Part 6 Chapter 2

"Ah these cigarettes!" Porfiry Petrovitch ejaculated at last, having lighted one. "They are pernicious, positively pernicious, and yet I can't give them up! I cough, I begin to have tickling in my throat and a difficulty in breathing. You know I am a coward, I went lately to Dr. B----n; he always gives at least half an hour to each patient. He positively laughed looking at me; he sounded me: 'Tobacco's bad for you,' he said, 'your lungs are affected.' But how am I to give it up? What is there to take its place? I don't drink, that's the mischief, he-he-he, that I don't. Everything is relative, Rodion Romanovitch, everything is relative!"

"Why, he's playing his professional tricks again," Raskolnikov thought with disgust. All the circumstances of their last interview suddenly came back to him, and he felt a rush of the feeling that had come upon him then.

"I came to see you the day before yesterday, in the evening; you didn't know?" Porfiry Petrovitch went on, looking round the room. "I came into this very room. I was passing by, just as I did to-day, and I thought I'd return your call. I walked in as your door was wide open, I looked round, waited and went out without leaving my name with your servant. Don't you lock your door?"

Raskolnikov's face grew more and more gloomy. Porfiry seemed to guess his state of mind.

"I've come to have it out with you, Rodion Romanovitch, my dear fellow! I owe you an explanation and must give it to you," he continued with a slight smile, just patting Raskolnikov's knee.

But almost at the same instant a serious and careworn look came into his face; to his surprise Raskolnikov saw a touch of sadness in it. He had never seen and never suspected such an expression in his face.

"A strange scene passed between us last time we met, Rodion Romanovitch. Our first interview, too, was a strange one; but then . . . and one thing after another! This is the point: I have perhaps acted unfairly to you; I feel it. Do you remember how we parted? Your nerves were unhinged and your knees were shaking and so were mine. And, you know, our behaviour was unseemly, even ungentlemanly. And yet we are gentlemen, above all, in any case, gentlemen; that must be understood. Do you remember what we came to? . . . and it was quite indecorous."

"What is he up to, what does he take me for?" Raskolnikov asked himself in amazement, raising his head and looking with open eyes on Porfiry.

"I've decided openness is better between us," Porfiry Petrovitch went on, turning his head away and dropping his eyes, as though unwilling to disconcert his former victim and as though disdaining his former wiles. "Yes, such suspicions and such scenes cannot continue for long. Nikolay put a stop to it, or I don't know what we might not have come to. That damned workman was sitting at the time in the next room--can you realise that? You know that, of course; and I am aware that he came to you afterwards. But what you supposed then was not true: I had not sent for anyone, I had made no kind of arrangements. You ask why I hadn't? What shall I say to you? it had all come upon me so suddenly. I had scarcely sent for the porters (you noticed them as you went out, I dare say). An idea flashed upon me; I was firmly convinced at the time, you see, Rodion Romanovitch. Come, I thought--even if I let one thing slip for a time, I shall get hold of something else--I shan't lose what I want, anyway. You are nervously irritable, Rodion Romanovitch, by temperament; it's out of proportion with other qualities of your heart and character, which I flatter myself I have to some extent divined. Of course I did reflect even then that it does not always happen that a man gets up and blurts out his whole story. It does happen sometimes, if you make a man lose all patience, though even then it's rare. I was capable of realising that. If I only had a fact, I thought, the least little fact to go upon, something I could lay hold of, something tangible, not merely psychological. For if a man is guilty, you must be able to get something substantial out of him; one may reckon upon most surprising results indeed. I was reckoning on your temperament, Rodion Romanovitch, on your temperament above all things! I had great hopes of you at that time."

"But what are you driving at now?" Raskolnikov muttered at last, asking the question without thinking.

"What is he talking about?" he wondered distractedly, "does he really take me to be innocent?"

"What am I driving at? I've come to explain myself, I consider it my duty, so to speak. I want to make clear to you how the whole business, the whole misunderstanding arose. I've caused you a great deal of suffering, Rodion Romanovitch. I am not a monster. I understand what it must mean for a man who has been unfortunate, but who is proud, imperious and above all, impatient, to have to bear such treatment! I regard you in any case as a man of noble character and not without elements of magnanimity, though I don't agree with all your convictions. I wanted to tell you this first, frankly and quite sincerely, for above all I don't want to deceive you. When I made your acquaintance, I felt attracted by you. Perhaps you will laugh at my saying so. You have a right to. I know you disliked me from the first and indeed you've no reason to like me. You may think what you like, but I desire now to do all I can to efface that impression and to show that I am a man of heart and conscience. I speak sincerely."

Porfiry Petrovitch made a dignified pause. Raskolnikov felt a rush of renewed alarm. The thought that Porfiry believed him to be innocent began to make him uneasy.

"It's scarcely necessary to go over everything in detail," Porfiry Petrovitch went on. "Indeed, I could scarcely attempt it. To begin with there were rumours. Through whom, how, and when those rumours came to me . . . and how they affected you, I need not go into. My suspicions were aroused by a complete accident, which might just as easily not have happened. What was it? Hm! I believe there is no need to go into that either. Those rumours and that accident led to one idea in my mind. I admit it openly--for one may as well make a clean breast of it--I was the first to pitch on you. The old woman's notes on the pledges and the rest of it--that all came to nothing. Yours was one of a hundred. I happened, too, to hear of the scene at the office, from a man who described it capitally, unconsciously reproducing the scene with great vividness. It was just one thing after another, Rodion Romanovitch, my dear fellow! How could I avoid being brought to certain ideas? From a hundred rabbits you can't make a horse, a hundred suspicions don't make a proof, as the English proverb says, but that's only from the rational point of view--you can't help being partial, for after all a lawyer is only human. I thought, too, of your article in that journal, do you remember, on your first visit we talked of it? I jeered at you at the time, but that was only to lead you on. I repeat, Rodion Romanovitch, you are ill and impatient. That you were bold, headstrong, in earnest and . . . had felt a great deal I recognised long before. I, too, have felt the same, so that your article seemed familiar to me. It was conceived on sleepless nights, with a throbbing heart, in ecstasy and suppressed enthusiasm. And that proud suppressed enthusiasm in young people is dangerous! I jeered at you then, but let me tell you that, as a literary amateur, I am awfully fond of such first essays, full of the heat of youth. There is a mistiness and a chord vibrating in the mist. Your article is absurd and fantastic, but there's a transparent sincerity, a youthful incorruptible pride and the daring of despair in it. It's a gloomy article, but that's what's fine in it. I read your article and put it aside, thinking as I did so 'that man won't go the common way.' Well, I ask you, after that as a preliminary, how could I help being carried away by what followed? Oh, dear, I am not saying anything, I am not making any statement now. I simply noted it at the time. What is there in it? I reflected. There's nothing in it, that is really nothing and perhaps absolutely nothing. And it's not at all the thing for the prosecutor to let himself be carried away by notions: here I have Nikolay on my hands with actual evidence against him--you may think what you like of it, but it's evidence. He brings in his psychology, too; one has to consider him, too, for it's a matter of life and death. Why am I explaining this to you? That you may understand, and not blame my malicious behaviour on that occasion. It was not malicious, I assure you, he-he! Do you suppose I didn't come to search your room at the time? I did, I did, he-he! I was here when you were lying ill in bed, not officially, not in my own person, but I was here. Your room was searched to the last thread at the first suspicion; but /umsonst/! I thought to myself, now that man will come, will come of himself and quickly, too; if he's guilty, he's sure to come. Another man wouldn't, but he will. And you remember how Mr. Razumihin began discussing the subject with you? We arranged that to excite you, so we purposely spread rumours, that he might discuss the case with you, and Razumihin is not a man to restrain his indignation. Mr. Zametov was tremendously struck by your anger and your open daring. Think of blurting out in a restaurant 'I killed her.' It was too daring, too reckless. I thought so myself, if he is guilty he will be a formidable opponent. That was what I thought at the time. I was expecting you. But you simply bowled Zametov over and . . . well, you see, it all lies in this--that this damnable psychology can be taken two ways! Well, I kept expecting you, and so it was, you came! My heart was fairly throbbing. Ach!

