Raskolnikov
was
already
entering
the
room.
He
came
in
looking
as
though
he
had
the
utmost
difficulty
not
to
burst
out
laughing again.
Behind
him
Razumihin strode
in
gawky
and
awkward,
shamefaced
and
red
as
a peony,
with
an
utterly
crestfallen
and
ferocious
expression.
His
face
and
whole
figure
really
were
ridiculous
at
that
moment
and
amply justified Raskolnikov's laughter. Raskolnikov,
not
waiting
for
an
introduction,
bowed
to
Porfiry Petrovitch,
who
stood
in
the
middle
of
the
room
looking
inquiringly
at
them.
He
held
out
his
hand
and
shook hands,
still
apparently
making
desperate
efforts
to
subdue
his
mirth
and
utter
a
few
words
to
introduce
himself.
But
he
had
no
sooner
succeeded
in
assuming
a
serious
air
and
muttering
something
when
he
suddenly glanced
again
as
though
accidentally
at
Razumihin,
and
could
no
longer
control himself:
his
stifled
laughter
broke
out
the
more
irresistibly
the
more
he
tried
to
restrain
it.
The
extraordinary
ferocity
with
which
Razumihin received
this
"spontaneous"
mirth
gave
the
whole
scene
the
appearance
of
most
genuine
fun
and
naturalness. Razumihin strengthened
this
impression
as
though
on
purpose. "Fool!
You
fiend,"
he
roared,
waving
his
arm
which
at
once
struck a
little
round table
with
an
empty tea-glass
on
it. Everything
was
sent
flying
and
crashing. "But
why
break
chairs, gentlemen?
You
know
it's a
loss
to
the
Crown," Porfiry Petrovitch quoted gaily. Raskolnikov
was
still
laughing,
with
his
hand
in
Porfiry Petrovitch's,
but
anxious
not
to
overdo
it,
awaited
the
right
moment
to
put
a
natural
end
to
it. Razumihin, completely
put
to
confusion
by
upsetting
the
table
and
smashing
the
glass, gazed gloomily
at
the
fragments,
cursed
and
turned
sharply
to
the
window
where
he
stood
looking
out
with
his
back
to
the
company
with
a
fiercely
scowling
countenance,
seeing
nothing. Porfiry Petrovitch laughed
and
was
ready
to
go
on
laughing,
but
obviously
looked
for
explanations. Zametov had been sitting
in
the
corner,
but
he
rose
at
the
visitors'
entrance
and
was
standing
in
expectation
with
a
smile
on
his
lips,
though
he
looked
with
surprise
and
even
it
seemed
incredulity
at
the
whole
scene
and
at
Raskolnikov
with
a
certain
embarrassment. Zametov's unexpected
presence
struck Raskolnikov unpleasantly. "I've got
to
think
of
that,"
he
thought. "Excuse me, please,"
he
began, affecting
extreme
embarrassment. "Raskolnikov." "Not
at
all,
very
pleasant
to
see
you...
and
how
pleasantly
you've
come
in.... Why, won't
he
even
say
good-morning?" Porfiry Petrovitch
nodded
at
Razumihin. "Upon my
honour
I don't
know
why
he
is
in
such
a
rage
with
me. I
only
told
him
as
we
came
along
that
he
was
like
Romeo...
and
proved
it.
And
that
was
all, I think!" "Pig!"
ejaculated
Razumihin,
without
turning
round. "There
must
have
been
very
grave
grounds
for
it,
if
he
is
so
furious
at
the
word," Porfiry laughed. "Oh,
you
sharp lawyer!...
Damn
you
all!" snapped Razumihin,
and
suddenly
bursting
out
laughing himself,
he
went
up
to
Porfiry
with
a
more
cheerful face
as
though
nothing
had happened. "That'll do!
We
are
all
fools.
To
come
to
business.
This
is
my
friend
Rodion Romanovitch Raskolnikov;
in
the
first
place
he
has
heard
of
you
and
wants
to
make
your
acquaintance,
and
secondly,
he
has a
little
matter
of
business
with
you. Bah! Zametov,
what
brought
you
here?
Have
you
met before?
Have
you
known
each
other
long?" "What
does
this
mean?"
thought
Raskolnikov uneasily. Zametov
seemed
taken aback,
but
not
very
much
so. "Why,
it
was
at
your
rooms
we
met yesterday,"
he
said easily. "Then I
have
been
spared
the
trouble.
