enjoyed it. But at last he had suddenly felt the same uneasiness again, as though his conscience smote him. "Here I sit listening to singing, is that what I ought to be doing?" he thought. Yet he felt at once that that was not the only cause of his uneasiness; there was something requiring immediate decision, but it was something he could not clearly understand or put into words. It was a hopeless tangle. "No, better the struggle again! Better Porfiry again . . . or Svidrigailov. . . . Better some challenge again . . . some attack. Yes, yes!" he thought. He went out of the tavern and rushed away almost at a run. The thought of Dounia and his mother suddenly reduced him almost to a panic. That night he woke up before morning among some bushes in Krestovsky Island, trembling all over with fever; he walked home, and it was early morning when he arrived. After some hours' sleep the fever left him, but he woke up late, two o'clock in the afternoon.
He remembered that Katerina Ivanovna's funeral had been fixed for that day, and was glad that he was not present at it. Nastasya brought him some food; he ate and drank with appetite, almost with greediness. His head was fresher and he was calmer than he had been for the last three days. He even felt a passing wonder at his previous attacks of panic.
The door opened and Razumihin came in.
"Ah, he's eating, then he's not ill," said Razumihin. He took a chair and sat down at the table opposite Raskolnikov.
He was troubled and did not attempt to conceal it. He spoke with evident annoyance, but without hurry or raising his voice. He looked as though he had some special fixed determination.
"Listen," he began resolutely. "As far as I am concerned, you may all go to hell, but from what I see, it's clear to me that I can't make head or tail of it; please don't think I've come to ask you questions. I don't want to know, hang it! If you begin telling me your secrets, I dare say I shouldn't stay to listen, I should go away cursing. I have only come to find out once for all whether it's a fact that you are mad? There is a conviction in the air that you are mad or very nearly so. I admit I've been disposed to that opinion myself, judging from your stupid, repulsive and quite inexplicable actions, and from your recent behavior to your mother and sister. Only a monster or a madman could treat them as you have; so you must be mad."
"When did you see them last?"
"Just now. Haven't you seen them since then? What have you been doing with yourself? Tell me, please. I've been to you three times already. Your mother has been seriously ill since yesterday. She had made up her mind to come to you; Avdotya Romanovna tried to prevent her; she wouldn't hear a word. 'If he is ill, if his mind is giving way, who can look after him like his mother?' she said. We all came here together, we couldn't let her come alone all the way. We kept begging her to be calm. We came in, you weren't here; she sat down, and stayed ten minutes, while we stood waiting in silence. She got up and said: 'If he's gone out, that is, if he is well, and has forgotten his mother, it's humiliating and unseemly for his mother to stand at his door begging for kindness.' She returned home and took to her bed; now she is in a fever. 'I see,' she said, 'that he has time for /his girl/.' She means by /your girl/ Sofya Semyonovna, your betrothed or your mistress, I don't know. I went at once to Sofya Semyonovna's, for I wanted to know what was going on. I looked round, I saw the coffin, the children crying, and Sofya Semyonovna trying them on mourning dresses. No sign of you. I apologised, came away, and reported to Avdotya Romanovna. So that's all nonsense and you haven't got a girl; the most likely thing is that you are mad. But here you sit, guzzling boiled beef as though you'd not had a bite for three days. Though as far as that goes, madmen eat too, but though you have not said a word to me yet . . . you are not mad! That I'd swear! Above all, you are not mad! So you may go to hell, all of you, for there's some mystery, some secret about it, and I don't intend to worry my brains over your secrets. So I've simply come to swear at you," he finished, getting up, "to relieve my mind. And I know what to do now."
"What do you mean to do now?"
"What business is it of yours what I mean to do?"
"You are going in for a drinking bout."
"How . . . how did you know?"
"Why, it's pretty plain."
Razumihin paused for a minute.
"You always have been a very rational person and you've never been mad, never," he observed suddenly with warmth. "You're right: I shall drink. Good-bye!"
And he moved to go out.
"I was talking with my sister--the day before yesterday, I think it was--about you, Razumihin."
"About me! But . . . where can you have seen her the day before yesterday?" Razumihin stopped short and even turned a little pale.
One could see that his heart was throbbing slowly and violently.
"She came here by herself, sat there and talked to me."
"She did!"
"Yes."
"What did you say to her . . . I mean, about me?"
"I told her you were a very good, honest, and industrious man. I didn't tell her you love her, because she knows that herself."
"She knows that herself?"