"Now, why need you have come? Your laughter, too, as you came in, do you remember? I saw it all plain as daylight, but if I hadn't expected you so specially, I should not have noticed anything in your laughter. You see what influence a mood has! Mr. Razumihin then--ah, that stone, that stone under which the things were hidden! I seem to see it somewhere in a kitchen garden. It was in a kitchen garden, you told Zametov and afterwards you repeated that in my office? And when we began picking your article to pieces, how you explained it! One could take every word of yours in two senses, as though there were another meaning hidden.

"So in this way, Rodion Romanovitch, I reached the furthest limit, and knocking my head against a post, I pulled myself up, asking myself what I was about. After all, I said, you can take it all in another sense if you like, and it's more natural so, indeed. I couldn't help admitting it was more natural. I was bothered! 'No, I'd better get hold of some little fact' I said. So when I heard of the bell-ringing, I held my breath and was all in a tremor. 'Here is my little fact,' thought I, and I didn't think it over, I simply wouldn't. I would have given a thousand roubles at that minute to have seen you with my own eyes, when you walked a hundred paces beside that workman, after he had called you murderer to your face, and you did not dare to ask him a question all the way. And then what about your trembling, what about your bell-ringing in your illness, in semi-delirium?

"And so, Rodion Romanovitch, can you wonder that I played such pranks on you? And what made you come at that very minute? Someone seemed to have sent you, by Jove! And if Nikolay had not parted us . . . and do you remember Nikolay at the time? Do you remember him clearly? It was a thunderbolt, a regular thunderbolt! And how I met him! I didn't believe in the thunderbolt, not for a minute. You could see it for yourself; and how could I? Even afterwards, when you had gone and he began making very, very plausible answers on certain points, so that I was surprised at him myself, even then I didn't believe his story! You see what it is to be as firm as a rock! No, thought I, /Morgenfruh/. What has Nikolay got to do with it!"

"Razumihin told me just now that you think Nikolay guilty and had yourself assured him of it. . . ."

His voice failed him, and he broke off. He had been listening in indescribable agitation, as this man who had seen through and through him, went back upon himself. He was afraid of believing it and did not believe it. In those still ambiguous words he kept eagerly looking for something more definite and conclusive.

"Mr. Razumihin!" cried Porfiry Petrovitch, seeming glad of a question from Raskolnikov, who had till then been silent. "He-he-he! But I had to put Mr. Razumihin off; two is company, three is none. Mr. Razumihin is not the right man, besides he is an outsider. He came running to me with a pale face. . . . But never mind him, why bring him in? To return to Nikolay, would you like to know what sort of a type he is, how I understand him, that is? To begin with, he is still a child and not exactly a coward, but something by way of an artist. Really, don't laugh at my describing him so. He is innocent and responsive to influence. He has a heart, and is a fantastic fellow. He sings and dances, he tells stories, they say, so that people come from other villages to hear him. He attends school too, and laughs till he cries if you hold up a finger to him; he will drink himself senseless--not as a regular vice, but at times, when people treat him, like a child. And he stole, too, then, without knowing it himself, for 'How can it be stealing, if one picks it up?' And do you know he is an Old Believer, or rather a dissenter? There have been Wanderers(*) in his family, and he was for two years in his village under the spiritual guidance of a certain elder. I learnt all this from Nikolay and from his fellow villagers. And what's more, he wanted to run into the wilderness! He was full of fervour, prayed at night, read the old books, 'the true' ones, and read himself crazy.

(*) A religious sect.--TRANSLATOR'S NOTE.

"Petersburg had a great effect upon him, especially the women and the wine. He responds to everything and he forgot the elder and all that. I learnt that an artist here took a fancy to him, and used to go and see him, and now this business came upon him.

"Well, he was frightened, he tried to hang himself! He ran away! How can one get over the idea the people have of Russian legal proceedings? The very word 'trial' frightens some of them. Whose fault is it? We shall see what the new juries will do. God grant they do good! Well, in prison, it seems, he remembered the venerable elder; the Bible, too, made its appearance again. Do you know, Rodion Romanovitch, the force of the word 'suffering' among some of these people! It's not a question of suffering for someone's benefit, but simply, 'one must suffer.' If they suffer at the hands of the authorities, so much the better. In my time there was a very meek and mild prisoner who spent a whole year in prison always reading his Bible on the stove at night and he read himself crazy, and so crazy, do you know, that one day, apropos of nothing, he seized a brick and flung it at the governor; though he had done him no harm. And the way he threw it too: aimed it a yard on one side on purpose, for fear of hurting him. Well, we know what happens to a prisoner who assaults an officer with a weapon. So 'he took his suffering.'

"So I suspect now that Nikolay wants to take his suffering or something of the sort. I know it for certain from facts, indeed. Only he doesn't know that I know. What, you don't admit that there are such fantastic people among the peasants? Lots of them. The elder now has begun influencing him, especially since he tried to hang himself. But he'll come and tell me all himself. You think he'll hold out? Wait a bit, he'll take his words back. I am waiting from hour to hour for him to come and abjure his evidence. I have come to like that Nikolay and am studying him in detail. And what do you think? He-he! He answered me very plausibly on some points, he obviously had collected some evidence and prepared himself cleverly. But on other points he is simply at sea, knows nothing and doesn't even suspect that he doesn't know!

