Part 5 Chapter 4

Raskolnikov had been a vigorous and active champion of Sonia against Luzhin, although he had such a load of horror and anguish in his own heart. But having gone through so much in the morning, he found a sort of relief in a change of sensations, apart from the strong personal feeling which impelled him to defend Sonia. He was agitated too, especially at some moments, by the thought of his approaching interview with Sonia: he /had/ to tell her who had killed Lizaveta. He knew the terrible suffering it would be to him and, as it were, brushed away the thought of it. So when he cried as he left Katerina Ivanovna's, "Well, Sofya Semyonovna, we shall see what you'll say now!" he was still superficially excited, still vigorous and defiant from his triumph over Luzhin. But, strange to say, by the time he reached Sonia's lodging, he felt a sudden impotence and fear. He stood still in hesitation at the door, asking himself the strange question: "Must he tell her who killed Lizaveta?" It was a strange question because he felt at the very time not only that he could not help telling her, but also that he could not put off the telling. He did not yet know why it must be so, he only /felt/ it, and the agonising sense of his impotence before the inevitable almost crushed him. To cut short his hesitation and suffering, he quickly opened the door and looked at Sonia from the doorway. She was sitting with her elbows on the table and her face in her hands, but seeing Raskolnikov she got up at once and came to meet him as though she were expecting him.

"What would have become of me but for you?" she said quickly, meeting him in the middle of the room.

Evidently she was in haste to say this to him. It was what she had been waiting for.

Raskolnikov went to the table and sat down on the chair from which she had only just risen. She stood facing him, two steps away, just as she had done the day before.

"Well, Sonia?" he said, and felt that his voice was trembling, "it was all due to 'your social position and the habits associated with it.' Did you understand that just now?"

Her face showed her distress.

"Only don't talk to me as you did yesterday," she interrupted him. "Please don't begin it. There is misery enough without that."

She made haste to smile, afraid that he might not like the reproach.

"I was silly to come away from there. What is happening there now? I wanted to go back directly, but I kept thinking that . . . you would come."

He told her that Amalia Ivanovna was turning them out of their lodging and that Katerina Ivanovna had run off somewhere "to seek justice."

"My God!" cried Sonia, "let's go at once. . . ."

And she snatched up her cape.

"It's everlastingly the same thing!" said Raskolnikov, irritably. "You've no thought except for them! Stay a little with me."

"But . . . Katerina Ivanovna?"

"You won't lose Katerina Ivanovna, you may be sure, she'll come to you herself since she has run out," he added peevishly. "If she doesn't find you here, you'll be blamed for it. . . ."

Sonia sat down in painful suspense. Raskolnikov was silent, gazing at the floor and deliberating.

"This time Luzhin did not want to prosecute you," he began, not looking at Sonia, "but if he had wanted to, if it had suited his plans, he would have sent you to prison if it had not been for Lebeziatnikov and me. Ah?"

"Yes," she assented in a faint voice. "Yes," she repeated, preoccupied and distressed.

"But I might easily not have been there. And it was quite an accident Lebeziatnikov's turning up."

Sonia was silent.

"And if you'd gone to prison, what then? Do you remember what I said yesterday?"

Again she did not answer. He waited.

"I thought you would cry out again 'don't speak of it, leave off.'" Raskolnikov gave a laugh, but rather a forced one. "What, silence again?" he asked a minute later. "We must talk about something, you know. It would be interesting for me to know how you would decide a certain 'problem' as Lebeziatnikov would say." (He was beginning to lose the thread.) "No, really, I am serious. Imagine, Sonia, that you had known all Luzhin's intentions beforehand. Known, that is, for a fact, that they would be the ruin of Katerina Ivanovna and the children and yourself thrown in--since you don't count yourself for anything--Polenka too . . . for she'll go the same way. Well, if suddenly it all depended on your decision whether he or they should go on living, that is whether Luzhin should go on living and doing wicked things, or Katerina Ivanovna should die? How would you decide which of them was to die? I ask you?"

Sonia looked uneasily at him. There was something peculiar in this hesitating question, which seemed approaching something in a roundabout way.

"I felt that you were going to ask some question like that," she said, looking inquisitively at him.

"I dare say you did. But how is it to be answered?"

"Why do you ask about what could not happen?" said Sonia reluctantly.

"Then it would be better for Luzhin to go on living and doing wicked things? You haven't dared to decide even that!"

"But I can't know the Divine Providence. . . . And why do you ask what can't be answered? What's the use of such foolish questions? How could it happen that it should depend on my decision--who has made me a judge to decide who is to live and who is not to live?"

"Oh, if the Divine Providence is to be mixed up in it, there is no doing anything," Raskolnikov grumbled morosely.

"You'd better say straight out what you want!" Sonia cried in distress. "You are leading up to something again. . . . Can you have come simply to torture me?"

She could not control herself and began crying bitterly. He looked at her in gloomy misery. Five minutes passed.

"Of course you're right, Sonia," he said softly at last. He was suddenly changed. His tone of assumed arrogance and helpless defiance was gone. Even his voice was suddenly weak. "I told you yesterday that I was not coming to ask forgiveness and almost the first thing I've said is to ask forgiveness. . . . I said that about Luzhin and Providence for my own sake. I was asking forgiveness, Sonia. . . ."

He tried to smile, but there was something helpless and incomplete in his pale smile. He bowed his head and hid his face in his hands.

And suddenly a strange, surprising sensation of a sort of bitter hatred for Sonia passed through his heart. As it were wondering and frightened of this sensation, he raised his head and looked intently at her; but he met her uneasy and painfully anxious eyes fixed on him; there was love in them; his hatred vanished like a phantom. It was not the real feeling; he had taken the one feeling for the other. It only meant that /that/ minute had come.

He hid his face in his hands again and bowed his head. Suddenly he turned pale, got up from his chair, looked at Sonia, and without uttering a word sat down mechanically on her bed.

His sensations that moment were terribly like the moment when he had stood over the old woman with the axe in his hand and felt that "he must not lose another minute."

"What's the matter?" asked Sonia, dreadfully frightened.

He could not utter a word. This was not at all, not at all the way he had intended to "tell" and he did not understand what was happening to him now. She went up to him, softly, sat down on the bed beside him and waited, not taking her eyes off him. Her heart throbbed and sank. It was unendurable; he turned his deadly pale face to her. His lips worked, helplessly struggling to utter something. A pang of terror passed through Sonia's heart.

"What's the matter?" she repeated, drawing a little away from him.

"Nothing, Sonia, don't be frightened. . . . It's nonsense. It really is nonsense, if you think of it," he muttered, like a man in delirium. "Why have I come to torture you?" he added suddenly, looking at her. "Why, really? I keep asking myself that question, Sonia. . . ."