"Well, it's pretty plain. Wherever I might go, whatever happened to me, you would remain to look after them. I, so to speak, give them into your keeping, Razumihin. I say this because I know quite well how you love her, and am convinced of the purity of your heart. I know that she too may love you and perhaps does love you already. Now decide for yourself, as you know best, whether you need go in for a drinking bout or not."
"Rodya! You see . . . well. . . . Ach, damn it! But where do you mean to go? Of course, if it's all a secret, never mind. . . . But I . . . I shall find out the secret . . . and I am sure that it must be some ridiculous nonsense and that you've made it all up. Anyway you are a capital fellow, a capital fellow! . . ."
"That was just what I wanted to add, only you interrupted, that that was a very good decision of yours not to find out these secrets. Leave it to time, don't worry about it. You'll know it all in time when it must be. Yesterday a man said to me that what a man needs is fresh air, fresh air, fresh air. I mean to go to him directly to find out what he meant by that."
Razumihin stood lost in thought and excitement, making a silent conclusion.
"He's a political conspirator! He must be. And he's on the eve of some desperate step, that's certain. It can only be that! And . . . and Dounia knows," he thought suddenly.
"So Avdotya Romanovna comes to see you," he said, weighing each syllable, "and you're going to see a man who says we need more air, and so of course that letter . . . that too must have something to do with it," he concluded to himself.
"What letter?"
"She got a letter to-day. It upset her very much--very much indeed. Too much so. I began speaking of you, she begged me not to. Then . . . then she said that perhaps we should very soon have to part . . . then she began warmly thanking me for something; then she went to her room and locked herself in."
"She got a letter?" Raskolnikov asked thoughtfully.
"Yes, and you didn't know? hm . . ."
They were both silent.
"Good-bye, Rodion. There was a time, brother, when I. . . . Never mind, good-bye. You see, there was a time. . . . Well, good-bye! I must be off too. I am not going to drink. There's no need now. . . . That's all stuff!"
He hurried out; but when he had almost closed the door behind him, he suddenly opened it again, and said, looking away:
"Oh, by the way, do you remember that murder, you know Porfiry's, that old woman? Do you know the murderer has been found, he has confessed and given the proofs. It's one of those very workmen, the painter, only fancy! Do you remember I defended them here? Would you believe it, all that scene of fighting and laughing with his companions on the stairs while the porter and the two witnesses were going up, he got up on purpose to disarm suspicion. The cunning, the presence of mind of the young dog! One can hardly credit it; but it's his own explanation, he has confessed it all. And what a fool I was about it! Well, he's simply a genius of hypocrisy and resourcefulness in disarming the suspicions of the lawyers--so there's nothing much to wonder at, I suppose! Of course people like that are always possible. And the fact that he couldn't keep up the character, but confessed, makes him easier to believe in. But what a fool I was! I was frantic on their side!"
"Tell me, please, from whom did you hear that, and why does it interest you so?" Raskolnikov asked with unmistakable agitation.
"What next? You ask me why it interests me! . . . Well, I heard it from Porfiry, among others . . . It was from him I heard almost all about it."
"From Porfiry?"
"From Porfiry."
"What . . . what did he say?" Raskolnikov asked in dismay.
"He gave me a capital explanation of it. Psychologically, after his fashion."
"He explained it? Explained it himself?"
"Yes, yes; good-bye. I'll tell you all about it another time, but now I'm busy. There was a time when I fancied . . . But no matter, another time! . . . What need is there for me to drink now? You have made me drunk without wine. I am drunk, Rodya! Good-bye, I'm going. I'll come again very soon."
He went out.
"He's a political conspirator, there's not a doubt about it," Razumihin decided, as he slowly descended the stairs. "And he's drawn his sister in; that's quite, quite in keeping with Avdotya Romanovna's character. There are interviews between them! . . . She hinted at it too . . . So many of her words. . . . and hints . . . bear that meaning! And how else can all this tangle be explained? Hm! And I was almost thinking . . . Good heavens, what I thought! Yes, I took leave of my senses and I wronged him! It was his doing, under the lamp in the corridor that day. Pfoo! What a crude, nasty, vile idea on my part! Nikolay is a brick, for confessing. . . . And how clear it all is now! His illness then, all his strange actions . . . before this, in the university, how morose he used to be, how gloomy. . . . But what's the meaning now of that letter? There's something in that, too, perhaps. Whom was it from? I suspect . . .! No, I must find out!"
He thought of Dounia, realising all he had heard and his heart throbbed, and he suddenly broke into a run.