"No, Rodion Romanovitch, Nikolay doesn't come in! This is a fantastic, gloomy business, a modern case, an incident of to-day when the heart of man is troubled, when the phrase is quoted that blood 'renews,' when comfort is preached as the aim of life. Here we have bookish dreams, a heart unhinged by theories. Here we see resolution in the first stage, but resolution of a special kind: he resolved to do it like jumping over a precipice or from a bell tower and his legs shook as he went to the crime. He forgot to shut the door after him, and murdered two people for a theory. He committed the murder and couldn't take the money, and what he did manage to snatch up he hid under a stone. It wasn't enough for him to suffer agony behind the door while they battered at the door and rung the bell, no, he had to go to the empty lodging, half delirious, to recall the bell-ringing, he wanted to feel the cold shiver over again. . . . Well, that we grant, was through illness, but consider this: he is a murderer, but looks upon himself as an honest man, despises others, poses as injured innocence. No, that's not the work of a Nikolay, my dear Rodion Romanovitch!"

All that had been said before had sounded so like a recantation that these words were too great a shock. Raskolnikov shuddered as though he had been stabbed.

"Then . . . who then . . . is the murderer?" he asked in a breathless voice, unable to restrain himself.

Porfiry Petrovitch sank back in his chair, as though he were amazed at the question.

"Who is the murderer?" he repeated, as though unable to believe his ears. "Why, /you/, Rodion Romanovitch! You are the murderer," he added, almost in a whisper, in a voice of genuine conviction.

Raskolnikov leapt from the sofa, stood up for a few seconds and sat down again without uttering a word. His face twitched convulsively.

"Your lip is twitching just as it did before," Porfiry Petrovitch observed almost sympathetically. "You've been misunderstanding me, I think, Rodion Romanovitch," he added after a brief pause, "that's why you are so surprised. I came on purpose to tell you everything and deal openly with you."

"It was not I murdered her," Raskolnikov whispered like a frightened child caught in the act.

"No, it was you, you Rodion Romanovitch, and no one else," Porfiry whispered sternly, with conviction.

They were both silent and the silence lasted strangely long, about ten minutes. Raskolnikov put his elbow on the table and passed his fingers through his hair. Porfiry Petrovitch sat quietly waiting. Suddenly Raskolnikov looked scornfully at Porfiry.

"You are at your old tricks again, Porfiry Petrovitch! Your old method again. I wonder you don't get sick of it!"

"Oh, stop that, what does that matter now? It would be a different matter if there were witnesses present, but we are whispering alone. You see yourself that I have not come to chase and capture you like a hare. Whether you confess it or not is nothing to me now; for myself, I am convinced without it."

"If so, what did you come for?" Raskolnikov asked irritably. "I ask you the same question again: if you consider me guilty, why don't you take me to prison?"

"Oh, that's your question! I will answer you, point for point. In the first place, to arrest you so directly is not to my interest."

"How so? If you are convinced you ought. . . ."

"Ach, what if I am convinced? That's only my dream for the time. Why should I put you in safety? You know that's it, since you ask me to do it. If I confront you with that workman for instance and you say to him 'were you drunk or not? Who saw me with you? I simply took you to be drunk, and you were drunk, too.' Well, what could I answer, especially as your story is a more likely one than his? for there's nothing but psychology to support his evidence--that's almost unseemly with his ugly mug, while you hit the mark exactly, for the rascal is an inveterate drunkard and notoriously so. And I have myself admitted candidly several times already that that psychology can be taken in two ways and that the second way is stronger and looks far more probable, and that apart from that I have as yet nothing against you. And though I shall put you in prison and indeed have come--quite contrary to etiquette--to inform you of it beforehand, yet I tell you frankly, also contrary to etiquette, that it won't be to my advantage. Well, secondly, I've come to you because . . ."

"Yes, yes, secondly?" Raskolnikov was listening breathless.

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

Raskolnikov thought a minute.

"Listen, Porfiry Petrovitch. You said just now you have nothing but psychology to go on, yet now you've gone on mathematics. Well, what if you are mistaken yourself, now?"

"No, Rodion Romanovitch, I am not mistaken. I have a little fact even then, Providence sent it me."

"What little fact?"

"I won't tell you what, Rodion Romanovitch. And in any case, I haven't the right to put it off any longer, I must arrest you. So think it over: it makes no difference to me /now/ and so I speak only for your sake. Believe me, it will be better, Rodion Romanovitch."

Raskolnikov smiled malignantly.

"That's not simply ridiculous, it's positively shameless. Why, even if I were guilty, which I don't admit, what reason should I have to confess, when you tell me yourself that I shall be in greater safety in prison?"

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

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

"No!" he said, apparently abandoning all attempt to keep up appearances with Porfiry, "it's not worth it, I don't care about lessening the sentence!"

"That's just what I was afraid of!" Porfiry cried warmly and, as it seemed, involuntarily. "That's just what I feared, that you wouldn't care about the mitigation of sentence."

Raskolnikov looked sadly and expressively at him.

"Ah, don't disdain life!" Porfiry went on. "You have a great deal of it still before you. How can you say you don't want a mitigation of sentence? You are an impatient fellow!"

"A great deal of what lies before me?"

"Of life. What sort of prophet are you, do you know much about it? Seek and ye shall find. This may be God's means for bringing you to Him. And it's not for ever, the bondage. . . ."

"The time will be shortened," laughed Raskolnikov.

"Why, is it the bourgeois disgrace you are afraid of? It may be that you are afraid of it without knowing it, because you are young! But anyway /you/ shouldn't be afraid of giving yourself up and confessing."

"Ach, hang it!" Raskolnikov whispered with loathing and contempt, as though he did not want to speak aloud.

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

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

Raskolnikov positively started.

"But who are you? what prophet are you? From the height of what majestic calm do you proclaim these words of wisdom?"

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

"When do you mean to arrest me?"

"Well, I can let you walk about another day or two. Think it over, my dear fellow, and pray to God. It's more in your interest, believe me."

"And what if I run away?" asked Raskolnikov with a strange smile.