All
last
week
he
was
begging
me
to
introduce
him
to
you. Porfiry
and
you
have
sniffed
each
other
out
without
me.
Where
is
your
tobacco?" Porfiry Petrovitch
was
wearing a dressing-gown,
very
clean linen,
and
trodden-down slippers.
He
was
a
man
of
about
five
and
thirty, short, stout
even
to
corpulence,
and
clean shaven.
He
wore
his
hair
cut
short
and
had a
large
round head, particularly
prominent
at
the
back.
His
soft, round,
rather
snub-nosed face
was
of
a sickly yellowish colour,
but
had a
vigorous
and
rather
ironical expression.
It
would
have
been good-natured
except
for
a
look
in
the
eyes,
which
shone
with
a watery,
mawkish
light
under
almost
white,
blinking
eyelashes.
The
expression
of
those
eyes
was
strangely
out
of
keeping
with
his
somewhat
womanish figure,
and
gave
it
something
far
more
serious
than
could
be
guessed
at
first
sight.
As
soon
as
Porfiry Petrovitch
heard
that
his
visitor
had a
little
matter
of
business
with
him,
he
begged
him
to
sit
down
on
the
sofa
and
sat
down
himself
on
the
other
end,
waiting
for
him
to
explain
his
business,
with
that
careful
and
over-serious
attention
which
is
at
once
oppressive
and
embarrassing, especially
to
a stranger,
and
especially
if
what
you
are
discussing
is
in
your
opinion
of
far
too
little
importance
for
such
exceptional solemnity.
But
in
brief
and
coherent
phrases Raskolnikov
explained
his
business
clearly
and
exactly,
and
was
so
well
satisfied
with
himself
that
he
even
succeeded
in
taking
a
good
look
at
Porfiry. Porfiry Petrovitch
did
not
once
take
his
eyes
off
him. Razumihin, sitting
opposite
at
the
same
table,
listened
warmly
and
impatiently,
looking
from
one
to
the
other
every
moment
with
rather
excessive
interest. "Fool," Raskolnikov swore
to
himself. "You
have
to
give
information
to
the
police," Porfiry replied,
with
a
most
businesslike air, "that
having
learnt
of
this
incident,
that
is
of
the
murder,
you
beg
to
inform
the
lawyer
in
charge
of
the
case
that
such
and
such
things
belong
to
you,
and
that
you
desire
to
redeem
them... or...
but
they
will
write
to
you." "That's
just
the
point,
that
at
the
present
moment," Raskolnikov tried
his
utmost
to
feign
embarrassment, "I
am
not
quite
in
funds...
and
even
this
trifling
sum
is
beyond
me... I
only
wanted,
you
see,
for
the
present
to
declare
that
the
things
are
mine,
and
that
when
I
have
money...." "That's
no
matter,"
answered
Porfiry Petrovitch,
receiving
his
explanation
of
his
pecuniary
position coldly, "but
you
can,
if
you
prefer,
write
straight
to
me,
to
say,
that
having
been
informed
of
the
matter,
and
claiming
such
and
such
as
your
property,
you
beg..." "On
an
ordinary
sheet
of
paper?" Raskolnikov interrupted eagerly,
again
interested
in
the
financial
side
of
the
question. "Oh,
the
most
ordinary,"
and
suddenly Porfiry Petrovitch
looked
with
obvious
irony
at
him, screwing
up
his
eyes
and,
as
it
were,
winking
at
him.
But
perhaps
it
was
Raskolnikov's fancy,
for
it
all
lasted
but
a moment.
There
was
certainly
something
of
the
sort, Raskolnikov
could
have
sworn
he
winked
at
him,
goodness
knows
why. "He knows," flashed
through
his
mind
like
lightning. "Forgive my
troubling
you
about
such
trifles,"
he
went on, a
little
disconcerted, "the
things
are
only
worth
five
roubles,
but
I
prize
them
particularly
for
the
sake
of
those
from
whom
they
came
to
me,
and
I
must
confess
that
I
was
alarmed
when
I heard..." "That's
why
you
were
so
much
struck
when
I
mentioned
to
Zossimov
that
Porfiry
was
inquiring
for
everyone
who
had pledges!" Razumihin
put
in
with
obvious
intention.
