No More Learning

From school young
Pokrovsky entered a gymnasium, and then the University, but
his impaired health prevented his continuing his studies there.
Mr. Bykoff introduced him to Anna Feodorovna, recommended
him to her, and in this way young Pokrovsky had been taken
into the house as a boarder, on condition that he should teach
Sasha all that was necessary.
But old Pokrovsky fell into the lowest dissipation through
grief at his wife's harshness, and was almost always in a state of
drunkenness. His wife beat him, drove him into the kitchen to
live, and brought matters to such a point that at last he got
used to being beaten and ill-treated, and made no complaint.
He was still far from being an old man, but his evil habits had
nearly destroyed his mind. The only sign in him of noble
human sentiments was his boundless love for his son. It was
said that young Pokrovsky was as like his dead mother as two
drops of water to each other. The old man could talk of noth-
ing but his son, and came to see him regularly twice a week.
He dared not come more frequently, because young Pokrovsky
could not endure his father's visits. Of all his failings, the first
and greatest, without a doubt, was his lack of respect for his
father. However, the old man certainly was at times the most
intolerable creature in the world. In the first place he was
dreadfully inquisitive; in the second, by his chatter and ques-
tions he interfered with his son's occupations; and lastly, he


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FEODOR MIKHAILOVITCH DOSTOEVSKY
4789
sometimes presented himself in a state of intoxication. The son
broke the father, in a degree, of his faults,—of his inquisitive-
ness and his chattering; and ultimately brought about such a
condition of affairs that the latter listened to all he said as to
an oracle, and dared not open his mouth without his permission.
There were no bounds to the old man's admiration of and
delight in his Petinka, as he called his son. When he came to
visit him he almost always wore a rather anxious, timid expres-
sion, probably on account of his uncertainty as to how his son
would receive him, and generally could not make up his mind
for a long time to go in; and if I happened to be present, he
would question me for twenty minutes: How was Petinka?
Was he well? In what mood was he, and was not he occupied
in something important? What, precisely, was he doing? Was
he writing, or engaged in meditation? When I had sufficiently
encouraged and soothed him, the old man would at last make up
his mind to enter, and would open the door very, very softly,
very, very cautiously, and stick his head in first; and if he saw
that his son was not angry, and nodded to him, he would step
gently into the room, take off his little coat, and his hat, which
was always crumpled, full of holes and with broken rims, and
hang them on a hook, doing everything very softly, and inaudi-
bly. Then he would seat himself cautiously on a chair and
never take his eyes from his son, but would watch his every
movement in his desire to divine the state of his Petinka's
temper. If the son was not exactly in the right mood, and the
old man detected it, he instantly rose from his seat and ex-
plained, "I only ran in for a minute, Petinka. I have been
walking a good ways, and happened to be passing by, so I came
in to rest myself. " And then silently he took his poor little
coat and his wretched little hat, opened the door again very
softly, and went away, forcing a smile in order to suppress the
grief which was seething up in his soul, and not betray it to his
son.
But when the son received his father well, the old man was
beside himself with joy. His satisfaction shone forth in his face,
in his gestures, in his movements. If his son addressed a re-
mark to him, the old man always rose a little from his chair, and
replied softly, cringingly, almost reverently, and always made an
effort to employ the most select, that is to say, the most ridicu-
lous expressions. But he had not the gift of language; he always


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FEODOR MIKHAILOVITCH DOSTOÉVSKY
4790
became confused and frightened, so that he did not know what
to do with his hands, or what to do with his person, and went
on, for a long time afterward, whispering his answer to himself,
as though desirous of recovering his composure. But if he suc-
ceeded in making a good answer, the old man gained courage,
set his waistcoat to rights, and his cravat and his coat, and
assumed an air of personal dignity. Sometimes his courage rose
to such a point, his daring reached such a height, that he rose
gently from his chair, went up to the shelf of books, took down
a book. He did all this with an air of artificial indifference and
coolness, as though he could always handle his son's books in
this proprietary manner, as though his son's caresses were no
rarity to him. But I once happened to witness the old man's
fright when Pokrovsky asked him not to touch his books. He
became confused, hurriedly replaced the book upside down, then
tried to put it right, turned it round and set it wrong side to,
leaves out, smiled, reddened, and did not know how to expiate
his crime.
One day old Pokrovsky came in to see us. He chatted with
us for a long time, was unusually cheerful, alert, talkative; he
laughed and joked after his fashion, and at last revealed the
secret of his raptures, and announced to us that his Petinka's
birthday fell precisely a week later, and that it was his intention.
to call upon his son, without fail, on that day; that he would
don a new waistcoat, and that his wife had promised to buy him
some new boots. In short, the old man was perfectly happy,
and chattered about everything that came into his head.
His birthday! That birthday gave me no peace, either day
or night. I made up my mind faithfully to remind Pokrovsky of
my friendship, and to make him a present. But what? At last
I hit upon the idea of giving him some books. I knew that he
wished to own the complete works of Pushkin, in the latest edi-
tion. I had thirty rubles of my own, earned by my handiwork.
I had put this money aside for a new gown. I immediately
sent old Matryona, our cook, to inquire the price of a complete
set. Alas! The price of the eleven volumes, together with the
expenses of binding, would be sixty rubles at the very least. I
thought and thought, but could not tell what to do.
I did not
wish to ask my mother. Of course she would have helped me;
but, in that case every one in the house would have known
about our gift; moreover, the gift would have been converted


