Part 1 Chapter 2

Raskolnikov was not used to crowds, and, as we said before, he avoided society of every sort, more especially of late. But now all at once he felt a desire to be with other people. Something new seemed to be taking place within him, and with it he felt a sort of thirst for company. He was so weary after a whole month of concentrated wretchedness and gloomy excitement that he longed to rest, if only for a moment, in some other world, whatever it might be; and, in spite of the filthiness of the surroundings, he was glad now to stay in the tavern.

The master of the establishment was in another room, but he frequently came down some steps into the main room, his jaunty, tarred boots with red turn-over tops coming into view each time before the rest of his person. He wore a full coat and a horribly greasy black satin waistcoat, with no cravat, and his whole face seemed smeared with oil like an iron lock. At the counter stood a boy of about fourteen, and there was another boy somewhat younger who handed whatever was wanted. On the counter lay some sliced cucumber, some pieces of dried black bread, and some fish, chopped up small, all smelling very bad. It was insufferably close, and so heavy with the fumes of spirits that five minutes in such an atmosphere might well make a man drunk.

There are chance meetings with strangers that interest us from the first moment, before a word is spoken. Such was the impression made on Raskolnikov by the person sitting a little distance from him, who looked like a retired clerk. The young man often recalled this impression afterwards, and even ascribed it to presentiment. He looked repeatedly at the clerk, partly no doubt because the latter was staring persistently at him, obviously anxious to enter into conversation. At the other persons in the room, including the tavern- keeper, the clerk looked as though he were used to their company, and weary of it, showing a shade of condescending contempt for them as persons of station and culture inferior to his own, with whom it would be useless for him to converse. He was a man over fifty, bald and grizzled, of medium height, and stoutly built. His face, bloated from continual drinking, was of a yellow, even greenish, tinge, with swollen eyelids out of which keen reddish eyes gleamed like little chinks. But there was something very strange in him; there was a light in his eyes as though of intense feeling--perhaps there were even thought and intelligence, but at the same time there was a gleam of something like madness. He was wearing an old and hopelessly ragged black dress coat, with all its buttons missing except one, and that one he had buttoned, evidently clinging to this last trace of respectability. A crumpled shirt front, covered with spots and stains, protruded from his canvas waistcoat. Like a clerk, he wore no beard, nor moustache, but had been so long unshaven that his chin looked like a stiff greyish brush. And there was something respectable and like an official about his manner too. But he was restless; he ruffled up his hair and from time to time let his head drop into his hands dejectedly resting his ragged elbows on the stained and sticky table. At last he looked straight at Raskolnikov, and said loudly and resolutely:

"May I venture, honoured sir, to engage you in polite conversation? Forasmuch as, though your exterior would not command respect, my experience admonishes me that you are a man of education and not accustomed to drinking. I have always respected education when in conjunction with genuine sentiments, and I am besides a titular counsellor in rank. Marmeladov--such is my name; titular counsellor. I make bold to inquire--have you been in the service?"

"No, I am studying," answered the young man, somewhat surprised at the grandiloquent style of the speaker and also at being so directly addressed. In spite of the momentary desire he had just been feeling for company of any sort, on being actually spoken to he felt immediately his habitual irritable and uneasy aversion for any stranger who approached or attempted to approach him.

"A student then, or formerly a student," cried the clerk. "Just what I thought! I'm a man of experience, immense experience, sir," and he tapped his forehead with his fingers in self-approval. "You've been a student or have attended some learned institution! . . . But allow me. . . ." He got up, staggered, took up his jug and glass, and sat down beside the young man, facing him a little sideways. He was drunk, but spoke fluently and boldly, only occasionally losing the thread of his sentences and drawling his words. He pounced upon Raskolnikov as greedily as though he too had not spoken to a soul for a month.

"Honoured sir," he began almost with solemnity, "poverty is not a vice, that's a true saying. Yet I know too that drunkenness is not a virtue, and that that's even truer. But beggary, honoured sir, beggary is a vice. In poverty you may still retain your innate nobility of soul, but in beggary--never--no one. For beggary a man is not chased out of human society with a stick, he is swept out with a broom, so as to make it as humiliating as possible; and quite right, too, forasmuch as in beggary I am ready to be the first to humiliate myself. Hence the pot-house! Honoured sir, a month ago Mr. Lebeziatnikov gave my wife a beating, and my wife is a very different matter from me! Do you understand? Allow me to ask you another question out of simple curiosity: have you ever spent a night on a hay barge, on the Neva?"

"No, I have not happened to," answered Raskolnikov. "What do you mean?"

"Well, I've just come from one and it's the fifth night I've slept so. . . ." He filled his glass, emptied it and paused. Bits of hay were in fact clinging to his clothes and sticking to his hair. It seemed quite probable that he had not undressed or washed for the last five days. His hands, particularly, were filthy. They were fat and red, with black nails.

His conversation seemed to excite a general though languid interest. The boys at the counter fell to sniggering. The innkeeper came down from the upper room, apparently on purpose to listen to the "funny fellow" and sat down at a little distance, yawning lazily, but with dignity. Evidently Marmeladov was a familiar figure here, and he had most likely acquired his weakness for high-flown speeches from the habit of frequently entering into conversation with strangers of all sorts in the tavern. This habit develops into a necessity in some drunkards, and especially in those who are looked after sharply and kept in order at home. Hence in the company of other drinkers they try to justify themselves and even if possible obtain consideration.

"Funny fellow!" pronounced the innkeeper. "And why don't you work, why aren't you at your duty, if you are in the service?"

"Why am I not at my duty, honoured sir," Marmeladov went on, addressing himself exclusively to Raskolnikov, as though it had been he who put that question to him. "Why am I not at my duty? Does not my heart ache to think what a useless worm I am? A month ago when Mr. Lebeziatnikov beat my wife with his own hands, and I lay drunk, didn't I suffer? Excuse me, young man, has it ever happened to you . . . hm . . . well, to petition hopelessly for a loan?"

"Yes, it has. But what do you mean by hopelessly?"

"Hopelessly in the fullest sense, when you know beforehand that you will get nothing by it. You know, for instance, beforehand with positive certainty that this man, this most reputable and exemplary citizen, will on no consideration give you money; and indeed I ask you why should he? For he knows of course that I shan't pay it back. From compassion? But Mr. Lebeziatnikov who keeps up with modern ideas explained the other day that compassion is forbidden nowadays by science itself, and that that's what is done now in England, where there is political economy. Why, I ask you, should he give it to me? And yet though I know beforehand that he won't, I set off to him and . . ."

"Why do you go?" put in Raskolnikov.

"Well, when one has no one, nowhere else one can go! For every man must have somewhere to go. Since there are times when one absolutely must go somewhere! When my own daughter first went out with a yellow ticket, then I had to go . . . (for my daughter has a yellow passport)," he added in parenthesis, looking with a certain uneasiness at the young man. "No matter, sir, no matter!" he went on hurriedly and with apparent composure when both the boys at the counter guffawed and even the innkeeper smiled--"No matter, I am not confounded by the wagging of their heads; for everyone knows everything about it already, and all that is secret is made open. And I accept it all, not with contempt, but with humility. So be it! So be it! 'Behold the man!' Excuse me, young man, can you. . . . No, to put it more strongly and more distinctly; not /can/ you but /dare/ you, looking upon me, assert that I am not a pig?"

