Part 2 Chapter 7

An elegant carriage stood in the middle of the road with a pair of spirited grey horses; there was no one in it, and the coachman had got off his box and stood by; the horses were being held by the bridle. . . . A mass of people had gathered round, the police standing in front. One of them held a lighted lantern which he was turning on something lying close to the wheels. Everyone was talking, shouting, exclaiming; the coachman seemed at a loss and kept repeating:

"What a misfortune! Good Lord, what a misfortune!"

Raskolnikov pushed his way in as far as he could, and succeeded at last in seeing the object of the commotion and interest. On the ground a man who had been run over lay apparently unconscious, and covered with blood; he was very badly dressed, but not like a workman. Blood was flowing from his head and face; his face was crushed, mutilated and disfigured. He was evidently badly injured.

"Merciful heaven!" wailed the coachman, "what more could I do? If I'd been driving fast or had not shouted to him, but I was going quietly, not in a hurry. Everyone could see I was going along just like everybody else. A drunken man can't walk straight, we all know. . . . I saw him crossing the street, staggering and almost falling. I shouted again and a second and a third time, then I held the horses in, but he fell straight under their feet! Either he did it on purpose or he was very tipsy. . . . The horses are young and ready to take fright . . . they started, he screamed . . . that made them worse. That's how it happened!"

"That's just how it was," a voice in the crowd confirmed.

"He shouted, that's true, he shouted three times," another voice declared.

"Three times it was, we all heard it," shouted a third.

But the coachman was not very much distressed and frightened. It was evident that the carriage belonged to a rich and important person who was awaiting it somewhere; the police, of course, were in no little anxiety to avoid upsetting his arrangements. All they had to do was to take the injured man to the police station and the hospital. No one knew his name.

Meanwhile Raskolnikov had squeezed in and stooped closer over him. The lantern suddenly lighted up the unfortunate man's face. He recognised him.

"I know him! I know him!" he shouted, pushing to the front. "It's a government clerk retired from the service, Marmeladov. He lives close by in Kozel's house. . . . Make haste for a doctor! I will pay, see?" He pulled money out of his pocket and showed it to the policeman. He was in violent agitation.

The police were glad that they had found out who the man was. Raskolnikov gave his own name and address, and, as earnestly as if it had been his father, he besought the police to carry the unconscious Marmeladov to his lodging at once.

"Just here, three houses away," he said eagerly, "the house belongs to Kozel, a rich German. He was going home, no doubt drunk. I know him, he is a drunkard. He has a family there, a wife, children, he has one daughter. . . . It will take time to take him to the hospital, and there is sure to be a doctor in the house. I'll pay, I'll pay! At least he will be looked after at home . . . they will help him at once. But he'll die before you get him to the hospital." He managed to slip something unseen into the policeman's hand. But the thing was straightforward and legitimate, and in any case help was closer here. They raised the injured man; people volunteered to help.

Kozel's house was thirty yards away. Raskolnikov walked behind, carefully holding Marmeladov's head and showing the way.

"This way, this way! We must take him upstairs head foremost. Turn round! I'll pay, I'll make it worth your while," he muttered.

Katerina Ivanovna had just begun, as she always did at every free moment, walking to and fro in her little room from window to stove and back again, with her arms folded across her chest, talking to herself and coughing. Of late she had begun to talk more than ever to her eldest girl, Polenka, a child of ten, who, though there was much she did not understand, understood very well that her mother needed her, and so always watched her with her big clever eyes and strove her utmost to appear to understand. This time Polenka was undressing her little brother, who had been unwell all day and was going to bed. The boy was waiting for her to take off his shirt, which had to be washed at night. He was sitting straight and motionless on a chair, with a silent, serious face, with his legs stretched out straight before him --heels together and toes turned out.

He was listening to what his mother was saying to his sister, sitting perfectly still with pouting lips and wide-open eyes, just as all good little boys have to sit when they are undressed to go to bed. A little girl, still younger, dressed literally in rags, stood at the screen, waiting for her turn. The door on to the stairs was open to relieve them a little from the clouds of tobacco smoke which floated in from the other rooms and brought on long terrible fits of coughing in the poor, consumptive woman. Katerina Ivanovna seemed to have grown even thinner during that week and the hectic flush on her face was brighter than ever.

"You wouldn't believe, you can't imagine, Polenka," she said, walking about the room, "what a happy luxurious life we had in my papa's house and how this drunkard has brought me, and will bring you all, to ruin! Papa was a civil colonel and only a step from being a governor; so that everyone who came to see him said, 'We look upon you, Ivan Mihailovitch, as our governor!' When I . . . when . . ." she coughed violently, "oh, cursed life," she cried, clearing her throat and pressing her hands to her breast, "when I . . . when at the last ball . . . at the marshal's . . . Princess Bezzemelny saw me--who gave me the blessing when your father and I were married, Polenka--she asked at once 'Isn't that the pretty girl who danced the shawl dance at the breaking-up?' (You must mend that tear, you must take your needle and darn it as I showed you, or to-morrow--cough, cough, cough--he will make the hole bigger," she articulated with effort.) "Prince Schegolskoy, a kammerjunker, had just come from Petersburg then . . . he danced the mazurka with me and wanted to make me an offer next day; but I thanked him in flattering expressions and told him that my heart had long been another's. That other was your father, Polya; papa was fearfully angry. . . . Is the water ready? Give me the shirt, and the stockings! Lida," said she to the youngest one, "you must manage without your chemise to-night . . . and lay your stockings out with it . . . I'll wash them together. . . . How is it that drunken vagabond doesn't come in? He has worn his shirt till it looks like a dish- clout, he has torn it to rags! I'd do it all together, so as not to have to work two nights running! Oh, dear! (Cough, cough, cough, cough!) Again! What's this?" she cried, noticing a crowd in the passage and the men, who were pushing into her room, carrying a burden. "What is it? What are they bringing? Mercy on us!"

"Where are we to put him?" asked the policeman, looking round when Marmeladov, unconscious and covered with blood, had been carried in.

"On the sofa! Put him straight on the sofa, with his head this way," Raskolnikov showed him.

"Run over in the road! Drunk!" someone shouted in the passage.

Katerina Ivanovna stood, turning white and gasping for breath. The children were terrified. Little Lida screamed, rushed to Polenka and clutched at her, trembling all over.

Having laid Marmeladov down, Raskolnikov flew to Katerina Ivanovna.

"For God's sake be calm, don't be frightened!" he said, speaking quickly, "he was crossing the road and was run over by a carriage, don't be frightened, he will come to, I told them bring him here . . . I've been here already, you remember? He will come to; I'll pay!"

"He's done it this time!" Katerina Ivanovna cried despairingly and she rushed to her husband.

Raskolnikov noticed at once that she was not one of those women who swoon easily. She instantly placed under the luckless man's head a pillow, which no one had thought of and began undressing and examining him. She kept her head, forgetting herself, biting her trembling lips and stifling the screams which were ready to break from her.