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FEODOR MIKHAILOVITCH DOSTOÉVSKY
4791
into an expression of gratitude, a payment for Pokrovsky's labors
for the whole year. My desire was to make the present pri-
vately, unknown to any one. And for his toilsome lessons to me
I wished to remain forever indebted to him, without any pay-
ment whatever. At last I devised an escape from my predica-
ment. I knew that one could often buy at half price from the
old booksellers in the Gostinny Dvor, if one bargained well, little
used and almost entirely new books. I made up my mind to go
to the Gostinny Dvor myself. So it came about; the very next
morning both Anna Feodorovna and we needed something.
Mamma was not feeling well, and Anna Feodorovna, quite op-
portunely, had a fit of laziness, so all the errands were turned
over to me, and I set out with Matryona.
To my delight I soon found a Pushkin, and in a very hand-
some binding. I began to bargain for it. How I enjoyed it!
But alas! My entire capital consisted of thirty rubles in paper,
and the merchant would not consent to accept less than ten
rubles in silver. At last I began to entreat him, and I begged
and begged, until eventually he yielded. But he only took off
two rubles and a half, and swore that he had done so only for
my sake, because I was such a nice young lady, and that he
would not have come down in his price for any one else. Two
rubles and a half were still lacking! I was ready to cry with
vexation. But the most unexpected circumstance came to my
rescue in my grief. Not far from me, at another stall, I caught
sight of old Pokrovsky. Four or five old booksellers were clus-
tered about him; he had completely lost his wits, and they had
thoroughly bewildered him. Each one was offering him his
wares, and what stuff they were offering, and what all was he
not ready to buy! I stepped up to him and asked him what
he was doing there? The old man was very glad to see me;
he loved me unboundedly,- no less than his Petinka, perhaps.
"Why, I am buying a few little books, Varvara Alexievna," he
replied; "I am buying some books for Petinka. " I asked him if
he had much money? "See here," and the poor old man took
out all his money, which was wrapped up in a dirty scrap of
newspaper; "here's a half-ruble, and a twenty-kopek piece,
and twenty kopeks in copper coins. " I immediately dragged
him off to my bookseller. "Here are eleven books, which cost
altogether thirty-two rubles and a half; I have thirty; put your
two rubles and a half with mine, and we will buy all these