The young man did not answer a word.

"Well," the orator began again stolidly and with even increased dignity, after waiting for the laughter in the room to subside. "Well, so be it, I am a pig, but she is a lady! I have the semblance of a beast, but Katerina Ivanovna, my spouse, is a person of education and an officer's daughter. Granted, granted, I am a scoundrel, but she is a woman of a noble heart, full of sentiments, refined by education. And yet . . . oh, if only she felt for me! Honoured sir, honoured sir, you know every man ought to have at least one place where people feel for him! But Katerina Ivanovna, though she is magnanimous, she is unjust. . . . And yet, although I realise that when she pulls my hair she only does it out of pity--for I repeat without being ashamed, she pulls my hair, young man," he declared with redoubled dignity, hearing the sniggering again--"but, my God, if she would but once. . . . But no, no! It's all in vain and it's no use talking! No use talking! For more than once, my wish did come true and more than once she has felt for me but . . . such is my fate and I am a beast by nature!"

"Rather!" assented the innkeeper yawning. Marmeladov struck his fist resolutely on the table.

"Such is my fate! Do you know, sir, do you know, I have sold her very stockings for drink? Not her shoes--that would be more or less in the order of things, but her stockings, her stockings I have sold for drink! Her mohair shawl I sold for drink, a present to her long ago, her own property, not mine; and we live in a cold room and she caught cold this winter and has begun coughing and spitting blood too. We have three little children and Katerina Ivanovna is at work from morning till night; she is scrubbing and cleaning and washing the children, for she's been used to cleanliness from a child. But her chest is weak and she has a tendency to consumption and I feel it! Do you suppose I don't feel it? And the more I drink the more I feel it. That's why I drink too. I try to find sympathy and feeling in drink. . . . I drink so that I may suffer twice as much!" And as though in despair he laid his head down on the table.

"Young man," he went on, raising his head again, "in your face I seem to read some trouble of mind. When you came in I read it, and that was why I addressed you at once. For in unfolding to you the story of my life, I do not wish to make myself a laughing-stock before these idle listeners, who indeed know all about it already, but I am looking for a man of feeling and education. Know then that my wife was educated in a high-class school for the daughters of noblemen, and on leaving she danced the shawl dance before the governor and other personages for which she was presented with a gold medal and a certificate of merit. The medal . . . well, the medal of course was sold--long ago, hm . . . but the certificate of merit is in her trunk still and not long ago she showed it to our landlady. And although she is most continually on bad terms with the landlady, yet she wanted to tell someone or other of her past honours and of the happy days that are gone. I don't condemn her for it, I don't blame her, for the one thing left her is recollection of the past, and all the rest is dust and ashes. Yes, yes, she is a lady of spirit, proud and determined. She scrubs the floors herself and has nothing but black bread to eat, but won't allow herself to be treated with disrespect. That's why she would not overlook Mr. Lebeziatnikov's rudeness to her, and so when he gave her a beating for it, she took to her bed more from the hurt to her feelings than from the blows. She was a widow when I married her, with three children, one smaller than the other. She married her first husband, an infantry officer, for love, and ran away with him from her father's house. She was exceedingly fond of her husband; but he gave way to cards, got into trouble and with that he died. He used to beat her at the end: and although she paid him back, of which I have authentic documentary evidence, to this day she speaks of him with tears and she throws him up to me; and I am glad, I am glad that, though only in imagination, she should think of herself as having once been happy. . . . And she was left at his death with three children in a wild and remote district where I happened to be at the time; and she was left in such hopeless poverty that, although I have seen many ups and downs of all sort, I don't feel equal to describing it even. Her relations had all thrown her off. And she was proud, too, excessively proud. . . . And then, honoured sir, and then, I, being at the time a widower, with a daughter of fourteen left me by my first wife, offered her my hand, for I could not bear the sight of such suffering. You can judge the extremity of her calamities, that she, a woman of education and culture and distinguished family, should have consented to be my wife. But she did! Weeping and sobbing and wringing her hands, she married me! For she had nowhere to turn! Do you understand, sir, do you understand what it means when you have absolutely nowhere to turn? No, that you don't understand yet. . . . And for a whole year, I performed my duties conscientiously and faithfully, and did not touch this" (he tapped the jug with his finger), "for I have feelings. But even so, I could not please her; and then I lost my place too, and that through no fault of mine but through changes in the office; and then I did touch it! . . . It will be a year and a half ago soon since we found ourselves at last after many wanderings and numerous calamities in this magnificent capital, adorned with innumerable monuments. Here I obtained a situation. . . . I obtained it and I lost it again. Do you understand? This time it was through my own fault I lost it: for my weakness had come out. . . . We have now part of a room at Amalia Fyodorovna Lippevechsel's; and what we live upon and what we pay our rent with, I could not say. There are a lot of people living there besides ourselves. Dirt and disorder, a perfect Bedlam . . . hm . . . yes . . . And meanwhile my daughter by my first wife has grown up; and what my daughter has had to put up with from her step-mother whilst she was growing up, I won't speak of. For, though Katerina Ivanovna is full of generous feelings, she is a spirited lady, irritable and short--tempered. . . . Yes. But it's no use going over that! Sonia, as you may well fancy, has had no education. I did make an effort four years ago to give her a course of geography and universal history, but as I was not very well up in those subjects myself and we had no suitable books, and what books we had . . . hm, anyway we have not even those now, so all our instruction came to an end. We stopped at Cyrus of Persia. Since she has attained years of maturity, she has read other books of romantic tendency and of late she had read with great interest a book she got through Mr. Lebeziatnikov, Lewes' Physiology--do you know it?--and even recounted extracts from it to us: and that's the whole of her education. And now may I venture to address you, honoured sir, on my own account with a private question. Do you suppose that a respectable poor girl can earn much by honest work? Not fifteen farthings a day can she earn, if she is respectable and has no special talent and that without putting her work down for an instant! And what's more, Ivan Ivanitch Klopstock the civil counsellor--have you heard of him?--has not to this day paid her for the half-dozen linen shirts she made him and drove her roughly away, stamping and reviling her, on the pretext that the shirt collars were not made like the pattern and were put in askew. And there are the little ones hungry. . . . And Katerina Ivanovna walking up and down and wringing her hands, her cheeks flushed red, as they always are in that disease: 'Here you live with us,' says she, 'you eat and drink and are kept warm and you do nothing to help.' And much she gets to eat and drink when there is not a crust for the little ones for three days! I was lying at the time . . . well, what of it! I was lying drunk and I heard my Sonia speaking (she is a gentle creature with a soft little voice . . . fair hair and such a pale, thin little face). She said: 'Katerina Ivanovna, am I really to do a thing like that?' And Darya Frantsovna, a woman of evil character and very well known to the police, had two or three times tried to get at her through the landlady. 'And why not?' said Katerina Ivanovna with a jeer, 'you are something mighty precious to be so careful of!' But don't blame her, don't blame her, honoured sir, don't blame her! She was not herself when she spoke, but driven to distraction by her illness and the crying of the hungry children; and it was said more to wound her than anything else. . . . For that's Katerina Ivanovna's character, and when children cry, even from hunger, she falls to beating them at once. At six o'clock I saw Sonia get up, put on her kerchief and her cape, and go out of the room and about nine o'clock she came back. She walked straight up to Katerina Ivanovna and she laid thirty roubles on the table before her in silence. She did not utter a word, she did not even look at her, she simply picked up our big green /drap de dames/ shawl (we have a shawl, made of /drap de dames/), put it over her head and face and lay down on the bed with her face to the wall; only her little shoulders and her body kept shuddering. . . . And I went on lying there, just as before. . . . And then I saw, young man, I saw Katerina Ivanovna, in the same silence go up to Sonia's little bed; she was on her knees all the evening kissing Sonia's feet, and would not get up, and then they both fell asleep in each other's arms . . . together, together . . . yes . . . and I . . . lay drunk."