He had perhaps been asking himself that question a quarter of an hour before, but now he spoke helplessly, hardly knowing what he said and feeling a continual tremor all over.

"Oh, how you are suffering!" she muttered in distress, looking intently at him.

"It's all nonsense. . . . Listen, Sonia." He suddenly smiled, a pale helpless smile for two seconds. "You remember what I meant to tell you yesterday?"

Sonia waited uneasily.

"I said as I went away that perhaps I was saying good-bye for ever, but that if I came to-day I would tell you who . . . who killed Lizaveta."

She began trembling all over.

"Well, here I've come to tell you."

"Then you really meant it yesterday?" she whispered with difficulty. "How do you know?" she asked quickly, as though suddenly regaining her reason.

Sonia's face grew paler and paler, and she breathed painfully.

"I know."

She paused a minute.

"Have they found him?" she asked timidly.

"No."

"Then how do you know about /it/?" she asked again, hardly audibly and again after a minute's pause.

He turned to her and looked very intently at her.

"Guess," he said, with the same distorted helpless smile.

A shudder passed over her.

"But you . . . why do you frighten me like this?" she said, smiling like a child.

"I must be a great friend of /his/ . . . since I know," Raskolnikov went on, still gazing into her face, as though he could not turn his eyes away. "He . . . did not mean to kill that Lizaveta . . . he . . . killed her accidentally. . . . He meant to kill the old woman when she was alone and he went there . . . and then Lizaveta came in . . . he killed her too."

Another awful moment passed. Both still gazed at one another.

"You can't guess, then?" he asked suddenly, feeling as though he were flinging himself down from a steeple.

"N-no . . ." whispered Sonia.

"Take a good look."

As soon as he had said this again, the same familiar sensation froze his heart. He looked at her and all at once seemed to see in her face the face of Lizaveta. He remembered clearly the expression in Lizaveta's face, when he approached her with the axe and she stepped back to the wall, putting out her hand, with childish terror in her face, looking as little children do when they begin to be frightened of something, looking intently and uneasily at what frightens them, shrinking back and holding out their little hands on the point of crying. Almost the same thing happened now to Sonia. With the same helplessness and the same terror, she looked at him for a while and, suddenly putting out her left hand, pressed her fingers faintly against his breast and slowly began to get up from the bed, moving further from him and keeping her eyes fixed even more immovably on him. Her terror infected him. The same fear showed itself on his face. In the same way he stared at her and almost with the same /childish/ smile.

"Have you guessed?" he whispered at last.

"Good God!" broke in an awful wail from her bosom.

She sank helplessly on the bed with her face in the pillows, but a moment later she got up, moved quickly to him, seized both his hands and, gripping them tight in her thin fingers, began looking into his face again with the same intent stare. In this last desperate look she tried to look into him and catch some last hope. But there was no hope; there was no doubt remaining; it was all true! Later on, indeed, when she recalled that moment, she thought it strange and wondered why she had seen at once that there was no doubt. She could not have said, for instance, that she had foreseen something of the sort--and yet now, as soon as he told her, she suddenly fancied that she had really foreseen this very thing.

"Stop, Sonia, enough! don't torture me," he begged her miserably.

It was not at all, not at all like this he had thought of telling her, but this is how it happened.

She jumped up, seeming not to know what she was doing, and, wringing her hands, walked into the middle of the room; but quickly went back and sat down again beside him, her shoulder almost touching his. All of a sudden she started as though she had been stabbed, uttered a cry and fell on her knees before him, she did not know why.

"What have you done--what have you done to yourself?" she said in despair, and, jumping up, she flung herself on his neck, threw her arms round him, and held him tightly.

Raskolnikov drew back and looked at her with a mournful smile.

"You are a strange girl, Sonia--you kiss me and hug me when I tell you about that. . . . You don't think what you are doing."

"There is no one--no one in the whole world now so unhappy as you!" she cried in a frenzy, not hearing what he said, and she suddenly broke into violent hysterical weeping.

A feeling long unfamiliar to him flooded his heart and softened it at once. He did not struggle against it. Two tears started into his eyes and hung on his eyelashes.

"Then you won't leave me, Sonia?" he said, looking at her almost with hope.

"No, no, never, nowhere!" cried Sonia. "I will follow you, I will follow you everywhere. Oh, my God! Oh, how miserable I am! . . . Why, why didn't I know you before! Why didn't you come before? Oh, dear!"

"Here I have come."

"Yes, now! What's to be done now? . . . Together, together!" she repeated as it were unconsciously, and she hugged him again. "I'll follow you to Siberia!"

He recoiled at this, and the same hostile, almost haughty smile came to his lips.

"Perhaps I don't want to go to Siberia yet, Sonia," he said.

Sonia looked at him quickly.

Again after her first passionate, agonising sympathy for the unhappy man the terrible idea of the murder overwhelmed her. In his changed tone she seemed to hear the murderer speaking. She looked at him bewildered. She knew nothing as yet, why, how, with what object it had been. Now all these questions rushed at once into her mind. And again she could not believe it: "He, he is a murderer! Could it be true?"

"What's the meaning of it? Where am I?" she said in complete bewilderment, as though still unable to recover herself. "How could you, you, a man like you. . . . How could you bring yourself to it? . . . What does it mean?"

"Oh, well--to plunder. Leave off, Sonia," he answered wearily, almost with vexation.

Sonia stood as though struck dumb, but suddenly she cried:

"You were hungry! It was . . . to help your mother? Yes?"

"No, Sonia, no," he muttered, turning away and hanging his head. "I was not so hungry. . . . I certainly did want to help my mother, but . . . that's not the real thing either. . . . Don't torture me, Sonia."

Sonia clasped her hands.

"Could it, could it all be true? Good God, what a truth! Who could believe it? And how could you give away your last farthing and yet rob and murder! Ah," she cried suddenly, "that money you gave Katerina Ivanovna . . . that money. . . . Can that money . . ."

"No, Sonia," he broke in hurriedly, "that money was not it. Don't worry yourself! That money my mother sent me and it came when I was ill, the day I gave it to you. . . . Razumihin saw it . . . he received it for me. . . . That money was mine--my own."

Sonia listened to him in bewilderment and did her utmost to comprehend.

"And /that/ money. . . . I don't even know really whether there was any money," he added softly, as though reflecting. "I took a purse off her neck, made of chamois leather . . . a purse stuffed full of something . . . but I didn't look in it; I suppose I hadn't time. . . . And the things--chains and trinkets--I buried under a stone with the purse next morning in a yard off the V---- Prospect. They are all there now. . . . ."

Sonia strained every nerve to listen.

"Then why . . . why, you said you did it to rob, but you took nothing?" she asked quickly, catching at a straw.