This
was
really unbearable. Raskolnikov
could
not
help
glancing
at
him
with
a flash
of
vindictive
anger
in
his
black
eyes,
but
immediately
recollected
himself. "You
seem
to
be
jeering
at
me, brother?"
he
said
to
him,
with
a well-feigned irritability. "I
dare
say
I
do
seem
to
you
absurdly
anxious
about
such
trash;
but
you
mustn't
think
me
selfish
or
grasping
for
that,
and
these
two
things
may
be
anything
but
trash
in
my eyes. I
told
you
just
now
that
the
silver
watch,
though
it's
not
worth
a cent,
is
the
only
thing
left
us
of
my father's.
You
may
laugh
at
me,
but
my mother
is
here,"
he
turned
suddenly
to
Porfiry, "and
if
she
knew,"
he
turned
again
hurriedly
to
Razumihin,
carefully
making
his
voice tremble, "that
the
watch
was
lost,
she
would
be
in
despair!
You
know
what
women are!" "Not a
bit
of
it! I didn't
mean
that
at
all!
Quite
the
contrary!" shouted Razumihin distressed. "Was
it
right?
Was
it
natural?
Did
I
overdo
it?" Raskolnikov
asked
himself
in
a tremor. "Why
did
I
say
that
about
women?" "Oh,
your
mother
is
with
you?" Porfiry Petrovitch inquired. "Yes." "When
did
she
come?" "Last night." Porfiry
paused
as
though
reflecting. "Your
things
would
not
in
any
case
be
lost,"
he
went
on
calmly
and
coldly. "I
have
been
expecting
you
here
for
some
time."
And
as
though
that
was
a
matter
of
no
importance,
he
carefully
offered
the
ash-tray
to
Razumihin,
who
was
ruthlessly scattering
cigarette
ash
over
the
carpet. Raskolnikov shuddered,
but
Porfiry
did
not
seem
to
be
looking
at
him,
and
was
still
concerned
with
Razumihin's cigarette. Porfiry Petrovitch
addressed
himself
to
Raskolnikov. "Your things,
the
ring
and
the
watch,
were
wrapped
up
together,
and
on
the
paper
your
name
was
legibly written
in
pencil,
together
with
the
date
on
which
you
left
them
with
her..." "How
observant
you
are!" Raskolnikov
smiled
awkwardly, doing
his
very
utmost
to
look
him
straight
in
the
face,
but
he
failed,
and
suddenly added: "I
say
that
because
I
suppose
there
were
a
great
many
pledges...
that
it
must
be
difficult
to
remember
them
all....
But
you
remember
them
all
so
clearly, and... and..." "Stupid! Feeble!"
he
thought. "Why
did
I
add
that?" "But
we
know
all
who
had pledges,
and
you
are
the
only
one
who
hasn't
come
forward," Porfiry
answered
with
hardly
perceptible
irony. "I haven't been
quite
well." "I
heard
that
too. I heard, indeed,
that
you
were
in
great
distress
about
something.
You
look
pale
still." "I
am
not
pale
at
all.... No, I
am
quite
well," Raskolnikov snapped
out
rudely
and
angrily, completely
changing
his
tone.
His
anger
was
mounting,
he
could
not
repress
it. "And
in
my
anger
I
shall
betray
myself," flashed
through
his
mind
again. "Why
are
they
torturing me?" "Not
quite
well!" Razumihin
caught
him
up. "What next!
He
was
unconscious
and
delirious
all
yesterday.
Would
you
believe, Porfiry,
as
soon
as
our
backs
were
turned,
he
dressed,
though
he
could
hardly
stand,
and
gave
us
the
slip
and
went
off
on
a
spree
somewhere
till
midnight, delirious
all
the
time!
Would
you
believe
it! Extraordinary!" "Really delirious?
You
don't
say
so!" Porfiry shook
his
head
in
a womanish way. "Nonsense! Don't
you
believe
it!
But
you
don't
believe
it
anyway," Raskolnikov
let
slip
in
his
anger.
But
Porfiry Petrovitch
did
not
seem
to
catch
those
strange
words. "But
how
could
you
have
gone
out
if
you
hadn't been delirious?" Razumihin got
hot
suddenly. "What
did
you
go
out
for?
What
was
the
object
of
it?
And
why
on
the
sly?
Were
you
in
your
senses
when
you
did
it?
