Crime and Punishment
although this was the first time. “I may perhaps not see you again...”
“Are you... going away?”
“I don’t know... to-morrow....”
“Then you are not coming to Katerina Ivanovna to-morrow?” Sonia’s voice
shook.
“I don’t know. I shall know to-morrow morning.... Never mind that: I’ve
come to say one word....”
He raised his brooding eyes to her and suddenly noticed that he was
sitting down while she was all the while standing before him.
“Why are you standing? Sit down,” he said in a changed voice, gentle and
friendly.
She sat down. He looked kindly and almost compassionately at her.
“How thin you are! What a hand! Quite transparent, like a dead hand.”
He took her hand. Sonia smiled faintly.
“I have always been like that,” she said.
“Even when you lived at home?”
“Yes.”
“Of course, you were,” he added abruptly and the expression of his face
and the sound of his voice changed again suddenly.
He looked round him once more.
“You rent this room from the Kapernaumovs?”
“Yes....”
“They live there, through that door?”
“Yes.... They have another room like this.”
“All in one room?”
“Yes.”
“I should be afraid in your room at night,” he observed gloomily.
“They are very good people, very kind,” answered Sonia, who still seemed
bewildered, “and all the furniture, everything... everything is theirs.
And they are very kind and the children, too, often come to see me.”
“They all stammer, don’t they?”
“Yes.... He stammers and he’s lame. And his wife, too.... It’s not
exactly that she stammers, but she can’t speak plainly. She is a very
kind woman. And he used to be a house serf. And there are seven
children... and it’s only the eldest one that stammers and the others
are simply ill... but they don’t stammer.... But where did you hear
about them?” she added with some surprise.
“Your father told me, then. He told me all about you.... And how you
went out at six o’clock and came back at nine and how Katerina Ivanovna
knelt down by your bed.”
Sonia was confused.
“I fancied I saw him to-day,” she whispered hesitatingly.
“Whom?”
“Father. I was walking in the street, out there at the corner, about ten
o’clock and he seemed to be walking in front. It looked just like him. I
wanted to go to Katerina Ivanovna....”
“You were walking in the streets?”
“Yes,” Sonia whispered abruptly, again overcome with confusion and
looking down.
“Katerina Ivanovna used to beat you, I dare say?”
“Oh no, what are you saying? No!” Sonia looked at him almost with
dismay.
“You love her, then?”
“Love her? Of course!” said Sonia with plaintive emphasis, and she
clasped her hands in distress. “Ah, you don’t.... If you only knew!
You see, she is quite like a child.... Her mind is quite unhinged, you
see... from sorrow. And how clever she used to be... how generous... how
kind! Ah, you don’t understand, you don’t understand!”
Sonia said this as though in despair, wringing her hands in excitement
and distress. Her pale cheeks flushed, there was a look of anguish in
her eyes. It was clear that she was stirred to the very depths, that
she was longing to speak, to champion, to express something. A sort
of _insatiable_ compassion, if one may so express it, was reflected in
every feature of her face.
“Beat me! how can you? Good heavens, beat me! And if she did beat me,
what then? What of it? You know nothing, nothing about it.... She is so
unhappy... ah, how unhappy! And ill.... She is seeking righteousness,
she is pure. She has such faith that there must be righteousness
everywhere and she expects it.... And if you were to torture her, she
wouldn’t do wrong. She doesn’t see that it’s impossible for people to
be righteous and she is angry at it. Like a child, like a child. She is
good!”
“And what will happen to you?”
Sonia looked at him inquiringly.
“They are left on your hands, you see. They were all on your hands
before, though.... And your father came to you to beg for drink. Well,
how will it be now?”
“I don’t know,” Sonia articulated mournfully.
“Will they stay there?”
“I don’t know.... They are in debt for the lodging, but the landlady,
I hear, said to-day that she wanted to get rid of them, and Katerina
Ivanovna says that she won’t stay another minute.”
“How is it she is so bold? She relies upon you?”
“Oh, no, don’t talk like that.... We are one, we live like one.” Sonia
was agitated again and even angry, as though a canary or some other
little bird were to be angry. “And what could she do? What, what could
she do?” she persisted, getting hot and excited. “And how she cried
to-day! Her mind is unhinged, haven’t you noticed it? At one minute she
is worrying like a child that everything should be right to-morrow, the
lunch and all that.... Then she is wringing her hands, spitting blood,
weeping, and all at once she will begin knocking her head against the
wall, in despair. Then she will be comforted again. She builds all her
hopes on you; she says that you will help her now and that she will
borrow a little money somewhere and go to her native town with me and
set up a boarding school for the daughters of gentlemen and take me to
superintend it, and we will begin a new splendid life. And she kisses
and hugs me, comforts me, and you know she has such faith, such faith in
her fancies! One can’t contradict her. And all the day long she has been
washing, cleaning, mending. She dragged the wash tub into the room with
her feeble hands and sank on the bed, gasping for breath. We went this
morning to the shops to buy shoes for Polenka and Lida for theirs are
quite worn out. Only the money we’d reckoned wasn’t enough, not nearly
enough. And she picked out such dear little boots, for she has taste,
you don’t know. And there in the shop she burst out crying before the
shopmen because she hadn’t enough.... Ah, it was sad to see her....”
“Well, after that I can understand your living like this,” Raskolnikov
said with a bitter smile.
