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from that I have as yet nothing against you. And though I shall put you in prison and indeed have comeā€”quite contrary to etiquetteā€”to inform you of it beforehand, yet I tell you frankly, also contrary to etiquette, that it wonā€™t be to my advantage. Well, secondly, Iā€™ve come to you because...ā€

ā€œYes, yes, secondly?ā€ Raskolnikov was listening breathless.

ā€œBecause, as I told you just now, I consider I owe you an explanation. I donā€™t want you to look upon me as a monster, as I have a genuine liking for you, you may believe me or not. And in the third place Iā€™ve come to you with a direct and open propositionā€”that you should surrender and confess. It will be infinitely more to your advantage and to my advantage too, for my task will be done. Well, is this open on my part or not?ā€

Raskolnikov thought a minute.

ā€œListen, Porfiry Petrovitch. You said just now you have nothing but psychology to go on, yet now youā€™ve gone on mathematics. Well, what if you are mistaken yourself, now?ā€

ā€œNo, Rodion Romanovitch, I am not mistaken. I have a little fact even then, Providence sent it me.ā€

ā€œWhat little fact?ā€

ā€œI wonā€™t tell you what, Rodion Romanovitch. And in any case, I havenā€™t the right to put it off any longer, I must arrest you. So think it over: it makes no difference to me now and so I speak only for your sake. Believe me, it will be better, Rodion Romanovitch.ā€

Raskolnikov smiled malignantly.

ā€œThatā€™s not simply ridiculous, itā€™s positively shameless. Why, even if I were guilty, which I donā€™t admit, what reason should I have to confess, when you tell me yourself that I shall be in greater safety in prison?ā€

ā€œAh, Rodion Romanovitch, donā€™t put too much faith in words, perhaps prison will not be altogether a restful place. Thatā€™s only theory and my theory, and what authority am I for you? Perhaps, too, even now I am hiding something from you? I canā€™t lay bare everything, he-he! And how can you ask what advantage? Donā€™t you know how it would lessen your sentence? You would be confessing at a moment when another man has taken the crime on himself and so has muddled the whole case. Consider that! I swear before God that I will so arrange that your confession shall come as a complete surprise. We will make a clean sweep of all these psychological points, of a suspicion against you, so that your crime will appear to have been something like an aberration, for in truth it was an aberration. I am an honest man, Rodion Romanovitch, and will keep my word.ā€

Raskolnikov maintained a mournful silence and let his head sink dejectedly. He pondered a long while and at last smiled again, but his smile was sad and gentle.

ā€œNo!ā€ he said, apparently abandoning all attempt to keep up appearances with Porfiry, ā€œitā€™s not worth it, I donā€™t care about lessening the sentence!ā€

ā€œThatā€™s just what I was afraid of!ā€ Porfiry cried warmly and, as it seemed, involuntarily. ā€œThatā€™s just what I feared, that you wouldnā€™t care about the mitigation of sentence.ā€

Raskolnikov looked sadly and expressively at him.

ā€œAh, donā€™t disdain life!ā€ Porfiry went on. ā€œYou have a great deal of it still before you. How can you say you donā€™t want a mitigation of sentence? You are an impatient fellow!ā€

ā€œA great deal of what lies before me?ā€

ā€œOf life. What sort of prophet are you, do you know much about it? Seek and ye shall find. This may be Godā€™s means for bringing you to Him. And itā€™s not for ever, the bondage....ā€

ā€œThe time will be shortened,ā€ laughed Raskolnikov.

ā€œWhy, is it the bourgeois disgrace you are afraid of? It may be that you are afraid of it without knowing it, because you are young! But anyway you shouldnā€™t be afraid of giving yourself up and confessing.ā€

ā€œAch, hang it!ā€ Raskolnikov whispered with loathing and contempt, as though he did not want to speak aloud.

He got up again as though he meant to go away, but sat down again in evident despair.

ā€œHang it, if you like! Youā€™ve lost faith and you think that I am grossly flattering you; but how long has your life been? How much do you understand? You made up a theory and then were ashamed that it broke down and turned out to be not at all original! It turned out something base, thatā€™s true, but you are not hopelessly base. By no means so base! At least you didnā€™t deceive yourself for long, you went straight to the furthest point at one bound. How do I regard you? I regard you as one of those men who would stand and smile at their torturer while he cuts their entrails out, if only they have found faith or God. Find it and you will live. You have long needed a change of air. Suffering, too, is a good thing. Suffer! Maybe Nikolay is right in wanting to suffer. I know you donā€™t believe in itā€”but donā€™t be over-wise; fling yourself straight into life, without deliberation; donā€™t be afraidā€”the flood will bear you to the bank and set you safe on your feet again. What bank? How can I tell? I only believe that you have long life before you. I know that you take all my words now for a set speech prepared beforehand, but maybe you will remember them after. They may be of use some time. Thatā€™s why I speak. Itā€™s as well that you only killed the old woman. If youā€™d invented another theory you might perhaps have done something a thousand times more hideous. You ought to thank God, perhaps. How do you know? Perhaps God is saving you for something. But keep a good heart and have less fear! Are you afraid of the great expiation before you? No, it would be shameful to be afraid of it. Since you have taken such a step, you must harden your heart. There is justice in it. You must fulfil the demands of justice. I know that you donā€™t believe it, but indeed, life will bring you through. You will live it down in time. What you need now is fresh air, fresh air, fresh air!ā€

Raskolnikov positively started.