Now
that
all
danger
is
over
I
can
speak
plainly." "I
was
awfully
sick
of
them
yesterday." Raskolnikov
addressed
Porfiry suddenly
with
a
smile
of
insolent
defiance, "I
ran
away
from
them
to
take
lodgings
where
they
wouldn't find me,
and
took
a
lot
of
money
with
me. Mr. Zametov
there
saw
it. I say, Mr. Zametov,
was
I
sensible
or
delirious yesterday;
settle
our
dispute."
He
could
have
strangled
Zametov
at
that
moment,
so
hateful
were
his
expression
and
his
silence
to
him. "In my
opinion
you
talked sensibly
and
even
artfully,
but
you
were
extremely irritable," Zametov pronounced dryly. "And Nikodim Fomitch
was
telling
me
to-day,"
put
in
Porfiry Petrovitch, "that
he
met
you
very
late
last
night
in
the
lodging
of
a
man
who
had been
run
over." "And there," said Razumihin, "weren't
you
mad
then?
You
gave
your
last
penny
to
the
widow
for
the
funeral.
If
you
wanted
to
help,
give
fifteen
or
twenty
even,
but
keep
three
roubles
for
yourself
at
least,
but
he
flung
away
all
the
twenty-five
at
once!" "Maybe I found a
treasure
somewhere
and
you
know
nothing
of
it?
So
that's
why
I
was
liberal yesterday.... Mr. Zametov
knows
I've found a treasure!
Excuse
us, please,
for
disturbing
you
for
half
an
hour
with
such
trivialities,"
he
said,
turning
to
Porfiry Petrovitch,
with
trembling
lips. "We
are
boring you, aren't we?" "Oh no,
quite
the
contrary,
quite
the
contrary!
If
only
you
knew
how
you
interest
me! It's interesting
to
look
on
and
listen...
and
I
am
really
glad
you
have
come
forward
at
last." "But
you
might
give
us
some
tea! My throat's dry," cried Razumihin. "Capital idea!
Perhaps
we
will
all
keep
you
company. Wouldn't
you
like...
something
more
essential
before
tea?" "Get
along
with
you!" Porfiry Petrovitch went
out
to
order tea. Raskolnikov's
thoughts
were
in
a whirl.
He
was
in
terrible
exasperation. "The worst
of
it
is
they
don't disguise it;
they
don't
care
to
stand
on
ceremony!
And
how
if
you
didn't
know
me
at
all,
did
you
come
to
talk
to
Nikodim Fomitch
about
me?
So
they
don't
care
to
hide
that
they
are
tracking
me
like
a
pack
of
dogs.
They
simply
spit
in
my face."
He
was
shaking
with
rage. "Come, strike
me
openly, don't
play
with
me
like
a
cat
with
a mouse. It's
hardly
civil, Porfiry Petrovitch,
but
perhaps
I won't
allow
it! I
shall
get
up
and
throw
the
whole
truth
in
your
ugly
faces,
and
you'll
see
how
I
despise
you."
He
could
hardly
breathe. "And
what
if
it's
only
my fancy?
What
if
I
am
mistaken,
and
through
inexperience
I
get
angry
and
don't
keep
up
my
nasty
part?
Perhaps
it's
all
unintentional.
All
their
phrases
are
the
usual
ones,
but
there
is
something
about
them....
It
all
might
be
said,
but
there
is
something.
Why
did
he
say
bluntly, 'With her'?
Why
did
Zametov
add
that
I
spoke
artfully?
Why
do
they
speak
in
that
tone? Yes,
the
tone.... Razumihin
is
sitting here,
why
does
he
see
nothing?
That
innocent
blockhead
never
does
see
anything!
Feverish
again!
Did
Porfiry wink
at
me
just
now?
Of
course
it's nonsense!
What
could
he
wink for?
Are
they
trying
to
upset my nerves
or
are
they
teasing me?
Either
it's
ill
fancy
or
they
know!
Even
Zametov
is
rude....
Is
Zametov rude? Zametov has
changed
his
mind. I foresaw
he
would
change
his
mind!
He
is
at
home
here,
while
it's my
first
visit. Porfiry
does
not
consider
him
a visitor;
sits
with
his
back
to
him. They're
as
thick
as
thieves,
no
doubt,
over
me!
Not
a
doubt
they
were
talking
about
me
before
we
came.
Do
they
know
about
the
flat?
If
only
they'd
make
haste!