Marmeladov stopped short, as though his voice had failed him. Then he hurriedly filled his glass, drank, and cleared his throat.

"Since then, sir," he went on after a brief pause--"Since then, owing to an unfortunate occurrence and through information given by evil- intentioned persons--in all which Darya Frantsovna took a leading part on the pretext that she had been treated with want of respect--since then my daughter Sofya Semyonovna has been forced to take a yellow ticket, and owing to that she is unable to go on living with us. For our landlady, Amalia Fyodorovna would not hear of it (though she had backed up Darya Frantsovna before) and Mr. Lebeziatnikov too . . . hm. . . . All the trouble between him and Katerina Ivanovna was on Sonia's account. At first he was for making up to Sonia himself and then all of a sudden he stood on his dignity: 'how,' said he, 'can a highly educated man like me live in the same rooms with a girl like that?' And Katerina Ivanovna would not let it pass, she stood up for her . . . and so that's how it happened. And Sonia comes to us now, mostly after dark; she comforts Katerina Ivanovna and gives her all she can. . . . She has a room at the Kapernaumovs' the tailors, she lodges with them; Kapernaumov is a lame man with a cleft palate and all of his numerous family have cleft palates too. And his wife, too, has a cleft palate. They all live in one room, but Sonia has her own, partitioned off. . . . Hm . . . yes . . . very poor people and all with cleft palates . . . yes. Then I got up in the morning, and put on my rags, lifted up my hands to heaven and set off to his excellency Ivan Afanasyvitch. His excellency Ivan Afanasyvitch, do you know him? No? Well, then, it's a man of God you don't know. He is wax . . . wax before the face of the Lord; even as wax melteth! . . . His eyes were dim when he heard my story. 'Marmeladov, once already you have deceived my expectations . . . I'll take you once more on my own responsibility'--that's what he said, 'remember,' he said, 'and now you can go.' I kissed the dust at his feet--in thought only, for in reality he would not have allowed me to do it, being a statesman and a man of modern political and enlightened ideas. I returned home, and when I announced that I'd been taken back into the service and should receive a salary, heavens, what a to-do there was . . .!"

Marmeladov stopped again in violent excitement. At that moment a whole party of revellers already drunk came in from the street, and the sounds of a hired concertina and the cracked piping voice of a child of seven singing "The Hamlet" were heard in the entry. The room was filled with noise. The tavern-keeper and the boys were busy with the new-comers. Marmeladov paying no attention to the new arrivals continued his story. He appeared by now to be extremely weak, but as he became more and more drunk, he became more and more talkative. The recollection of his recent success in getting the situation seemed to revive him, and was positively reflected in a sort of radiance on his face. Raskolnikov listened attentively.

"That was five weeks ago, sir. Yes. . . . As soon as Katerina Ivanovna and Sonia heard of it, mercy on us, it was as though I stepped into the kingdom of Heaven. It used to be: you can lie like a beast, nothing but abuse. Now they were walking on tiptoe, hushing the children. 'Semyon Zaharovitch is tired with his work at the office, he is resting, shh!' They made me coffee before I went to work and boiled cream for me! They began to get real cream for me, do you hear that? And how they managed to get together the money for a decent outfit-- eleven roubles, fifty copecks, I can't guess. Boots, cotton shirt- fronts--most magnificent, a uniform, they got up all in splendid style, for eleven roubles and a half. The first morning I came back from the office I found Katerina Ivanovna had cooked two courses for dinner--soup and salt meat with horse radish--which we had never dreamed of till then. She had not any dresses . . . none at all, but she got herself up as though she were going on a visit; and not that she'd anything to do it with, she smartened herself up with nothing at all, she'd done her hair nicely, put on a clean collar of some sort, cuffs, and there she was, quite a different person, she was younger and better looking. Sonia, my little darling, had only helped with money 'for the time,' she said, 'it won't do for me to come and see you too often. After dark maybe when no one can see.' Do you hear, do you hear? I lay down for a nap after dinner and what do you think: though Katerina Ivanovna had quarrelled to the last degree with our landlady Amalia Fyodorovna only a week before, she could not resist then asking her in to coffee. For two hours they were sitting, whispering together. 'Semyon Zaharovitch is in the service again, now, and receiving a salary,' says she, 'and he went himself to his excellency and his excellency himself came out to him, made all the others wait and led Semyon Zaharovitch by the hand before everybody into his study.' Do you hear, do you hear? 'To be sure,' says he, 'Semyon Zaharovitch, remembering your past services,' says he, 'and in spite of your propensity to that foolish weakness, since you promise now and since moreover we've got on badly without you,' (do you hear, do you hear;) 'and so,' says he, 'I rely now on your word as a gentleman.' And all that, let me tell you, she has simply made up for herself, and not simply out of wantonness, for the sake of bragging; no, she believes it all herself, she amuses herself with her own fancies, upon my word she does! And I don't blame her for it, no, I don't blame her! . . . Six days ago when I brought her my first earnings in full--twenty-three roubles forty copecks altogether--she called me her poppet: 'poppet,' said she, 'my little poppet.' And when we were by ourselves, you understand? You would not think me a beauty, you would not think much of me as a husband, would you? . . . Well, she pinched my cheek, 'my little poppet,' said she."

Marmeladov broke off, tried to smile, but suddenly his chin began to twitch. He controlled himself however. The tavern, the degraded appearance of the man, the five nights in the hay barge, and the pot of spirits, and yet this poignant love for his wife and children bewildered his listener. Raskolnikov listened intently but with a sick sensation. He felt vexed that he had come here.