"I don't know. . . . I haven't yet decided whether to take that money or not," he said, musing again; and, seeming to wake up with a start, he gave a brief ironical smile. "Ach, what silly stuff I am talking, eh?"

The thought flashed through Sonia's mind, wasn't he mad? But she dismissed it at once. "No, it was something else." She could make nothing of it, nothing.

"Do you know, Sonia," he said suddenly with conviction, "let me tell you: if I'd simply killed because I was hungry," laying stress on every word and looking enigmatically but sincerely at her, "I should be /happy/ now. You must believe that! What would it matter to you," he cried a moment later with a sort of despair, "what would it matter to you if I were to confess that I did wrong? What do you gain by such a stupid triumph over me? Ah, Sonia, was it for that I've come to you to-day?"

Again Sonia tried to say something, but did not speak.

"I asked you to go with me yesterday because you are all I have left."

"Go where?" asked Sonia timidly.

"Not to steal and not to murder, don't be anxious," he smiled bitterly. "We are so different. . . . And you know, Sonia, it's only now, only this moment that I understand /where/ I asked you to go with me yesterday! Yesterday when I said it I did not know where. I asked you for one thing, I came to you for one thing--not to leave me. You won't leave me, Sonia?"

She squeezed his hand.

"And why, why did I tell her? Why did I let her know?" he cried a minute later in despair, looking with infinite anguish at her. "Here you expect an explanation from me, Sonia; you are sitting and waiting for it, I see that. But what can I tell you? You won't understand and will only suffer misery . . . on my account! Well, you are crying and embracing me again. Why do you do it? Because I couldn't bear my burden and have come to throw it on another: you suffer too, and I shall feel better! And can you love such a mean wretch?"

"But aren't you suffering, too?" cried Sonia.

Again a wave of the same feeling surged into his heart, and again for an instant softened it.

"Sonia, I have a bad heart, take note of that. It may explain a great deal. I have come because I am bad. There are men who wouldn't have come. But I am a coward and . . . a mean wretch. But . . . never mind! That's not the point. I must speak now, but I don't know how to begin."

He paused and sank into thought.

"Ach, we are so different," he cried again, "we are not alike. And why, why did I come? I shall never forgive myself that."

"No, no, it was a good thing you came," cried Sonia. "It's better I should know, far better!"

He looked at her with anguish.

"What if it were really that?" he said, as though reaching a conclusion. "Yes, that's what it was! I wanted to become a Napoleon, that is why I killed her. . . . Do you understand now?"

"N-no," Sonia whispered naively and timidly. "Only speak, speak, I shall understand, I shall understand /in myself/!" she kept begging him.

"You'll understand? Very well, we shall see!" He paused and was for some time lost in meditation.

"It was like this: I asked myself one day this question--what if Napoleon, for instance, had happened to be in my place, and if he had not had Toulon nor Egypt nor the passage of Mont Blanc to begin his career with, but instead of all those picturesque and monumental things, there had simply been some ridiculous old hag, a pawnbroker, who had to be murdered too to get money from her trunk (for his career, you understand). Well, would he have brought himself to that if there had been no other means? Wouldn't he have felt a pang at its being so far from monumental and . . . and sinful, too? Well, I must tell you that I worried myself fearfully over that 'question' so that I was awfully ashamed when I guessed at last (all of a sudden, somehow) that it would not have given him the least pang, that it would not even have struck him that it was not monumental . . . that he would not have seen that there was anything in it to pause over, and that, if he had had no other way, he would have strangled her in a minute without thinking about it! Well, I too . . . left off thinking about it . . . murdered her, following his example. And that's exactly how it was! Do you think it funny? Yes, Sonia, the funniest thing of all is that perhaps that's just how it was."

Sonia did not think it at all funny.

"You had better tell me straight out . . . without examples," she begged, still more timidly and scarcely audibly.

He turned to her, looked sadly at her and took her hands.

"You are right again, Sonia. Of course that's all nonsense, it's almost all talk! You see, you know of course that my mother has scarcely anything, my sister happened to have a good education and was condemned to drudge as a governess. All their hopes were centered on me. I was a student, but I couldn't keep myself at the university and was forced for a time to leave it. Even if I had lingered on like that, in ten or twelve years I might (with luck) hope to be some sort of teacher or clerk with a salary of a thousand roubles" (he repeated it as though it were a lesson) "and by that time my mother would be worn out with grief and anxiety and I could not succeed in keeping her in comfort while my sister . . . well, my sister might well have fared worse! And it's a hard thing to pass everything by all one's life, to turn one's back upon everything, to forget one's mother and decorously accept the insults inflicted on one's sister. Why should one? When one has buried them to burden oneself with others--wife and children--and to leave them again without a farthing? So I resolved to gain possession of the old woman's money and to use it for my first years without worrying my mother, to keep myself at the university and for a little while after leaving it--and to do this all on a broad, thorough scale, so as to build up a completely new career and enter upon a new life of independence. . . . Well . . . that's all. . . . Well, of course in killing the old woman I did wrong. . . . Well, that's enough."

He struggled to the end of his speech in exhaustion and let his head sink.

"Oh, that's not it, that's not it," Sonia cried in distress. "How could one . . . no, that's not right, not right."

"You see yourself that it's not right. But I've spoken truly, it's the truth."

"As though that could be the truth! Good God!"

"I've only killed a louse, Sonia, a useless, loathsome, harmful creature."

"A human being--a louse!"

"I too know it wasn't a louse," he answered, looking strangely at her. "But I am talking nonsense, Sonia," he added. "I've been talking nonsense a long time. . . . That's not it, you are right there. There were quite, quite other causes for it! I haven't talked to anyone for so long, Sonia. . . . My head aches dreadfully now."

His eyes shone with feverish brilliance. He was almost delirious; an uneasy smile strayed on his lips. His terrible exhaustion could be seen through his excitement. Sonia saw how he was suffering. She too was growing dizzy. And he talked so strangely; it seemed somehow comprehensible, but yet . . . "But how, how! Good God!" And she wrung her hands in despair.