Raskolnikov meanwhile induced someone to run for a doctor. There was a doctor, it appeared, next door but one.

"I've sent for a doctor," he kept assuring Katerina Ivanovna, "don't be uneasy, I'll pay. Haven't you water? . . . and give me a napkin or a towel, anything, as quick as you can. . . . He is injured, but not killed, believe me. . . . We shall see what the doctor says!"

Katerina Ivanovna ran to the window; there, on a broken chair in the corner, a large earthenware basin full of water had been stood, in readiness for washing her children's and husband's linen that night. This washing was done by Katerina Ivanovna at night at least twice a week, if not oftener. For the family had come to such a pass that they were practically without change of linen, and Katerina Ivanovna could not endure uncleanliness and, rather than see dirt in the house, she preferred to wear herself out at night, working beyond her strength when the rest were asleep, so as to get the wet linen hung on a line and dry by the morning. She took up the basin of water at Raskolnikov's request, but almost fell down with her burden. But the latter had already succeeded in finding a towel, wetted it and began washing the blood off Marmeladov's face.

Katerina Ivanovna stood by, breathing painfully and pressing her hands to her breast. She was in need of attention herself. Raskolnikov began to realise that he might have made a mistake in having the injured man brought here. The policeman, too, stood in hesitation.

"Polenka," cried Katerina Ivanovna, "run to Sonia, make haste. If you don't find her at home, leave word that her father has been run over and that she is to come here at once . . . when she comes in. Run, Polenka! there, put on the shawl."

"Run your fastest!" cried the little boy on the chair suddenly, after which he relapsed into the same dumb rigidity, with round eyes, his heels thrust forward and his toes spread out.

Meanwhile the room had become so full of people that you couldn't have dropped a pin. The policemen left, all except one, who remained for a time, trying to drive out the people who came in from the stairs. Almost all Madame Lippevechsel's lodgers had streamed in from the inner rooms of the flat; at first they were squeezed together in the doorway, but afterwards they overflowed into the room. Katerina Ivanovna flew into a fury.

"You might let him die in peace, at least," she shouted at the crowd, "is it a spectacle for you to gape at? With cigarettes! (Cough, cough, cough!) You might as well keep your hats on. . . . And there is one in his hat! . . . Get away! You should respect the dead, at least!"

Her cough choked her--but her reproaches were not without result. They evidently stood in some awe of Katerina Ivanovna. The lodgers, one after another, squeezed back into the doorway with that strange inner feeling of satisfaction which may be observed in the presence of a sudden accident, even in those nearest and dearest to the victim, from which no living man is exempt, even in spite of the sincerest sympathy and compassion.

Voices outside were heard, however, speaking of the hospital and saying that they'd no business to make a disturbance here.

"No business to die!" cried Katerina Ivanovna, and she was rushing to the door to vent her wrath upon them, but in the doorway came face to face with Madame Lippevechsel who had only just heard of the accident and ran in to restore order. She was a particularly quarrelsome and irresponsible German.

"Ah, my God!" she cried, clasping her hands, "your husband drunken horses have trampled! To the hospital with him! I am the landlady!"

"Amalia Ludwigovna, I beg you to recollect what you are saying," Katerina Ivanovna began haughtily (she always took a haughty tone with the landlady that she might "remember her place" and even now could not deny herself this satisfaction). "Amalia Ludwigovna . . ."

"I have you once before told that you to call me Amalia Ludwigovna may not dare; I am Amalia Ivanovna."

"You are not Amalia Ivanovna, but Amalia Ludwigovna, and as I am not one of your despicable flatterers like Mr. Lebeziatnikov, who's laughing behind the door at this moment (a laugh and a cry of 'they are at it again' was in fact audible at the door) so I shall always call you Amalia Ludwigovna, though I fail to understand why you dislike that name. You can see for yourself what has happened to Semyon Zaharovitch; he is dying. I beg you to close that door at once and to admit no one. Let him at least die in peace! Or I warn you the Governor-General, himself, shall be informed of your conduct to-morrow. The prince knew me as a girl; he remembers Semyon Zaharovitch well and has often been a benefactor to him. Everyone knows that Semyon Zaharovitch had many friends and protectors, whom he abandoned himself from an honourable pride, knowing his unhappy weakness, but now (she pointed to Raskolnikov) a generous young man has come to our assistance, who has wealth and connections and whom Semyon Zaharovitch has known from a child. You may rest assured, Amalia Ludwigovna . . ."

All this was uttered with extreme rapidity, getting quicker and quicker, but a cough suddenly cut short Katerina Ivanovna's eloquence. At that instant the dying man recovered consciousness and uttered a groan; she ran to him. The injured man opened his eyes and without recognition or understanding gazed at Raskolnikov who was bending over him. He drew deep, slow, painful breaths; blood oozed at the corners of his mouth and drops of perspiration came out on his forehead. Not recognising Raskolnikov, he began looking round uneasily. Katerina Ivanovna looked at him with a sad but stern face, and tears trickled from her eyes.

"My God! His whole chest is crushed! How he is bleeding," she said in despair. "We must take off his clothes. Turn a little, Semyon Zaharovitch, if you can," she cried to him.

Marmeladov recognised her.

"A priest," he articulated huskily.

Katerina Ivanovna walked to the window, laid her head against the window frame and exclaimed in despair:

"Oh, cursed life!"

"A priest," the dying man said again after a moment's silence.

"They've gone for him," Katerina Ivanovna shouted to him, he obeyed her shout and was silent. With sad and timid eyes he looked for her; she returned and stood by his pillow. He seemed a little easier but not for long.

Soon his eyes rested on little Lida, his favourite, who was shaking in the corner, as though she were in a fit, and staring at him with her wondering childish eyes.

"A-ah," he signed towards her uneasily. He wanted to say something.

"What now?" cried Katerina Ivanovna.

"Barefoot, barefoot!" he muttered, indicating with frenzied eyes the child's bare feet.

"Be silent," Katerina Ivanovna cried irritably, "you know why she is barefooted."

"Thank God, the doctor," exclaimed Raskolnikov, relieved.

The doctor came in, a precise little old man, a German, looking about him mistrustfully; he went up to the sick man, took his pulse, carefully felt his head and with the help of Katerina Ivanovna he unbuttoned the blood-stained shirt, and bared the injured man's chest. It was gashed, crushed and fractured, several ribs on the right side were broken. On the left side, just over the heart, was a large, sinister-looking yellowish-black bruise--a cruel kick from the horse's hoof. The doctor frowned. The policeman told him that he was caught in the wheel and turned round with it for thirty yards on the road.

"It's wonderful that he has recovered consciousness," the doctor whispered softly to Raskolnikov.

"What do you think of him?" he asked.

"He will die immediately."

"Is there really no hope?"

"Not the faintest! He is at the last gasp. . . . His head is badly injured, too . . . Hm . . . I could bleed him if you like, but . . . it would be useless. He is bound to die within the next five or ten minutes."

"Better bleed him then."

"If you like. . . . But I warn you it will be perfectly useless."

