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." "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. Avdotya Romanovna
was
looking
attentively
at
her
brother,
waiting
for
what
would
come
next.
Both
of
them
had
heard
of
the
quarrel
from
Nastasya,
so
far
as
she
had
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. "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... to-day
he
certainly
did
drive
him
away.
That
was
so.
And
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
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, "I'll
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
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
uttered, probably
to
emphasise
his
arguments,
he
squeezed
their
hands
painfully
as
in
a vise.
He
stared
at
Avdotya Romanovna
without
the
least
regard
for
good
manners.
They
sometimes
pulled
their
hands
out
of
his
huge
bony paws,
but
far
from
noticing
what
was
the
matter,
he
drew
them
all
the
closer
to
him.
If
they'd
told
him
to
jump
head
foremost
from
the
staircase,
he
would
have
done
it
without
thought
or
hesitation
in
their
service.
Though
Pulcheria Alexandrovna felt
that
the
young
man
was
really
too
eccentric
and
pinched
her
hand
too
much,
in
her
anxiety
over
her
Rodya
she
looked
on
his
presence
as
providential,
and
was
unwilling
to
notice
all
his
peculiarities.
But
though
Avdotya Romanovna
shared
her
anxiety,
and
was
not
of
timorous
disposition,
she
could
not
see
the
glowing
light
in
his
eyes
without
wonder
and
almost
alarm.
It
was
only
the
unbounded
confidence
inspired
by
Nastasya's
account
of
her
brother's queer friend,
which
prevented
her
from
trying
to
run
away
from
him,
and
to
persuade
her
mother
to
do
the
same.
She
realised, too,
that
even
running
away
was
perhaps
impossible
now.
Ten
minutes
later, however,
she
was
considerably reassured;
it
was
characteristic
of
Razumihin
that
he
showed
his
true
nature
at
once, whatever mood
he
might
be
in,
so
that
people
quickly
saw
the
sort
of
man
they
had
to
deal
with. "You can't
go
to
the
landlady, that's perfect nonsense!"
he
cried. "If
you
stay,
though
you
are
his
mother, you'll
drive
him
to
a frenzy,
and
then
goodness
knows
what
will
happen! Listen, I'll
tell
you
what
I'll do: Nastasya
will
stay
with
him
now,
and
I'll
conduct
you
both
home,
you
can't
be
in
the
streets
alone; Petersburg
is
an
awful
place
in
that
way....
But
no
matter!
Then
I'll
run
straight
back
here
and
a
quarter
of
an
hour
later,
on
my
word
of
honour, I'll
bring
you
news
how
he
is,
whether
he
is
asleep,
and
all
that. Then, listen!
Then
I'll
run
home
in
a twinkling—I've a
lot
of
friends
there,
all
drunk—I'll fetch Zossimov—that's
the
doctor
who
is
looking
after
him,
he
is
there, too,
but
he
is
not
drunk;
he
is
not
drunk,
he
is
never
drunk! I'll
drag
him
to
Rodya,
and
then
to
you,
so
that
you'll
get
two
reports
in
the
hour—from
the
doctor,
you
understand,
from
the
doctor himself, that's a
very
different
thing
from
my
account
of
him!
If
there's
anything
wrong, I
swear
I'll
bring
you
here
myself, but,
if
it's
all
right,
you
go
to
bed.
And
I'll
spend
the
night
here,
in
the
passage,
he
won't
hear
me,
and
I'll
tell
Zossimov
to
sleep
at
the
landlady's,
to
be
at
hand.
Which
is
better
for
him:
you
or
the
doctor?
So
come
home
then!
But
the
landlady
is
out
of
the
question; it's
all
right
for
me,
but
it's
out
of
the
question
for
you:
she
wouldn't
take
you,
for
she's...
for
she's a fool... She'd
be
jealous
on
my
account
of
Avdotya Romanovna
and
of
you, too,
if
you
want
to
know...
of
Avdotya Romanovna certainly.