"No, Sonia, that's not it," he began again suddenly, raising his head, as though a new and sudden train of thought had struck and as it were roused him--"that's not it! Better . . . imagine--yes, it's certainly better--imagine that I am vain, envious, malicious, base, vindictive and . . . well, perhaps with a tendency to insanity. (Let's have it all out at once! They've talked of madness already, I noticed.) I told you just now I could not keep myself at the university. But do you know that perhaps I might have done? My mother would have sent me what I needed for the fees and I could have earned enough for clothes, boots and food, no doubt. Lessons had turned up at half a rouble. Razumihin works! But I turned sulky and wouldn't. (Yes, sulkiness, that's the right word for it!) I sat in my room like a spider. You've been in my den, you've seen it. . . . And do you know, Sonia, that low ceilings and tiny rooms cramp the soul and the mind? Ah, how I hated that garret! And yet I wouldn't go out of it! I wouldn't on purpose! I didn't go out for days together, and I wouldn't work, I wouldn't even eat, I just lay there doing nothing. If Nastasya brought me anything, I ate it, if she didn't, I went all day without; I wouldn't ask, on purpose, from sulkiness! At night I had no light, I lay in the dark and I wouldn't earn money for candles. I ought to have studied, but I sold my books; and the dust lies an inch thick on the notebooks on my table. I preferred lying still and thinking. And I kept thinking. . . . And I had dreams all the time, strange dreams of all sorts, no need to describe! Only then I began to fancy that . . . No, that's not it! Again I am telling you wrong! You see I kept asking myself then: why am I so stupid that if others are stupid--and I know they are--yet I won't be wiser? Then I saw, Sonia, that if one waits for everyone to get wiser it will take too long. . . . Afterwards I understood that that would never come to pass, that men won't change and that nobody can alter it and that it's not worth wasting effort over it. Yes, that's so. That's the law of their nature, Sonia, . . . that's so! . . . And I know now, Sonia, that whoever is strong in mind and spirit will have power over them. Anyone who is greatly daring is right in their eyes. He who despises most things will be a lawgiver among them and he who dares most of all will be most in the right! So it has been till now and so it will always be. A man must be blind not to see it!"

Though Raskolnikov looked at Sonia as he said this, he no longer cared whether she understood or not. The fever had complete hold of him; he was in a sort of gloomy ecstasy (he certainly had been too long without talking to anyone). Sonia felt that his gloomy creed had become his faith and code.

"I divined then, Sonia," he went on eagerly, "that power is only vouchsafed to the man who dares to stoop and pick it up. There is only one thing, one thing needful: one has only to dare! Then for the first time in my life an idea took shape in my mind which no one had ever thought of before me, no one! I saw clear as daylight how strange it is that not a single person living in this mad world has had the daring to go straight for it all and send it flying to the devil! I . . . I wanted /to have the daring/ . . . and I killed her. I only wanted to have the daring, Sonia! That was the whole cause of it!"

"Oh hush, hush," cried Sonia, clasping her hands. "You turned away from God and God has smitten you, has given you over to the devil!"

"Then Sonia, when I used to lie there in the dark and all this became clear to me, was it a temptation of the devil, eh?"

"Hush, don't laugh, blasphemer! You don't understand, you don't understand! Oh God! He won't understand!"

"Hush, Sonia! I am not laughing. I know myself that it was the devil leading me. Hush, Sonia, hush!" he repeated with gloomy insistence. "I know it all, I have thought it all over and over and whispered it all over to myself, lying there in the dark. . . . I've argued it all over with myself, every point of it, and I know it all, all! And how sick, how sick I was then of going over it all! I have kept wanting to forget it and make a new beginning, Sonia, and leave off thinking. And you don't suppose that I went into it headlong like a fool? I went into it like a wise man, and that was just my destruction. And you mustn't suppose that I didn't know, for instance, that if I began to question myself whether I had the right to gain power--I certainly hadn't the right--or that if I asked myself whether a human being is a louse it proved that it wasn't so for me, though it might be for a man who would go straight to his goal without asking questions. . . . If I worried myself all those days, wondering whether Napoleon would have done it or not, I felt clearly of course that I wasn't Napoleon. I had to endure all the agony of that battle of ideas, Sonia, and I longed to throw it off: I wanted to murder without casuistry, to murder for my own sake, for myself alone! I didn't want to lie about it even to myself. It wasn't to help my mother I did the murder--that's nonsense --I didn't do the murder to gain wealth and power and to become a benefactor of mankind. Nonsense! I simply did it; I did the murder for myself, for myself alone, and whether I became a benefactor to others, or spent my life like a spider catching men in my web and sucking the life out of men, I couldn't have cared at that moment. . . . And it was not the money I wanted, Sonia, when I did it. It was not so much the money I wanted, but something else. . . . I know it all now. . . . Understand me! Perhaps I should never have committed a murder again. I wanted to find out something else; it was something else led me on. I wanted to find out then and quickly whether I was a louse like everybody else or a man. Whether I can step over barriers or not, whether I dare stoop to pick up or not, whether I am a trembling creature or whether I have the /right/ . . ."

"To kill? Have the right to kill?" Sonia clasped her hands.

"Ach, Sonia!" he cried irritably and seemed about to make some retort, but was contemptuously silent. "Don't interrupt me, Sonia. I want to prove one thing only, that the devil led me on then and he has shown me since that I had not the right to take that path, because I am just such a louse as all the rest. He was mocking me and here I've come to you now! Welcome your guest! If I were not a louse, should I have come to you? Listen: when I went then to the old woman's I only went to /try/. . . . You may be sure of that!"

"And you murdered her!"

"But how did I murder her? Is that how men do murders? Do men go to commit a murder as I went then? I will tell you some day how I went! Did I murder the old woman? I murdered myself, not her! I crushed myself once for all, for ever. . . . But it was the devil that killed that old woman, not I. Enough, enough, Sonia, enough! Let me be!" he cried in a sudden spasm of agony, "let me be!"

He leaned his elbows on his knees and squeezed his head in his hands as in a vise.

"What suffering!" A wail of anguish broke from Sonia.

"Well, what am I to do now?" he asked, suddenly raising his head and looking at her with a face hideously distorted by despair.

"What are you to do?" she cried, jumping up, and her eyes that had been full of tears suddenly began to shine. "Stand up!" (She seized him by the shoulder, he got up, looking at her almost bewildered.) "Go at once, this very minute, stand at the cross-roads, bow down, first kiss the earth which you have defiled and then bow down to all the world and say to all men aloud, 'I am a murderer!' Then God will send you life again. Will you go, will you go?" she asked him, trembling all over, snatching his two hands, squeezing them tight in hers and gazing at him with eyes full of fire.

He was amazed at her sudden ecstasy.

"You mean Siberia, Sonia? I must give myself up?" he asked gloomily.

"Suffer and expiate your sin by it, that's what you must do."

"No! I am not going to them, Sonia!"

"But how will you go on living? What will you live for?" cried Sonia, "how is it possible now? Why, how can you talk to your mother? (Oh, what will become of them now?) But what am I saying? You have abandoned your mother and your sister already. He has abandoned them already! Oh, God!" she cried, "why, he knows it all himself. How, how can he live by himself! What will become of you now?"