"No, you won't run away. A peasant would run away, a fashionable dissenter would run away, the flunkey of another man's thought, for you've only to show him the end of your little finger and he'll be ready to believe in anything for the rest of his life. But you've ceased to believe in your theory already, what will you run away with? And what would you do in hiding? It would be hateful and difficult for you, and what you need more than anything in life is a definite position, an atmosphere to suit you. And what sort of atmosphere would you have? If you ran away, you'd come back to yourself. /You can't get on without us./ And if I put you in prison--say you've been there a month, or two, or three--remember my word, you'll confess of yourself and perhaps to your own surprise. You won't know an hour beforehand that you are coming with a confession. I am convinced that you will decide, 'to take your suffering.' You don't believe my words now, but you'll come to it of yourself. For suffering, Rodion Romanovitch, is a great thing. Never mind my having grown fat, I know all the same. Don't laugh at it, there's an idea in suffering, Nokolay is right. No, you won't run away, Rodion Romanovitch."

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

"Are you going for a walk? The evening will be fine, if only we don't have a storm. Though it would be a good thing to freshen the air."

He, too, took his cap.

"Porfiry Petrovitch, please don't take up the notion that I have confessed to you to-day," Raskolnikov pronounced with sullen insistence. "You're a strange man and I have listened to you from simple curiosity. But I have admitted nothing, remember that!"

"Oh, I know that, I'll remember. Look at him, he's trembling! Don't be uneasy, my dear fellow, have it your own way. Walk about a bit, you won't be able to walk too far. If anything happens, I have one request to make of you," he added, dropping his voice. "It's an awkward one, but important. If anything were to happen (though indeed I don't believe in it and think you quite incapable of it), yet in case you were taken during these forty or fifty hours with the notion of putting an end to the business in some other way, in some fantastic fashion--laying hands on yourself--(it's an absurd proposition, but you must forgive me for it) do leave a brief but precise note, only two lines, and mention the stone. It will be more generous. Come, till we meet! Good thoughts and sound decisions to you!"

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

 

“要知道，所有这些香烟！”波尔菲里·彼特罗维奇把烟一抽一着了，一抽一了几口以后，终于说话了，“都是有害的，只有害处，可我就是戒不掉！我常咳嗽，喉咙里发一痒，呼吸困难。您要知道，我胆很小，前两天去包医生①那里看病，每个病人他minimum②给检查半个小时；他看着我，甚至大笑起来：他敲了敲，听了听，说，您不能一抽一烟；肺扩张了。唉，可是我怎么能不一抽一呢？拿什么来代替它？我不喝酒，这可真是毫无办法，嘿——嘿——嘿，我不喝酒，真是糟糕透了！要知道，什么都是相对的，罗季昂·罗曼内奇，什么都是相对的！”

“他这是干什么，又在玩以前玩一弄过的老把戏吗，还是怎么的！”拉斯科利尼科夫心里厌恶地想。他不由得想起不久前他们最后一次会见的情景，当时的感情又像波一浪一一般突然涌上他的心头。

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①指包特金医生（一八三二——一八八九）。一八六五年陀思妥耶夫斯基在他那里看过病。

②拉丁文，“最少”，“至少”之意。

“前天晚上我已经来找过您了；您不知道吗？”波尔菲里·彼特罗维奇接着说下去，同时在打量这间房子，“我走进屋里，就是这间屋里。也是像今天一样，打附近路过，我想，去拜访拜访他吧。我来了，可是房门敞着；我朝四下里看了看，等了一会儿，连您的女仆也没告诉一声，就出去了。您不锁门？”

拉斯科利尼科夫的脸色越来越一陰一沉了。波尔菲里立刻猜到了他在想什么。

“我是来解释一下，亲一爱一的罗季昂·罗曼内奇，我是来向您作解释的！我应该，而且有责任向您解释一下，”他微笑着继续说，甚至用手掌轻轻拍了拍拉斯科利尼科夫的膝盖，但是几乎就在同时，他脸上突然露出严肃、忧虑的神情；甚至仿佛蒙上了一层愁云，这使拉斯科利尼科夫感到十分惊讶。他还从来没见过，也从未想到，波尔菲里的脸上会有这样的表情。“最后一次见面的时候，我们之间发生过一种奇怪的情景，罗季昂·罗曼内奇。大概，我们第一次会见的时候，也发生过这种奇怪的情景；不过当时……唉，现在已经是一次接着一次了！事情是这样的：我也许很对不起您；这一点我感觉到了。我们是怎样分手的呢，您记得吗：您神经紧张，双膝颤一抖，我也神经紧张，双膝颤一抖。您要知道，当时我们之间甚至是剑拔弩张，缺乏君子风度。可我们毕竟都是君子；也就是说，无论如何，我们首先都是君子；这一点必须明白。您该记得，事情闹到了什么地步……甚至已经完全不成体统了。”

“他这是干什么，他把我当成了什么人？”拉斯科利尼科夫惊讶地问自己，微微抬起头，睁大了眼睛直瞅着波尔菲里。

“我考虑过了，认为现在我们最好还是开诚布公，”波尔菲里·彼特罗维奇接着说，微微仰起头，低下眼睛，仿佛不愿再以自己的目光让自己以前的受害者感到困惑不解，似乎也不屑再使用以前使用的那些手法，不屑再玩一弄以前玩一弄过的那些诡计了，“是的，这样的猜疑和这样的争吵是不能长久继续下去的。当时米科尔卡使我们摆脱了困境，不然我真不知道我们之间会闹到什么地步。当时这个该死的小市民就坐在隔板后面，——这您想象得到吗？当然，这事现在您已经知道了；而且我也知道，后来他上您这儿来过；但是当时您猜测的事情却是没有的：当时我并没派人去叫任何人，也没布置过什么。您会问，为什么不布置？怎么跟您讲呢：当时这一切似乎使我自己也大吃一惊。就连那两个管院子的，我也是勉强派人去把他们叫来的。（您出去的时候，大概看到那两个管院子的了吧。）当时有个想法，真的，有一个想法，像闪电一样在我脑子里飞快地一闪而过；您要知道，罗季昂·罗曼内奇，当时我坚信不疑。我想，让我哪怕是暂时放过一个去好了，然而我会抓住另一个的尾巴，——至少不会放过自己的那一个，自己的那一个。您很容易激动，罗季昂·罗曼内奇，天生容易激动；甚至是太容易激动了，虽说您还有其他一性一格和心情上的种种主要特点，对此我多少有点儿了解，所以就把希望寄托在这上面了。嗯，当然啦，就是在那时候，我也能考虑到，一个人突然站起来，冒冒失失地把全部底细都告诉您，这样的事不是经常会发生的。虽说也会有这样的事，特别是当一个人给弄得失去最后的忍耐的时候，不过无论如何这十分罕见。这一点我也能考虑到。不，我想，我要是掌握了一点事实，那就好了！哪怕是微不足道的一点事实，只要有一点就够了，不过是可以用手抓得到的，是个实实在在的东西，而不是这种心理上的玩意儿。因为，我想，如果一个人有罪，那么当然无论如何也可以从他那里得到点儿什么非常重要的东西；甚至可以指望得到最出乎意外的结果。当时我把希望寄托在您的一性一格上，罗季昂·罗曼内奇，最大的希望寄托在一性一格上！当时我对您确实抱有很大的希望。”