When
I said
that
I
ran
away
to
take
a
flat
he
let
it
pass.... I
put
that
in
cleverly
about
a flat,
it
may
be
of
use
afterwards.... Delirious, indeed... ha-ha-ha!
He
knows
all
about
last
night!
He
didn't
know
of
my mother's arrival!
The
hag
had written
the
date
on
in
pencil!
You
are
wrong,
you
won't
catch
me!
There
are
no
facts... it's
all
supposition!
You
produce facts!
The
flat
even
isn't a
fact
but
delirium. I
know
what
to
say
to
them....
Do
they
know
about
the
flat? I won't
go
without
finding
out.
What
did
I
come
for?
But
my being
angry
now, maybe
is
a fact! Fool,
how
irritable
I am!
Perhaps
that's right;
to
play
the
invalid....
He
is
feeling me.
He
will
try
to
catch
me.
Why
did
I come?"
All
this
flashed
like
lightning
through
his
mind. Porfiry Petrovitch
returned
quickly.
He
became suddenly
more
jovial. "Your
party
yesterday, brother, has left my
head
rather....
And
I
am
out
of
sorts
altogether,"
he
began
in
quite
a
different
tone, laughing
to
Razumihin. "Was
it
interesting? I left
you
yesterday
at
the
most
interesting point.
Who
got
the
best
of
it?" "Oh,
no
one,
of
course.
They
got
on
to
everlasting questions,
floated
off
into
space." "Only fancy, Rodya,
what
we
got
on
to
yesterday.
Whether
there
is
such
a
thing
as
crime. I
told
you
that
we
talked
our
heads
off." "What
is
there
strange? It's
an
everyday
social
question," Raskolnikov
answered
casually. "The
question
wasn't
put
quite
like
that,"
observed
Porfiry. "Not quite, that's true," Razumihin
agreed
at
once,
getting
warm
and
hurried
as
usual. "Listen, Rodion,
and
tell
us
your
opinion, I
want
to
hear
it. I
was
fighting
tooth
and
nail
with
them
and
wanted
you
to
help
me. I
told
them
you
were
coming....
It
began
with
the
socialist
doctrine.
You
know
their
doctrine;
crime
is
a
protest
against
the
abnormality
of
the
social
organisation
and
nothing
more,
and
nothing
more;
no
other
causes
admitted!..." "You
are
wrong
there," cried Porfiry Petrovitch;
he
was
noticeably animated
and
kept laughing
as
he
looked
at
Razumihin,
which
made
him
more
excited
than
ever. "Nothing
is
admitted," Razumihin interrupted
with
heat. "Now
he
is
off, beating
the
drum!
Catch
hold
of
him, do!" laughed Porfiry. "Can
you
imagine,"
he
turned
to
Raskolnikov, "six
people
holding
forth
like
that
last
night,
in
one
room,
with
punch
as
a preliminary! No, brother,
you
are
wrong,
environment
accounts
for
a
great
deal
in
crime; I
can
assure
you
of
that." "Oh, I
know
it
does,
but
just
tell
me: a
man
of
forty
violates
a
child
of
ten;
was
it
environment
drove
him
to
it?" "Well, strictly speaking,
it
did," Porfiry
observed
with
noteworthy gravity; "a
crime
of
that
nature
may
be
very
well
ascribed
to
the
influence
of
environment." Razumihin
was
almost
in
a frenzy. "Oh,
if
you
like,"
he
roared. "I'll
prove
to
you
that
your
white
eyelashes
may
very
well
be
ascribed
to
the
Church
of
Ivan
the
Great's being
two
hundred
and
fifty
feet high,
and
I
will
prove
it
clearly, exactly, progressively,
and
even
with
a Liberal tendency! I
undertake
to!
Will
you
bet
on
it?" "Done! Let's hear, please,
how
he
will
prove
it!" "He
is
always
humbugging,
confound
him," cried Razumihin, jumping
up
and
gesticulating. "What's
the
use
of
talking
to
you?
He
does
all
that
on
purpose;
you
don't
know
him, Rodion!
He
took
their
side
yesterday, simply
to
make
fools
of
them.
And
the
things
he
said yesterday!
And
they
were
delighted!
He
can
keep
it
up
for
a
fortnight
together.
Last
year
he
persuaded
us
that
he
was
going
into
a monastery:
he
stuck
to
it
for
two
months.
Not
long
ago
he
took
it
into
his
head
to
declare
he
was
going
to
get
married,
that
he
had everything
ready
for
the
wedding.