At that moment other steps were heard; the crowd in the passage parted, and the priest, a little, grey old man, appeared in the doorway bearing the sacrament. A policeman had gone for him at the time of the accident. The doctor changed places with him, exchanging glances with him. Raskolnikov begged the doctor to remain a little while. He shrugged his shoulders and remained.

All stepped back. The confession was soon over. The dying man probably understood little; he could only utter indistinct broken sounds. Katerina Ivanovna took little Lida, lifted the boy from the chair, knelt down in the corner by the stove and made the children kneel in front of her. The little girl was still trembling; but the boy, kneeling on his little bare knees, lifted his hand rhythmically, crossing himself with precision and bowed down, touching the floor with his forehead, which seemed to afford him especial satisfaction. Katerina Ivanovna bit her lips and held back her tears; she prayed, too, now and then pulling straight the boy's shirt, and managed to cover the girl's bare shoulders with a kerchief, which she took from the chest without rising from her knees or ceasing to pray. Meanwhile the door from the inner rooms was opened inquisitively again. In the passage the crowd of spectators from all the flats on the staircase grew denser and denser, but they did not venture beyond the threshold. A single candle-end lighted up the scene.

At that moment Polenka forced her way through the crowd at the door. She came in panting from running so fast, took off her kerchief, looked for her mother, went up to her and said, "She's coming, I met her in the street." Her mother made her kneel beside her.

Timidly and noiselessly a young girl made her way through the crowd, and strange was her appearance in that room, in the midst of want, rags, death and despair. She, too, was in rags, her attire was all of the cheapest, but decked out in gutter finery of a special stamp, unmistakably betraying its shameful purpose. Sonia stopped short in the doorway and looked about her bewildered, unconscious of everything. She forgot her fourth-hand, gaudy silk dress, so unseemly here with its ridiculous long train, and her immense crinoline that filled up the whole doorway, and her light-coloured shoes, and the parasol she brought with her, though it was no use at night, and the absurd round straw hat with its flaring flame-coloured feather. Under this rakishly-tilted hat was a pale, frightened little face with lips parted and eyes staring in terror. Sonia was a small thin girl of eighteen with fair hair, rather pretty, with wonderful blue eyes. She looked intently at the bed and the priest; she too was out of breath with running. At last whispers, some words in the crowd probably, reached her. She looked down and took a step forward into the room, still keeping close to the door.

The service was over. Katerina Ivanovna went up to her husband again. The priest stepped back and turned to say a few words of admonition and consolation to Katerina Ivanovna on leaving.

"What am I to do with these?" she interrupted sharply and irritably, pointing to the little ones.

"God is merciful; look to the Most High for succour," the priest began.

"Ach! He is merciful, but not to us."

"That's a sin, a sin, madam," observed the priest, shaking his head.

"And isn't that a sin?" cried Katerina Ivanovna, pointing to the dying man.

"Perhaps those who have involuntarily caused the accident will agree to compensate you, at least for the loss of his earnings."

"You don't understand!" cried Katerina Ivanovna angrily waving her hand. "And why should they compensate me? Why, he was drunk and threw himself under the horses! What earnings? He brought us in nothing but misery. He drank everything away, the drunkard! He robbed us to get drink, he wasted their lives and mine for drink! And thank God he's dying! One less to keep!"

"You must forgive in the hour of death, that's a sin, madam, such feelings are a great sin."

Katerina Ivanovna was busy with the dying man; she was giving him water, wiping the blood and sweat from his head, setting his pillow straight, and had only turned now and then for a moment to address the priest. Now she flew at him almost in a frenzy.

"Ah, father! That's words and only words! Forgive! If he'd not been run over, he'd have come home to-day drunk and his only shirt dirty and in rags and he'd have fallen asleep like a log, and I should have been sousing and rinsing till daybreak, washing his rags and the children's and then drying them by the window and as soon as it was daylight I should have been darning them. That's how I spend my nights! . . . What's the use of talking of forgiveness! I have forgiven as it is!"

A terrible hollow cough interrupted her words. She put her handkerchief to her lips and showed it to the priest, pressing her other hand to her aching chest. The handkerchief was covered with blood. The priest bowed his head and said nothing.

Marmeladov was in the last agony; he did not take his eyes off the face of Katerina Ivanovna, who was bending over him again. He kept trying to say something to her; he began moving his tongue with difficulty and articulating indistinctly, but Katerina Ivanovna, understanding that he wanted to ask her forgiveness, called peremptorily to him:

"Be silent! No need! I know what you want to say!" And the sick man was silent, but at the same instant his wandering eyes strayed to the doorway and he saw Sonia.

Till then he had not noticed her: she was standing in the shadow in a corner.

"Who's that? Who's that?" he said suddenly in a thick gasping voice, in agitation, turning his eyes in horror towards the door where his daughter was standing, and trying to sit up.

"Lie down! Lie do-own!" cried Katerina Ivanovna.

With unnatural strength he had succeeded in propping himself on his elbow. He looked wildly and fixedly for some time on his daughter, as though not recognising her. He had never seen her before in such attire. Suddenly he recognised her, crushed and ashamed in her humiliation and gaudy finery, meekly awaiting her turn to say good-bye to her dying father. His face showed intense suffering.

"Sonia! Daughter! Forgive!" he cried, and he tried to hold out his hand to her, but losing his balance, he fell off the sofa, face downwards on the floor. They rushed to pick him up, they put him on the sofa; but he was dying. Sonia with a faint cry ran up, embraced him and remained so without moving. He died in her arms.

"He's got what he wanted," Katerina Ivanovna cried, seeing her husband's dead body. "Well, what's to be done now? How am I to bury him! What can I give them to-morrow to eat?"

Raskolnikov went up to Katerina Ivanovna.

"Katerina Ivanovna," he began, "last week your husband told me all his life and circumstances. . . . Believe me, he spoke of you with passionate reverence. From that evening, when I learnt how devoted he was to you all and how he loved and respected you especially, Katerina Ivanovna, in spite of his unfortunate weakness, from that evening we became friends. . . . Allow me now . . . to do something . . . to repay my debt to my dead friend. Here are twenty roubles, I think--and if that can be of any assistance to you, then . . . I . . . in short, I will come again, I will be sure to come again . . . I shall, perhaps, come again to-morrow. . . . Good-bye!"

And he went quickly out of the room, squeezing his way through the crowd to the stairs. But in the crowd he suddenly jostled against Nikodim Fomitch, who had heard of the accident and had come to give instructions in person. They had not met since the scene at the police station, but Nikodim Fomitch knew him instantly.

"Ah, is that you?" he asked him.

"He's dead," answered Raskolnikov. "The doctor and the priest have been, all as it should have been. Don't worry the poor woman too much, she is in consumption as it is. Try and cheer her up, if possible . . . you are a kind-hearted man, I know . . ." he added with a smile, looking straight in his face.

"But you are spattered with blood," observed Nikodim Fomitch, noticing in the lamplight some fresh stains on Raskolnikov's waistcoat.