As soon as Razumihin went out, Raskolnikov got up, turned to the window, walked into one corner and then into another, as though forgetting the smallness of his room, and sat down again on the sofa. He felt, so to speak, renewed; again the struggle, so a means of escape had come.
"Yes, a means of escape had come! It had been too stifling, too cramping, the burden had been too agonising. A lethargy had come upon him at times. From the moment of the scene with Nikolay at Porfiry's he had been suffocating, penned in without hope of escape. After Nikolay's confession, on that very day had come the scene with Sonia; his behaviour and his last words had been utterly unlike anything he could have imagined beforehand; he had grown feebler, instantly and fundamentally! And he had agreed at the time with Sonia, he had agreed in his heart he could not go on living alone with such a thing on his mind!
"And Svidrigailov was a riddle . . . He worried him, that was true, but somehow not on the same point. He might still have a struggle to come with Svidrigailov. Svidrigailov, too, might be a means of escape; but Porfiry was a different matter.
"And so Porfiry himself had explained it to Razumihin, had explained it /psychologically/. He had begun bringing in his damned psychology again! Porfiry? But to think that Porfiry should for one moment believe that Nikolay was guilty, after what had passed between them before Nikolay's appearance, after that tete-a-tete interview, which could have only /one/ explanation? (During those days Raskolnikov had often recalled passages in that scene with Porfiry; he could not bear to let his mind rest on it.) Such words, such gestures had passed between them, they had exchanged such glances, things had been said in such a tone and had reached such a pass, that Nikolay, whom Porfiry had seen through at the first word, at the first gesture, could not have shaken his conviction.
"And to think that even Razumihin had begun to suspect! The scene in the corridor under the lamp had produced its effect then. He had rushed to Porfiry. . . . But what had induced the latter to receive him like that? What had been his object in putting Razumihin off with Nikolay? He must have some plan; there was some design, but what was it? It was true that a long time had passed since that morning--too long a time--and no sight nor sound of Porfiry. Well, that was a bad sign. . . ."
Raskolnikov took his cap and went out of the room, still pondering. It was the first time for a long while that he had felt clear in his mind, at least. "I must settle Svidrigailov," he thought, "and as soon as possible; he, too, seems to be waiting for me to come to him of my own accord." And at that moment there was such a rush of hate in his weary heart that he might have killed either of those two--Porfiry or Svidrigailov. At least he felt that he would be capable of doing it later, if not now.
"We shall see, we shall see," he repeated to himself.
But no sooner had he opened the door than he stumbled upon Porfiry himself in the passage. He was coming in to see him. Raskolnikov was dumbfounded for a minute, but only for one minute. Strange to say, he was not very much astonished at seeing Porfiry and scarcely afraid of him. He was simply startled, but was quickly, instantly, on his guard. "Perhaps this will mean the end? But how could Porfiry have approached so quietly, like a cat, so that he had heard nothing? Could he have been listening at the door?"
"You didn't expect a visitor, Rodion Romanovitch," Porfiry explained, laughing. "I've been meaning to look in a long time; I was passing by and thought why not go in for five minutes. Are you going out? I won't keep you long. Just let me have one cigarette."
"Sit down, Porfiry Petrovitch, sit down." Raskolnikov gave his visitor a seat with so pleased and friendly an expression that he would have marvelled at himself, if he could have seen it.
The last moment had come, the last drops had to be drained! So a man will sometimes go through half an hour of mortal terror with a brigand, yet when the knife is at his throat at last, he feels no fear.
Raskolnikov seated himself directly facing Porfiry, and looked at him without flinching. Porfiry screwed up his eyes and began lighting a cigarette.
"Speak, speak," seemed as though it would burst from Raskolnikov's heart. "Come, why don't you speak?"