“可是您……可现在您为什么还是这么说呢，”拉斯科利尼科夫终于含糊不清地说，甚至不大理解这句问话的意义。

“他说这话是什么意思，”他感到困惑莫解，“难道他真的认为我是无辜的吗？”

“我为什么这么说吗？我是来作解释的，可以这么说吧，我认为这是我神圣的责任。我想把一切统统都对您说出来，事情的全部经过，当时那些，可以说是不愉快的事情，统统都对您讲清楚。我让您忍受了许多痛苦，罗季昂·罗曼内奇。可我不是恶魔。因为我也理解，一个一精一神负担很重、然而骄傲、庄严和缺乏耐一性一的人，特别是一个缺乏耐一性一的人，怎么能忍受得了这一切呢！不管怎样，我还是把您看作一个最高尚的人，甚至有舍己为人的一精一神，尽管我不同意您所有的那些信念，并且认为有责任把话说在前头，坦率地、十分真诚地说出自己的意见，因为首先，我不想欺骗您。自从认识了您，我就对您有一种依依不舍的感情。对我的这些话，您也许会哑然失笑吧？您当然有笑的权利。我知道，您从一见到我就不喜欢我，因为实际上也没有什么好喜欢的。不过，不管您认为怎样，请您相信，现在我想从我这方面用一切办法来改变我给您留下的印象，而且向您证明，我也是个有人一性一、有良心的人。我说这话是很真诚的。”

波尔菲里·彼特罗维奇尊严地停顿了一下。拉斯科利尼科夫感觉到，一阵新的恐惧犹如一浪一涛一般涌上心头。波尔菲里认为他是无辜的，这个想法突然使他感到害怕起来。

“按照顺序把一切都讲一遍，讲一讲当时这是怎么突然发生的，这大概没有必要，”波尔菲里·彼特罗维奇接着说；“我认为，这甚至是多余的。而且我也未必能都说清楚。因为，怎么能详细说明这一切呢？一开始是有一些传说。至于这是些什么传闻，是谁说的，是什么时候……又是因为什么牵连到您，——我想，这些也都不必说了。就我个人来说，这是从一件偶然的事情开始的，是一件纯属偶然的事情，这件事情极有可能发生，也极可能不发生，——那么是件什么事情呢？嗯哼，我想，这也没有什么好说的。所有这一切，那些传闻，还有那些偶然的事情，凑在一起就使我当时产生了一个想法。我坦白地承认，因为既然承认，那就得毫无保留地承认一切，——当时是我首先对您产生了怀疑。就算是有老太婆在抵押的东西上所做的记号以及其他等等，——所有这一切都是无稽之谈。这种玩意儿数以百计。当时我也有机会得知区警察分局办公室里发生的那一幕的详情细节，也是偶然听说的，倒不是道听途说，而是从一个特殊的、很重要的人那里听说的，他自己也没意识到，他把当时的情景叙述得多么生动。要知道，这些事情是一件接着一件，一件接着一件，罗季昂·罗曼内奇，亲一爱一的朋友！嗯，这怎么能不使注意力转向某个一定的方向呢？一百只兔子永远也凑不成一匹马，一百个疑点永远也不能构成一个证据，不是有这么一句英国谚语吗，然而，要知道，这只是一种理智的说法，可是对于热情，对于热情，你倒试试看去控制它吧，因为侦查员也是人啊。这时我也想起了您在杂志上发表的那篇文章，您还记得吧，还有您第一次去我家的时候，咱们就详细谈过这篇文章。当时我嘲讽了一番，但这是为了让您作进一步的发挥。我再说一遍，您没有耐一性一，而且病得很厉害，罗季昂·罗曼内奇。至于您大胆，骄傲，严肃，而且……您有所感受，您有很多感受，这一切我早就知道了。所有这些感受我都并不陌生，就连您那篇文卓，我看着也觉得是熟悉的。这篇文章是在不眠之夜和近乎发狂的情况下酝酿构思的，当时一定是心情振奋，心在怦怦地狂跳，而且满怀着受压抑的激一情。然而青年人的这种受压抑的激一情是危险的！当时我曾对这篇文章冷嘲热讽，可现在却要对您说，也就是说，作为一个欣赏者，我非常喜欢这篇青春时期热情洋溢的处一女作。烟，雾，琴弦在茫茫雾海中发出铮铮的响声①。您的文章是荒谬的，脱离实际的，但是也闪烁着如此真挚的感情，它包含有青年人的骄傲和坚定不移的信念，包含有无所顾忌的大胆；这是一篇心情一陰一郁的文章，不过这很好。我看了您的文章，就把它放到了一边，而且……在把它放到一边去的时候，我心里就想：‘唉，这个人是不会碌碌终生的！’现在请您说说看，既然有了上述情况，以后发生的事怎么会不让我发生兴趣呢！唉，上帝啊？难道我是在没什么吗？难道我是在证明什么吗？当时我只不过是注意到了。我想，这儿有什么呢？这儿什么也没有，也就是根本什么都没有，也许是完全没有什么。我，一个侦查员，这样全神贯注，甚至是完全不应该的：我手里已经有一个米科尔卡，而且已经有一些事实，——不管您有什么看法，可这都是事实！他在谈他的心理；在他身上还得下点儿工夫；因为这是件生死攸关的事。现在我为什么要向你解释这一切呢？为了让您知道，而且以您的智慧和您的心灵作出判断，不致为我当时那些恶意的行为而责备我。不是恶意的，我这样说是真诚的，嘿—— 嘿！您认为当时我没上您这儿来搜查过吗？来过，来过，嘿——嘿，当您在这儿卧病在一床一的时候，我来搜查过了。不是正式搜查，也不是以侦查员的身份，可是来搜查过了。甚至是根据最初留下的痕迹，在您屋里仔细察看过了，没有漏掉任何最细小的东西；然而——um－sonst！②我想：现在这个人会来的，他会自己来的，而且不久就要来；如果他有罪，他就一定会来。别人不会来，可这个人会来。您记得拉祖米欣先生曾向您泄露消息吗？这是我们安排的，目的是让您心里发慌，因此我们故意放出谣言，让他透露给您，而拉祖米欣先生是个心中有气就忍不住的人。