"Don't be a child, Sonia," he said softly. "What wrong have I done them? Why should I go to them? What should I say to them? That's only a phantom. . . . They destroy men by millions themselves and look on it as a virtue. They are knaves and scoundrels, Sonia! I am not going to them. And what should I say to them--that I murdered her, but did not dare to take the money and hid it under a stone?" he added with a bitter smile. "Why, they would laugh at me, and would call me a fool for not getting it. A coward and a fool! They wouldn't understand and they don't deserve to understand. Why should I go to them? I won't. Don't be a child, Sonia. . . ."

"It will be too much for you to bear, too much!" she repeated, holding out her hands in despairing supplication.

"Perhaps I've been unfair to myself," he observed gloomily, pondering, "perhaps after all I am a man and not a louse and I've been in too great a hurry to condemn myself. I'll make another fight for it."

A haughty smile appeared on his lips.

"What a burden to bear! And your whole life, your whole life!"

"I shall get used to it," he said grimly and thoughtfully. "Listen," he began a minute later, "stop crying, it's time to talk of the facts: I've come to tell you that the police are after me, on my track. . . ."

"Ach!" Sonia cried in terror.

"Well, why do you cry out? You want me to go to Siberia and now you are frightened? But let me tell you: I shall not give myself up. I shall make a struggle for it and they won't do anything to me. They've no real evidence. Yesterday I was in great danger and believed I was lost; but to-day things are going better. All the facts they know can be explained two ways, that's to say I can turn their accusations to my credit, do you understand? And I shall, for I've learnt my lesson. But they will certainly arrest me. If it had not been for something that happened, they would have done so to-day for certain; perhaps even now they will arrest me to-day. . . . But that's no matter, Sonia; they'll let me out again . . . for there isn't any real proof against me, and there won't be, I give you my word for it. And they can't convict a man on what they have against me. Enough. . . . I only tell you that you may know. . . . I will try to manage somehow to put it to my mother and sister so that they won't be frightened. . . . My sister's future is secure, however, now, I believe . . . and my mother's must be too. . . . Well, that's all. Be careful, though. Will you come and see me in prison when I am there?"

"Oh, I will, I will."

They sat side by side, both mournful and dejected, as though they had been cast up by the tempest alone on some deserted shore. He looked at Sonia and felt how great was her love for him, and strange to say he felt it suddenly burdensome and painful to be so loved. Yes, it was a strange and awful sensation! On his way to see Sonia he had felt that all his hopes rested on her; he expected to be rid of at least part of his suffering, and now, when all her heart turned towards him, he suddenly felt that he was immeasurably unhappier than before.

"Sonia," he said, "you'd better not come and see me when I am in prison."

Sonia did not answer, she was crying. Several minutes passed.

"Have you a cross on you?" she asked, as though suddenly thinking of it.

He did not at first understand the question.

"No, of course not. Here, take this one, of cypress wood. I have another, a copper one that belonged to Lizaveta. I changed with Lizaveta: she gave me her cross and I gave her my little ikon. I will wear Lizaveta's now and give you this. Take it . . . it's mine! It's mine, you know," she begged him. "We will go to suffer together, and together we will bear our cross!"

"Give it me," said Raskolnikov.

He did not want to hurt her feelings. But immediately he drew back the hand he held out for the cross.

"Not now, Sonia. Better later," he added to comfort her.

"Yes, yes, better," she repeated with conviction, "when you go to meet your suffering, then put it on. You will come to me, I'll put it on you, we will pray and go together."

At that moment someone knocked three times at the door.

"Sofya Semyonovna, may I come in?" they heard in a very familiar and polite voice.

Sonia rushed to the door in a fright. The flaxen head of Mr. Lebeziatnikov appeared at the door.

 

拉斯科利尼科夫是索尼娅与卢任对抗的一个积极和勇敢的辩护人，尽管他自己心里有那么多的恐惧和痛苦。然而这天早上他已经饱经忧患，仿佛很高兴有机会改变一下那些让他无法忍受的印象，至于他渴望为索尼娅辩护，其中也包含有他个人的真挚感情，那就更不用说了。此外，即将与索尼娅见面，有时这特别使他感到惊恐不安：因为他必须向她宣布，是谁杀死了莉扎薇塔，他预感到了极其可怕的痛苦，又好像想要逃避它。因此，他从卡捷琳娜·伊万诺芙娜那里出来，高声说：“嗯，索菲娅·谢苗诺芙娜，现在看您说什么吧？”这时他显然还处于表面上情绪激昂的状态，一精一神振奋，敢于向人挑战，为不久前压倒卢任的胜利感到兴奋。但是他却发生了一件奇怪的事。他一走到卡佩尔纳乌莫夫的住处，突然觉得浑身无力，十分恐惧。他陷入沉思，在房门前站住了，心里产生了一个奇怪的问题：“要不要说出，是谁杀了莉扎薇塔？”这问题是奇怪的，因为同时他突然觉得，不仅不能不说，而且就连推迟说出的时间，哪怕只是稍微推迟一会儿，也是不可能的。他还不知道为什么不可能；他只是感觉到了这一点，他痛苦地意识到，面对必须，他自己是无能为力的，这一想法几乎压垮了他。为了不再考虑，不再折磨自己，他很快推开房门，从门口望了望索尼娅。她坐着，胳膊肘撑在桌子上，用双手捂着脸，但是一看到拉斯科利尼科夫，赶快站起来，走上前去迎接他，仿佛正在等着他似的。

“要是没有您，我会怎样呢！”在房屋当中，他们走到了一起，她很快地说。显然，她急于想对他说的，就是这一句话了。说罢，她在等着。

拉斯科利尼科夫走到桌边，坐到她刚刚站起来的那把椅子上。她面对着他，站在离他两步远的地方，完全和昨天一样。

“您说什么，索尼娅？”他说，突然感觉到，他的声音发一抖，“要知道，这件事情完全是由于‘社会地位和与此有关的种种一习一惯’。这一点，刚才您明白了吗？”

她脸上露出痛苦的神情。

“只是请您不要像昨天那样和我说话！”她打断了他的话。

“请您别说了。就是这样，我也已经够痛苦了……”

她赶快笑了笑，担心他也许不喜欢别人责备他。

“我由于愚蠢，离开了那儿。现在那儿怎么样了？我本想马上就去看看，可又一直在想，您这就……要来了。”

他告诉她，阿玛莉娅·伊万诺芙娜要赶她们走，叫她们搬家，卡捷琳娜·伊万诺芙娜不知跑到哪里“寻找正义”去了。

“啊，我的天哪！”索尼娅很快站起来，“咱们赶快去吧……”

说着她拿起自己的披巾。

“总是这样！”拉斯科利尼科夫气愤地高声说。“您心里只想着他们！请跟我在一起待一会儿嘛。”

“可是……卡捷琳娜·伊万诺芙娜呢？”

