Razumihin waked up next morning at eight o'clock, troubled and serious. He found himself confronted with many new and unlooked-for perplexities. He had never expected that he would ever wake up feeling like that. He remembered every detail of the previous day and he knew that a perfectly novel experience had befallen him, that he had received an impression unlike anything he had known before. At the same time he recognised clearly that the dream which had fired his imagination was hopelessly unattainable--so unattainable that he felt positively ashamed of it, and he hastened to pass to the other more practical cares and difficulties bequeathed him by that "thrice accursed yesterday."
The most awful recollection of the previous day was the way he had shown himself "base and mean," not only because he had been drunk, but because he had taken advantage of the young girl's position to abuse her /fiance/ in his stupid jealousy, knowing nothing of their mutual relations and obligations and next to nothing of the man himself. And what right had he to criticise him in that hasty and unguarded manner? Who had asked for his opinion? Was it thinkable that such a creature as Avdotya Romanovna would be marrying an unworthy man for money? So there must be something in him. The lodgings? But after all how could he know the character of the lodgings? He was furnishing a flat . . . Foo! how despicable it all was! And what justification was it that he was drunk? Such a stupid excuse was even more degrading! In wine is truth, and the truth had all come out, "that is, all the uncleanness of his coarse and envious heart"! And would such a dream ever be permissible to him, Razumihin? What was he beside such a girl--he, the drunken noisy braggart of last night? Was it possible to imagine so absurd and cynical a juxtaposition? Razumihin blushed desperately at the very idea and suddenly the recollection forced itself vividly upon him of how he had said last night on the stairs that the landlady would be jealous of Avdotya Romanovna . . . that was simply intolerable. He brought his fist down heavily on the kitchen stove, hurt his hand and sent one of the bricks flying.
"Of course," he muttered to himself a minute later with a feeling of self-abasement, "of course, all these infamies can never be wiped out or smoothed over . . . and so it's useless even to think of it, and I must go to them in silence and do my duty . . . in silence, too . . . and not ask forgiveness, and say nothing . . . for all is lost now!"
And yet as he dressed he examined his attire more carefully than usual. He hadn't another suit--if he had had, perhaps he wouldn't have put it on. "I would have made a point of not putting it on." But in any case he could not remain a cynic and a dirty sloven; he had no right to offend the feelings of others, especially when they were in need of his assistance and asking him to see them. He brushed his clothes carefully. His linen was always decent; in that respect he was especially clean.
He washed that morning scrupulously--he got some soap from Nastasya-- he washed his hair, his neck and especially his hands. When it came to the question whether to shave his stubbly chin or not (Praskovya Pavlovna had capital razors that had been left by her late husband), the question was angrily answered in the negative. "Let it stay as it is! What if they think that I shaved on purpose to . . .? They certainly would think so! Not on any account!"
"And . . . the worst of it was he was so coarse, so dirty, he had the manners of a pothouse; and . . . and even admitting that he knew he had some of the essentials of a gentleman . . . what was there in that to be proud of? Everyone ought to be a gentleman and more than that . . . and all the same (he remembered) he, too, had done little things . . . not exactly dishonest, and yet. . . . And what thoughts he sometimes had; hm . . . and to set all that beside Avdotya Romanovna! Confound it! So be it! Well, he'd make a point then of being dirty, greasy, pothouse in his manners and he wouldn't care! He'd be worse!"
He was engaged in such monologues when Zossimov, who had spent the night in Praskovya Pavlovna's parlour, came in.
He was going home and was in a hurry to look at the invalid first. Razumihin informed him that Raskolnikov was sleeping like a dormouse. Zossimov gave orders that they shouldn't wake him and promised to see him again about eleven.
"If he is still at home," he added. "Damn it all! If one can't control one's patients, how is one to cure them? Do you know whether /he/ will go to them, or whether /they/ are coming here?"
"They are coming, I think," said Razumihin, understanding the object of the question, "and they will discuss their family affairs, no doubt. I'll be off. You, as the doctor, have more right to be here than I."
"But I am not a father confessor; I shall come and go away; I've plenty to do besides looking after them."
"One thing worries me," interposed Razumihin, frowning. "On the way home I talked a lot of drunken nonsense to him . . . all sorts of things . . . and amongst them that you were afraid that he . . . might become insane."
"You told the ladies so, too."
"I know it was stupid! You may beat me if you like! Did you think so seriously?"
"That's nonsense, I tell you, how could I think it seriously? You, yourself, described him as a monomaniac when you fetched me to him . . . and we added fuel to the fire yesterday, you did, that is, with your story about the painter; it was a nice conversation, when he was, perhaps, mad on that very point! If only I'd known what happened then at the police station and that some wretch . . . had insulted him with this suspicion! Hm . . . I would not have allowed that conversation yesterday. These monomaniacs will make a mountain out of a mole-hill . . . and see their fancies as solid realities. . . . As far as I remember, it was Zametov's story that cleared up half the mystery, to my mind. Why, I know one case in which a hypochondriac, a man of forty, cut the throat of a little boy of eight, because he couldn't endure the jokes he made every day at table! And in this case his rags, the insolent police officer, the fever and this suspicion! All that working upon a man half frantic with hypochondria, and with his morbid exceptional vanity! That may well have been the starting-point of illness. Well, bother it all! . . . And, by the way, that Zametov certainly is a nice fellow, but hm . . . he shouldn't have told all that last night. He is an awful chatterbox!"