"Yes . . . I'm covered with blood," Raskolnikov said with a peculiar air; then he smiled, nodded and went downstairs.

He walked down slowly and deliberately, feverish but not conscious of it, entirely absorbed in a new overwhelming sensation of life and strength that surged up suddenly within him. This sensation might be compared to that of a man condemned to death who has suddenly been pardoned. Halfway down the staircase he was overtaken by the priest on his way home; Raskolnikov let him pass, exchanging a silent greeting with him. He was just descending the last steps when he heard rapid footsteps behind him. someone overtook him; it was Polenka. She was running after him, calling "Wait! wait!"

He turned round. She was at the bottom of the staircase and stopped short a step above him. A dim light came in from the yard. Raskolnikov could distinguish the child's thin but pretty little face, looking at him with a bright childish smile. She had run after him with a message which she was evidently glad to give.

"Tell me, what is your name? . . . and where do you live?" she said hurriedly in a breathless voice.

He laid both hands on her shoulders and looked at her with a sort of rapture. It was such a joy to him to look at her, he could not have said why.

"Who sent you?"

"Sister Sonia sent me," answered the girl, smiling still more brightly.

"I knew it was sister Sonia sent you."

"Mamma sent me, too . . . when sister Sonia was sending me, mamma came up, too, and said 'Run fast, Polenka.'"

"Do you love sister Sonia?"

"I love her more than anyone," Polenka answered with a peculiar earnestness, and her smile became graver.

"And will you love me?"

By way of answer he saw the little girl's face approaching him, her full lips naively held out to kiss him. Suddenly her arms as thin as sticks held him tightly, her head rested on his shoulder and the little girl wept softly, pressing her face against him.

"I am sorry for father," she said a moment later, raising her tear- stained face and brushing away the tears with her hands. "It's nothing but misfortunes now," she added suddenly with that peculiarly sedate air which children try hard to assume when they want to speak like grown-up people.

"Did your father love you?"

"He loved Lida most," she went on very seriously without a smile, exactly like grown-up people, "he loved her because she is little and because she is ill, too. And he always used to bring her presents. But he taught us to read and me grammar and scripture, too," she added with dignity. "And mother never used to say anything, but we knew that she liked it and father knew it, too. And mother wants to teach me French, for it's time my education began."

"And do you know your prayers?"

"Of course, we do! We knew them long ago. I say my prayers to myself as I am a big girl now, but Kolya and Lida say them aloud with mother. First they repeat the 'Ave Maria' and then another prayer: 'Lord, forgive and bless sister Sonia,' and then another, 'Lord, forgive and bless our second father.' For our elder father is dead and this is another one, but we do pray for the other as well."

"Polenka, my name is Rodion. Pray sometimes for me, too. 'And Thy servant Rodion,' nothing more."

"I'll pray for you all the rest of my life," the little girl declared hotly, and suddenly smiling again she rushed at him and hugged him warmly once more.

Raskolnikov told her his name and address and promised to be sure to come next day. The child went away quite enchanted with him. It was past ten when he came out into the street. In five minutes he was standing on the bridge at the spot where the woman had jumped in.

"Enough," he pronounced resolutely and triumphantly. "I've done with fancies, imaginary terrors and phantoms! Life is real! haven't I lived just now? My life has not yet died with that old woman! The Kingdom of Heaven to her--and now enough, madam, leave me in peace! Now for the reign of reason and light . . . and of will, and of strength . . . and now we will see! We will try our strength!" he added defiantly, as though challenging some power of darkness. "And I was ready to consent to live in a square of space!

"I am very weak at this moment, but . . . I believe my illness is all over. I knew it would be over when I went out. By the way, Potchinkov's house is only a few steps away. I certainly must go to Razumihin even if it were not close by . . . let him win his bet! Let us give him some satisfaction, too--no matter! Strength, strength is what one wants, you can get nothing without it, and strength must be won by strength--that's what they don't know," he added proudly and self-confidently and he walked with flagging footsteps from the bridge. Pride and self-confidence grew continually stronger in him; he was becoming a different man every moment. What was it had happened to work this revolution in him? He did not know himself; like a man catching at a straw, he suddenly felt that he, too, 'could live, that there was still life for him, that his life had not died with the old woman.' Perhaps he was in too great a hurry with his conclusions, but he did not think of that.

"But I did ask her to remember 'Thy servant Rodion' in her prayers," the idea struck him. "Well, that was . . . in case of emergency," he added and laughed himself at his boyish sally. He was in the best of spirits.

He easily found Razumihin; the new lodger was already known at Potchinkov's and the porter at once showed him the way. Half-way upstairs he could hear the noise and animated conversation of a big gathering of people. The door was wide open on the stairs; he could hear exclamations and discussion. Razumihin's room was fairly large; the company consisted of fifteen people. Raskolnikov stopped in the entry, where two of the landlady's servants were busy behind a screen with two samovars, bottles, plates and dishes of pie and savouries, brought up from the landlady's kitchen. Raskolnikov sent in for Razumihin. He ran out delighted. At the first glance it was apparent that he had had a great deal to drink and, though no amount of liquor made Razumihin quite drunk, this time he was perceptibly affected by it.

"Listen," Raskolnikov hastened to say, "I've only just come to tell you you've won your bet and that no one really knows what may not happen to him. I can't come in; I am so weak that I shall fall down directly. And so good evening and good-bye! Come and see me to-morrow."

"Do you know what? I'll see you home. If you say you're weak yourself, you must . . ."

"And your visitors? Who is the curly-headed one who has just peeped out?"

"He? Goodness only knows! Some friend of uncle's, I expect, or perhaps he has come without being invited . . . I'll leave uncle with them, he is an invaluable person, pity I can't introduce you to him now. But confound them all now! They won't notice me, and I need a little fresh air, for you've come just in the nick of time--another two minutes and I should have come to blows! They are talking such a lot of wild stuff . . . you simply can't imagine what men will say! Though why shouldn't you imagine? Don't we talk nonsense ourselves? And let them . . . that's the way to learn not to! . . . Wait a minute, I'll fetch Zossimov."

Zossimov pounced upon Raskolnikov almost greedily; he showed a special interest in him; soon his face brightened.

"You must go to bed at once," he pronounced, examining the patient as far as he could, "and take something for the night. Will you take it? I got it ready some time ago . . . a powder."

"Two, if you like," answered Raskolnikov. The powder was taken at once.

"It's a good thing you are taking him home," observed Zossimov to Razumihin--"we shall see how he is to-morrow, to-day he's not at all amiss--a considerable change since the afternoon. Live and learn . . ."

"Do you know what Zossimov whispered to me when we were coming out?" Razumihin blurted out, as soon as they were in the street. "I won't tell you everything, brother, because they are such fools. Zossimov told me to talk freely to you on the way and get you to talk freely to me, and afterwards I am to tell him about it, for he's got a notion in his head that you are . . . mad or close on it. Only fancy! In the first place, you've three times the brains he has; in the second, if you are not mad, you needn't care a hang that he has got such a wild idea; and thirdly, that piece of beef whose specialty is surgery has gone mad on mental diseases, and what's brought him to this conclusion about you was your conversation to-day with Zametov."