"Honoured sir, honoured sir," cried Marmeladov recovering himself-- "Oh, sir, perhaps all this seems a laughing matter to you, as it does to others, and perhaps I am only worrying you with the stupidity of all the trivial details of my home life, but it is not a laughing matter to me. For I can feel it all. . . . And the whole of that heavenly day of my life and the whole of that evening I passed in fleeting dreams of how I would arrange it all, and how I would dress all the children, and how I should give her rest, and how I should rescue my own daughter from dishonour and restore her to the bosom of her family. . . . And a great deal more. . . . Quite excusable, sir. Well, then, sir" (Marmeladov suddenly gave a sort of start, raised his head and gazed intently at his listener) "well, on the very next day after all those dreams, that is to say, exactly five days ago, in the evening, by a cunning trick, like a thief in the night, I stole from Katerina Ivanovna the key of her box, took out what was left of my earnings, how much it was I have forgotten, and now look at me, all of you! It's the fifth day since I left home, and they are looking for me there and it's the end of my employment, and my uniform is lying in a tavern on the Egyptian bridge. I exchanged it for the garments I have on . . . and it's the end of everything!"

Marmeladov struck his forehead with his fist, clenched his teeth, closed his eyes and leaned heavily with his elbow on the table. But a minute later his face suddenly changed and with a certain assumed slyness and affectation of bravado, he glanced at Raskolnikov, laughed and said:

"This morning I went to see Sonia, I went to ask her for a pick-me-up! He-he-he!"

"You don't say she gave it to you?" cried one of the new-comers; he shouted the words and went off into a guffaw.

"This very quart was bought with her money," Marmeladov declared, addressing himself exclusively to Raskolnikov. "Thirty copecks she gave me with her own hands, her last, all she had, as I saw. . . . She said nothing, she only looked at me without a word. . . . Not on earth, but up yonder . . . they grieve over men, they weep, but they don't blame them, they don't blame them! But it hurts more, it hurts more when they don't blame! Thirty copecks yes! And maybe she needs them now, eh? What do you think, my dear sir? For now she's got to keep up her appearance. It costs money, that smartness, that special smartness, you know? Do you understand? And there's pomatum, too, you see, she must have things; petticoats, starched ones, shoes, too, real jaunty ones to show off her foot when she has to step over a puddle. Do you understand, sir, do you understand what all that smartness means? And here I, her own father, here I took thirty copecks of that money for a drink! And I am drinking it! And I have already drunk it! Come, who will have pity on a man like me, eh? Are you sorry for me, sir, or not? Tell me, sir, are you sorry or not? He-he-he!"

He would have filled his glass, but there was no drink left. The pot was empty.

"What are you to be pitied for?" shouted the tavern-keeper who was again near them.

Shouts of laughter and even oaths followed. The laughter and the oaths came from those who were listening and also from those who had heard nothing but were simply looking at the figure of the discharged government clerk.

"To be pitied! Why am I to be pitied?" Marmeladov suddenly declaimed, standing up with his arm outstretched, as though he had been only waiting for that question.

"Why am I to be pitied, you say? Yes! there's nothing to pity me for! I ought to be crucified, crucified on a cross, not pitied! Crucify me, oh judge, crucify me but pity me! And then I will go of myself to be crucified, for it's not merry-making I seek but tears and tribulation! . . . Do you suppose, you that sell, that this pint of yours has been sweet to me? It was tribulation I sought at the bottom of it, tears and tribulation, and have found it, and I have tasted it; but He will pity us Who has had pity on all men, Who has understood all men and all things, He is the One, He too is the judge. He will come in that day and He will ask: 'Where is the daughter who gave herself for her cross, consumptive step-mother and for the little children of another? Where is the daughter who had pity upon the filthy drunkard, her earthly father, undismayed by his beastliness?' And He will say, 'Come to me! I have already forgiven thee once. . . . I have forgiven thee once. . . . Thy sins which are many are forgiven thee for thou hast loved much. . . .' And he will forgive my Sonia, He will forgive, I know it . . . I felt it in my heart when I was with her just now! And He will judge and will forgive all, the good and the evil, the wise and the meek. . . . And when He has done with all of them, then He will summon us. 'You too come forth,' He will say, 'Come forth ye drunkards, come forth, ye weak ones, come forth, ye children of shame!' And we shall all come forth, without shame and shall stand before him. And He will say unto us, 'Ye are swine, made in the Image of the Beast and with his mark; but come ye also!' And the wise ones and those of understanding will say, 'Oh Lord, why dost Thou receive these men?' And He will say, 'This is why I receive them, oh ye wise, this is why I receive them, oh ye of understanding, that not one of them believed himself to be worthy of this.' And He will hold out His hands to us and we shall fall down before him . . . and we shall weep . . . and we shall understand all things! Then we shall understand all! . . . and all will understand, Katerina Ivanovna even . . . she will understand. . . . Lord, Thy kingdom come!" And he sank down on the bench exhausted, and helpless, looking at no one, apparently oblivious of his surroundings and plunged in deep thought. His words had created a certain impression; there was a moment of silence; but soon laughter and oaths were heard again.

"That's his notion!"

"Talked himself silly!"

"A fine clerk he is!"

And so on, and so on.

"Let us go, sir," said Marmeladov all at once, raising his head and addressing Raskolnikov--"come along with me . . . Kozel's house, looking into the yard. I'm going to Katerina Ivanovna--time I did."

Raskolnikov had for some time been wanting to go and he had meant to help him. Marmeladov was much unsteadier on his legs than in his speech and leaned heavily on the young man. They had two or three hundred paces to go. The drunken man was more and more overcome by dismay and confusion as they drew nearer the house.

"It's not Katerina Ivanovna I am afraid of now," he muttered in agitation--"and that she will begin pulling my hair. What does my hair matter! Bother my hair! That's what I say! Indeed it will be better if she does begin pulling it, that's not what I am afraid of . . . it's her eyes I am afraid of . . . yes, her eyes . . . the red on her cheeks, too, frightens me . . . and her breathing too. . . . Have you noticed how people in that disease breathe . . . when they are excited? I am frightened of the children's crying, too. . . . For if Sonia has not taken them food . . . I don't know what's happened! I don't know! But blows I am not afraid of. . . . Know, sir, that such blows are not a pain to me, but even an enjoyment. In fact I can't get on without it. . . . It's better so. Let her strike me, it relieves her heart . . . it's better so . . . There is the house. The house of Kozel, the cabinet-maker . . . a German, well-to-do. Lead the way!"

They went in from the yard and up to the fourth storey. The staircase got darker and darker as they went up. It was nearly eleven o'clock and although in summer in Petersburg there is no real night, yet it was quite dark at the top of the stairs.