对拉斯科利尼科夫来说，一个奇怪的时期开始了：好像一片大雾突然降落到他的面前，把他禁锢在毫无出路的、痛苦的孤独之中。已经过了很久以后，回想起这段时间，他才恍然大悟，有时他的思想仿佛变得糊里糊涂，就这样一直持续下去，直到发生最后的灾难，不过这中间也偶尔有明白的时候。他完全确信，当时在许多事情上他都犯了错误，譬如，对某些事件的期限和时间，就是如此。至少他后来回忆、并竭力想弄清回想起来的那些事情的时候，根据从旁人那里得到的材料，他知道了许多关于自己的情况。譬如，他曾经把一件事情和另一件事情混淆起来；把另一件事情看作仅仅存在于他想象中的某一事件的后果。有时病态的痛苦的担心完全支配了他，这种担心甚至会转变为惊慌失措的恐惧。不过他也记得，往往有这样的几分钟，几个小时，甚至也许是几天，支配着他的是一种与以前的恐惧恰恰相反的漠然态度，——很像有些垂死的人那种病态的冷漠。总之，在这最后几天，他似乎有意竭力避免完全弄清自己的处境；有些迫切需要立刻得到解释的事实尤其使他感到苦恼不堪；如果能摆脱某些忧虑，能够回避它们，他将会感到多么高兴啊，然而处在他的地位上，忘记这些让他担心的事，就不可避免地有遭到完全毁灭的危险。
特别让他担心的是斯维德里盖洛夫：甚至可以说，他似乎把注意力完全集中在斯维德里盖洛夫身上了。自从卡捷琳娜·伊万诺芙娜咽气的时候，斯维德里盖洛夫在索尼娅家过于明显地说了那些对他具有过于严重的威胁一性一的话，他平常的思路仿佛一下子给打乱了。然而，尽管这个新的事实使他感到异常不安，不知为什么，他却不急于弄清，这到底是怎么回事。有时他突然发觉自己到了城市里某个远离市中心区的僻静地方，独自坐在一家下等小饭馆里一张桌子旁边，陷入沉思，几乎记不起他是怎么来到这里的，却突然会想起斯维德里盖洛夫来：他突然十分清楚而又担心地意识到，需要尽快和这个人达成协议，可能的话，要彻底结束这件事。有一次他来到城外某处，甚至想象，他是在这儿等着斯维德里盖洛夫，他们已经约好，要在这里会面。还有一次，他睡在某处灌木丛里的地上，黎明前醒来，几乎记不得是怎么来到这里的了。不过在卡捷琳娜·伊万诺芙娜死后的这两三天里，他已经有两次碰到过斯维德里盖洛夫，每次几乎都是在索尼娅家里，他去那里并没有什么目的，而且几乎总是只逗留一会儿工夫。他们总是简短地一交一谈几句，一次也没谈到过那个重要问题，似乎他们之间自然而然地达成了协议，暂时不谈这个问题。卡捷琳娜·伊万诺芙娜的一尸一体还停放在棺材里。斯维德里盖洛夫在料理丧事，忙忙碌碌。索尼娅也很忙。最近一次见面的时候，斯维德里盖洛夫对拉斯科利尼科夫说，卡捷琳娜· 伊万诺芙娜的孩子们的事情，他已经办妥了，而且办得很顺利；说是他通过某些关系，找到了这样几个人，在他们的帮助下，可以立刻把三个孤儿都安置到对他们非常合适的孤儿院里；还说，为他们存的那笔钱对安置他们大有帮助，因为安置有钱的孤儿，比安置贫苦的孤儿要容易得多。他还谈到了索尼娅，答应这几天内，说不定什么时候就会去拉斯科利尼科夫那里，还提到“想要向他请教；有些事情很需要和他谈谈……”这些话是在穿堂里、楼梯附近说的。斯维德里盖洛夫凝神注视着拉斯科利尼科夫的眼睛，沉默了一会儿以后，突然压低了声音问：
“您这是怎么了，罗季昂·罗曼内奇，您好像心神不定，一精一神恍惚？真的！您在听，也在看，可是好像什么也不理解。您要振作起来。咱们谈谈吧，只可惜事情太多，有别人的事，也有自己的……唉，罗季昂·罗曼内奇，”他突然补上一句：
“人人都需要空气，空气，空气……首先需要空气！”
他突然闪开，让上楼来的神甫和教堂执事过去。他们是来追荐亡魂的。照斯维德里盖洛夫吩咐的，每天要按时追荐两次。斯维德里盖洛夫径自走了。拉斯科利尼科夫稍站了一会儿，想了想，然后跟着神甫走进索尼娅的住房。