“And aren’t you sorry for them? Aren’t you sorry?” Sonia flew at him
again. “Why, I know, you gave your last penny yourself, though you’d
seen nothing of it, and if you’d seen everything, oh dear! And how
often, how often I’ve brought her to tears! Only last week! Yes, I! Only
a week before his death. I was cruel! And how often I’ve done it! Ah,
I’ve been wretched at the thought of it all day!”
Sonia wrung her hands as she spoke at the pain of remembering it.
“You were cruel?”
“Yes, I--I. I went to see them,” she went on, weeping, “and father said,
‘read me something, Sonia, my head aches, read to me, here’s a book.’ He
had a book he had got from Andrey Semyonovitch Lebeziatnikov, he lives
there, he always used to get hold of such funny books. And I said, ‘I
can’t stay,’ as I didn’t want to read, and I’d gone in chiefly to show
Katerina Ivanovna some collars. Lizaveta, the pedlar, sold me some
collars and cuffs cheap, pretty, new, embroidered ones. Katerina
Ivanovna liked them very much; she put them on and looked at herself
in the glass and was delighted with them. ‘Make me a present of them,
Sonia,’ she said, ‘please do.’ ‘_Please do_,’ she said, she wanted them
so much. And when could she wear them? They just reminded her of her old
happy days. She looked at herself in the glass, admired herself, and she
has no clothes at all, no things of her own, hasn’t had all these years!
And she never asks anyone for anything; she is proud, she’d sooner give
away everything. And these she asked for, she liked them so much. And I
was sorry to give them. ‘What use are they to you, Katerina Ivanovna?’ I
said. I spoke like that to her, I ought not to have said that! She gave
me such a look. And she was so grieved, so grieved at my refusing her.
And it was so sad to see.... And she was not grieved for the collars,
but for my refusing, I saw that. Ah, if only I could bring it all back,
change it, take back those words! Ah, if I... but it’s nothing to you!”
“Did you know Lizaveta, the pedlar?”
“Yes.... Did you know her?” Sonia asked with some surprise.
“Katerina Ivanovna is in consumption, rapid consumption; she will soon
die,” said Raskolnikov after a pause, without answering her question.
“Oh, no, no, no!”
And Sonia unconsciously clutched both his hands, as though imploring
that she should not.
“But it will be better if she does die.”
“No, not better, not at all better!” Sonia unconsciously repeated in
dismay.
“And the children? What can you do except take them to live with you?”
“Oh, I don’t know,” cried Sonia, almost in despair, and she put her
hands to her head.
It was evident that that idea had very often occurred to her before and
he had only roused it again.
“And, what, if even now, while Katerina Ivanovna is alive, you get ill
and are taken to the hospital, what will happen then?” he persisted
pitilessly.
“How can you? That cannot be!”
And Sonia’s face worked with awful terror.
“Cannot be?” Raskolnikov went on with a harsh smile. “You are not
insured against it, are you? What will happen to them then? They will
be in the street, all of them, she will cough and beg and knock her head
against some wall, as she did to-day, and the children will cry....
Then she will fall down, be taken to the police station and to the
hospital, she will die, and the children...”
“Oh, no.... God will not let it be!” broke at last from Sonia’s
overburdened bosom.
She listened, looking imploringly at him, clasping her hands in dumb
entreaty, as though it all depended upon him.
Raskolnikov got up and began to walk about the room. A minute passed.
Sonia was standing with her hands and her head hanging in terrible
dejection.
“And can’t you save? Put by for a rainy day?” he asked, stopping
suddenly before her.
“No,” whispered Sonia.
“Of course not. Have you tried?” he added almost ironically.
“Yes.”
“And it didn’t come off! Of course not! No need to ask.”
And again he paced the room. Another minute passed.
“You don’t get money every day?”
Sonia was more confused than ever and colour rushed into her face again.
“No,” she whispered with a painful effort.
“It will be the same with Polenka, no doubt,” he said suddenly.
“No, no! It can’t be, no!” Sonia cried aloud in desperation, as though
she had been stabbed. “God would not allow anything so awful!”
“He lets others come to it.”
“No, no! God will protect her, God!” she repeated beside herself.
“But, perhaps, there is no God at all,” Raskolnikov answered with a sort
of malignance, laughed and looked at her.
Sonia’s face suddenly changed; a tremor passed over it. She looked at
him with unutterable reproach, tried to say something, but could not
speak and broke into bitter, bitter sobs, hiding her face in her hands.
“You say Katerina Ivanovna’s mind is unhinged; your own mind is
unhinged,” he said after a brief silence.
Five minutes passed. He still paced up and down the room in silence, not
looking at her. At last he went up to her; his eyes glittered. He put
his two hands on her shoulders and looked straight into her tearful
face. His eyes were hard, feverish and piercing, his lips were
twitching. All at once he bent down quickly and dropping to the
ground, kissed her foot. Sonia drew back from him as from a madman. And
certainly he looked like a madman.
“What are you doing to me?” she muttered, turning pale, and a sudden
anguish clutched at her heart.
He stood up at once.
“I did not bow down to you, I bowed down to all the suffering of
humanity,” he said wildly and walked away to the window. “Listen,” he
added, turning to her a minute later. “I said just now to an insolent
man that he was not worth your little finger... and that I did my sister
honour making her sit beside you.”