A grimy little door at the very top of the stairs stood ajar. A very poor-looking room about ten paces long was lighted up by a candle-end; the whole of it was visible from the entrance. It was all in disorder, littered up with rags of all sorts, especially children's garments. Across the furthest corner was stretched a ragged sheet. Behind it probably was the bed. There was nothing in the room except two chairs and a sofa covered with American leather, full of holes, before which stood an old deal kitchen-table, unpainted and uncovered. At the edge of the table stood a smoldering tallow-candle in an iron candlestick. It appeared that the family had a room to themselves, not part of a room, but their room was practically a passage. The door leading to the other rooms, or rather cupboards, into which Amalia Lippevechsel's flat was divided stood half open, and there was shouting, uproar and laughter within. People seemed to be playing cards and drinking tea there. Words of the most unceremonious kind flew out from time to time.

Raskolnikov recognised Katerina Ivanovna at once. She was a rather tall, slim and graceful woman, terribly emaciated, with magnificent dark brown hair and with a hectic flush in her cheeks. She was pacing up and down in her little room, pressing her hands against her chest; her lips were parched and her breathing came in nervous broken gasps. Her eyes glittered as in fever and looked about with a harsh immovable stare. And that consumptive and excited face with the last flickering light of the candle-end playing upon it made a sickening impression. She seemed to Raskolnikov about thirty years old and was certainly a strange wife for Marmeladov. . . . She had not heard them and did not notice them coming in. She seemed to be lost in thought, hearing and seeing nothing. The room was close, but she had not opened the window; a stench rose from the staircase, but the door on to the stairs was not closed. From the inner rooms clouds of tobacco smoke floated in, she kept coughing, but did not close the door. The youngest child, a girl of six, was asleep, sitting curled up on the floor with her head on the sofa. A boy a year older stood crying and shaking in the corner, probably he had just had a beating. Beside him stood a girl of nine years old, tall and thin, wearing a thin and ragged chemise with an ancient cashmere pelisse flung over her bare shoulders, long outgrown and barely reaching her knees. Her arm, as thin as a stick, was round her brother's neck. She was trying to comfort him, whispering something to him, and doing all she could to keep him from whimpering again. At the same time her large dark eyes, which looked larger still from the thinness of her frightened face, were watching her mother with alarm. Marmeladov did not enter the door, but dropped on his knees in the very doorway, pushing Raskolnikov in front of him. The woman seeing a stranger stopped indifferently facing him, coming to herself for a moment and apparently wondering what he had come for. But evidently she decided that he was going into the next room, as he had to pass through hers to get there. Taking no further notice of him, she walked towards the outer door to close it and uttered a sudden scream on seeing her husband on his knees in the doorway.

"Ah!" she cried out in a frenzy, "he has come back! The criminal! the monster! . . . And where is the money? What's in your pocket, show me! And your clothes are all different! Where are your clothes? Where is the money! Speak!"

And she fell to searching him. Marmeladov submissively and obediently held up both arms to facilitate the search. Not a farthing was there.

"Where is the money?" she cried--"Mercy on us, can he have drunk it all? There were twelve silver roubles left in the chest!" and in a fury she seized him by the hair and dragged him into the room. Marmeladov seconded her efforts by meekly crawling along on his knees.

"And this is a consolation to me! This does not hurt me, but is a positive con-so-la-tion, ho-nou-red sir," he called out, shaken to and fro by his hair and even once striking the ground with his forehead. The child asleep on the floor woke up, and began to cry. The boy in the corner losing all control began trembling and screaming and rushed to his sister in violent terror, almost in a fit. The eldest girl was shaking like a leaf.

"He's drunk it! he's drunk it all," the poor woman screamed in despair --"and his clothes are gone! And they are hungry, hungry!"--and wringing her hands she pointed to the children. "Oh, accursed life! And you, are you not ashamed?"--she pounced all at once upon Raskolnikov--"from the tavern! Have you been drinking with him? You have been drinking with him, too! Go away!"

The young man was hastening away without uttering a word. The inner door was thrown wide open and inquisitive faces were peering in at it. Coarse laughing faces with pipes and cigarettes and heads wearing caps thrust themselves in at the doorway. Further in could be seen figures in dressing gowns flung open, in costumes of unseemly scantiness, some of them with cards in their hands. They were particularly diverted, when Marmeladov, dragged about by his hair, shouted that it was a consolation to him. They even began to come into the room; at last a sinister shrill outcry was heard: this came from Amalia Lippevechsel herself pushing her way amongst them and trying to restore order after her own fashion and for the hundredth time to frighten the poor woman by ordering her with coarse abuse to clear out of the room next day. As he went out, Raskolnikov had time to put his hand into his pocket, to snatch up the coppers he had received in exchange for his rouble in the tavern and to lay them unnoticed on the window. Afterwards on the stairs, he changed his mind and would have gone back.

"What a stupid thing I've done," he thought to himself, "they have Sonia and I want it myself." But reflecting that it would be impossible to take it back now and that in any case he would not have taken it, he dismissed it with a wave of his hand and went back to his lodging. "Sonia wants pomatum too," he said as he walked along the street, and he laughed malignantly--"such smartness costs money. . . . Hm! And maybe Sonia herself will be bankrupt to-day, for there is always a risk, hunting big game . . . digging for gold . . . then they would all be without a crust to-morrow except for my money. Hurrah for Sonia! What a mine they've dug there! And they're making the most of it! Yes, they are making the most of it! They've wept over it and grown used to it. Man grows used to everything, the scoundrel!"

He sank into thought.

"And what if I am wrong," he cried suddenly after a moment's thought. "What if man is not really a scoundrel, man in general, I mean, the whole race of mankind--then all the rest is prejudice, simply artificial terrors and there are no barriers and it's all as it should be."

 

拉斯科利尼科夫不惯于与人来往，而且正像已经说过的，他总是逃避一切一交一际应酬，特别是最近一个时期。但现在不知是什么突然使他想跟人接触了。他心里似乎产生了某种新想法，同时感到渴望与人一交一往。整整一个月独自忍受强烈的忧愁，经受心情忧郁紧张的折磨，他已经感到如此疲倦，因此希望，哪怕只是一分钟也好，能在另一个世界里喘一口气，随便在什么样的环境里都可以，因此尽管这里肮脏不堪，现在他还是很高兴待在小酒馆里。

酒馆的老板待在另一间屋里，不过常从那儿走下几级台阶，进入这间主要的店堂，而且首先让人看到的总是他那双有红色大翻口、搽了一层油的时髦靴子。他穿一件腰部打褶的长外衣和一件油迹斑驳的黑缎子坎肩，没打领带，满脸上似乎都搽了油，就像给铁锁上油一样。柜台后站着一个十三、四岁的小男孩，还有个年纪更小的男孩子，有人要酒时，他就给送去。摆着切碎的黄瓜，黑面包干，切成一块块的鱼；这一切都有一股难闻的气味。又闷又热，坐在这里简直让人受不了，而且一切都渗透了酒味，似乎单闻闻这儿的空气，不消五分钟就会给熏得醺醺大醉。