他在门口站住了。追荐仪式已经开始，肃静、庄严而又悲哀。从儿时起，一想到死，感觉到死亡确实存在，他总是感到很难过，神秘，可怕；而且已经有很久没听到过追荐亡魂了。而且这儿还有一种非常可怕、令人惊惶不安的气氛。他望着孩子们：他们都脆在棺材前，波列奇卡在哭。索尼娅跪在他们后面，轻轻地祈祷，好像是胆怯地低声啜泣。“这几天她没朝我看过一眼，也没跟我说过一句话，”拉斯科利尼科夫突然想。太一陽一明晃晃地照耀着这间屋子；香炉里的烟袅袅升起；神甫在念 “上帝啊，让她安息吧。”拉斯科利尼科夫一直站到追荐仪式结束。神甫祝福和告辞的时候，有点儿奇怪地朝四下里望了望。追荐仪式结束后，拉斯科利尼科夫走到索尼娅跟前。她突然握住他的双手，把头靠到他的肩上。这亲一昵的姿态甚至使拉斯科利尼科夫吃了一惊，感到困惑不解；甚至觉得奇怪：这是怎么了？对他毫不厌恶，毫无反感，她的手一点儿也不发一抖！这是一种极端自卑的表现。至少他是这样理解的。索尼娅什么也没说。拉斯科利尼科夫握了握她的手，就走了出去。他感到非常痛苦。如果这时能随便躲到哪里去，只有他孤单单的一个人，哪怕终生如此，他也认为自己是幸福的。然而问题在于：最近一个时期，尽管他几乎总是一个人，却怎么也不能感觉到他确实是形单影只，孑然一身。有时他到城外去，走到一条大路上，有一次他甚至走进一片小树林里；但地方越僻静，他就越发强烈地意识到，似乎有人就站在他身旁，让他感到惶恐不安，倒不是觉得可怕，然而不知怎的，让他感到十分苦恼，于是他赶快回到城里，混杂在人群中间，走进小饭馆、小酒店，到旧货市场或干草广场去。在这些地方似乎反而会觉得轻松些，甚至也更孤独些。一天傍晚，一家小酒馆里有人在唱歌，他在那里坐了整整一个钟头，听人唱歌，记得，当时他甚至觉得十分愉快。可是最后他又突然感到不安了；仿佛良心的谴责突然又让他痛苦起来：“瞧，我坐在这儿听唱歌呢，可难道这是我应该做的吗！”他似乎这样想。不过他立刻猜到，并不仅仅是这一点使他感到不安；有一件要求立刻解决的事情，然而这件事既无法理解，也不能用语言表达出来。一切都纠缠在一起，乱作一一团一。
“不，最好还是斗争！最好是波尔菲里再来……或者斯维德里盖洛夫……但愿赶快再来一个什么挑战，或者有人攻击……是的！是的！”他想。他走出小酒馆，几乎奔跑起来。一想到杜尼娅和母亲，不知为什么他突然仿佛感到心惊胆战，说不出的恐惧。这天夜里，黎明前他在克列斯托夫岛上的灌木丛里醒来了，他在发烧，浑身发一抖；他走回家去，清晨才回到家里。睡了几个钟头以后，烧退了，但是醒来的时候已经很迟：下午两点了。
他想起这天是卡捷琳娜·伊万诺芙娜安葬的日子，他没去参加，为此感到高兴。娜斯塔西娅给他送来了吃的；他津津有味地吃着，喝着，胃口好极了，几乎是贪婪地把送来的东西一扫而光。他的头脑清醒些了，心情也比最近三天来安宁些了。有一会儿，他甚至为先前那种突然而来的无以名状的恐惧感到惊讶。房门开了，拉祖米欣走了进来。
“啊！在吃饭，可见病好了！”拉祖米欣说，端过一把椅子，挨着桌子，坐在拉斯科利尼科夫的对面。他心情焦急不安，也不设法掩饰这种心情。他说话时流露出明显的烦恼神情，不过说得从容不迫，也没有特别提高嗓音。可以认为，他心里有个特别的、甚至是十分独特的打算。“你听我说，”他坚决地说，“对你的事，我一点儿也不感兴趣，不过就我目前所看到的情况来说，我清清楚楚地看出，我什么也不明白；请你别以为我是来盘问你。我才不呢！我不想问！就是你现在自己公开你的全部秘密，把什么都告诉我，也许我连听都不要听，我会啐一口唾沫，转身就走。我来找你，只不过是想亲自彻底弄个明白：第一，你是个疯子，这是不是真的？你要知道，对你有一种坚定的看法（嗯，不管是什么地方吧），认为你大概是个疯子，或者很容易变成疯子。我老实告诉你，我自己也非常同意这种看法；第二，根据你那些愚蠢的、在某种程度上也是卑鄙的行为（无法解释的）看来，是如此；第三，从你不久前对令堂和令妹的行为来看，也是如此。如果不是疯子，只有恶棍和坏蛋才会像你那样对待她们；可见你是疯子……”