She
is
an
absolutely,
absolutely
unaccountable character!
But
I
am
a fool, too!...
No
matter!
Come
along!
Do
you
trust
me? Come,
do
you
trust
me
or
not?" "Let
us
go, mother," said Avdotya Romanovna, "he
will
certainly
do
what
he
has promised.
He
has saved Rodya already,
and
if
the
doctor really
will
consent
to
spend
the
night
here,
what
could
be
better?" "You see, you... you...
understand
me,
because
you
are
an
angel!" Razumihin cried
in
ecstasy, "let
us
go! Nastasya!
Fly
upstairs
and
sit
with
him
with
a light; I'll
come
in
a
quarter
of
an
hour."
Though
Pulcheria Alexandrovna
was
not
perfectly convinced,
she
made
no
further
resistance. Razumihin gave
an
arm
to
each
and
drew
them
down
the
stairs.
He
still
made
her
uneasy,
as
though
he
was
competent
and
good-natured,
was
he
capable
of
carrying
out
his
promise?
He
seemed
in
such
a condition.... "Ah, I
see
you
think
I
am
in
such
a condition!" Razumihin
broke
in
upon
her
thoughts, guessing them,
as
he
strolled
along
the
pavement
with
huge
steps,
so
that
the
two
ladies
could
hardly
keep
up
with
him, a
fact
he
did
not
observe, however. "Nonsense!
That
is... I
am
drunk
like
a fool,
but
that's
not
it; I
am
not
drunk
from
wine. It's
seeing
you
has
turned
my head...
But
don't
mind
me! Don't
take
any
notice: I
am
talking nonsense, I
am
not
worthy
of
you.... I
am
utterly
unworthy
of
you!
The
minute
I've taken
you
home, I'll
pour
a
couple
of
pailfuls
of
water
over
my
head
in
the
gutter here,
and
then
I
shall
be
all
right....
If
only
you
knew
how
I
love
you
both! Don't laugh,
and
don't
be
angry!
You
may
be
angry
with
anyone,
but
not
with
me! I
am
his
friend,
and
therefore
I
am
your
friend, too, I
want
to
be... I had a presentiment...
Last
year
there
was
a moment...
though
it
wasn't a
presentiment
really,
for
you
seem
to
have
fallen
from
heaven.
And
I
expect
I shan't
sleep
all
night... Zossimov
was
afraid
a
little
time
ago
that
he
would
go
mad... that's
why
he
mustn't
be
irritated." "What
do
you
say?" cried
the
mother. "Did
the
doctor really
say
that?"
asked
Avdotya Romanovna, alarmed. "Yes,
but
it's
not
so,
not
a
bit
of
it.
He
gave
him
some
medicine, a powder, I
saw
it,
and
then
your
coming here.... Ah!
It
would
have
been
better
if
you
had
come
to-morrow. It's a
good
thing
we
went away.
And
in
an
hour
Zossimov
himself
will
report
to
you
about
everything.
He
is
not
drunk!
And
I shan't
be
drunk....
And
what
made
me
get
so
tight?
Because
they
got
me
into
an
argument,
damn
them! I've sworn
never
to
argue!
They
talk
such
trash! I
almost
came
to
blows! I've left my
uncle
to
preside.
Would
you
believe,
they
insist
on
complete
absence
of
individualism
and
that's
just
what
they
relish!
Not
to
be
themselves,
to
be
as
unlike
themselves
as
they
can. That's
what
they
regard
as
the
highest
point
of
progress.
If
only
their
nonsense
were
their
own,
but
as
it
is..." "Listen!" Pulcheria Alexandrovna interrupted timidly,
but
it
only
added fuel
to
the
flames. "What
do
you
think?" shouted Razumihin,
louder
than
ever, "you
think
I
am
attacking
them
for
talking nonsense?