您的愤怒和露骨的大胆行为首先引起了扎苗托夫先生的注意：嗯，竟突然在小饭馆里贸然说：‘我杀了人！’太大胆了，太放肆了，我想，如果他有罪，那么这是个可怕的对手！当时我这么想。我在等着。竭力耐心等着，而扎苗托夫当时简直让您给搞得十分沮丧……问题在于，这该死的心理是可以作不同解释的！嗯，于是我就等着您，一看，您真的来了！我的心怦怦地直跳。唉！当时您为什么要来呢？您的笑，您记得吗，那时候您一进来就哈哈大笑，当时我就像透过玻璃一样识破了一切，如果我不是怀着特殊的心情等着您，那么在您的大笑中是不会发现什么的。瞧，一精一神准备是多么重要。拉祖米欣先生当时也，——啊！石头，石头，您记得吗，还有把东西蒙在一块什么石头底下？嗯，我好像看到了那块石头，在什么地方菜园里的那块石头——您不是对扎苗托夫说过，是在菜园里吗，后来在我那里又说过一次？当时我们开始分析您这篇文章，您给我作了说明——您说的每一句话都有双重含意，仿佛每句话的背后都隐藏着另一种意思！瞧，罗季昂·罗曼内奇，我就这样走到了极限，直到碰了壁，这才清醒过来。不，我说，我这是怎么了！我说，如果愿意，那么这一切，直到最后一个细节，都可以作另一种解释，那样甚至更自然些。真伤脑筋啊！‘不，’我想，‘我最好是能有一个事实！……’当时我一听到这拉门铃的事，我甚至都呆住了，甚至浑身颤栗起来。‘嘿，’我想， ‘这就是事实！这就是的！’当时我没好好考虑一下，简直就不想多加考虑。那时候我情愿自己掏出一千卢布，只要能亲眼看一看，看您当时是怎样和那个小市民并肩走了百来步，他当面管您叫‘杀人凶手’，在这以后你们并肩走了整整一百步，您却什么也不敢问他！……嗯，还有那透入脊髓的冷气？这拉门铃的事是在病中，是在神智不清的时候干出来的吗？所以，罗季昂·罗曼内奇，在这以后，我跟您开了那样一些玩笑，难道您还会感到惊讶吗？您为什么正好在这个时候来呢？真好像是有人推着您来的，真的，要不是米科尔卡让我们分手，那……您记得米科尔卡当时的样子吗？记得很清楚？这可真是一声霹雳！乌云中突然一声霹雳，一道闪电！嗯，我是怎样接待他的呢？对这道闪电，我根本就不相信，这您自己也看得出来！我怎么能相信呢！后来，您走了以后，他开始很有条理地回答了某几个问题，这使我感到惊讶，可是以后我对他的话一点儿也不相信了！对此变得像金刚石一般坚定。不，我想，莫尔根·弗里③！

这哪里会是米科尔卡！”

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①引自果戈理的《狂人日记》。但引文不确切。原文是：“灰蓝色的雾在脚下弥漫，琴弦在雾中震颤。”

②德文，“徒劳”之意。

③德文，明天早晨。这里的意思是“去他的”。

“拉祖米欣刚才对我说，现在您也认为米科尔卡有罪，而且还要让拉祖米欣也相信……”

他感到喘不过气来，没有把话说完。他异常焦急不安地听着，这个对他了解得十分透彻的人竟放弃了自己的看法。他不敢相信，也不相信。他贪婪地在这些仍然是语意双关的话里寻找并抓住更为确切、更为确定的东西。

“拉祖米欣先生嘛！”波尔菲里·彼特罗维奇高声说，仿佛对一直默默无言的拉斯科利尼科夫提出问题感到高兴似的，“嘿！嘿！嘿！本来就不该让拉祖米欣先生插一进来：两个人满好嘛，第三者请别来干涉。拉祖米欣先生是另一回事，而且他是局外人，他跑到我那里去，脸色那么白……嗯，上帝保佑他，用不着他来多管闲事！至于米科尔卡，您想不想知道这是个什么人，也就是说，在我看来，他是个什么样的人？首先，这还是个未成年的孩子，倒不是说，他是个胆小鬼，而是说，他好像是个艺术家。真的，我这样来形容他，您可别笑。他天真，对一切都很敏一感。他有良心；是个一爱一幻想的人。他会唱歌，也会跳舞，据说，他讲起故事来讲得那么生动，人们都从别处来听他讲故事。他上过学，别人伸出手指来指指他，他也会哈哈大笑，一直笑得浑身瘫一软无力，他也会喝得烂醉如泥，倒不是因为喝酒毫无节制，而是有时会让人给灌醉，他还像个小孩子。于是他也偷东西了，可是自己并不知道这是偷窃；因为‘既然他是在地上拾的，那能算偷吗？’您知道不知道，他是个分裂派教徒①，还不仅是分裂派教徒，而且简直就是其中某个教派的信徒；他的家族中有几个别古纳②，不久前他本人曾经有整整两年在农村里受过一个长老的一精一神熏陶。这一切我是从米科尔卡和他的一些同乡那里了解到的。他怎么会杀人呢！他简直想跑到荒凉无人的地方去！他很虔诚，每天夜里向上帝祈祷，他看‘真正’古老的经书，看得入了迷。彼得堡对他产生了强烈的影响，特别是女人，嗯，还有酒。他很容易受环境影响，把长老啊什么的全都忘了。我知道，这儿有个画家很喜欢他，开始去找他，可是这件事情发生了！嗯，他吓坏了，想要上吊！逃跑！民间对我们的法律就是这样理解的，有什么办法呢！对‘审判’这个词儿，有人觉得可怕。唉，但愿上帝保佑！嗯，看来，现在他在监狱里想起这位正直的长老来了；《圣经》也又出现了。罗季昂·罗曼内奇，您知道吗，在他们当中的某些人看来，‘受苦’意味着什么？这倒不是说为了什么人去受苦，而只不过是‘应该受苦’；这意思就是说，对痛苦应该逆来顺受，来自当局的痛苦，那就更应该忍受了。我任职期间，有个最驯良的犯人坐了整整一年牢，每天夜里都在火坑上看《圣经》，看得入了迷，您要知道，他简直已经走火入魔了，竟无缘无故抓起一块砖头，朝典狱长扔了过去，可他毫无伤害他的意思。他扔的时候故意不对准，砖头从典狱长身旁一俄尺远的地方飞了过去，免得打伤了他！犯人用武器袭击长官，那还得了，大家都知道，他会有什么样的下场：‘这就是说，他要受苦了’。所以，现在我也怀疑，米科尔卡是想要‘受苦’，或者是有类似的想法。我确实知道，甚至根据事实来看，也是如此。不过他自己不知道，我知道他心里的想法。怎么，您不认为这样的人里面会有怪人吗？有的是呢。现在长老又开始起作用了，特别是在上吊以后，他又想起长老来了。不过，他自己会来告诉我的。您认为他会坚持到底吗？您先别忙，他还会反供的！我随时都在等着他来推翻自己的供词。我很喜欢这个米科尔卡，正在细细研究他。您是怎么想的呢！嘿！嘿！有些问题，他对我回答得很有条理，显然，他得到了必要的材料，作过一精一心准备；可是对于另一些问题，却完全茫然了，什么也不知道，而且自己并没意识到他不知道！不，罗季昂·罗曼内奇老兄，这不是米科尔卡干的！这是一件荒诞的、一陰一暗的案件，现代的案件，发生在我们时代的事，在这个时代，人心都变糊涂了；文章里总一爱一引用血会使一切‘焕然一新’这句话；宣传人生的全部意义就在于过舒适的生活。这是书本上的幻想，这是一颗被理论搅得失去了平静的心；这儿可以看得出迈出第一步的决心，然而是一种特殊类型的决心，——他下定了决心，就好像是从山上跌下来，或者从钟楼上掉下去似的，而且好像是不由自主地去犯了罪。他忘了随手关门，却杀了人，杀了两个人，这是根据理论杀的。他杀了人，却不会偷钱，而来得及拿到的东西，又都藏到石头底下去了。他呆在门后担惊受怕，还嫌不够，又闯进门去，去拉门铃，——不，后来他在神智不清的情况下，又走进那套空房子，去回味门铃的响声，想再体验一下背脊上发冷的滋味……嗯，就假定说他是有病吧，可是还有这样的事：他杀了人，却自以为他是个正直的人，蔑视别人，他面色苍白，还装得像个天使一样，这哪里会是米科尔卡呢，亲一爱一的罗季昂·罗曼内奇，这不是米科尔卡！”