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FEODOR MIKHAILOVITCH DOSTOÉVSKY
4792
books and give them to him in partnership. " The old man was
quite beside himself with joy, and the bookseller loaded him
down with our common library.
The next day the old man came to see his son, sat with him
a little while, then came to us and sat down beside me with a
very comical air of mystery. Every moment he grew more sad
and uneasy; at last he could hold out no longer.
"Listen, Varvara Alexievna," he began timidly, in a low voice:
"do you know what, Varvara Alexievna? " The old man was
dreadfully embarrassed. "You see, when his birthday comes, do
you take ten of those little books and give them to him your-
self, that is to say, from yourself, on your own behalf; then I
will take the eleventh and give it from myself, for my share.
So you see, you will have something to give, and I shall have
something to give; we shall both have something to give. "
――――
I was awfully sorry for the old man. I did not take long to
think it over. The old man watched me anxiously. "Listen to
me, Zakhar Petrovitch," I said: "de you give him all. ”.
« How
all? Do you mean all the books? "—"Yes, certainly, all the
books. "—" And from myself? " - "From
"From yourself. ".
yourself. " "From
myself alone—that is, in my own name? » - "Yes, in your own
name. " I thought I was expressing myself with sufficient clear-
ness, but the old man could not understand me for a long time.
"You see," he explained to me at last, "I sometimes indulge
myself, Varvara Alexievna,-that is to say, I wish to state to you
that I nearly always indulge myself,-I do that which is not
right,— that is, you know, when it is cold out of doors, and when
various unpleasant things happen at times, or when I feel sad
for any reason, or something bad happens,— then sometimes, I
do not restrain myself, and I drink too much.
This is very
disagreeable to Petrushka, you see, Varvara Alexievna; he gets
angry, and he scolds me and reads me moral lectures. So now
I should like to show him by my gift that I have reformed, and
am beginning to conduct myself well; that I have been saving
up my money to buy a book, saving for a long time, because I
hardly ever have any money, except when it happens that
Petrushka gives me some now and then. He knows that. Con-
sequently, he will see what use I have made of my money, and
he will know that I have done this for his sake alone. "
-
"Well, yes," he said, after thinking it over, "yes! That will
be very fine, that would be very fine indeed,-only, what are


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FEODOR MIKHAILOVITCH DOSTOEVSKY
4793
«<
anything.
you going to do, Varvara Alexievna? " "Why, I shall not give
What! " cried the old man almost in terror; « so
you will not give Petinka anything, so you do not wish to give
him anything? " He was alarmed.
He was alarmed. At that moment it seemed
as though he were ready to relinquish his own suggestions, so
that I might have something to give his son. He was a kind-
hearted old man! I explained that I would be glad to give
something, only I did not wish to deprive him of the pleasure.
-
―――
On the festive day he made his appearance at precisely eleven
o'clock, straight from the mass, in his dress coat, decently
patched, and actually in a new waistcoat and new boots. We
were all sitting in the hall with Anna Feodorovna, and drinking
coffee (it was Sunday). The old man began, I believe, by saying
that Pushkin was a good poet; then he lost the thread of his
discourse and got confused, and suddenly jumped to the assertion.
that a man must behave well, and that if he does not behave
himself well, then it simply means that he indulges himself; he
even cited several terrible examples of intemperance, and wound
up by stating that for some time past he had been entirely at
reformed character, and that he now behaved with perfect pro-
priety. That even earlier he had recognized the justice of his
son's exhortations, and had treasured them all in his heart, and
had actually begun to be sober. In proof of which he now pre-
sented these books, which had been purchased with money which
he had been hoarding up for a long time.
I could not refrain from tears and laughter, as I listened to
the poor old fellow; he knew well how to lie when the occasion
demanded! The books were taken to Pokrovsky's room and
placed on the shelf. Pokrovsky immediately divined the truth.
Pokrovsky fell ill, two months after the events which I have
described above. During those two months he had striven inces-
santly for the means of existence, for up to that time he had
never had a settled position. Like all consumptives, he bade
farewell only with his last breath to the hope of a very long
life. .
Anna Feodorovna herself made all the arrange-
ments about the funeral. She bought the very plainest sort of a
coffin, and hired a truckman. In order to repay herself for her


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FEODOR MIKHAILOVITCH DOSTOEVSKY
4794
expenditure, Anna Feodorovna took possession of all the dead
man's books and effects. The old man wrangled with her, raised
an uproar, snatched from her as many books as possible, stuffed
all his pockets with them, thrust them into his hat and wherever
he could, carried them about with him all the three days which
preceded the funeral, and did not even part with them when the
time came to go to the church. During all those days he was
like a man stunned, who has lost his memory, and he kept fuss-
ing about near the coffin with a certain strange anxiety; now he
adjusted the paper band upon the dead man's brow, now he lighted
and snuffed the candles. It was evident that he could not fix
his thoughts in orderly manner on anything. Neither my mother
nor Anna Feodorovna went to the funeral services in the church.
My mother was ill, but Anna Feodorovna quarreled with old
Pokrovsky just as she was all ready to start, and so stayed away.
The old man and I were the only persons present. A sort of
fear came over me during the services-like the presentiment
of something which was about to happen. I could hardly stand
out the ceremony in church. At last they put the lid on the
coffin and nailed it down, placed it on the cart and drove away.
I accompanied it only to the end of the street. The truckman
drove at a trot. The old man ran after the cart, weeping aloud;
the sound of his crying was broken and shaken by his running.
The poor man lost his hat and did not stop to pick it up. His
head was wet with the rain; the sleet lashed and cut his face.
The old man did not appear to feel the bad weather, but ran
weeping from one side of the cart to the other. The skirts of
his shabby old coat waved in the wind like wings.
Books pro-
truded from every one of his pockets; in his hands was a huge
book, which he held tightly clutched. The passers-by removed
their hats and made the sign of the cross. Some halted and
stared in amazement at the poor old man. Every moment the
books kept falling out of his pockets into the mud. People
stopped him, and pointed out his losses to him; he picked them
up, and set out again in pursuit of the coffin. At the corner of
the street an old beggar woman joined herself to him to escort
the coffin. At last the cart turned the corner, and disappeared
from my eyes.
I went home. I flung myself, in dreadful grief,
on my mother's bosom.