ā€œBut who are you? what prophet are you? From the height of what majestic calm do you proclaim these words of wisdom?ā€

ā€œWho am I? I am a man with nothing to hope for, thatā€™s all. A man perhaps of feeling and sympathy, maybe of some knowledge too, but my day is over. But you are a different matter, there is life waiting for you. Though, who knows? maybe your life, too, will pass off in smoke and come to nothing. Come, what does it matter, that you will pass into another class of men? Itā€™s not comfort you regret, with your heart! What of it that perhaps no one will see you for so long? Itā€™s not time, but yourself that will decide that. Be the sun and all will see you. The sun has before all to be the sun. Why are you smiling again? At my being such a Schiller? I bet youā€™re imagining that I am trying to get round you by flattery. Well, perhaps I am, he-he-he! Perhaps youā€™d better not believe my word, perhaps youā€™d better never believe it altogetherā€”Iā€™m made that way, I confess it. But let me add, you can judge for yourself, I think, how far I am a base sort of man and how far I am honest.ā€

ā€œWhen do you mean to arrest me?ā€

ā€œWell, I can let you walk about another day or two. Think it over, my dear fellow, and pray to God. Itā€™s more in your interest, believe me.ā€

ā€œAnd what if I run away?ā€ asked Raskolnikov with a strange smile.

ā€œNo, you wonā€™t run away. A peasant would run away, a fashionable dissenter would run away, the flunkey of another manā€™s thought, for youā€™ve only to show him the end of your little finger and heā€™ll be ready to believe in anything for the rest of his life. But youā€™ve ceased to believe in your theory already, what will you run away with? And what would you do in hiding? It would be hateful and difficult for you, and what you need more than anything in life is a definite position, an atmosphere to suit you. And what sort of atmosphere would you have? If you ran away, youā€™d come back to yourself. You canā€™t get on without us. And if I put you in prisonā€”say youā€™ve been there a month, or two, or threeā€”remember my word, youā€™ll confess of yourself and perhaps to your own surprise. You wonā€™t know an hour beforehand that you are coming with a confession. I am convinced that you will decide, ā€˜to take your suffering.ā€™ You donā€™t believe my words now, but youā€™ll come to it of yourself. For suffering, Rodion Romanovitch, is a great thing. Never mind my having grown fat, I know all the same. Donā€™t laugh at it, thereā€™s an idea in suffering, Nikolay is right. No, you wonā€™t run away, Rodion Romanovitch.ā€

Raskolnikov got up and took his cap. Porfiry Petrovitch also rose.

ā€œAre you going for a walk? The evening will be fine, if only we donā€™t have a storm. Though it would be a good thing to freshen the air.ā€

He, too, took his cap.

ā€œPorfiry Petrovitch, please donā€™t take up the notion that I have confessed to you to-day,ā€ Raskolnikov pronounced with sullen insistence. ā€œYouā€™re a strange man and I have listened to you from simple curiosity. But I have admitted nothing, remember that!ā€

ā€œOh, I know that, Iā€™ll remember. Look at him, heā€™s trembling! Donā€™t be uneasy, my dear fellow, have it your own way. Walk about a bit, you wonā€™t be able to walk too far. If anything happens, I have one request to make of you,ā€ he added, dropping his voice. ā€œItā€™s an awkward one, but important. If anything were to happen (though indeed I donā€™t believe in it and think you quite incapable of it), yet in case you were taken during these forty or fifty hours with the notion of putting an end to the business in some other way, in some fantastic fashionā€”laying hands on yourselfā€”(itā€™s an absurd proposition, but you must forgive me for it) do leave a brief but precise note, only two lines, and mention the stone. It will be more generous. Come, till we meet! Good thoughts and sound decisions to you!ā€

Porfiry went out, stooping and avoiding looking at Raskolnikov. The latter went to the window and waited with irritable impatience till he calculated that Porfiry had reached the street and moved away. Then he too went hurriedly out of the room.





CHAPTER III

He hurried to SvidrigaĆÆlovā€™s. What he had to hope from that man he did not know. But that man had some hidden power over him. Having once recognised this, he could not rest, and now the time had come.

On the way, one question particularly worried him: had SvidrigaĆÆlov been to Porfiryā€™s?

As far as he could judge, he would swear to it, that he had not. He pondered again and again, went over Porfiryā€™s visit; no, he hadnā€™t been, of course he hadnā€™t.

But if he had not been yet, would he go? Meanwhile, for the present he fancied he couldnā€™t. Why? He could not have explained, but if he could, he would not have wasted much thought over it at the moment. It all worried him and at the same time he could not attend to it. Strange to say, none would have believed it perhaps, but he only felt a faint vague anxiety about his immediate future. Another, much more important anxiety tormented himā€”it concerned himself, but in a different, more vital way. Moreover, he was conscious of immense moral fatigue, though his mind was working better that morning than it had done of late.

And was it worth while, after all that had happened, to contend with these

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