"Zametov told you all about it?"

"Yes, and he did well. Now I understand what it all means and so does Zametov. . . . Well, the fact is, Rodya . . . the point is . . . I am a little drunk now. . . . But that's . . . no matter . . . the point is that this idea . . . you understand? was just being hatched in their brains . . . you understand? That is, no one ventured to say it aloud, because the idea is too absurd and especially since the arrest of that painter, that bubble's burst and gone for ever. But why are they such fools? I gave Zametov a bit of a thrashing at the time-- that's between ourselves, brother; please don't let out a hint that you know of it; I've noticed he is a ticklish subject; it was at Luise Ivanovna's. But to-day, to-day it's all cleared up. That Ilya Petrovitch is at the bottom of it! He took advantage of your fainting at the police station, but he is ashamed of it himself now; I know that . . ."

Raskolnikov listened greedily. Razumihin was drunk enough to talk too freely.

"I fainted then because it was so close and the smell of paint," said Raskolnikov.

"No need to explain that! And it wasn't the paint only: the fever had been coming on for a month; Zossimov testifies to that! But how crushed that boy is now, you wouldn't believe! 'I am not worth his little finger,' he says. Yours, he means. He has good feelings at times, brother. But the lesson, the lesson you gave him to-day in the Palais de Cristal, that was too good for anything! You frightened him at first, you know, he nearly went into convulsions! You almost convinced him again of the truth of all that hideous nonsense, and then you suddenly--put out your tongue at him: 'There now, what do you make of it?' It was perfect! He is crushed, annihilated now! It was masterly, by Jove, it's what they deserve! Ah, that I wasn't there! He was hoping to see you awfully. Porfiry, too, wants to make your acquaintance . . ."

"Ah! . . . he too . . . but why did they put me down as mad?"

"Oh, not mad. I must have said too much, brother. . . . What struck him, you see, was that only that subject seemed to interest you; now it's clear why it did interest you; knowing all the circumstances . . . and how that irritated you and worked in with your illness . . . I am a little drunk, brother, only, confound him, he has some idea of his own . . . I tell you, he's mad on mental diseases. But don't you mind him . . ."

For half a minute both were silent.

"Listen, Razumihin," began Raskolnikov, "I want to tell you plainly: I've just been at a death-bed, a clerk who died . . . I gave them all my money . . . and besides I've just been kissed by someone who, if I had killed anyone, would just the same . . . in fact I saw someone else there . . . with a flame-coloured feather . . . but I am talking nonsense; I am very weak, support me . . . we shall be at the stairs directly . . ."

"What's the matter? What's the matter with you?" Razumihin asked anxiously.

"I am a little giddy, but that's not the point, I am so sad, so sad . . . like a woman. Look, what's that? Look, look!"

"What is it?"

"Don't you see? A light in my room, you see? Through the crack . . ."

They were already at the foot of the last flight of stairs, at the level of the landlady's door, and they could, as a fact, see from below that there was a light in Raskolnikov's garret.

"Queer! Nastasya, perhaps," observed Razumihin.

"She is never in my room at this time and she must be in bed long ago, but . . . I don't care! Good-bye!"

"What do you mean? I am coming with you, we'll come in together!"

"I know we are going in together, but I want to shake hands here and say good-bye to you here. So give me your hand, good-bye!"

"What's the matter with you, Rodya?"

"Nothing . . . come along . . . you shall be witness."

They began mounting the stairs, and the idea struck Razumihin that perhaps Zossimov might be right after all. "Ah, I've upset him with my chatter!" he muttered to himself.

When they reached the door they heard voices in the room.

"What is it?" cried Razumihin. Raskolnikov was the first to open the door; he flung it wide and stood still in the doorway, dumbfoundered.

His mother and sister were sitting on his sofa and had been waiting an hour and a half for him. Why had he never expected, never thought of them, though the news that they had started, were on their way and would arrive immediately, had been repeated to him only that day? They had spent that hour and a half plying Nastasya with questions. She was standing before them and had told them everything by now. They were beside themselves with alarm when they heard of his "running away" to-day, ill and, as they understood from her story, delirious! "Good Heavens, what had become of him?" Both had been weeping, both had been in anguish for that hour and a half.

A cry of joy, of ecstasy, greeted Raskolnikov's entrance. Both rushed to him. But he stood like one dead; a sudden intolerable sensation struck him like a thunderbolt. He did not lift his arms to embrace them, he could not. His mother and sister clasped him in their arms, kissed him, laughed and cried. He took a step, tottered and fell to the ground, fainting.

Anxiety, cries of horror, moans . . . Razumihin who was standing in the doorway flew into the room, seized the sick man in his strong arms and in a moment had him on the sofa.

"It's nothing, nothing!" he cried to the mother and sister--"it's only a faint, a mere trifle! Only just now the doctor said he was much better, that he is perfectly well! Water! See, he is coming to himself, he is all right again!"

And seizing Dounia by the arm so that he almost dislocated it, he made her bend down to see that "he is all right again." The mother and sister looked on him with emotion and gratitude, as their Providence. They had heard already from Nastasya all that had been done for their Rodya during his illness, by this "very competent young man," as Pulcheria Alexandrovna Raskolnikov called him that evening in conversation with Dounia.

 

街道当中停着一辆十分考究、显然是老爷们坐的四轮马车，车上套着两匹灰色的烈马；车上没有乘客，车夫也已经从自己座位上下来，站在一旁；有人拉住马的笼头。四周挤了一大群人，站在最前面的是几个警察。其中一个警察提着盏点亮的提灯，弯着腰，用提灯照着马路上车轮旁边的什么东西。大家都在谈论，叫喊，叹息；车夫似乎感到困惑不解，不时重复说：

“真倒楣！上帝啊，真倒楣啊！”

拉斯科利尼科夫尽可能挤进人群，终于看到了那个引起一騷一乱和好奇的对象。地上躺着一个刚刚被马踩伤的人，看来已经失去知觉，那人穿得很差，但衣服却是“高贵的”，浑身是血。脸上、头上鲜血直淌；脸给踩坏了，皮肤撕一破了，已经完全变了样，看得出来，踩得不轻。

“天哪！”车夫数数落落地哭着说， “这可叫人怎么提防啊！要是我把车赶得飞快，要么是没喊他，那还可以怪我，可是我赶得不慌不忙，不快不慢。大家都看到的：别人怎样赶，我也怎样赶。喝醉的人不能点蜡烛——这大家都知道！……我看到他穿马路的时候摇摇晃晃，差点儿没有跌倒，——我对他喊了一声，又喊了一声，再喊一声，还勒住了马；他却径直倒到了马蹄底下！是他故意的吗，要么是他已经喝得烂醉了……马还小，容易受惊，——它们猛一拉，他大喊一声——

它们更害怕了……这样一来，就闯了祸。”