有时会碰到这样一些人，我们和他们甚至素不相识，但不知怎的，连一句话都还没说，却突然一下子，刚一见面就引起我们的兴趣。那个坐得稍远、好像退职官吏的客人，就正是让拉斯科利尼科夫产生了这样的印象。以后这年轻人不止一次回想起这第一次印象，甚至认为这是由预感造成的。他不断地打量那个官吏，当然，这也是因为那人也在一个劲儿地瞅着他，而且看得出来，那人很想开口跟他说话。对酒馆里其余的人，包括老板在内，那官吏却不知怎地似乎早已经看惯了，甚至感到无聊，而且带有某种傲慢的藐视意味，就像对待社会地位和文化程度都很低的人们那样，觉得跟他们根本无话可谈。这是一个已经年过半百的人，中等身材，体格健壮，鬓有白发，头顶上秃了老大一块，由于经常酗酒，浮肿的黄脸甚至有点儿发绿，稍微肿胀的眼皮底下，一双细得像两条细缝、然而很有一精一神、微微发红的小眼睛炯炯发光。但他身上有某种很奇怪的现象；他的目光里流露出甚至仿佛是兴高采烈的神情，——看来，既有理一性一，又有智慧，——但同时又隐约显示出疯狂的迹象。他穿一件已经完全破破烂烂的黑色旧燕尾服，钮扣几乎都掉光了。只有一颗还勉强连在上面，他就是用这颗钮扣把衣服扣上，看来是希望保持体面。黄土布坎肩下露出皱得不像样子、污迹斑斑的脏胸衣。和所有官员一样，他没留一胡一子，不过脸已经刮过很久了，所以已经开始长出了浓密的、灰蓝色的一胡一子茬。而且他的行为举止当真都有一种官员们所特有的庄重风度。但是他显得烦躁不安，把头发弄得乱蓬蓬的，有时神情忧郁，把袖子已经磨破的胳膊肘撑在很脏而且黏搭搭的桌子上，用双手托着脑袋。最后，他直对着拉斯科利尼科夫看了一眼，高声而坚决地说：

“我的先生，恕我冒昧，不知能否与您攀谈几句？因为虽然您衣著并不考究，但凭我的经验却能看出，您是一位受过教育的人，也不常喝酒。我一向尊重受过教育而且真心诚意的人，除此而外，我还是个九等文官①呢。马尔梅拉多夫——这是我的姓；九等文官。恕我冒昧，请问您在工作吗？”

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①一七二二年彼得大帝制订“等级表”，所有文武官员分为十四等，一等最高，十四等最低。九等文官相当于大尉。

“不，我在求学……”青年人回答。他感到惊讶，这有一部分是由于对方说话的语气特别矫一揉一造作，也由于他竟是那么直截了当地和他说话。尽管不久前有那么短暂的瞬间他想与人一交一往，不管是什么样的一交一往都好，但当真有人和他说话时，才听到第一句话，他就又突然感到厌恶和恼怒了，——对所有与他接触、或想要和他接触的人，通常他都会产生这种厌恶和恼怒的心情。

“那么说，是大学生了，或者以前是大学生！”官吏高声说，“我就是这样想的！经验嘛，先生，屡试不爽的经验了！”并且自我吹嘘地把一根手指按在前额上。“以前是大学生，或者搞过学术研究！对不起……”他欠起身来，摇晃了一下，拿起自己的酒壶和酒杯，坐到青年人旁边，稍有点儿斜对着他。他喝醉了，不过仍然健谈，说话也很流利，只是偶尔有的地方前言不搭后语，而且罗里罗唆。他甚至那样急切地渴望与拉斯科利尼科夫一交一谈，好像有整整一个月没跟人说过话似的。

“先生，”他几乎是郑重其事地开始说，“贫穷不是罪恶，这是真理。我知道，酗酒不是美德，这更是真理。可是赤贫，先生，赤贫却是罪恶。贫穷的时候，您还能保持自己天生感情的高尚气度，在赤贫的情况下，却无论什么时候，无论什么人都做不到。为了赤贫，甚至不是把人用棍子赶走，而是拿扫帚把他从人类社会里清扫出去，让他受更大的凌一辱；而且这是公正的，因为在赤贫的情况下，我自己首先就准备凌一辱自己。于是就找到了酒！先生，一个月以前，我太太让列别贾特尼科夫先生痛打了一顿，不过我太太可不是我这种人！您明白吗？对不起，我还要问您一声，即使只是出于一般的好奇心：您在涅瓦河上的干草船①里过过夜吗？”

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①十九世纪六十年代，那里是彼得堡无家可归者过夜的地方。

“没有，没有过过夜，”拉斯科利尼科夫回答。“这是什么意思？”

“唉，我就是从那儿来的，已经是第五夜了……”

他斟了一杯酒，喝干了，于是陷入沉思。真的，他的衣服上，甚至连他的头发里，有些地方还可以看到粘在上面的一根根干草。很有可能，他已经五天没脱一衣服，也没洗脸了。尤其是一双手脏得要命，满手油垢，发红，指甲里嵌满黑色的污泥。

他的话好像引起了大家的注意。虽说这注意也是无一精一打采的。柜台后面的两个男孩子吃吃地笑起来。老板好像故意从上面的房间里下来，好来听听这个“逗乐的家伙”在说什么。他坐到稍远一点儿的地方，懒洋洋地、但神气十足地打着呵欠。显然，马尔梅拉多夫早已是这儿大家都熟悉的人了。而且他一爱一用矫一揉一造作的语气说话，大概是由于他一习一惯经常和酒馆里形形色一色素不相识的人谈话。这种一习一惯对有些酒鬼已经变成了一种需要，主要是他们当中那些在家里严受管束、经常受到压制的人。因此他们在同样嗜酒如命的这伙人中间，才总是力图为自己表白，仿佛是设法给自己辩解，如果可能的话，甚至试图博得别人的尊敬。

“逗乐的家伙！”老板高声说。“可你干吗不去工作，干吗不去办公，既然你是个官员？”

“我为什么不去办公吗，先生，”马尔梅拉多夫接住话茬说，这话是单对着拉斯科利尼科夫说的，仿佛这是他向他提出了这个问题。“为什么不去办公吗？难道我自轻自贱、徒然降低自己的身份，自己不觉得心痛吗？一个月以前，当列别贾特尼科夫先生动手打我妻子的时候，我喝得醉醺醺地躺在一床一上，难道我不感到痛苦吗？对不起，年轻人，您是不是有过……嗯哼……虽然明知毫无希望，可还是不得不开口向人借钱？”

“有过……毫无希望是什么意思？”

“就是完全没有希望，事先就知道这绝不会有什么结果。喏，譬如说吧，您早就知道，而且有充分根据，知道这个人，这个心地最善良、对社会最有益的公民无论如何也不会把钱借给您。因为，请问，他为什么要给呢？不是吗，他明明知道，这不会还给他。出于同情心吗？可是列别贾特尼科夫先生，这个经常留心各种新思想的人，不久前解释说，在我们这个时代，就连科学也不允许有同情心，在有了政治经济学的英国就是这样①请问，他为什么要给钱呢？瞧，您事先就知道，他绝不会借给您，可您还是去了……”