“卡捷琳娜·伊万诺芙娜当然不会丢下您，既然她已经从家里跑出来，准会来找您的，”他埋怨似地补上一句。“如果她碰不到您，那可就要怪您了……”

索尼娅痛苦而犹豫不决地坐到了椅子上。拉斯科利尼科夫默默不语，眼睛看着地下，心里不知在考虑什么。

“假定说，卢任现在不想控告您，”他开始说，眼睛不看着索尼娅。“可是如果他想这么做，或者有这样的打算，要不是有我和列别贾特尼科夫在那儿，他是会设法把您关进监狱的！啊？”

“是的，”她用微弱的声音说，“是的！”她焦虑不安、心不在焉地又说了一遍。

“不过我当真可能不在那儿！而列别贾特尼科夫去那里，已经完全是偶然的了。”

索尼娅默默不语。

“嗯，如果您去坐牢，那会怎样呢？记得我昨天说的话吗？”

她又没回答。他等了一会儿。

“我还以为，您又会叫喊起来：‘唉，请您别说了，别再说下去了！’”拉斯科利尼科夫笑了，不过笑得有点儿勉强。

“怎么，又不说话了？”过了一会儿，他问。“总得说点儿什么啊，不是吗？我很想知道，现在您想怎样解决列别贾特尼科夫所说的那个‘问题’。（他好像开始说得前言不搭后语了。）不，真的，我是很认真的。您要知道，索尼娅，如果您事先知道卢任的一切意图，也知道（也就是说，确实知道），由于他的这些意图，卡捷琳娜·伊万诺芙娜会完全毁灭，而且毁灭的还有孩子们；您也会附带着跟他们一起毁灭（因为您毫不看重自己，那么就算附带着吧）。波列奇卡也是一样……因为她也得走那同一条路。嗯，那么，如果突然这一切现在都让您来决定：让那一个人，还是让那一些人活在世上，也就是说，是让卢任活着干坏事呢，还是让卡捷琳娜· 伊万诺芙娜去死？那么您会怎么决定呢：让他们当中的哪一个去死？我问您。”

索尼娅惊慌不安地看了他一眼：她听出，这语气犹豫不决、而且转弯抹角的话里有什么特殊的含意。

“我已经预感到，您会向我提出这样的问题，”她说，用探询的目光看着他。

“好的，就算是吧；可是您到底会怎样决定呢？”

“根本不可能有这种事，您为什么要问呢？”索尼娅厌恶地说。

“这么说，最好是让卢任活着，去干坏事了！您连这都不敢决定吗？”

“我可没法知道天意……您为什么要问不能问的事？问这些空洞的问题有什么意思？这怎么会由我来决定呢？是谁让我来作法官，决定谁该活着，谁不该活着呢？”

“如果这牵涉到天意，那可就毫无办法了，”拉斯科利尼科夫一陰一郁地抱怨说。

“您需要什么，最好还是直截了当地说出来吧！”索尼娅痛苦地高声叫喊，“您又想把话引到什么话题上去……难道您只是为了折磨人才来我这儿的吗？”

她忍不住了，突然高声大哭起来。他神情忧郁地看着她。

过了五分钟的样子。

“你是对的，索尼娅，”最后他轻轻地说。他突然完全变了；他故意装出来的厚颜无一耻和无可奈何的挑衅语调消失了。就连他的声音也变得十分微弱。“我昨天对你说过，我不是来求你宽恕的，可是现在几乎才一开口就是请求你宽恕……我谈到卢任和天意，是为了自己……我这是求你宽恕，索尼娅……”

他本想笑一笑，可是他那凄惨的笑容中流露出的却是无可奈和欲言又止的神情。他低下头去，用双手捂住了脸。

突然，一种奇怪的、出乎意外对索尼娅十分痛恨的感觉掠过他的心头。似乎他自己对这种感觉感到惊讶和害怕了，突然抬起头来，凝神看了看她；但是他碰到的是她对他痛切关怀的、不安的目光；这是一爱一情；他的痛恨犹如幻影一般消失了。这不是那种感情；他把一种感情当作了另一种感情。这只不过意味着，那一瞬间已经到来了。

他又用双手捂住脸，低下了头。突然，他面色惨白，从椅子上站起来，看了看索尼娅，什么也没说，无意识地坐到了她的一床一上。

他觉得，这一瞬间非常像他站在老太婆背后，已经从环扣里把斧子拿下来的那一瞬间，而且感觉到，已经“再也不能失去这一刹那时间了”。

“您怎么了？”索尼娅害怕极了，问。

他什么也说不出来。他完全，完全不希望像这样来宣布，而且自己也不知道，现在他是怎么了。她轻轻地走到他跟前，坐到一床一上，坐在他身边，目不转睛地瞅着他，等待着。她的心在怦怦地狂跳，似乎这就要停止跳动了。开始变得让人无法忍受了：他把自己那像死人样惨白的脸转过来，面对着她；无可奈何地撇着嘴，竭力想要说什么。索尼娅心里感到非常害怕。

“您怎么了？”她又说了一遍，稍稍躲开了他。

“没什么，索尼娅。你别怕……废话！真的，如果好好想一想，这全都是废话，”他像一个神智不清、无法控制自己的人，含糊不清地说。“我为什么只是来折磨你呢？”他突然瞅着她补上一句。“真的，为什么呢？我一直向自己提出这个问题，索尼娅……”

他也许是在一刻钟前向自己提出过这个问题，但现在完全无可奈何地说出来了，几乎不知道自己在说什么，而且感觉到浑身不停地发一抖。

“唉，您多痛苦啊！”她细细端详着他，痛苦地说。

“都是废话！……是这么回事，索尼娅（不知为什么，他突然微微一笑，笑得有点儿凄惨，无可奈何，笑了大约有两秒钟光景），“你记得我昨天说，想要告诉你吗？”

索尼娅担心地等待着。

“临走的时候，我说，也许是和你永别了，不过如果我今天再来，就要告诉你……是谁杀了莉扎薇塔。”

她突然全身颤栗起来。

“所以现在我来告诉你了。”

“那么昨天您真的……”她很费劲地喃喃地说，“您怎么知道的？”她很快地问，仿佛突然明白过来似的。

索尼娅开始感到呼吸困难了。她的脸越来越苍白。

“我知道。”

她沉默了大约一分钟光景。

“是不是发现了他？”她胆怯地问。

“不，没有发现。”

“那么您怎么会知道这件事呢？”又是几乎沉默了一分钟光景，又是用勉强才可以听到的低声问。

他转过脸来对着她，聚一精一会神地看了她一眼。

“你猜猜看，”他说，脸上仍然带着刚才那种变了形的、无可奈何的微笑。

她仿佛全身一阵痉一挛。

“您……把我……您干吗这样……吓唬我？”她像小孩子那样微笑着说。

“既然我知道，……可见我和他是很要好的朋友，”拉斯科利尼科夫接着说下去，仍然目不转睛地瞅着她的脸，似乎无力把目光从她脸上挪开，“他并不想杀死…… 莉扎薇塔……他杀死她……是意外的……他想杀死那个老太婆……在家里只有她独自一个人的时候……他去了……可是这时候莉扎薇塔走了进来……于是他就……杀死了她。”