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FEODOR MIKHAILOVITCH DOSTOEVSKY
4795
LETTER FROM MAKAR DYEVUSHKIN TO VARVARA ALEXIEVNA DOBROS-
YELOFF
――――
My dear Varvara Alexievna!
I am quite beside myself as I write this. I am utterly upset
by a most terrible occurrence. My head is whirling. I feel as
though everything were turning in dizzy circles round about me.
Ah, my dearest, what a thing I have to tell you now! We had
not even a presentiment of such a thing. No, I don't believe
that I did not have a presentiment I foresaw it all. My heart
forewarned me of this whole thing! I even dreamed of some-
thing like it not long ago.
This is what has happened! I will relate it to you without
attempting fine style, and as the Lord shall put it into my soul.
I went to the office to-day. When I arrived, I sat down and
began to write. But you must know, my dear, that I wrote yes-
terday also. Well, yesterday Timofei Ivan'itch came to me, and
was pleased to give me a personal order. "Here's a document
that is much needed," says he, "and we're in a hurry for it.
Copy it, Makar Alexievitch," says he, "as quickly and as neatly
and carefully as possible: it must be handed in for signature to-
day. " I must explain to you, my angel, that I was not quite
myself yesterday, and didn't wish to look at anything; such sad-
ness and depression had fallen upon me! My heart was cold, my
mind was dark; you filled all my memory, and incessantly, my
poor darling. Well, so I set to work on the copy; I wrote clearly
and well, only, I don't know exactly how to describe it to you,
whether the Evil One himself tangled me up, or whether it was
decreed by some mysterious fate, or simply whether it was bound
to happen so, but I omitted a whole line, and the sense was utterly
ruined. The Lord only knows what sense there was-simply
none whatever. They were late with the papers yesterday, so
they only gave this document to his Excellency for signature this
morning. To-day I presented myself at the usual hour, as though
nothing at all were the matter, and set myself down alongside
Emelyan Ivanovitch.
―――
SEPTEMBER 9TH.
I must tell you, my dear, that lately I have become twice as
shamefaced as before, and more mortified. Of late I have ceased
to look at any one. As soon as any one's chair squeaks, I am
more dead than alive.
So to-day I crept in, slipped humbly into


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4796
FEODOR MIKHAILOVITCH DOSTOÉVSKY
my seat, and sat there all doubled up, so that Efim Akimovitch
(he's the greatest tease in the world) remarked in such a way
that all could hear him, "Why do you sit so like a y-y-y, Makar
Alexievitch ? " Then he made such a grimace that everybody
round him and me split with laughter, and of course at my
expense. They kept it up interminably! I drooped my ears and
screwed up my eyes, and sat there motionless.
That's my way;
they stop the quicker. All at once I heard a noise, a running
and a tumult; I heard - did my ears deceive me? They were
calling for me, demanding me, summoning Dyevushkin.
My
heart quivered in my breast, and I didn't know myself what I
feared, for nothing of the sort had ever happened to me in the
whole course of my life. I was rooted to my chair, as though
nothing had occurred, as though it were not I. But then they be-
gan again, nearer at hand, and nearer still. And here they were,
right in my very ear: "Dyevushkin! Dyevushkin! " they called;
"where's Dyevushkin? " I raise my eyes, and there before me
stands Evstafiy Ivanovitch; he says:-"Makar Alexievitch, hasten
to his Excellency as quickly as possible! You've made a nice
mess with that document! "
――
That was all he said, but it was enough, wasn't it, my dear,
- quite enough to say? I turned livid, and grew as cold as
ice, and lost my senses; I started, and I simply didn't know
whether I was alive or dead as I went. They led me through
one room, and through another room, and through a third room,
to the private office, and I presented myself! Positively, I can-
not give you any account of what I was thinking about.
I saw
his Excellency standing there, with all of them around him. It
appears that I did not make my salute; I forgot it completely.
I was so scared that my lips trembled and my legs shook. And
there was sufficient cause, my dear. In the first place, I was
ashamed of myself; I glanced to the right, at a mirror, and what
I beheld therein was enough to drive any man out of his senses.
And in the second place, I have always behaved as though there
were no place for me in the world. So that it is not likely that
his Excellency was even aware of my existence.
It is possible
that he may have heard it cursorily mentioned that there was a
person named Dyevushkin in the department, but he had never
come into any closer relations.
He began angrily, "What's the meaning of this, sir? What
are you staring at? Here's an important paper, needed in haste,