Not
a bit! I
like
them
to
talk nonsense. That's man's
one
privilege
over
all
creation.
Through
error
you
come
to
the
truth! I
am
a
man
because
I err!
You
never
reach
any
truth
without
making
fourteen
mistakes
and
very
likely
a
hundred
and
fourteen.
And
a
fine
thing, too,
in
its
way;
but
we
can't
even
make
mistakes
on
our
own
account! Talk nonsense,
but
talk
your
own
nonsense,
and
I'll
kiss
you
for
it.
To
go
wrong
in
one's
own
way
is
better
than
to
go
right
in
someone else's.
In
the
first
case
you
are
a man,
in
the
second
you're
no
better
than
a bird.
Truth
won't
escape
you,
but
life
can
be
cramped.
There
have
been examples.
And
what
are
we
doing now?
In
science, development, thought, invention, ideals, aims, liberalism, judgment, experience
and
everything, everything, everything,
we
are
still
in
the
preparatory
class
at
school.
We
prefer
to
live
on
other
people's ideas, it's
what
we
are
used to!
Am
I right,
am
I right?" cried Razumihin, pressing
and
shaking
the
two
ladies' hands. "Oh, mercy, I
do
not
know," cried
poor
Pulcheria Alexandrovna. "Yes, yes...
though
I don't
agree
with
you
in
everything," added Avdotya Romanovna
earnestly
and
at
once
uttered
a cry,
for
he
squeezed
her
hand
so
painfully. "Yes,
you
say
yes...
well
after
that
you... you..."
he
cried
in
a transport, "you
are
a
fount
of
goodness, purity, sense...
and
perfection.
Give
me
your
hand...
you
give
me
yours, too! I
want
to
kiss
your
hands
here
at
once,
on
my knees..."
and
he
fell
on
his
knees
on
the
pavement, fortunately
at
that
time deserted. "Leave off, I
entreat
you,
what
are
you
doing?" Pulcheria Alexandrovna cried,
greatly
distressed. "Get up,
get
up!" said Dounia laughing,
though
she, too,
was
upset. "Excuse me, Mr. Razumihin,
you
are
forgetting..." Pulcheria Alexandrovna
was
beginning. "Yes, yes,
you
are
right, I
did
forget
myself, I
am
ashamed
of
it," Razumihin
made
haste
to
apologise. "But...
but
you
can't
be
angry
with
me
for
speaking
so!
For
I
speak
sincerely
and
not
because... hm, hm!
That
would
be
disgraceful;
in
fact
not
because
I'm in... hm! Well, anyway, I won't
say
why, I daren't....
But
we
all
saw
to-day
when
he
came
in
that
that
man
is
not
of
our
sort.
Not
because
he
had
his
hair
curled
at
the
barber's,
not
because
he
was
in
such
a hurry
to
show
his
wit,
but
because
he
is
a spy, a speculator,
because
he
is
a skin-flint
and
a buffoon. That's evident.
Do
you
think
him
clever? No,
he
is
a fool, a fool.
And
is
he
a match
for
you?
Good
heavens!
Do
you
see, ladies?"
he
stopped suddenly
on
the
way
upstairs
to
their
rooms, "though
all
my
friends
there
are
drunk,
yet
they
are
all
honest,
and
though
we
do
talk a
lot
of
trash,
and
I do, too,
yet
we
shall
talk
our
way
to
the
truth
at
last,
for
we
are
on
the
right
path,
while
Pyotr Petrovitch...
is
not
on
the
right
path.
Though
I've been calling
them
all
sorts
of
names
just
now, I
do
respect
them
all...
though
I don't
respect
Zametov, I
like
him,
for
he
is
a puppy,
and
that
bullock
Zossimov,
because
he
is
an
honest
man
and
knows
his
work.
But
enough, it's
all
said
and
forgiven.
Is
it
forgiven? Well, then, let's
go
on. I
know
this
corridor, I've been here,
there
was
a
scandal
here
at
Number
3....