“你见到她们已经很久了吗？”
“刚刚见到她们。而你从那时候起就没见过她们吗？你去哪儿闲逛了，请你告诉我，我已经来找过你三次了。从昨天起，令堂就病得很厉害。她打算来看你；阿芙多季娅·罗曼诺芙娜不让她来；她什么话也不想听，她说：‘如果说他有病，如果说他一精一神不正常，那么母亲不去照顾他，谁去照顾他呢？’我们和她一道来过这里，因为我们不能丢下她一个人不管。一路上，直到你的房门口，我们一直劝她安静下来。进到屋里，你不在家；瞧，她就坐在这儿。坐了十分钟，我们站在她身边，一句话也不说。她站起来，说：‘既然他出去了，可见他身一体是健康的，既然他把母亲忘了，那么做母亲的站在门口，像乞求施舍一样恳求他的一爱一，是不成体统的，也是可耻的。’回家以后，她就病倒了；现在在发烧，她说：‘现在我明白了，为了自己人，他倒是有时间的。’她认为，这个自己人就是索菲娅·谢苗诺芙娜，她是你的未婚妻，还是情一妇，这我就不知道了。我刚才去找过索菲娅·谢苗诺芙娜，因为，老兄，我想把事情弄清楚，我到了那里，一看：停着一口棺材，孩子们在哭。索菲娅·谢苗诺芙娜在给他们试穿孝服。你不在那里。我看了看，道了歉，就走了，把这情况告诉了阿芙多季娅·罗曼诺芙娜。这么说，这一切全都是瞎猜，这儿根本没有什么自己人，可见，最正确的看法是，你发疯了。可是，瞧，你坐在这儿狼吞虎咽地吃炖牛肉，就像三天没吃饭似的。假定说，疯子也吃东西，可是虽然你还没跟我说过一句话，可是你……不是疯子！对这一点，我可以起誓。首先，你不是疯子。那么我就不管你的事了，因为这儿准是有个什么秘密，一件不能让人知道的事；我可不想绞尽脑汁去猜测你的秘密。所以我只是来骂你一顿，”说完他站了起来，“发泄一下，我知道现在该做什么了！”
“现在你要做什么？”
“现在我要做什么，关你什么事？”
“当心，你要喝酒去！”
“为什么……这你是怎么知道的？”
“哈，让我猜着了！”
拉祖米欣沉默了一会儿。
“你一向是个很理智的人，你从来，从来就不是疯子！”他突然激动地说。“这你说对了：我是要去喝酒！别了！”他说罢就走。
“大概是前天，我跟妹妹说起过你，拉祖米欣。”
“说我！对了……前天你能在哪儿见到过她？”拉祖米欣突然站住了，脸甚至有点儿发白。可以猜到，他的心在胸膛里慢慢地、紧张地跳动起来。
“她到这儿来了，一个人来的，坐在这儿，和我说过话。”
“她！”
“是的，是她。”
“你说什么了……我是想说，你说我什么了？”
“我对她说，你是个好人，正直而且勤劳。至于你一爱一她，我可没告诉她，因为这个她自己也知道。”
“她自己知道？”
“嗯，那还用说！不管我去哪里，不管我出什么事，你都要像神明一样，和她们待在一起。我，可以这么说吧，把她们托付给你了，拉祖米欣。我所以这么说，是因为我完全明白，你多么一爱一她，而且对于你心地纯洁，深信不疑。我也知道，她会一爱一你，甚至也许已经在一爱一着你了。现在你自己决定好了，你自己知道得最清楚，—— 你该不该去喝酒。”
“罗季卡……你要知道……嗯……唉，见鬼！可是你想上哪儿去？你瞧：如果这全都是秘密，那就算了！不过我……我一定会把这个秘密打听出来……而且相信，这一定是什么一胡一说八道，是一些可怕的荒唐念头，而且这全都是你一胡一思乱想，自己想出来的。不过，你是个最好的好人！最好的好人！
……”
“我正想对你补充一句，可是你打断了我的话，我要补充的就是，刚才你说不打听这些秘密，这些不能让人知道的事情，你的这个决定是很对的。暂时你先别管，请别劳神。到时候你会全知道的，确切地说，就是到必要的时候。昨天有个人对我说，人需要空气，空气，空气！现在我想去他那里，去弄清楚，这话是什么意思。”
拉祖米欣站着，陷入沉思，心情激动，在考虑着什么。
“这是个政治一陰一谋家！一定是！他正处于采取某一决定一性一步骤的前夕，——这是一定的！不可能不是这样，而且……