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FEODOR MIKHAILOVITCH DOSTOEVSKY
4797
and you go and spoil it. And how did you come to permit such
a thing? " Here his Excellency turned on Evstafiy Ivanovitch.
I only listen, and the sounds of the words reach me: "It's gross
carelessness. Heedlessness! You'll get yourself into trouble! "
I tried to open my mouth for some purpose or other. I seemed
to want to ask forgiveness, but I couldn't; to run away, but I
didn't dare to make the attempt: and then- then, my dearest,
something so dreadful happened that I can hardly hold my pen
even now for the shame of it. My button-deuce take it-my
button, which was hanging by a thread, suddenly broke loose,
jumped off, skipped along (evidently I had struck it by accident),
clattered and rolled away, the cursed thing, straight to his Excel-
lency's feet, and that in the midst of universal silence. And
that was the whole of my justification, all my excuse, all my
answer, everything which I was preparing to say to his Excel-
lency!
The results were terrible! His Excellency immediately di-
rected his attention to my figure and my costume. I remembered
what I had seen in the mirror; I flew to catch the button! A
fit of madness descended upon me! I bent down and tried to
grasp the button, but it rolled and twisted, and I couldn't get
hold of it, in short, and I also distinguished myself in the matter
of dexterity. Then I felt my last strength fail me, and knew
that all, all was lost! My whole reputation was lost, the whole
man ruined! And then, without rhyme or reason, Teresa and
Faldoni began to ring in both my ears. At last I succeeded in
seizing the button, rose upright, drew myself up in proper salute,
but like a fool, and stood calmly there with my hands lined
down on the seams of my trousers! No, I didn't, though. 1
began to try to fit the button on the broken thread, just as
though it would stick fast by that means; and moreover, I began
to smile and went on smiling.
At first his Excellency turned away; then he scrutinized me
again, and I heard him say to Evstafiy Ivanovitch:-"How's this?
See what a condition he is in! What a looking man! What's
the matter with him? " Ah, my own dearest, think of that—
"What a looking man! " and "What's the matter with him!
"He has distinguished himself! " I heard Evstafiy say; "he has
no bad marks, no bad marks on any score, and his conduct
is exemplary; his salary is adequate, in accordance with the
rates. " "Well then, give him some sort of assistance," says his
>>>