“事情就是这样！”人群中有人高声作证。

“他是喊过，这是实话，向他喊了三次，”另一个声音响应。

“的确是喊了三次，大家都听到的，”第三个大声嚷。

不过车夫并不十分沮丧和惊恐。看得出来，马车属于一个有钱有势的主人，而他正在什么地方等着马车；警察当然要考虑到这个情况，设法顺利解决这次车祸。目前要做的是，把受伤的人送到警察分局，然后再送进医院去。谁也不知道他的名字。

这时拉斯科利尼科夫挤了进来，变下腰，凑得更近一些。

突然灯光照亮了这个不幸的人的脸；他认出了他。

“我认识他，我认识！”他完全挤上前去，高声大喊，“这是位官员，退职的，九等文官，马尔梅拉多夫！他就住在这儿附近，住在科泽尔的房子里……赶快去请医生！我付钱，这就是！”他从口袋里掏出钱来，给一个警察看。他异常激动不安。

有人认出了被踩伤的人，警察对此十分满意。拉斯科利尼科夫说出了自己的名字，把自己的地址告诉了他们，并且竭力劝说警察赶快把失去知觉的马尔梅拉多夫抬回家去，他那样尽心竭力，就像给踩伤的是他的亲爹一样。

“就在这儿，过去三幢房子，”他急急忙忙地说， “科泽尔的房子，一个很有钱的德国人的房子……刚刚他大概是喝醉了，要回家去。我认识他……他是个酒鬼……他的家就在那里，有妻子，几个孩子，还有个女儿。一时半会儿还送不进医院，可这儿，这幢房子里大概有个医生！我付钱，我付钱！……到底有自己人照料，马上就会进行急救，不然，不等送到医院，他就会死了……”

他甚至已经不让人看到，悄悄地把钱塞到警察手里；其实事情很明显，这样做是合情合理的，无论如何可以就近采取措施，进行急救。把受伤的人抬起来，抬走了；有人自愿帮忙。科泽尔的房子离这儿只有三十来步远。拉斯科利尼科夫跟在后面，小心翼翼地扶着他的头，给人们指路。

“这边。往这边走！上楼梯的时候得头朝上抬着；转弯……

对了！我付钱，我谢谢大家，”他含糊不清地说。

卡捷琳娜·伊万诺芙娜跟往常一样，一空下来，立刻双臂一交一叉紧紧抱在胸前，在自己那间小屋里踱来踱去，从窗前走到炉子前，然后再走回去，自言自语，不断地咳嗽。最近她越来越经常和自己的大女儿、十岁的波莲卡谈话，说得越来越多，尽管有很多事情波莲卡还听不懂，可是她倒很懂得母亲需要什么，因此总是用自己那双聪明的大眼睛注视着母亲，竭力装作什么都懂的样子。这一次波莲卡正在给一整天都觉得不舒服的小一弟一弟脱一衣服，让他躺下睡觉。小男孩等着给他换衬衣，换下来的衬衣要在夜里洗掉，他默默地坐在椅子上，神情严肃，一动不动地伸直两条小腿，脚后跟紧紧并拢，脚尖往两边分开。他在听一妈一妈一和姐姐说话儿，撅一着小嘴，瞪着眼睛，一动不动，完全像一个乖孩子临睡前坐着让人给脱一衣服时通常应有的样子。一个比他还小的小姑一娘一，穿得完全破破烂烂，正站在屏风旁，等着给她脱一衣服。通楼梯的房门开着，这样可以多少吹散从别的房间里像波一浪一般涌来的烟草的烟雾，烟味呛得那个可怜的、害肺病的女人不停地咳嗽，咳得很久很久，痛苦不堪。这一个星期以来，卡捷琳娜·伊万诺芙娜似乎变得更瘦，双颊上的红晕也比以前更鲜艳了。

“你不会相信，你也无法想象，波莲卡，”她一边在屋里走，一边说，“在我爸爸家里的时候，我们过的是多么快乐、多么阔绰的生活，这个酒鬼害得我好苦，也害了你们大家！我爸爸是位五等文官 ①，已经差不多是省长了；他只差一步就可以当省长了，所以大家都来拜访他，说：‘伊万·米哈依洛维奇，我们已经把您看作是我们的省长了。’当我……咳，咳！当我……咳——咳——咳……噢，该死的生活！”她大声叫喊，双手抓住胸口，想把痰吐出来，“当我，……唉，在最后一次舞会上……在首席贵族的官邸里……别兹泽梅利娜娅公爵夫人看到了我，——后来，我嫁给你爸爸的时候，波莉娅，公爵夫人曾为我祝福，——立刻就问：‘这是不是在毕业典礼上跳披巾舞的那个可一爱一的姑一娘一？’……（破了的地方得缝起来；你去拿针来，照我教你的那样，这就把它补好，要不，明天……咳！明天……咳——咳——咳！……会破得更大！” 她拼命用力喊出来）……“那时候宫廷侍从谢戈利斯基公爵刚从彼得堡来，……跟我跳了马祖卡舞，第二天就想来向我求婚：可是我婉言谢绝了，说，我的心早已属于别人。这个别人就是你的父亲，波莉娅；我爸爸非常生气，……水准备好了吗？好，把衬衫拿来；袜子呢？……莉达，”她对小女儿说，“这一一夜你就不穿衬衣睡吧；随便睡一一夜……把袜子也放到旁边……一道洗……这个流一浪一汉怎么还不回来，醉鬼！他把衬衫都穿得像块抹布了，全撕一破了……最好一道洗掉，省得一连两夜都得受罪！上帝呀！咳——咳——咳——咳！又咳了！这是怎么回事！”她大声叫喊，朝站在穿堂里的人群望了望，望了望不知抬着什么挤进她屋里来的那些人。“这是什么？抬的是什么？上帝呀！”

--------

①五等文官可以作副省长。

“放到哪儿？”把浑身血污、失去知觉的马尔梅拉多夫抬进屋里以后，一个警察问，说着朝四下里看了看。

“放到沙发上！就放到沙发上，头放在这儿，”拉斯科利尼科夫指指沙发。

“在街上给轧伤了！醉鬼！”穿堂里有人叫喊。

卡捷琳娜·伊万诺芙娜站在那里，脸色煞白，呼吸困难。孩子们都吓坏了。小莉多奇卡大喊一声，扑到波莲卡身上，抱住她，浑身索索发一抖。

把马尔梅拉多夫放到沙发上以后，拉斯科利尼科夫跑到卡捷琳娜·伊万诺芙娜跟前：

“看在上帝份上，请您放心，不要惊慌！”他说得又急又快，“他穿马路，让马车轧伤了，您别着急，他会醒过来的，我叫他们抬到这儿来……我来过你们家，您记得吗……他会醒过来的，我付钱！”