又过了可怕的一分钟。两人互相对看着。

“那么你还猜不到吗？”他突然问，这时他的感觉就好像是从钟楼上跳了下去。

“猜—不到，”索尼娅用勉强才可以听到的声音喃喃地说。

“你好好看看。”

他刚一说出这句话，从前曾经有过的那种熟悉的感觉突然又冷透了他的心：他瞅着她的脸，突然仿佛在她脸上看到了莉扎薇塔的脸。当时他拿着斧子一逼一近莉扎薇塔的时候，他清清楚楚记住了她脸上的表情，她躲开他，往墙边退去，朝前伸出一只手，脸上露出完全是孩子似的恐惧神情，和孩子们突然对什么东西感到害怕的时候一模一样——他们也是像这样一动不动、惊恐地看着那个使他们感到害怕的东西，向前伸着一只小手，身一子往后倒退，眼看就要哭出来了。现在索尼娅也几乎是这样：也是那样束手无策、也是那么害怕地对着他看了一会儿，突然朝前伸出左手，用手指轻轻地、稍稍抵住他的胸口，从一床一上慢慢站起来，越来越躲避开他，而且用越来越呆滞的目光直盯着他。她的恐惧突然传染了他：他的脸上也露出同样的惊恐神色，他也像她那样，瞅着她，甚至几乎也带着同样的孩子式的微笑。

“你猜到了？”最后他悄悄地问。

“上帝啊！”从她胸中突然冲出一声可怕的号叫。她软弱无力地倒到一床一上，脸埋在枕头里。但是不一会儿，她很快欠起身来，很快凑到他身边，抓住他的双手，用自己纤细的手指紧紧攥着它们，好像把它们夹在老虎钳里，又不错眼珠地呆呆地盯着他的脸。她想用这最后的绝望的目光看出和捕捉到哪怕是最后的一线希望。然而希望是没有的；再也没有任何怀疑了；一切确实如此！甚至在这以后，回想起这个时刻，她都觉得奇怪和不可思议：为什么恰恰是她当时立刻就看出，已经没有任何怀疑了？不是吗，她并不能说，譬如，对此已经早有预感了？然而现在，他刚把这件事告诉了她，她却突然觉得，她当真好像是对这件事已经早有预感了。

“得了，索尼娅，够了！你别折磨我了！”他痛苦地请求说。

他完全，完全不是想这样向她公开这一秘密，然而结果却成了这样。

她仿佛控制不住自己，霍地站起来，绞着手，走到房屋中间；但很快又回转来，几乎肩挨肩地又坐到他的身边。突然她仿佛被刀扎了一样，颤栗了一下，大叫一声，自己也不知为什么，一下子跪到他的面前。

“您这是，您这是对自己干了什么呀！”她绝望地说，霍地站起来，扑到他身上，双手勾住他的脖子，紧紧搂住了他。

拉斯科利尼科夫急忙一闪，脸上带着忧郁的微笑瞅了她一眼：

“你多奇怪啊，索尼娅，——我对你讲了这件事以后，你却拥抱我，吻我。你知道自己在做什么吗？”

“不，现在全世界再没有比你更不幸的人了！”她没听见他的责备，发狂似地高声说，而且好像歇斯底里发作，突然高声大哭起来。

一种已经好久没体验过的感情犹如波涛一般涌进他的心头，一下子就使他的心变一软一了。他没有抗拒这种感情：两滴泪珠从他眼里滚出来，挂在睫一毛一上。

“这么说，你不会离开我吗，索尼娅？”他几乎是怀着希望看着她说。

“不，不；我永远不离开你，随便在哪里也不离开你！”索尼娅高声喊叫，“我跟着你走，随便去哪里，我都跟着你！噢，上帝啊！……唉，我真不幸啊！……为什么，为什么我以前不认识你！为什么你以前不来呢？噢，上帝啊！”

“我这不是来了吗。”

“这是现在啊！噢，现在可怎么办呢！……我们在一起，我们在一起！”她仿佛出神似地反复说，又抱住了他，“我和你一同去服苦役！”他好像突然颤栗了一下，嘴角上又勉强露出早先那种憎恨的、几乎是傲慢的微笑。

“索尼娅，我也许还不想去服苦役呢，”他说。

索尼娅很快看了他一眼。

对这个不幸的人表示了充满激一情和痛苦的最初的同情之后，关于杀人的可怕的想法又使她感到震惊了。她突然从他改变了的语调中听出了杀人凶手的声音。她惊愕地瞅着他。她还什么也不知道，既不知道他为什么杀人，也不知道是怎么杀的，更不知道他的目的何在。现在，这些问题一下子涌进了她的脑海。她又感到不相信了：“他，他是个杀人凶手！难道这可能吗？”

“这是怎么回事！我这是在哪儿呀！”她深感困惑地说，仿佛还没清醒过来，“您怎么，您，这样一个人……您怎么会干这种事？……这是怎么回事啊！”

“嗯，为了抢劫呗。别说了，索尼娅！”他有点儿疲倦地、甚至好像是懊恼地回答。

索尼娅仿佛惊呆了，突然高声叫喊：

“你挨过饿！你……是为了帮助母亲？对吗？”

“不，索尼娅，不是的，”他含糊不清地说，转过脸去，低下了头，“我挨饿也还不到这种程度……我的确想帮助母亲，不过……这也不完全正确……别折磨我了，索尼娅！”

索尼娅双手一拍。

“难道，难道这都是真的吗！上帝啊，这怎么会是真的！这谁会相信呢？……您自己把仅有的钱送给别人，怎么，怎么会为了抢劫而杀人呢！啊！……”她突然惊呼一声，“您送给卡捷琳娜·伊万诺芙娜的那些钱……那些钱……上帝啊，莫非那就是那些钱吗……”

“不是的，索尼娅，”他急忙打断了她的话，“这些钱不是那一些，你放心好了！这些钱是母亲通过一个商人寄给我的，我生病的时候收到了这笔钱，当天就送给了……拉祖米欣看见的……就是他代我收下的……这些钱是我的，我自己的，当真是我的。”