## p. 4798 (#594) ###########################################

4798
FEODOR MIKHAILOVITCH DOSTOEVSKY
Excellency; "make him an advance on his salary. "-"But he has
had it, he has taken it already, for ever so long in advance.
Probably circumstances have compelled him to do so; but his
conduct is good, and he has received no reprimands, he has never
been rebuked. " My dear little angel, I turned hot and burned
as though in the fires of the bad place! I was on the point of
fainting. "Well," says his Excellency in a loud voice, “the doc-
ument must be copied again as quickly as possible; come here,
Dyevushkin, make a fresh copy without errors; and listen to
me;" here his Excellency turned to the others and gave them
divers orders, and sent them all away. As soon as they were
all gone, his Excellency hastily took out his pocket-book, and
from it drew a hundred-ruble bank-note. "Here," said he, "this
is all I can afford, and I am happy to help to that extent;
reckon it as you please, take it,”—and he thrust it into my hand.
I trembled, my angel, my whole soul was in a flutter; I didn't
know what was the matter with me; I tried to catch his hand
and kiss it. But he turned very red in the face, my darling,
and—I am not deviating from the truth by so much as a hair's-
breadth - he took my unworthy hand, and shook it, indeed he
did; he took it and shook it as though it were of equal rank
with his own, as though it belonged to a General like himself.
"Go," says he; "I am glad to do what I can. Make no mis-
takes, but now do it as well as you can. "
Now, my dear, this is what I have decided: I beg you and
Feodor and if I had children I would lay my commands upon
them to pray to God for him; though they should not pray for
their own father, that they should pray daily and forever, for his
Excellency! One thing more I will say, my dearest, and I say
it solemnly, heed me well, my dear, I swear that, no matter
in what degree I may be reduced to spiritual anguish in the
cruel days of our adversity, as I look on you and your poverty,
on myself, on my humiliation and incapacity,-in spite of all
this, I swear to you that the hundred rubles are not so precious
to me as the fact that his Excellency himself deigned to press
my unworthy hand, the hand of a straw, a drunkard! Thereby
he restored my self-respect. By that deed he brought to life
again my spirit, he made my existence sweeter forevermore, and
I am firmly convinced that, however sinful I may be in the
sight of the Almighty, yet my prayer for the happiness and
prosperity of his Excellency will reach his throne!
――――――


## p. 4799 (#595) ###########################################

FEODOR MIKHAILOVITCH DOSTOEVSKY
4799
My dearest, I am at present in the most terrible state of
spiritual prostration, in a horribly overwrought condition. My
heart beats as though it would burst out of my breast, and I
seem to be weak all over. I send you forty-five rubles, paper
money. I shall give twenty rubles to my landlady, and keep
thirty-five for myself; with twenty I will get proper clothes, and
the other fifteen will go for my living expenses. But just now
all the impressions of this morning have shaken my whole being
to the foundations. I am going to lie down for a bit. Never-
theless, I am calm, perfectly calm. Only, my soul aches, and
down there, in the depths, my soul is trembling and throbbing
and quivering. I shall go to see you; but just now I am simply
intoxicated with all these emotions. God sees all, my dearest,
my own darling, my precious one.
Your worthy friend,
MAKAR DYEVUSHKIN.
Translation of Isabel F. Hapgood.
THE BIBLE READING
From Crime and Punishment'
R
ASKOLNIKOFF Went straight to the water-side, where Sonia was
living. The three-storied house was an old building, painted
green.
The young man had some difficulty in finding the
ornik, and got from him vague information about the quarters
of the tailor Kapernasumoff. After having discovered in a corner
of the yard the foot of a steep and gloomy staircase, he ascended
to the second floor, and followed the gallery facing the court-yard.
Whilst groping in the dark, and asking himself how Kapernas-
umoff's lodgings could be reached, a door opened close to him;
he seized it mechanically.
"Who is there? " asked a timid female voice.
"It is I. I am coming to see you," replied Raskolnikoff, on
entering a small ante-room. There on a wretched table stood a
candle, fixed in a candlestick of twisted metal.
"Is that you? Good heavens! " feebly replied Sonia, who
seemed not to have strength enough to move from the spot.
"Where do you live? Is it here? " And Raskolnikoff passed
quickly into the room, trying not to look the girl in the face.


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FEODOR MIKHAILOVITCH DOSTOEVSKY
A moment afterwards Sonia rejoined him with the candle, and
remained stock still before him, a prey to an indescribable agita-
tion. This unexpected visit had upset her-nay, even frightened
her. All of a sudden her pale face colored up, and tears came
into her eyes.
She experienced extreme confusion, united with a
certain gentle feeling. Raskolnikoff turned aside with a rapid
movement and sat down on a chair, close to the table. In the
twinkling of an eye he took stock of everything in the room.
This room was large, with a very low ceiling, and was the
only one let out by the Kapernasumoffs; in the wall, on the left-
hand side, was a door giving access to theirs. On the opposite
side, in the wall on the right, there was another door, which was
always locked. That was another lodging, having another num-
ber. Sonia's room was more like an out-house, of irregular rec-
tangular shape, which gave it an uncommon character. The wall,
with its three windows facing the canal, cut it obliquely, forming
thus an extremely acute angle, in the back portion of which noth-
ing could be seen, considering the feeble light of the candle.
On the other hand, the other angle was an extremely obtuse one.
This large room contained scarcely any furniture. In the right-
hand corner was the bed; between the bed and the door, a chair;
on the same side, facing the door of the next set, stood a deal
table, covered with a blue cloth; close to the table were two rush
chairs. Against the opposite wall, near the acute angle, was
placed a small chest of drawers of unvarnished wood, which
seemed out of place in this vacant spot. This was the whole of
the furniture. The yellowish and worn paper had everywhere
assumed a darkish color, probably the effect of the damp and
coal smoke. Everything in the place denoted poverty. Even the
bed had no curtains. Sonia silently considered the visitor, who
examined her room so attentively and so unceremoniously.
"Her lot is fixed," thought he,-"a watery grave, the mad-
house, or a brutish existence! " This latter contingency was
especially repellent to him, but skeptic as he was, he could not
help believing it a possibility. "Is it possible that such is really
the case? " he asked himself. "Is it possible that this creature,
who still retains a pure mind, should end by becoming deliber-
ately mire-like ? Has she not already become familiar with it,
and if up to the present she has been able to bear with such a