He
ordered
new
clothes
indeed.
We
all
began
to
congratulate
him.
There
was
no
bride, nothing,
all
pure
fantasy!" "Ah,
you
are
wrong! I got
the
clothes
before.
It
was
the
new
clothes
in
fact
that
made
me
think
of
taking
you
in." "Are
you
such
a
good
dissembler?" Raskolnikov
asked
carelessly. Raskolnikov had
not
known. "Why,
you
might
get
some
money
out
of
them
for
the
article!
What
a
strange
person
you
are!
You
lead
such
a
solitary
life
that
you
know
nothing
of
matters
that
concern
you
directly. It's a fact, I
assure
you." "Bravo, Rodya! I
knew
nothing
about
it
either!" cried Razumihin. "I'll
run
to-day
to
the
reading-room
and
ask
for
the
number.
Two
months
ago?
What
was
the
date?
It
doesn't
matter
though, I
will
find it.
Think
of
not
telling us!" "How
did
you
find
out
that
the
article
was
mine? It's
only
signed
with
an
initial." "I
only
learnt
it
by
chance,
the
other
day.
Through
the
editor; I
know
him.... I
was
very
much
interested." "I analysed,
if
I remember,
the
psychology
of
a criminal
before
and
after
the
crime." "Yes,
and
you
maintained
that
the
perpetration
of
a
crime
is
always
accompanied
by
illness. Very,
very
original, but...
it
was
not
that
part
of
your
article
that
interested
me
so
much,
but
an
idea
at
the
end
of
the
article
which
I
regret
to
say
you
merely
suggested
without
working
it
out
clearly.
There
is,
if
you
recollect, a
suggestion
that
there
are
certain
persons
who
can...
that
is,
not
precisely
are
able
to,
but
have
a perfect
right
to
commit
breaches
of
morality
and
crimes,
and
that
the
law
is
not
for
them." Raskolnikov
smiled
at
the
exaggerated
and
intentional
distortion
of
his
idea. "What?
What
do
you
mean? A
right
to
crime?
But
not
because
of
the
influence
of
environment?" Razumihin
inquired
with
some
alarm even. "No,
not
exactly
because
of
it,"
answered
Porfiry. "In
his
article
all
men
are
divided
into
'ordinary'
and
'extraordinary.'
Ordinary
men
have
to
live
in
submission,
have
no
right
to
transgress
the
law, because, don't
you
see,
they
are
ordinary.
But
extraordinary
men
have
a
right
to
commit
any
crime
and
to
transgress
the
law
in
any
way,
just
because
they
are
extraordinary.
That
was
your
idea,
if
I
am
not
mistaken?" "What
do
you
mean?
That
can't
be
right?" Razumihin
muttered
in
bewilderment. Raskolnikov
smiled
again.
He
saw
the
point
at
once,
and
knew
where
they
wanted
to
drive
him.
He
decided
to
take
up
the
challenge. "Then
you
believe
in
the
New
Jerusalem,
do
you?" "I do," Raskolnikov
answered
firmly;
as
he
said
these
words
and
during
the
whole
preceding
tirade
he
kept
his
eyes
on
one
spot
on
the
carpet. "And...
and
do
you
believe
in
God?
Excuse
my curiosity." "I do," repeated Raskolnikov,
raising
his
eyes
to
Porfiry. "And...
do
you
believe
in
Lazarus' rising
from
the
dead?" "I... I do.
Why
do
you
ask
all
this?" "You
believe
it
literally?" "Literally." "You don't
say
so.... I
asked
from
curiosity.
Excuse
me.
But
let
us
go
back
to
the
question;
they
are
not
always
executed. Some,
on
the
contrary..." "Triumph
in
their
lifetime? Oh, yes,
some
attain
their
ends
in
this
life,
and
then..." "They
begin
executing
other
people?" "If it's necessary; indeed,
for
the
most
part
they
do.
Your
remark
is
very
witty." "Thank you.
But
tell
me
this:
how
do
you
distinguish
those
extraordinary
people
from
the
ordinary
ones?
Are
there
signs
at
their
birth? I feel
there
ought
to
be
more
exactitude,
more
external
definition.
Excuse
the
natural
anxiety
of
a
practical
law-abiding citizen,
but
couldn't
they
adopt
a
special
uniform,
for
instance, couldn't
they
wear something,
be
branded
in
some
way?