Where
are
you
here?
Which
number? eight? Well,
lock
yourselves
in
for
the
night, then. Don't
let
anybody in.
In
a
quarter
of
an
hour
I'll
come
back
with
news,
and
half
an
hour
later I'll
bring
Zossimov, you'll see! Good-bye, I'll run." "Good heavens, Dounia,
what
is
going
to
happen?" said Pulcheria Alexandrovna,
addressing
her
daughter
with
anxiety
and
dismay. "Don't worry yourself, mother," said Dounia,
taking
off
her
hat
and
cape. "God has sent
this
gentleman
to
our
aid,
though
he
has
come
from
a drinking party.
We
can
depend
on
him, I
assure
you.
And
all
that
he
has
done
for
Rodya...." "Ah. Dounia,
goodness
knows
whether
he
will
come!
How
could
I
bring
myself
to
leave
Rodya?...
And
how
different,
how
different
I had fancied
our
meeting!
How
sullen
he
was,
as
though
not
pleased
to
see
us...."
Tears
came
into
her
eyes. "No, it's
not
that, mother.
You
didn't see,
you
were
crying
all
the
time.
He
is
quite
unhinged
by
serious
illness—that's
the
reason." "Ah,
that
illness!
What
will
happen,
what
will
happen?
And
how
he
talked
to
you, Dounia!" said
the
mother,
looking
timidly
at
her
daughter, trying
to
read
her
thoughts
and,
already
half
consoled
by
Dounia's standing
up
for
her
brother,
which
meant
that
she
had
already
forgiven
him. "I
am
sure
he
will
think
better
of
it
to-morrow,"
she
added,
probing
her
further. "And I
am
sure
that
he
will
say
the
same
to-morrow...
about
that," Avdotya Romanovna said finally. And,
of
course,
there
was
no
going
beyond
that,
for
this
was
a
point
which
Pulcheria Alexandrovna
was
afraid
to
discuss. Dounia went
up
and
kissed
her
mother.
The
latter
warmly
embraced
her
without
speaking.
Then
she
sat
down
to
wait
anxiously
for
Razumihin's return,
timidly
watching
her
daughter
who
walked
up
and
down
the
room
with
her
arms
folded, lost
in
thought.
This
walking
up
and
down
when
she
was
thinking
was
a
habit
of
Avdotya Romanovna's
and
the
mother
was
always
afraid
to
break
in
on
her
daughter's mood
at
such
moments. Razumihin,
of
course,
was
ridiculous
in
his
sudden
drunken
infatuation
for
Avdotya Romanovna.
Yet
apart
from
his
eccentric
condition,
many
people
would
have
thought
it
justified
if
they
had
seen
Avdotya Romanovna, especially
at
that
moment
when
she
was
walking
to
and
fro
with
folded
arms,
pensive
and
melancholy. Avdotya Romanovna
was
remarkably good-looking;
she
was
tall, strikingly well-proportioned,
strong
and
self-reliant—the
latter
quality
was
apparent
in
every
gesture,
though
it
did
not
in
the
least
detract
from
the
grace
and
softness
of
her
movements.
In
face
she
resembled
her
brother,
but
she
might
be
described
as
really beautiful.
Her
hair
was
dark brown, a
little
lighter
than
her
brother's;
there
was
a
proud
light
in
her
almost
black
eyes
and
yet
at
times a
look
of
extraordinary
kindness.
She
was
pale,
but
it
was
a healthy pallor;
her
face
was
radiant
with
freshness
and
vigour.
Her
mouth
was
rather
small;
the
full
red
lower
lip
projected a
little
as
did
her
chin;
it
was
the
only
irregularity
in
her
beautiful face,
but
it
gave
it
a
peculiarly
individual
and
almost
haughty
expression.
Her
face
was
always
more
serious
and
thoughtful
than
gay;
but
how
well
smiles,
how
well
youthful, lighthearted, irresponsible,
laughter
suited
her
face!