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FEODOR MIKHAILOVITCH DOSTOEVSKY
4801
life, has it not been so because vice has already lost its hideous-
ness in her eyes? Impossible again! " cried he, on his part, in
the same way as Sonia had cried a moment ago. "No, that
which up to the present has prevented her from throwing her-
self into the canal has been the fear of sin and its punishment.
May she not be mad after all? Who says she is not so? Is
she in full possession of all her faculties? Is it possible to
speak as she does? Do people of sound judgment reason as she
reasons? Can people anticipate future destruction with such tran-
quillity, turning a deaf ear to warnings and forebodings? Does
she expect a miracle? It must be so. And does not all this
seem like signs of mental derangement? "
To this idea he clung obstinately. Sonia mad! Such a pros-
pect displeased him less than the other ones. Once more he
examined the girl attentively.
« And you
you often pray to
God, Sonia? " he asked her.
No answer. Standing by her side, he waited for a reply.
"What could I be, what should I be without God? " cried she in
a low-toned but energetic voice, and whilst casting on Raskolni-
koff a rapid glance of her brilliant eyes, she gripped his hand.
"Come, I was not mistaken! " he muttered to himself. -"And
what does God do for you? " asked he, anxious to clear his
doubts yet more.
For a long time the girl remained silent, as if incapable of
reply. Emotion made her bosom heave. "Stay! Do not ques-
tion me! You have no such right! " exclaimed she, all of a sud-
den, with looks of anger.
"I expected as much! " was the man's thought.
"God does everything for me! " murmured the girl rapidly,
and her eyes sank.
"At last I have the explanation! " he finished mentally, whilst
eagerly looking at her.
He experienced a new, strange, almost unhealthy feeling on
watching this pale, thin, hard-featured face, these blue and soft
eyes which could yet dart such lights and give utterance to such
passion; in a word, this feeble frame, yet trembling with indig-
nation and anger, struck him as weird,-nay, almost fantastic.
"Mad! she must be mad! " he muttered once more. A book
was lying on the chest of drawers. Raskolnikoff had noticed it
more than once whilst moving about the room. He took it and
examined it. It was a Russian translation of the Gospels, a
well-thumbed leather-bound book.
VIII-301


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FEODOR MIKHAILOVITCH DOSTOEVSKY
"Where does that come from? " asked he of Sonia, from the
other end of the room.
The girl still held the same position, a pace or two from the
table. "It was lent me," replied Sonia, somewhat loth, without
looking at Raskolnikoff.
"Who lent it you? "
“Elizabeth —I asked her to! "
"Elizabeth. How strange! " he thought.
he thought. Everything with
Sonia assumed to his mind an increasingly extraordinary aspect.
He took the book to the light, and turned it over. "Where is
mention made of Lazarus? " asked he abruptly.
Sonia, looking hard on the ground, preserved silence, whilst
moving somewhat from the table.
"Where is mention made of the resurrection of Lazarus ?
Find me the passage, Sonia. "
The latter looked askance at her interlocutor. "That is not
the place it is the Fourth Gospel," said she dryly, without
moving from the spot.
"Find me the passage and read it out! " he repeated, and
sitting down again rested his elbow on the table, his head on
his hand, and glancing sideways with gloomy look, prepared to
listen.
――――――――
Sonia at first hesitated to draw nearer to the table. The
singular wish uttered by Raskolnikoff scarcely seemed sincere.
Nevertheless she took the book. "Have you ever read the pas-
sage? " she asked him, looking at him from out corners of
her eyes.
Her voice was getting harder and harder.