For
you
know
if
confusion
arises
and
a
member
of
one
category
imagines
that
he
belongs
to
the
other,
begins
to
'eliminate obstacles'
as
you
so
happily expressed it, then..." "Oh,
that
very
often
happens!
That
remark
is
wittier
than
the
other." "Thank you." "Well,
you
have
certainly
set
my
mind
more
at
rest
on
that
score;
but
there's
another
thing
worries me.
Tell
me, please,
are
there
many
people
who
have
the
right
to
kill others,
these
extraordinary
people? I
am
ready
to
bow
down
to
them,
of
course,
but
you
must
admit
it's
alarming
if
there
are
a
great
many
of
them, eh?" "Why,
are
you
both
joking?" Razumihin cried
at
last. "There
you
sit,
making
fun
of
one
another.
Are
you
serious, Rodya?" "You
are
quite
right,
it
is
more
terrible," Porfiry agreed. "Yes,
you
must
have
exaggerated!
There
is
some
mistake, I
shall
read it.
You
can't
think
that! I
shall
read it." "All
that
is
not
in
the
article, there's
only
a hint
of
it," said Raskolnikov. "Yes, yes." Porfiry couldn't
sit
still. "Your
attitude
to
crime
is
pretty clear
to
me
now, but...
excuse
me
for
my
impertinence
(I
am
really
ashamed
to
be
worrying
you
like
this),
you
see, you've removed my
anxiety
as
to
the
two
grades
getting
mixed, but...
there
are
various
practical
possibilities
that
make
me
uneasy!
What
if
some
man
or
youth
imagines
that
he
is
a Lycurgus
or
Mahomet—a
future
one
of
course—and
suppose
he
begins
to
remove
all
obstacles....
He
has
some
great
enterprise
before
him
and
needs
money
for
it...
and
tries
to
get
it...
do
you
see?" Zametov gave a
sudden
guffaw
in
his
corner. Raskolnikov
did
not
even
raise
his
eyes
to
him. "I
must
admit,"
he
went
on
calmly, "that
such
cases
certainly
must
arise.
The
vain
and
foolish
are
particularly
apt
to
fall
into
that
snare;
young
people
especially." "Yes,
you
see.
Well
then?" "What then?" Raskolnikov
smiled
in
reply; "that's
not
my fault.
So
it
is
and
so
it
always
will
be.
He
said
just
now
(he
nodded
at
Razumihin)
that
I sanction bloodshed.
Society
is
too
well
protected
by
prisons, banishment, criminal investigators,
penal
servitude. There's
no
need
to
be
uneasy.
You
have
but
to
catch
the
thief." "And
what
if
we
do
catch
him?" "Then
he
gets
what
he
deserves." "You
are
certainly logical.
But
what
of
his
conscience?" "Why
do
you
care
about
that?" "Simply
from
humanity." "If
he
has a
conscience
he
will
suffer
for
his
mistake.
That
will
be
his
punishment—as
well
as
the
prison." "But
the
real
geniuses,"
asked
Razumihin frowning, "those
who
have
the
right
to
murder? Oughtn't
they
to
suffer
at
all
even
for
the
blood they've shed?"
He
raised
his
eyes,
looked
earnestly
at
them
all, smiled,
and
took
his
cap.
He
was
too
quiet
by
comparison
with
his
manner
at
his
entrance,
and
he
felt this. Everyone got up. "Well,
you
may
abuse
me,
be
angry
with
me
if
you
like," Porfiry Petrovitch began again, "but I can't resist.
Allow
me
one
little
question
(I
know
I
am
troubling
you).
There
is
just
one
little
notion
I
want
to
express, simply
that
I
may
not
forget
it." "Very good,
tell
me
your
little
notion," Raskolnikov stood waiting,
pale
and
grave
before
him. "Quite possibly," Raskolnikov
answered
contemptuously. Razumihin
made
a movement. "And,
if
so,
could
you
bring
yourself
in
case
of
worldly
difficulties
and
hardship
or
for
some
service
to
humanity—to
overstep
obstacles?...
For
instance,
to
rob
and
murder?"