“他达到目的了！”卡捷琳娜·伊万诺芙娜绝望地大喊一声，扑到丈夫身边。

拉斯科利尼科夫很快就发觉，这个女人不是那种会立刻昏倒的女人。一转眼的工夫，这个惨遭不幸的人头底下就出现了一个枕头——这是无论谁还都没想到的；卡捷琳娜·伊万诺芙娜动手给他脱掉外衣，察看伤口，忙碌着，并没有惊慌失措，她忘记了自己，咬紧发一抖的嘴唇，压制着就要从胸中冲出来的叫喊。

这时拉斯科利尼科夫劝说一个人赶快去请医生。原来医生就住在附近，只隔着一幢房子。

“我叫人请医生去了，”他对卡捷琳娜·伊万诺芙娜反复说，“请别着急，我来付钱。有水吗？……给我条餐巾，一毛一巾也行，随便什么都行，快点儿；还不知道他伤势怎么样……他只是受了伤，没有被轧死，请您相信……看医主会怎么说吧！”

卡捷琳娜·伊万诺芙娜跑到窗前；那里，墙角落里一把压坏的椅子上有一大瓦盆水，是准备夜里给孩子们和丈夫洗衣服的。夜里洗衣服，都是卡捷琳娜·伊万诺芙娜亲自动手，至少一星期洗两次，有时洗得更勤，因为已经弄到这种地步，换洗的内一衣已经几乎根本没有了，全家每人只有一件内一衣，而对于不干净，卡捷琳娜·伊万诺芙娜却是无法容忍的。她宁愿等大家都睡了以后，自己来干这件力不胜任的活儿，累得要死，为的是到早晨能在拉在屋里的绳上把湿内一衣晾干，让大家都穿上干净内一衣，而不愿看到家里脏得要命。她应拉斯科利尼科夫的要求，端起那盆水，想要端过来递给他，可是差点儿没有连盆一起摔倒。不过拉斯科利尼科夫已经找到一条一毛一巾，用水把它浸一湿，动手给马尔梅拉多夫擦净血迹斑斑的脸。卡捷琳娜·伊万诺芙娜站在那儿，痛苦地喘着气，双手紧紧捂着胸口。她自己也需要救护了。拉斯科利尼科夫开始明白，他劝人们把受伤的人抬到这儿来，也许做得并不好。

那个警察也困惑地站着。

“波莉娅！”卡捷琳娜·伊万诺芙娜喊了一声，“快跑去找索尼娅。要是她不在家，反正一样，你就对邻居说，父亲叫马给踩伤了，叫她立刻到这儿来……一回家就来。快点儿，波莉娅！给，包上头巾！”

“拼命跑！”小男孩突然从椅子上喊了一声，说罢又恢复了原来的姿势，笔直地坐在椅子上，一声不响，瞪着眼睛，脚后跟并拢①，脚尖朝两边分开。

--------

①原文是“脚后跟朝前”。但前面曾说，他是并拢脚后跟。并拢脚后跟似乎比较合理。

这时屋里挤满了人，真的是连针都插不进去。警察都走了，只有一个暂时还留在那儿，竭力把从楼梯上挤进来的人又赶回到楼梯上去。可是利佩韦赫泽尔太太的所有房客几乎都从里屋里跑了出来，起初还只是挤在门口，后来却成群地涌进屋里来。卡捷琳娜·伊万诺芙娜气坏了。

“至少得让人安安静静地死吧！”她对着那群人叫喊，“你们倒有戏看了！还叼着香烟呢！咳——咳——咳！请再戴着帽子进来吧！……还真有个人戴着帽子呢……出去！至少也该尊敬死人的遗体啊！”

咳嗽憋得她喘不过气来，不过她的叫喊倒发生了作用。显然，他们对卡捷琳娜·伊万诺芙娜甚至有点儿害怕了；那些房客都怀着一种打心眼儿里感到满意的奇怪心情，一个跟一个地挤回门口去了；有人突然遇到不幸的时候，就是在他最亲近的亲人中，也毫无例外地会发觉这种奇怪的心情，尽管他们对亲人的不幸真心实意地感到惋惜，并深表同情。

不过从门外传来的谈话声中提到了医院，还说，不该把这儿搅得不得安宁，完全无此必要。

“不该让人死！”卡捷琳娜·伊万诺芙娜高声叫嚷，已经跑过去，打开房门，想要把他们痛骂一顿，却在门口撞到了利佩韦赫泽尔太太，她刚刚听说这件不幸的事，立刻跑来整顿秩序。这是一个非常喜欢吵架、最会一胡一搅蛮缠的德国女人。

“哎呀，我的天哪！”她双手一拍，“您的酒鬼丈夫叫马给踩死了。应该把他送到医院去。我是房东！”

“阿玛莉娅·柳德维戈芙娜！请您回想一下您说的活，”卡捷琳娜·伊万诺芙娜高傲地说（她和女房东说话，总是用高傲的语气，好让她“记住自己的地位”，就连现在也不能放弃让自己得到这种快乐的机会），“阿玛莉娅·柳德维戈芙娜……”

“我一劳容易（永逸）地告诉您，您永远别敢再叫我阿玛莉·柳德维戈芙娜了，我是阿玛莉—伊万！”

“您不是阿玛莉—伊万，而是阿玛莉娅·柳德维戈芙娜，因为我不是您那些下流无一耻、惯于拍马逢迎的人，我可不是像列别贾特尼科夫先生那样的人，瞧，现在他正在门外笑呢（门外真的传来了笑声和叫喊声：‘吵起来了！’），所以我要永远管您叫阿玛莉娅·柳德维戈芙娜，虽说我根本弄不懂，您为什么不喜欢这个名字。您自己看到了，谢苗·扎哈罗维奇出了什么事；他快死了。请您立刻把这道门关上，别让任何人到这里来。至少也要让人安安静静地死！不然的话，请您相信，明天总督大人就会知道您的行为。还在我作姑一娘一的时候，公爵大人就认识我，而且对谢苗·扎哈罗维奇印象很深，还帮过他好多次忙呢。大家都知道，谢苗·扎哈罗维奇有很多朋友和靠山，不过因为他觉得自己有这个倒楣的弱点，出于高尚的自尊心，自己不再去找他们了，可是现在（她指指拉斯科利尼科夫）有一位慷慨的年轻人在帮助我们，他有钱，而且一交一际很广，谢苗·扎哈罗维奇从小就认识他，请您相信，阿玛莉娅·柳德维戈芙娜……”

这些话都说得非常快，而且越说越快，但是一阵咳嗽一下子打断了卡捷琳娜·伊万诺芙娜动人的雄辩。这时那个快要咽气的人醒过来了，呻一吟起来，她赶紧跑到了他的身边。受伤的人睁开眼睛，还没认出、也不明白，弯着腰站在他面前的是什么人，于是仔细瞅着拉斯科利尼科夫。他呼吸困难，深深地吸气，间隔很长时间；嘴角上流一出鲜血；前额上冒出冷汗。他没认出拉斯科利尼科夫，眼珠不安地转动起来。卡捷琳娜·伊万诺芙娜看着他，目光悲哀而严厉，泪珠止不住从眼里流淌出来。