“为什么要去呢？”拉斯科利尼科夫追问一句。

“如果没有别人可找，如果再也无处可去呢！不是吗，得让每个人至少有个什么可以去的地方啊。因为常常有这样的时候，一定得至少有个可以去的地方！我的独生女儿头一次去拉生意的时候，我也去了……（因为我女儿靠黄色执照②生活……）”他附带加上了一句，同时有点儿神色不安地看了看青年人。“没什么，先生，没什么！”柜台后面的两个男孩噗嗤一声笑了出来，老板也微微一笑，这时他立刻匆匆忙忙地说，看来神情是安详的。“没什么！这些人摇头我不会感到不好意思，因为这一切大家都已经知道了，一切秘密都公开了；而且我不是以蔑视的态度，而是怀着恭顺的心情来对待这一切的。由它去吧！让他们笑吧！‘你们看这个人！’③对不起，年轻人：您能不能……可是，不，用一种更加有力、更富有表现力的方式，说得更清楚些：您能不能，您敢不敢现在看着我肯定地说，“我不是猪猡？”

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①指英国哲学家、经济学家约·斯·米利（一八○六——一八七三）的《政治经济学原理），该书的俄译本是一八六五年出版的。米利认为，人的行为、愿望乃至苦难都是由他们的经济地位事先决定的。陀思妥耶夫斯基不同意这种观点。

②指作一妓一女。帝俄时，一妓一女要在警察局领黄色执照。

③引自《新约全书·约翰福音》第十九章第五节：“耶稣出来，戴着荆棘冠冕，穿着紫袍，彼拉多对他们说，你们看这个人。”

年轻人什么也没有回答。

“嗯，”等到屋里随之而来的吃吃的笑声停下来以后，这位演说家又庄重地，这一回甚至是更加尊严地接着说：“嗯，就算我是猪猡吧，可她是一位太太！我的形象像畜生，而卡捷琳娜·伊万诺芙娜，我的妻子，是个受过教育的人，是位校级军官的女儿。就算，就算我是个下流坯吧，她却有一颗高尚的心，受过教育，满怀崇高的感情。然而，……噢，如果她怜悯我的话！先生，先生，要知道，得让每个人至少有个能怜悯他的地方啊！而卡捷琳娜·伊万诺芙娜虽然是一位宽洪大量的太太，可是她不公正……虽然我自己也知道，她揪我头发的时候，只不过是出于她的怜悯心，因为，我反复说，她揪我的头发，我并不感到难为情，年轻人，”他又听见一阵吃吃的笑声，怀着加倍的自尊承认道，“不过，天哪，如果她哪怕是仅仅有一次……可是，不！不！这一切都是徒然的，没什么好说的！没什么好说的了！……因为我所希望的已经不止一次成为现实，已经不止一次怜悯过我了，可是……

我就是这么个德一性一，我是个天生的畜生！”

“可不是！”老板打着呵欠说。

马尔梅拉多夫坚决地用拳头捶了捶桌子。

“我就是这么个德一性一！您知道吗，先生，我连她的长袜都拿去卖掉，喝光了？不是鞋子，因为这至少还多少合乎情理。可是长袜，把她的长袜卖掉，喝光了！她的一条山羊一毛一头巾也让我卖掉，喝光了，是人家从前送给她的，是她自己的，而不是我的；可我们住在半间寒冷的房屋里，这个冬天她着了凉，咳嗽起来，已经吐血了。我们有三个小孩子，卡捷琳娜·伊万诺芙娜从早到晚忙个不停，擦啊，洗啊，给孩子们洗澡，因为她从小就一爱一干净，可她的胸部不健康，很可能害了痨病，这我也感觉到了。难道我感觉不到吗？酒喝得越多，越感觉得出来。就是为此我才喝酒的，想在酒中寻找同情和一爱一情……我喝酒，是因为我想得到加倍的痛苦！”说着，他仿佛绝望地朝桌子垂下了头。