It
was
natural
enough
that
a warm, open, simple-hearted,
honest
giant
like
Razumihin,
who
had
never
seen
anyone
like
her
and
was
not
quite
sober
at
the
time,
should
lose
his
head
immediately. Besides,
as
chance
would
have
it,
he
saw
Dounia
for
the
first
time
transfigured
by
her
love
for
her
brother
and
her
joy
at
meeting
him. Afterwards
he
saw
her
lower
lip
quiver
with
indignation
at
her
brother's insolent,
cruel
and
ungrateful words—and
his
fate
was
sealed.
He
had spoken
the
truth, moreover,
when
he
blurted
out
in
his
drunken
talk
on
the
stairs
that
Praskovya Pavlovna, Raskolnikov's
eccentric
landlady,
would
be
jealous
of
Pulcheria Alexandrovna
as
well
as
of
Avdotya Romanovna
on
his
account. Although Pulcheria Alexandrovna
was
forty-three,
her
face
still
retained
traces
of
her
former
beauty;
she
looked
much
younger
than
her
age, indeed,
which
is
almost
always
the
case
with
women
who
retain
serenity
of
spirit, sensitiveness
and
pure
sincere
warmth
of
heart
to
old
age.
We
may
add
in
parenthesis
that
to
preserve
all
this
is
the
only
means
of
retaining
beauty
to
old
age.
Her
hair
had begun
to
grow grey
and
thin,
there
had
long
been
little
crow's
foot
wrinkles round
her
eyes,
her
cheeks
were
hollow
and
sunken
from
anxiety
and
grief,
and
yet
it
was
a handsome face.
She
was
Dounia
over
again,
twenty
years
older,
but
without
the
projecting
underlip. Pulcheria Alexandrovna
was
emotional,
but
not
sentimental,
timid
and
yielding,
but
only
to
a
certain
point.
She
could
give
way
and
accept
a
great
deal
even
of
what
was
contrary
to
her
convictions,
but
there
was
a
certain
barrier
fixed
by
honesty,
principle
and
the
deepest
convictions
which
nothing
would
induce
her
to
cross. Exactly
twenty
minutes
after
Razumihin's departure,
there
came
two
subdued
but
hurried
knocks
at
the
door:
he
had
come
back. "I won't
come
in, I haven't time,"
he
hastened
to
say
when
the
door
was
opened. "He
sleeps
like
a top, soundly, quietly,
and
God
grant
he
may
sleep
ten
hours. Nastasya's
with
him; I
told
her
not
to
leave
till
I came.
Now
I
am
fetching Zossimov,
he
will
report
to
you
and
then
you'd
better
turn
in; I
can
see
you
are
too
tired
to
do
anything...."
And
he
ran
off
down
the
corridor. "What a
very
competent
and... devoted
young
man!" cried Pulcheria Alexandrovna exceedingly delighted. "He
seems
a
splendid
person!" Avdotya Romanovna replied
with
some
warmth,
resuming
her
walk
up
and
down
the
room.
It
was
nearly
an
hour
later
when
they
heard
footsteps
in
the
corridor
and
another
knock
at
the
door.
Both
women
waited
this
time completely
relying
on
Razumihin's promise;
he
actually had
succeeded
in
bringing
Zossimov. Zossimov had
agreed
at
once
to
desert
the
drinking
party
to
go
to
Raskolnikov's,
but
he
came
reluctantly
and
with
the
greatest
suspicion
to
see
the
ladies, mistrusting Razumihin
in
his
exhilarated
condition.
But
his
vanity
was
at
once
reassured
and
flattered;
he
saw
that
they
were
really
expecting
him
as
an
oracle.
He
stayed
just
ten
minutes
and
succeeded
in
completely
convincing
and
comforting
Pulcheria Alexandrovna.