索尼娅困惑不解地听着他的话，竭力想弄明白。

“那些钱……其实，我甚至不知道那里有没有钱，”他轻轻地补充说，仿佛陷入沉思，“当时我从她脖子上取下一个钱袋，麂皮的……装得满满的、那么鼓一胀一胀的一个钱袋，……我没往里面看过；大概是来不及了……至于东西，都是些扣子、链条什么的，就在第二天早晨，我把所有这些东西和钱袋都藏到B大街上别人的一个院子里，压到一块石头底下了……这些东西现在还在那儿……”

索尼娅尽力听着。

“嗯，那么为什么……您怎么说：为了抢劫，可是什么也没拿呢？”她很快地问，好像抓住了一根稻草。

“我不知道……我还没决定，是不是要拿这些钱，”他说，又仿佛陷入沉思，突然醒悟过来，迅速而短促地冷笑了一声。

“唉，刚才我说了些多蠢的蠢话，啊？”

有个想法在索尼娅的脑子里忽然一闪：“他是不是疯子？”但是她立刻放弃了这个想法：不，这是另一回事。这时她什么，什么也不明白！

“你要知道，索尼娅，”他突然灵机一动，说，“你要知道，我要告诉你：如果我杀人，只不过是因为我挨饿，”他接着说，每个字都说得特别清楚，而且神秘然而真诚地看着她，“那么现在我……就幸福了！你要知道这一点！”

“如果现在我承认，”稍过了一会儿，他甚至是绝望地叫喊，“如果现在我承认，我干了坏事，那对你，对你又有什么好处呢？你对我取得这种愚蠢的胜利，对你可有什么好处呢？唉，索尼娅，难道我是为了这个，现在才上你这儿来吗！”

索尼娅又想说什么，可是没有作声。

“昨天我所以叫你和我一道走，那是因为，我只有你一个人了。”

“你叫我去哪里？”索尼娅胆怯地问。

“不是去偷，也不是去杀人，请你放心，不是去干这些事情，”他讥讽地冷笑一声，“我们是不同类型的人……你要知道，索尼娅，我只是现在，只是这时候才明白：昨天我叫你上哪里去？昨天我叫你的时候，连我自己也不知道要去哪里。我叫你只不过是为了，我来也只是为了：请你别抛弃我。你不会抛弃我吧，索尼娅？”

她紧紧地握了握他的一只手。

“我为什么，为什么要告诉她，为什么要对她坦白地说出这一切啊！”过了一会儿，他无限痛苦地瞅着她，绝望地喊道，“你在等着我解释，索尼娅，你坐着，在等着，这我看得出来；可我能跟你说什么呢？因为这件事你是不会理解的，你只会为我感到……痛心！瞧，你哭了，又拥抱我，——唉，你为什么拥抱我呢？为了我自己承受不住，来把痛苦转嫁给别人吗：‘你也受些痛苦吧，这样我会轻松些！’你能一爱一这样一个卑鄙的家伙吗？”

“你不是也很痛苦吗？”索尼娅高声说。

那种感情又像波一浪一般涌上他的心头，霎时间又使他的心变一软一了。

“索尼娅，我的心是恶毒的，这你可要注意：这可以说明许多问题。正因为我恶毒，所以我才来你这里。有些人是不会来的。可我是个胆小鬼，也是个……卑鄙的家伙！不过……算了！这一切都不是我想要说的……现在得说，可我却不知从何说起……”

他停顿下来，陷入沉思。

“唉，我们是不同类型的人！”他又高声说，“我们配不到一起。为什么，我为什么要来！为了这，我永远也不会宽恕自己！”

“不，不，你来了，这很好！”索尼娅高声叫道，“让我知道，这就更好！好得多！”

他痛苦地瞅了她一眼。

“如果真是这样呢！”他说，好像拿定了主意，“因为事实就是这样！是这么回事：我想要作拿破仑，所以就杀了人……

怎么样，现在明白了吗？”

“不—明白，”索尼娅天真而又胆怯地低声说，“不过，……你说，你说啊！我会明白的，我心里什么都会明白！”她请求说。

“你会明白吗？那好，咱们倒要瞧瞧！”

他不说话了，考虑了很久。

“问题在于：有一次我向自己提出这样一个问题：如果拿破仑处在我的地位上，为了开创自己的事业，他既没有土伦，也没有埃及，也没有越过勃朗峰①，他没有机会完成所有这一切壮丽辉煌的丰功伟绩，而只不过遇到了一个可笑的老太婆，一个十四等文官的太太，而且还得杀死她，为的是把她箱子里的钱拿出来（为了事业，你懂吗？），如果没有别的出路，他会下决心干这种事吗？他会不会因为这太不伟大，而且……是犯罪，于是就感到厌恶呢？我告诉你，为了这个‘问题’，我苦恼了很久很久，当我终于领悟（不知怎么突然一下子明白了），他不但不会感到厌恶，而且根本就不会想到，这不伟大……甚至完全不会理解：这有什么可以感到厌恶的？这时候我真是羞愧极了。只要他没有别的路可走，那么他准会不假思索地掐死她，连叫都不让她叫一声！……所以我也……学这个权威的样……不再思索……掐死了她……事实完全是这样的！你觉得好笑吗？是的，索尼娅，这儿最可笑的就是，也许事情的确是这样的……”

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①一七九六——一七九七法意战争中，拿破仑曾率大军越过勃朗峰，进入意大利境内。

索尼娅一点儿也不觉得好笑。

“您最好是直截了当地告诉我……不要举例子，”她更加胆怯地，用勉强可以听到的低声请求说。

他转身面对着她，忧郁地看了看她，抓住了她的手。

“你又说对了，索尼娅。因为这都是一胡一说八道，几乎全都是废话！你要明白：你是知道的，我母亲几乎一无所有。妹妹是偶然受了些教育，命中注定长期给人作家庭教师。她们的一切都寄托在我一个人身上。我上过学，可是上大学，我就不能维持生活，不能不暂时退学了。即使是这样拖下去，那么十年以后，十二年以后（如果情况好转的话），我还是有希望当上教师，或者成为一个官吏，年薪可以拿到上千卢布……（他好像是在背诵。）而在这以前，由于一操一心和悲伤，母亲却早已憔悴了，可我还是不能让她过上安宁的日子，而妹妹……唉，我妹妹的情况可能更糟！……何苦一辈子不顾一切，漠视一切，忘记母亲，忍心看着妹妹受辱而不敢说半个不字？为了什么？是不是为了埋葬了她们后，挣钱去养活别人——妻子和孩子，而以后又不能给他们留下一文钱和一片面包？嗯……所以我决定，拿到老太婆的钱，供我最初几年使用，不再折磨母亲，在大学里用这些钱来维持自己的生活，大学毕业以后作为实现初步计划的经费，——广泛活动，从根本上改变一切，为自己创造一个全新的前程，走上一条独立自主的新路……嗯……嗯，这就是我所想的一切……嗯，当然啦，我杀了这个老太婆，&a