“年轻人，”他又挺一直了腰，接着说，“我从您脸上看出，您好像有什么不幸的事情。您一进来，我就看出来了，所以立刻就跟您一交一谈起来。因为，我把自己的生活故事告诉您，并不是想在这些游手好闲的家伙面前作践自己，这一切，我不说他们也都知道，我说这些，是为了寻找一个富有同情心和受过教育的人。您听我说，我的妻子在省里一所贵族高等女子学校里受过教育，毕业的时候，省长和其他社会名流都在座，她跳了披巾舞①，为此得了一枚金质奖章和一张奖状。奖章嘛……奖章让我卖掉换酒喝光了……已经很久了……嗯，……奖状到现在还放在她的箱子里，不久前她还拿给女房东看过。虽然她跟房东经常不断地争吵，不过还是想在人前夸耀一番，把过去的幸福日子告诉人家，不管他是什么人都行。我并不指责她，我并不责备她，因为这是她记忆里剩下的最后一点安慰，其余的全都烟消云散了。是啊，是啊；是一位一性一情急躁，高傲而又倔强的太太。自己擦洗地板，啃黑面包，可是绝不让人不尊重自己。正是因此她不肯原谅列别贾特尼科夫先生的无礼行为，列别贾特尼科夫先生为这打了她以后，她躺倒在一床一上，这与其说是因为挨了打，倒不如说是因为伤了她的心。我娶她的时候，她已经是个寡一妇，带着三个孩子，一个比一个小。她嫁的第一个丈夫是个步兵军官，她一爱一他，跟他离家私奔了。她别提多一爱一自己的丈夫了，可是他玩上了牌，落得出庭受审，就这么死了。最后他还打她，虽然她不原谅他，这我确实知道，而且有可靠的证据，但是直到现在她还经常眼泪汪汪地想起他来，用他来教训我，而我却感到高兴，我所以高兴，是因为，至少在她想象中，她认为自己有一个时期是幸福的……他死了以后，她和三个年龄很小的孩子留在一个极其偏远的县城里，当时我正好也在那儿，她生活极端贫困，几乎陷于绝境，虽说我见过许许多多各式各样不同寻常的事情，可就连我也无法描绘她的处境。亲戚都不认她了。而且她高傲得很，高傲得太过分了……而那时候，先生，那时候我也成了鳏夫，有个前妻留下的十四岁的女儿，于是我向她求婚了，因为我不忍心看到她受这样的苦。一个受过教育、又有教养、出身名门的女人，竟同意下嫁给我，单凭这点您就可以想见，她的苦难已经达到了什么地步！可是她嫁给了我！她痛哭流涕，悲痛欲绝，——可是嫁给了我！因为走投无路啊。您可明白，您可明白，先生，当一个人已经走投无路的时候意味着什么吗？不！这一点您还不明白……整整一年，我虔诚、严格地履行自己的义务，从未碰过这玩意儿（他伸出一只手指碰了碰那个能装半什托夫②的酒壶），因为我有感情。不过就是这样，我也没能赢得她的欢心；而这时候我失业了，也不是因为我有什么过错，而是因为人事变动，于是我喝起酒来！……一年半以前，经过长途跋涉和数不尽的灾难之后，我们终于来到了这宏伟壮丽、用无数纪念碑装饰起来的首都。在这儿我又找到了工作……找到了，又丢掉了。您明白吗？这次可是由于我自己的过错，丢掉了差事，因为我的劣根一性一暴露了……目前我们住在半间房屋里，住在女房东阿玛莉娅·费多罗芙娜·利佩韦赫泽尔那儿，我们靠什么过活，拿什么付房租，我自己也不知道。那儿住着很多人，除了我们……简直是所多玛③，混乱极了…… 嗯……是的……就在这时候，我前妻生的女儿长大了，她，我女儿，在那长大成一人的这段时间里受过继母多少虐一待，这我就不说了。因为卡捷琳娜·伊万诺芙娜虽然宽洪大量，却是一位一性一情急躁、很容易生气的太太，而且不让别人说话……是啊！唉，这些都没什么好回忆的！索尼娅没受过教育，这您可以想象得出来。四年前我曾尝试教她地理和世界通史；不过我自己懂得的也不多，而且没有适当的教科书，因为仅有的一些书籍……嗯！……唉，这些书现在已经没有了，所以全部教育就这样结束了。我们只读到了波斯的居鲁士大帝④。后来，她已经成年以后，看过几本一爱一情小说，不久以前，通过列别贾特尼科夫先生，还看过一本刘易士的《生理学》⑤，——您知道这本书吗？——她怀着很大的兴趣看完了，甚至还给我们念过其中的几个片断：这就是她所受的全部教育。现在我问您，我的先生，我以我自己的名义向您提出一个非正式的问题：照您看，一个贫穷、然而清白无瑕的姑一娘一，靠自己诚实的劳动能挣到很多钱吗？……先生，如果她清清白白，又没有特殊才能，即使双手一刻不停地干活，一天也挣不到十五个戈比！而且五等文官克洛普什托克，伊万·伊万诺维奇，——这个人您听说过吗？——借口她做的衬衣领子尺寸不对，而且缝歪了，不仅那半打荷兰衬衣的工钱到现在还没给，甚至仗势欺人，跺跺脚，用很难听的话破口大骂，把她赶了出来。可是这时候几个孩子都在挨饿……这时候卡捷琳娜·伊万诺芙娜痛苦地一搓一着手，在屋里走来走去，脸上泛出红晕，——害这种病的人总是这样：‘你，这个好吃懒做的家伙，’她说，‘住在我们这儿，又吃，又喝，还要取暖，’可这儿有什么好喝、好吃的呢，既然孩子们已经三天没见到面包一皮了！当时我正躺着……唉，有什么好说的呢？我醉醺醺地躺着，听到我的索尼娅说（她一性一情一温一和，说话的声音也是那么柔和……一头淡黄色的头发，小一脸蛋儿苍白，消瘦），她说，‘怎么，卡捷琳娜·伊万诺芙娜，难道我非得去干这种事情吗？’而达里娅·弗兰佐芙娜，这个居心不一良的女人，警察局里对她也熟悉得很，她已经通过女房东来过三次了。‘有什么呢？’。卡捷琳娜·伊万诺芙娜嘲笑地回答，‘一爱一护贞节干什么？嘿，这可真是个宝贝啊！’不过请别责备她，请别责备她，先生，请别责备她！她说这话是在失去理一性一的时候，一精一神已经不正常了，是在感情激动而且有病的情况下，是在听到挨饿的孩子哭声的时候，而且她说这话与其说是真有这个意思，不如说是为了侮辱她……因为卡捷琳娜·伊万诺芙娜就是这样的一性一格，只要孩子们一哭，哪怕是因为饿得慌，她也立刻动手去打他们。我看到，大约五点多钟的时候，索涅奇卡起来，包上头巾，披上斗篷，从屋里走了出去，到八点多钟回来了。她一回来，径直走到卡捷琳娜·伊万诺芙娜跟前，一声不响地把三十个卢布摆到她面前的桌子上。这么做的时候她一句话也没有说，哪怕看她一眼也好，可连看都没看，只是拿了我们那块绿色德拉德达姆呢的大头巾（我们有这么一块公用的头巾，是德拉德达姆呢的），用它把头和脸全都蒙起来，躺到一床一上，脸冲着墙，只看见瘦小的肩膀和全身一个劲儿地抖个不停……而我，还是像不久以前那样躺着……当时我看到，年轻人，我看见，在这以后，卡捷琳娜·伊万诺芙娜也是那样一言不发，走到索涅奇卡一床一前，在她脚边跪了整整一一夜，吻她的脚，不想起来，后来，她俩抱在一起，就这样睡着了……

两人一道……两人一道……而我……却醉醺醺地躺着。”

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①在毕业晚会上跳披巾舞是成绩优异的毕业生的特权。

②容量单位，一什托夫约等于一·二公升。

③见《旧约·创世纪》十九章二十四节：所多玛和蛾摩拉两城因罪孽深重被耶和华用硫磺和火烧毁。

④居鲁士，纪元前五五八——纪元前五二九年的波斯国王。

⑤指英国实证主义哲学家和生理学家乔治·刘易士（一八一七——一八七八）的《日常生活的生理学》，十九世纪六十年代，在俄国具有唯物主义观点的青年人中，这本书很受欢迎。

马尔梅拉多夫沉默了，仿佛他的声音突然断了。随后，他忽然匆匆斟了一杯酒，一口喝干，清了清嗓子。

“从那时候起，我的先生，”沉默了一会儿以后，他接着说，“由于发生了一件不幸的事，也由于有些居心不一良的人告发，——特别是达里娅·弗兰佐芙娜起了一定作用，仿佛是为了没对她表示应有的尊敬，——从那时候起，我的女儿，索菲娅·谢苗诺芙娜，就被迫领了黄色执照，因此不能和我们住在一起了。因为我们的女房东阿玛莉娅·费多罗芙娜不愿意让她住在这里（可是以前她倒帮过达里娅·弗兰佐芙娜的忙），再说列别贾特尼科夫先生……嗯……正是为了索尼娅，他和卡捷琳娜·伊万诺芙娜之间才发生了那件不愉快的事。起初是他自己要跟索尼娅来往，这时却突然变得高傲自大了：‘怎么，’他说，‘我，一个这么有文化的人，竟要跟这样一个女人住在一幢房子里吗？’卡捷琳娜·伊万诺芙娜不服气，为她辩解……于是就吵了起来…… 现在索涅奇卡多半是在黄昏来我们这里，给卡捷琳娜·伊万诺芙娜帮帮忙，力所能及地给送点儿钱来……她住在裁缝卡佩尔纳乌莫夫的房子里，向他们租了一间住房，卡佩尔纳乌莫夫是个跛子，说话发音不清楚，他那一大家子人个个说话也都口齿不清。连他老婆说话发音也不清楚……他们都住在一间屋里，我的索尼娅另有一间屋子，是用隔板隔开的……嗯，是啊……是些最穷苦的穷人，话都说不清楚…&hellip