He
spoke
with
marked
sympathy,
but
with
the
reserve
and
extreme
seriousness
of
a
young
doctor
at
an
important
consultation.
He
did
not
utter
a
word
on
any
other
subject
and
did
not
display
the
slightest
desire
to
enter
into
more
personal
relations
with
the
two
ladies. Remarking
at
his
first
entrance
the
dazzling
beauty
of
Avdotya Romanovna,
he
endeavoured
not
to
notice
her
at
all
during
his
visit
and
addressed
himself
solely
to
Pulcheria Alexandrovna.
All
this
gave
him
extraordinary
inward
satisfaction.
He
declared
that
he
thought
the
invalid
at
this
moment
going
on
very
satisfactorily. According
to
his
observations
the
patient's illness
was
due
partly
to
his
unfortunate
material
surroundings
during
the
last
few
months,
but
it
had partly
also
a
moral
origin, "was,
so
to
speak,
the
product
of
several
material
and
moral
influences, anxieties, apprehensions, troubles,
certain
ideas...
and
so
on." Noticing stealthily
that
Avdotya Romanovna
was
following
his
words
with
close attention, Zossimov allowed
himself
to
enlarge
on
this
theme.
On
Pulcheria Alexandrovna's
anxiously
and
timidly
inquiring
as
to
"some
suspicion
of
insanity,"
he
replied
with
a composed
and
candid
smile
that
his
words
had been exaggerated;
that
certainly
the
patient
had
some
fixed idea,
something
approaching a monomania—he, Zossimov,
was
now
particularly studying
this
interesting
branch
of
medicine—but
that
it
must
be
recollected
that
until
to-day
the
patient
had been
in
delirium
and...
and
that
no
doubt
the
presence
of
his
family
would
have
a
favourable
effect
on
his
recovery
and
distract
his
mind, "if
only
all
fresh
shocks
can
be
avoided,"
he
added significantly.
Then
he
got up,
took
leave
with
an
impressive
and
affable
bow,
while
blessings,
warm
gratitude,
and
entreaties
were
showered
upon
him,
and
Avdotya Romanovna
spontaneously
offered
her
hand
to
him.
He
went
out
exceedingly pleased
with
his
visit
and
still
more
so
with
himself. "We'll talk to-morrow;
go
to
bed
at
once!" Razumihin said
in
conclusion,
following
Zossimov out. "I'll
be
with
you
to-morrow
morning
as
early
as
possible
with
my report." "That's a fetching
little
girl, Avdotya Romanovna," remarked Zossimov,
almost
licking
his
lips
as
they
both
came
out
into
the
street. "Fetching?
You
said fetching?"
roared
Razumihin
and
he
flew
at
Zossimov
and
seized
him
by
the
throat. "If
you
ever
dare....
Do
you
understand?
Do
you
understand?"
he
shouted, shaking
him
by
the
collar
and
squeezing
him
against
the
wall. "Do
you
hear?" "Let
me
go,
you
drunken
devil," said Zossimov, struggling
and
when
he
had
let
him
go,
he
stared
at
him
and
went
off
into
a
sudden
guffaw. Razumihin stood facing
him
in
gloomy
and
earnest
reflection. "Of course, I
am
an
ass,"
he
observed,
sombre
as
a
storm
cloud, "but still...
you
are
another." "No, brother,
not
at
all
such
another. I
am
not
dreaming
of
any
folly."
They
walked
along
in
silence
and
only
when
they
were
close
to
Raskolnikov's lodgings, Razumihin
broke
the
silence
in
considerable
anxiety. "Listen,"
he
said, "you're a first-rate fellow,
but
among
your
other
failings, you're a
loose
fish,
that
I know,
and
a dirty one, too.