在他以前说了那些好像是放弃对他怀疑的话以后，这最后几句话实在是太出乎意外了。拉斯科利尼科夫像给扎了一刀似的，浑身颤一抖起来。

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①脱离了正统东正教教会的宗教派别，叫分裂派；分裂派中又分为一些不同的教派。所有这些教派的信徒统称为分裂派教徒。

②别古纳是分裂派中的一个教派。这个教派产生于十八世纪末，其成员脱离家庭，不服从当时的政权，逃到森林中去生活。

“那么……是谁……杀的呢？”他忍不住用气喘吁吁的声音问。波尔菲里·彼特罗维奇甚至急忙往椅背上一靠，仿佛这个问题提得这么出乎意料，使他吃了一惊。

“怎么是谁杀的？……”他反问，似乎不相信自己的耳朵，“是您杀的，罗季昂·罗曼内奇！就是您杀的……”他用深信不疑的语气几乎是低声补上一句。

拉斯科利尼科夫霍地从沙发上站起来，站了几秒钟，什么话也没说，又坐了下去。他脸上掠过一阵轻微的痉一挛。

“嘴唇又像那时候一样发一抖了，”波尔菲里·彼特罗维奇甚至好像同情似地喃喃地说。“罗季昂·罗曼内奇，看来，您没正确理解我的意思，”沉默了一会儿，他又补充说，“所以您才这么吃惊。我来这里正是为了把一切都说出来，把事情公开。”

“这不是我杀的，”拉斯科利尼科夫喃喃地说，真像被当场捉住、吓得要命的小孩子。

“不，这是您，罗季昂·罗曼内奇，是您，再不会是任何别的人，”波尔菲里严峻而且深信不疑地低声说。

他们俩都不说话了，沉默持续得太久了，甚至让人感到奇怪，约摸有十来分钟。拉斯科利尼科夫把胳膊肘撑在桌子上，默默地用手指抓乱自己的头发。波尔菲里·彼特罗维奇安静地坐在那儿等着。突然拉斯科利尼科夫轻蔑地朝波尔菲里看了一眼。

“您又把老一套搬出来了，波尔菲里·彼特罗维奇！还是您那套手法：这一套您真的不觉得厌烦吗？”

“唉，够了，现在我干吗还要玩一弄手法呢！如果这儿有证人，那就是另一回事了；可我们是两个人私下里悄悄地谈谈。您自己也看得出来，我并不是像追兔子那样来追捕您。您承认也好，不承认也好，——这个时候对我来说反正一样。您不承认，我心里也已经深信不疑了。”

“既然如此，那您来干什么呢？”拉斯科利尼科夫气愤地问。“我向您提出一个从前已经问过的问题：既然您认为我有罪，为什么不把我抓起来，关进监狱？”

“唉，这可真是个问题！我可以逐点回答您：第一，这样直接把您抓起来，对我不利。”

“怎么会不利呢！既然您深信不疑，那么您就应该……”

“唉，我深信不疑又怎样呢？因为这一切暂时还都是我的幻想。我为什么要把您关到那里去，让您安心呢？这一点您自己也是知道的，既然您自己要求到那里去。譬如说吧，我把那个小市民带来，让他揭发您，您就会对他说：“你是不是喝醉了？谁看见我跟你在一起了？我只不过是把你当成了醉鬼，你的确是喝醉了’，到那时我跟您说什么呢，尤其是因为，您的话比他的话更合乎情理，因为他的供词里只有心理分析，——这种话甚至不该由像他这样的人来说，——您却正好击中了要害，因为这个坏蛋是个出了名的酒鬼。而且我自己也已经有好几次坦白地向您承认，这种心理上的玩意儿可以作两种解释，而第二种解释更为合情合理，而且合理得多，此外，我手里暂时还没掌握任何能证明您有罪的东西。尽管我还是要把您关起来，甚至现在亲自来（完全不合乎情理）把一切预先告诉您，可我还是要坦白地对您说（也不合乎情理），这会对我不利。嗯，第二，我所以要到您这儿来……”

“嗯，这第二呢？”（拉斯科利尼科夫仍然喘不过气来。）

“因为，正像我刚才已经说过的，我认为有责任来向您解释一下。我不想让您把我看作恶棍，何况我对您真诚地抱有好感，不管您是不是相信。因此，第三，我来找您是为了向您提出一个诚恳、坦率的建议——投案自首。这对您有数不清的好处，对我也比较有利，——因为一副重担可以卸下来了。怎么样，从我这方面来说，是不是够坦白了？”