而且杜尼娅知道……”他突然暗自想。
“这么说，阿芙多季娅·罗曼诺芙娜常来看你，”他一字一顿地说，“你呢，要去会见一个人，这个人说，需要更多的空气，空气，而且……而且，这样看来，这封信……也是从那儿来的了，”他仿佛自言自语地断定。
“什么信？”
“她收到了一封信，就是今天，这使她惊慌不安。很不安。甚至非常担心。我跟她谈你的事——她求我不要说。后来……后来她说，也许我们很快就会分手，随后她又为了什么事情热烈地感谢我；随后她就回到自己屋里，把门锁上了。”
“她收到了一封信？”拉斯科利尼科夫若有所思地又问了一声。
“是啊，一封信；可是你不知道吗？嗯哼。”
他们两人都不说话了。
“再见，罗季昂。我，老兄……有一个时期……不过，再见，你要知道，有一个时期……嗯，再见！我也该走了。我不会去喝酒。现在用不着了……你一胡一说！”
他匆匆地走了；但是已经出去，已经几乎随手掩上了房门，却又突然把门推开，望着旁边什么地方，说：
“顺带说一声！你记得这件凶杀案吗，嗯，就是这个波尔菲里经办的：谋杀那个老太婆的案子？嗯，要知道，凶手已经查明，他自己招认了，还提供了一切证据。这就是那两个工人，那两个油漆匠当中的一个，你想想看，还记得吧，在这儿我还为他们辩护过呢？你相信吗，那几个人——管院子和那两个见证人上楼去的时候，他和他的同伴打打闹闹，在楼梯上哈哈大笑，这都是他为了转移别人的视线，故意做出来的。这个狗崽子多么狡猾，多么镇静！让人难以相信；可是他自己作了解释，自己全都招认了！我上当了！有什么呢，照我看，这只不过是一个善于伪装、善于随机应变的天才，一个从法律观点来看善于转移视线的天才，——所以没什么好奇怪的！难道不可能有这样的人吗？至于他没能坚持到底，终于招认了，这就让我更加相信他的话了。更合乎情理嘛……
可是我，那时候我却上当了！为了他们气得发狂！”
“请你说说看，这一切你是怎么知道的，对这件事你为什么这么感兴趣？”拉斯科利尼科夫问，看得出来，他很焦急。
“这还用问！我为什么感兴趣！是你问我！……我是从波尔菲里那里知道的，也从别人那里听说过。不过从他那里几乎了解了一切情况。”
“从波尔菲里那里？”
“从波尔菲里那里。”
“他……他的意思呢？”拉斯科利尼科夫惊慌地问。
“关于这件事，他对我作了极好的解释。按照他的方式，从心理学上作了解释。”
“他作了解释？他亲自给你作了解释？”
“亲自，亲自；再见！以后还要跟你谈点儿事情，不过现在我还有事。以后再说……有一段时间，我以为……没什么；以后再说！……现在我干吗还要喝酒呢。不用酒，你已经把我灌醉了！我真的醉了，罗季卡！现在不用喝酒我就醉了，好，再见；我还会来的，很快就来。”
他走了。
“这，这是个政治一陰一谋家，一定是的，一定是！”拉祖米欣慢慢下楼去的时候，完全肯定地暗自断定。“把妹妹也拉进去了；像阿芙多季娅·罗曼诺芙娜这样的一性一格，这非常，非常可能。他们见过好几次面……要知道，她也对我暗示过。根据她的许多话……她的片言只语……和暗示来看，这一切都只能是这个意思！不然，对这些错综复杂、一一团一乱麻似的情况应作何解释呢？嗯哼，我本来以为……噢，上帝啊，我怎么会这样想呢。是的，这是我一时糊涂，我对不起他！这是他当时在走廊上，在灯光下把我搞糊涂了。呸！我的想法多么可恶、不可宽恕而且卑鄙啊！尼科尔卡招认了，他真是好样的……以前的所有情况，现在全都清楚了！那时候他的病，他那些奇怪的行为，甚至以前，以前，还在大学里的时候，他一向都是那么一陰一郁，那么愁闷……不过现在这封信又是什么意思？大概这也有什么用意。这封信是谁来的？我怀疑……
嗯哼。不，我一定要把这一切都弄清楚。”
他回忆着，并细细考虑着有关杜涅奇卡的一切，他的心揪紧了。他拔脚就跑。