You
are
a feeble,
nervous
wretch,
and
a
mass
of
whims, you're
getting
fat
and
lazy
and
can't
deny
yourself anything—and I
call
that
dirty
because
it
leads
one
straight
into
the
dirt. You've
let
yourself
get
so
slack
that
I don't
know
how
it
is
you
are
still
a good,
even
a devoted doctor. You—a doctor—sleep
on
a
feather
bed
and
get
up
at
night
to
your
patients!
In
another
three
or
four
years
you
won't
get
up
for
your
patients...
But
hang
it
all, that's
not
the
point!...
You
are
going
to
spend
to-night
in
the
landlady's
flat
here. (Hard
work
I've had
to
persuade
her!)
And
I'll
be
in
the
kitchen.
So
here's a
chance
for
you
to
get
to
know
her
better.... It's
not
as
you
think! There's
not
a
trace
of
anything
of
the
sort, brother...!" "But I don't think!" "Here
you
have
modesty, brother, silence, bashfulness, a savage virtue...
and
yet
she's sighing
and
melting
like
wax, simply melting! Save
me
from
her,
by
all
that's unholy! She's
most
prepossessing... I'll
repay
you, I'll
do
anything...." Zossimov laughed
more
violently
than
ever. "Well,
you
are
smitten!
But
what
am
I
to
do
with
her?" "But
have
you
made
her
some
promise?
Something
signed? A
promise
of
marriage, perhaps?" "Nothing, nothing,
absolutely
nothing
of
the
kind! Besides
she
is
not
that
sort
at
all.... Tchebarov tried that...." "Well then,
drop
her!" "But I can't
drop
her
like
that!" "Why can't you?" "Well, I can't, that's
all
about
it! There's
an
element
of
attraction
here, brother." "Then
why
have
you
fascinated
her?" "I haven't
fascinated
her;
perhaps
I
was
fascinated
myself
in
my folly.
But
she
won't
care
a straw
whether
it's
you
or
I,
so
long
as
somebody
sits
beside
her, sighing.... I can't
explain
the
position, brother...
look
here,
you
are
good
at
mathematics,
and
working
at
it
now...
begin
teaching
her
the
integral
calculus;
upon
my soul, I'm
not
joking, I'm
in
earnest, it'll
be
just
the
same
to
her.
She
will
gaze
at
you
and
sigh
for
a
whole
year
together. I talked
to
her
once
for
two
days
at
a time
about
the
Prussian
House
of
Lords (for
one
must
talk
of
something)—she
just
sighed
and
perspired!
And
you
mustn't talk
of
love—she's
bashful
to
hysterics—but
just
let
her
see
you
can't
tear
yourself away—that's enough. It's fearfully comfortable; you're
quite
at
home,
you
can
read, sit,
lie
about, write.
You
may
even
venture
on
a kiss,
if
you're careful." "But
what
do
I
want
with
her?" "Ach, I can't
make
you
understand!
You
see,
you
are
made
for
each
other! I
have
often
been reminded
of
you!... You'll
come
to
it
in
the
end!
So
does
it
matter
whether
it's
sooner
or
later? There's
the
feather-bed
element
here, brother—ach!
and
not
only
that! There's
an
attraction
here—here
you
have
the
end
of
the
world,
an
anchorage, a
quiet
haven,
the
navel
of
the
earth,
the
three
fishes
that
are
the
foundation
of
the
world,
the
essence
of
pancakes,
of
savoury
fish-pies,
of
the
evening
samovar,
of
soft
sighs
and
warm
shawls,
and
hot
stoves
to
sleep
on—as
snug
as
though
you
were
dead,
and
yet
you're alive—the
advantages
of
both
at
once! Well,
hang
it, brother,
what
stuff
I'm talking, it's bedtime! Listen. I sometimes
wake
up
at
night;
so
I'll
go
in
and
look
at
him.
But
there's
no
need, it's
all
right. Don't
you
worry yourself,
yet
if
you
like,
you
might
just
look
in
once, too.
But
if
you
notice anything—delirium
or
fever—wake
me
at
once.
But
there
can't be...."