拉斯科利尼科夫想了大约一分钟。

“请您听我说，波尔菲里·彼特罗维奇，您自己不是说，只有心理分析吗，然而您却岔到数学上去了。如果现在您弄错了，那会怎样呢？”

“不，罗季昂·罗曼内奇，我没弄错。这样的事实我还是有的。要知道，这个事实我当时就掌握了；上帝赐给我的！”

“什么事实？”

“是什么事实，我可不告诉您，罗季昂·罗曼内奇。而且无论如何现在我无权再拖延了；我会把您关起来的。那么请您考虑考虑：对我来说，现在反正都一样了，所以，我只是为您着想。真的，这样会好一些，罗季昂·罗曼内奇！”

拉斯科利尼科夫恶狠狠地冷笑了一声。

“要知道，这不但可笑，这甚至是无一耻。哼，即使我有罪（我根本没说我真的有罪），可我何苦要向您自首呢，既然您自己也说，坐进你们的监狱，我就会安心了？”

“唉，罗季昂·罗曼内奇，对我的话您可别完全信以为真；也许，您并不会完全安心！因为这只是理论，而且还是我的理论，可对您来说，我算什么权威呢？也许，就连现在我也还对您瞒着点儿什么呢。我可不会不管三七二十一，把什么都向您和盘托出啊，嘿！嘿！第二：您怎么问，有什么好处呢？您知道不知道，这样做您会获得减刑，大大缩短刑期？要知道，您是在什么时候去自首的？您只要想想看！您去自首的时候，另一个人已经承认自己有罪，把案情搞得复杂化了，不是吗？我可以向上帝起誓，我会在‘那里’造成假象，安排得似乎您的自首完全是出乎意外的。所有这些心理分析，我们要完全排除掉，对您的一切怀疑，我也要让它完全化为乌有，这样一来，您的犯罪就好像是一时糊涂，因为，凭良心说，也的确是一时糊涂。我是个正直的人，罗季昂·罗曼内奇，我说话是算数的。”

拉斯科利尼科夫忧郁地一言不发，低下了头；他想了好久，最后又冷笑一声，不过他的笑已经是一温一和而且悲哀的了。

“唉，用不着！”他说，仿佛对波尔菲里已经完全不再隐瞒了。“不值得！我根本不需要你们的减刑！”

“唉，我担心的也就是这一点！”波尔菲里激动地，仿佛不由自主地高声说，“我担心的也就正是这一点：您不需要我们的减刑。”

拉斯科利尼科夫忧郁而又威严地看了他一眼。

“唉，您可不要厌恶生活啊！”波尔菲里接下去说，“前面生活道路还长着呢。怎么不需要减刑呢，怎么会不需要呢！您真是个缺乏耐心的人！”

“前面什么还长着呢？”

“生活嘛！您算是什么先知，您知道得很多吗？寻找，就寻见①。也许这就是上帝对您的期待。而且它也不是永久的，我是说镣铐……”

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①见《新约全书·马太音福》第七章第八节。

“会减刑……”拉斯科利尼科夫笑了。

“怎么，您害怕的是不是资产阶级的耻辱？这也许是害怕的，可是您自己并不知道这一点，——因为还年轻！不过您还是不应该害怕，或者耻于自首。”

“哼——，我才不在乎呢！”拉斯科利尼科夫轻蔑而厌恶地低声说，好像不愿说话。他又欠起身来，似乎想上哪里去，可是又坐下了，显然感到了绝望。

“对，对，是不在乎！您不相信我，而且认为我是在拙劣地恭维您；不过您是不是已经生活了很久？您是不是懂得很多呢？您发明了一个理论，可是理论破产了，结果不像您原来所想的那样，于是您感到不好意思了！结果证明这是卑鄙的，这是事实，不过您毕竟不是一个无可救药的卑鄙的人。完全不是一个这样卑鄙的人！您至少没有长期欺骗自己，一下子就走到了尽头。您知道我把您看作什么样的人吗？我把您看作这样的一个人：即使割掉他的肠子，他也会屹立不动，含笑望着折磨他的人，——只要他能找到信仰或上帝。嗯，您去找吧，找到了，那么您就会活下去了。第一，您早就已经该换换空气了。有什么呢，受苦也是件好事。您就去受苦吧，米科尔卡想去受苦，也许是对的。我知道，您不信上帝，——不过请您也别卖弄聪明；干脆顺应生活的安排，别再考虑了；您别担心，——生活会把您送上岸去，让您站稳脚根的。送到什么岸上吗？我怎么知道呢？我只是相信，您还会生活很久。我知道，您现在把我的话当作早已背熟的、长篇大论的教训；不过也许以后什么时候会想起来，会用得到的；正是为此我才说这些话。幸好您只杀了一个老太婆。如果您发明另一个理论，那么说不定会干出比这坏万万倍的事来！也许还得感谢上帝呢；您怎么知道：也许上帝正是为了什么事情而保护您。而您有一颗伟大的心，不必太害怕。您害怕行将到来的伟大的赎罪吗？不，害怕是可耻的。既然您迈出了这一步，那就要坚强起来。这是正义。请您按照正义所要求的去做吧。我知道您不信上帝，可是，真的，生活会把您带上正路的。以后您一定会恢复自尊心。现在您只需要空气，空气，空气！”

拉斯科利尼科夫甚至颤栗了一下。

“可您是什么人？”他大喊一声，“您算是什么先知？您是站在什么样的庄严、宁静的高处，郑重其事地向我宣布聪明的预言？”

“我是什么人吗？我是一个已经毫无希望的人，仅此而已。我大概是个有感情、也有同情心的人，大概也多少有点儿知识，不过已经毫无希望了。而您，却是另一回事：上帝给您把生活安排好了（谁知道呢，也许您的一生会像烟一样消失，什么也不会留下）。您要成为另一类人，那又怎样呢？有您那样的一颗心，您大概不会为失去舒适的生活而感到惋惜吧？也许将有很久，谁也不会看到您，可那又有什么呢？问题不在于时间，而在于您自己。您要是成为太一陽一，那么大家就都会看见您了。太一陽一首先应该是太一陽一。您为什么又笑了：我算是什么席勒吗？我敢打赌，您认为，现在我是在讨好您！也许我真的是在讨好您，可这又有什么呢，嘿！嘿！嘿！罗季昂·罗曼内奇，好吧，您还是别相信我的话，甚至永远也不要完全相信，——我就是这样的一性一格，