拉祖米欣刚走，拉斯科利尼科夫就站起来，转身走向窗前，一下子走到这个角落，一下子又走到另一个角落，仿佛忘记了他这间小屋是那么狭小，后来……又坐到了沙发上。他好像获得了新生；再作斗争——那么，出路就找到了！“是的，那么，出路就找到了！不然，这一切积累在一起，毫无出路，压得人喘不过气来，痛苦不堪，使人昏昏沉沉，糊里糊涂。自从在波尔菲里那里看到米科尔卡演的那场戏，他就感到毫无出路，陷入了绝境。看了米科尔卡的演出以后，就在那天，在索尼娅家里又发生了那样的情景，那幕戏是由他导演的，可是演出的情况和结局都完全，完全不像他以前想象的那样……他变得虚弱无力了，就是说，转瞬间变得完全虚弱无力了！一下子！不是吗，当时他曾同意索尼娅的意见，自己同意了，心里同意了，认为心里有这么一件事，独自一个人是无法活下去的！可是斯维德里盖洛夫呢？斯维德里盖洛夫是个谜……斯维德里盖洛夫搅得他心神不定，这是实情，不过在某种程度上，不该光从这方面考虑。也许跟斯维德里盖洛夫也还要进行一场斗争。斯维德里盖洛夫也许是一条出路；不过波尔菲里却是另一回事。
“这么说，波尔菲里还亲自向拉祖米欣作了解释，从心理学上给他作了解释！又把他那可恶的心理学搬出来了！波尔菲里吗？难道波尔菲里会相信米科尔卡有罪？哪怕是有一分钟相信？既然在米科尔卡到来之前，当时他和波尔菲里之间曾经有过那样的事，出现过那样的情景，他们曾面对面地一交一谈，而除了一种解释，对这找不出任何合理的解释。（这几天拉斯科利尼科夫头脑里有好多次闪现出、并且回想起会见波尔菲里的情景的几个片断；回忆当时的全部情景是他受不了的。）当时他们之间说过那样的一些话，做过那样的一些动作和手势，说话时使用过那样的语调，而且达到了这样的界限，在发生了这一切之后，米科尔卡（从他开始说第一句话，从他的第一个动作，波尔菲里就已经把他看透了），米科尔卡可动摇不了他的基本信念。
“怎么！连拉祖米欣也产生怀疑了！当时在走廊上，在灯光下发生的那幕情景不是没有结果的。于是他跑去找波尔菲里了……不过这家伙何必要这样欺骗他呢？他让拉祖米欣把视线转移到米科尔卡身上去，究竟有什么目的？因为他一定有什么想法；这肯定有什么意图，不过是什么意图呢？不错，从那天早上，已经过了很多时候了，——太多了，太多了，但关于波尔菲里，却毫无消息。看来，这当然更加不妙……”拉斯科利尼科夫拿起帽子，沉思了一会儿，从屋里走了出去。在这段时间里，这还是第一天他感觉到，至少他的思想是正常的。“得把跟斯维德里盖洛夫的事情了结掉，”他想，“而且无论如何也要了结掉，尽可能快一点儿：看来这一个也是等着我自己去找他”。在这一瞬间，从他疲惫不堪的心灵里突然升起一股如此强烈的憎恨情绪，说不定他真会杀死两个人当中的一个：斯维德里盖洛夫，或者是波尔菲里。至少他觉得，即使不是现在，那么以后他也会这么做。“咱们等着瞧，咱们等着瞧吧，”他暗自反复地说。
可是他刚打开通穿堂的门，突然遇到了波尔菲里本人。他进到屋里来了。拉斯科利尼科夫呆呆地愣了一会儿。奇怪，波尔菲里来找他，他并不觉得十分惊讶，几乎不怕他。他只是颤栗了一下，但很快，刹时间就作好了思想准备。“也许，这就是结局！不过他怎么会像只猫一样悄悄地走近，我竟什么也没听到呢？难道他在偷一听吗？”
“没想到有客人来吧，罗季昂·罗曼内奇，”波尔菲里·彼特罗维奇笑着高声说。“早就想顺便来看看了，我打这儿路过，心想，为什么不进去看看，坐上五分钟呢。您要上哪儿去？我不耽误您的时间。只稍坐一会儿，一抽一支烟，如果您允许的话。”
“请坐，波尔菲里·彼特罗维奇，请坐，”拉斯科利尼科夫请客人坐下，看样子他很满意，而且相当友好，如果他能看看自己，一定会对自己感到惊讶。图穷匕见，去伪存真，一切马上就要见分晓了！有时一个人遇到强盗，有半个小时会吓得要命，可是当刀子架到他脖子上的时候，甚至会突然不害怕了。他正对着波尔菲里坐下来，不眨眼地直瞅着他。波尔菲里眯缝起眼，点着了烟。
“喂，说吧，说吧，”好像这样的话就要从拉斯科利尼科夫的心里跳出来了。“喂，怎么，怎么，你怎么不说啊？”