“我的天哪！他的整个胸膛全都给轧伤了！血，血！”她绝望地说。“得把他上身的内一衣全脱一下来！你稍微侧转身去，谢苗·扎哈罗维奇，如果你还能动的话，”她对他大声喊。

马尔梅拉多夫认出了她。

“叫神甫来！”他声音嘶哑地说。

卡捷琳娜·伊万诺芙娜走到窗前，前额靠在窗框上，绝望地高声大喊：

“噢，该死的生活！”

“叫神甫来！”沉默了一会儿以后，快咽气的人又说。

“去——了！”卡捷琳娜·伊万诺芙娜对着他大声喊；他听了她的叫喊，不作声了。他用怯生生而又忧郁的目光寻找她；她又回到他跟前来，站在一床一头旁，他稍微安静了些，可是时间不长。不久他的眼睛停留在小莉多奇卡（他最一宠一爱一的小女儿）身上，她躲在墙角落里，像发病一样，浑身簌簌发一抖，用她那孩子式的惊讶的目光凝神注视着他。

“啊……啊……”他焦急地指指她。他想要说什么。

“还想说什么？”卡捷琳娜·伊万诺芙娜高声叫喊。

“她光着脚！脚光着呢！”他含糊不清地说，同时用好似疯人的目光望着小姑一娘一光着的小脚。

“别—说—了！”卡捷琳娜·伊万诺芙娜气愤地叫喊，“你自己知道，她的脚为什么光着！”

“谢天谢地，医生来了！”高兴起来的拉斯科利尼科夫高声说。

医生进来了，是个衣着整洁的小老头儿，德国人，他带着怀疑的神情朝四下里望了望，走到受伤的人跟前，按了按脉，又仔细摸一摸一他的头，在卡捷琳娜·伊万诺芙娜的帮助下，解一开浸透鲜血的衬衣，让受伤的人胸部一裸一露出来。整个胸部全都血肉模糊，没有一点完好的地方；右侧的几根肋骨断了。左侧，正好在心脏的部位，有老大一块最让人担心的、黑中透黄的伤痕，这是马蹄猛踩下去造成的重伤。医生皱起眉头。那个警察对他说，被轧伤的人给卷到了车轮底下，在马路上滚一动着，给拖了三十来步远。

“奇怪，他怎么还会醒过来呢，”医生悄悄地对拉斯科利尼科夫说。

“您说什么？”后者问。

“这就要死了。”

“难道没有任何希望了？”

“一点儿也没有！只剩最后一口气了……况且头部伤势那么重……嗯哼。也许可以放血……不过……这也没有用。五分钟或者十分钟以后，必死无疑。”

“那么您最好还是给放血吧！”

“好吧……不过我预先告诉您，这完全无济于事。”

这时又听到一阵脚步声，穿堂里的人群让开了，一个头发斑白的小老头儿——拿着圣餐①的神甫出现在门口。还在街上的时候，警察就去请他了。医生立刻把座位让给他，并且意味深长地和他一交一换了一下眼色。拉斯科利尼科夫请求医生至少再稍等一会儿。医生耸耸肩，留了下来。

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①面包和葡萄酒，象征耶稣的肉一体和血液。

大家都往后退开了。忏悔持续的时间很短。就要咽气的人未必十分清楚这是在做什么；他只能发出一些断断续续、含糊不清的声音。卡捷琳娜·伊万诺芙娜抱起莉多奇卡，把小男孩从椅子上拉下来，走到墙角落里，炉子跟前，跪下来，让两个孩子跪在她前面。小姑一娘一只是簌簌地发一抖，小男孩却用一裸一露着的膝盖跪在地下，不慌不忙地抬起一只小手，从肩到腰画着十字，磕头时前额都碰到地上，看来，这使他得到某种特殊的乐趣。卡捷琳娜·伊万诺芙娜咬住嘴唇，强忍着眼泪；她也在祈祷，偶尔拉拉孩子身上的衬衫，把它拉正，一边仍然跪着祈祷，一边从一抽一屉柜上拿过一块三角头巾，披到小姑一娘一裸一露得太多的肩膀上。这时里屋的房门又被那些好奇的人打开了。穿堂里看热闹的人越来越拥挤，这幢楼上的房客全都挤在那里，不过他们都没有跨进这间房子的门坎。只有一段蜡烛头照耀着这个场面。

这时跑去叫姐姐的波莲卡穿过人群，从穿堂里迅速挤了进来。她进来了，由于急急奔跑，还在气喘吁吁，她摘下头巾，用眼睛寻找母亲，走到她跟前说：“姐姐来了！在街上遇到了她！”母亲让她也跪在自己身边。一个姑一娘一悄无声息、怯生生地从人群中挤了过来，她突然出现在这间屋里，出现在贫困、破衣烂衫、死亡和绝望之中，让人感到奇怪。她穿的也是褴褛的衣服；她的衣服都很便宜，不过像街头一妓一女那样打扮得颇为入时，合乎在她们那个特殊社会里形成的趣味和规矩，而且带有明显、可耻的露骨的目的。索尼娅在穿堂门口站住了，没有跨进门坎，好像不好意思地看着屋里，似乎什么也没看明白，而且忘记了她穿的那件几经转手倒卖、她才买到手、可是在这里却有伤大雅的彩色绸衣，绸衣后面的下摆长得出奇，让人觉得好笑，忘记了那条十分宽大、堵住了房门的钟式裙，忘记了脚上的那双浅色皮鞋，忘记了夜里并不需要、可她还是带着的那把奥姆布列尔①，也忘记了那顶插着根鲜艳的火红色羽一毛一、滑稽可笑的圆草帽。从这顶轻浮地歪戴着的帽子底下露出一张瘦削、苍白、惊恐的小一脸，嘴张着，两只眼睛吓得呆呆地一动不动。索尼娅个子不高，有十七、八岁了，人很瘦，不过是个相当好看的淡黄色头发的姑一娘一，有一双十分漂亮的淡蓝色眼睛。她凝神注视着一床一，注视着神甫；由于赶了一阵路，她也气喘吁吁的。最后，人群中一阵窃窃私语以及有人说的几句话，大概都飞进了她的耳朵里。她低下头，一步跨过门坎，到了屋里，不过仍然站在门口。

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①法文ombrelle，“小伞”之意。

忏悔和授圣餐的仪式都结束了。卡捷琳娜·伊万诺芙娜又走到丈夫一床一前。神甫后退几步，走的时候对卡捷琳娜·伊万诺芙娜说了几句临别赠言和安慰她的话。

“叫我怎么安置这些孩子呢？”她指着孩子们，很不客气而又气愤地打断了他。

“上帝是仁慈的；信赖至高无上的上帝的帮助吧，”神甫说。

“哼！仁慈的，可是不管我们！”

“这是罪过，罪过，夫人，”神甫摇着头说。

“可这不是罪过吗？”卡捷琳娜·伊万诺芙娜指着奄奄一息的丈夫，高声叫喊。

“也许，那些无意中给你们造成不幸的人同意给予补偿，至少会赔偿你们失去的收入……”