And
again
he
winked
with
his
left eye,
and
laughed noiselessly
just
as
before. "If I
did
I certainly
should
not
tell
you," Raskolnikov
answered
with
defiant
and
haughty
contempt. "No, I
was
only
interested
on
account
of
your
article,
from
a
literary
point
of
view..." "Foo!
how
obvious
and
insolent
that
is!" Raskolnikov
thought
with
repulsion. "Allow
me
to
observe,"
he
answered
dryly, "that I don't
consider
myself
a Mahomet
or
a Napoleon,
nor
any
personage
of
that
kind,
and
not
being
one
of
them
I cannot
tell
you
how
I
should
act." "Oh, come, don't
we
all
think
ourselves
Napoleons
now
in
Russia?" Porfiry Petrovitch said
with
alarming
familiarity.
Something
peculiar
betrayed
itself
in
the
very
intonation
of
his
voice. "Perhaps
it
was
one
of
these
future
Napoleons
who
did
for
Alyona Ivanovna
last
week?" Zametov blurted
out
from
the
corner. Raskolnikov
did
not
speak,
but
looked
firmly
and
intently
at
Porfiry. Razumihin
was
scowling
gloomily.
He
seemed
before
this
to
be
noticing something.
He
looked
angrily around.
There
was
a
minute
of
gloomy silence. Raskolnikov
turned
to
go. "You
want
to
cross-examine
me
officially
in
due
form?" Raskolnikov
asked
sharply. "Oh, why? That's
not
necessary
for
the
present.
You
misunderstand me. I
lose
no
opportunity,
you
see, and... I've talked
with
all
who
had pledges.... I
obtained
evidence
from
some
of
them,
and
you
are
the
last.... Yes,
by
the
way,"
he
cried, seemingly suddenly delighted, "I
just
remember,
what
was
I
thinking
of?"
he
turned
to
Razumihin, "you
were
talking my
ears
off
about
that
Nikolay...
of
course, I know, I
know
very
well,"
he
turned
to
Raskolnikov, "that
the
fellow
is
innocent,
but
what
is
one
to
do?
We
had
to
trouble
Dmitri too....
This
is
the
point,
this
is
all:
when
you
went
up
the
stairs
it
was
past seven, wasn't it?" "Yes,"
answered
Raskolnikov,
with
an
unpleasant
sensation
at
the
very
moment
he
spoke
that
he
need
not
have
said it. "Then
when
you
went upstairs
between
seven
and
eight, didn't
you
see
in
a
flat
that
stood
open
on
a
second
storey,
do
you
remember?
two
workmen
or
at
least
one
of
them?
They
were
painting there, didn't
you
notice them? It's very,
very
important
for
them." "Painters? No, I didn't
see
them," Raskolnikov
answered
slowly,
as
though
ransacking
his
memory,
while
at
the
same
instant
he
was
racking
every
nerve,
almost
swooning
with
anxiety
to
conjecture
as
quickly
as
possible
where
the
trap
lay
and
not
to
overlook
anything. "No, I didn't
see
them,
and
I don't
think
I noticed a
flat
like
that
open....
But
on
the
fourth
storey" (he had
mastered
the
trap
now
and
was
triumphant) "I
remember
now
that
someone
was
moving
out
of
the
flat
opposite
Alyona Ivanovna's.... I remember... I
remember
it
clearly.
Some
porters
were
carrying
out
a
sofa
and
they
squeezed
me
against
the
wall.
But
painters... no, I don't
remember
that
there
were
any
painters,
and
I don't
think
that
there
was
a
flat
open
anywhere, no,
there
wasn't." "What
do
you
mean?" Razumihin shouted suddenly,
as
though
he
had
reflected
and
realised. "Why,
it
was
on
the
day
of
the
murder
the
painters
were
at
work,
and
he
was
there
three
days
before?
What
are
you
asking?" "Foo! I
have
muddled it!" Porfiry
slapped
himself
on
the
forehead. "Deuce
take
it!
This
business
is
turning
my brain!"
he
addressed
Raskolnikov
somewhat
apologetically. "It
would
be
such
a
great
thing
for
us
to
find
out
whether
anyone
had
seen
them
between
seven
and
eight
at
the
flat,
so
I fancied
you
could
perhaps
have
told
us
something.... I
quite
muddled it." "Then
you
should
be
more
careful," Razumihin
observed
grimly.
The
last
words
were
uttered
in
the
passage. Porfiry Petrovitch
saw
them
to
the
door
with
excessive
politeness.
They
went
out
into
the
street
gloomy
and
sullen,
and
for
some
steps
they
did
not
say
a word. Raskolnikov
drew
a
deep
breath.