"But whom did he tell it to? You and me?"
"And Porfiry."
"What does that matter?"
"And, by the way, have you any influence on them, his mother and sister? Tell them to be more careful with him to-day. . . ."
"They'll get on all right!" Razumihin answered reluctantly.
"Why is he so set against this Luzhin? A man with money and she doesn't seem to dislike him . . . and they haven't a farthing, I suppose? eh?"
"But what business is it of yours?" Razumihin cried with annoyance. "How can I tell whether they've a farthing? Ask them yourself and perhaps you'll find out. . . ."
"Foo! what an ass you are sometimes! Last night's wine has not gone off yet. . . . Good-bye; thank your Praskovya Pavlovna from me for my night's lodging. She locked herself in, made no reply to my /bonjour/ through the door; she was up at seven o'clock, the samovar was taken into her from the kitchen. I was not vouchsafed a personal interview. . . ."
At nine o'clock precisely Razumihin reached the lodgings at Bakaleyev's house. Both ladies were waiting for him with nervous impatience. They had risen at seven o'clock or earlier. He entered looking as black as night, bowed awkwardly and was at once furious with himself for it. He had reckoned without his host: Pulcheria Alexandrovna fairly rushed at him, seized him by both hands and was almost kissing them. He glanced timidly at Avdotya Romanovna, but her proud countenance wore at that moment an expression of such gratitude and friendliness, such complete and unlooked-for respect (in place of the sneering looks and ill-disguised contempt he had expected), that it threw him into greater confusion than if he had been met with abuse. Fortunately there was a subject for conversation, and he made haste to snatch at it.
Hearing that everything was going well and that Rodya had not yet waked, Pulcheria Alexandrovna declared that she was glad to hear it, because "she had something which it was very, very necessary to talk over beforehand." Then followed an inquiry about breakfast and an invitation to have it with them; they had waited to have it with him. Avdotya Romanovna rang the bell: it was answered by a ragged dirty waiter, and they asked him to bring tea which was served at last, but in such a dirty and disorderly way that the ladies were ashamed. Razumihin vigorously attacked the lodgings, but, remembering Luzhin, stopped in embarrassment and was greatly relieved by Pulcheria Alexandrovna's questions, which showered in a continual stream upon him.
He talked for three quarters of an hour, being constantly interrupted by their questions, and succeeded in describing to them all the most important facts he knew of the last year of Raskolnikov's life, concluding with a circumstantial account of his illness. He omitted, however, many things, which were better omitted, including the scene at the police station with all its consequences. They listened eagerly to his story, and, when he thought he had finished and satisfied his listeners, he found that they considered he had hardly begun.
"Tell me, tell me! What do you think . . . ? Excuse me, I still don't know your name!" Pulcheria Alexandrovna put in hastily.
"Dmitri Prokofitch."
"I should like very, very much to know, Dmitri Prokofitch . . . how he looks . . . on things in general now, that is, how can I explain, what are his likes and dislikes? Is he always so irritable? Tell me, if you can, what are his hopes and, so to say, his dreams? Under what influences is he now? In a word, I should like . . ."
"Ah, mother, how can he answer all that at once?" observed Dounia.
"Good heavens, I had not expected to find him in the least like this, Dmitri Prokofitch!"
"Naturally," answered Razumihin. "I have no mother, but my uncle comes every year and almost every time he can scarcely recognise me, even in appearance, though he is a clever man; and your three years' separation means a great deal. What am I to tell you? I have known Rodion for a year and a half; he is morose, gloomy, proud and haughty, and of late--and perhaps for a long time before--he has been suspicious and fanciful. He has a noble nature and a kind heart. He does not like showing his feelings and would rather do a cruel thing than open his heart freely. Sometimes, though, he is not at all morbid, but simply cold and inhumanly callous; it's as though he were alternating between two characters. Sometimes he is fearfully reserved! He says he is so busy that everything is a hindrance, and yet he lies in bed doing nothing. He doesn't jeer at things, not because he hasn't the wit, but as though he hadn't time to waste on such trifles. He never listens to what is said to him. He is never interested in what interests other people at any given moment. He thinks very highly of himself and perhaps he is right. Well, what more? I think your arrival will have a most beneficial influence upon him."
"God grant it may," cried Pulcheria Alexandrovna, distressed by Razumihin's account of her Rodya.
And Razumihin ventured to look more boldly at Avdotya Romanovna at last. He glanced at her often while he was talking, but only for a moment and looked away again at once. Avdotya Romanovna sat at the table, listening attentively, then got up again and began walking to and fro with her arms folded and her lips compressed, occasionally putting in a question, without stopping her walk. She had the same habit of not listening to what was said. She was wearing a dress of thin dark stuff and she had a white transparent scarf round her neck. Razumihin soon detected signs of extreme poverty in their belongings. Had Avdotya Romanovna been dressed like a queen, he felt that he would not be afraid of her, but perhaps just because she was poorly dressed and that he noticed all the misery of her surroundings, his heart was filled with dread and he began to be afraid of every word he uttered, every gesture he made, which was very trying for a man who already felt diffident.
"You've told us a great deal that is interesting about my brother's character . . . and have told it impartially. I am glad. I thought that you were too uncritically devoted to him," observed Avdotya Romanovna with a smile. "I think you are right that he needs a woman's care," she added thoughtfully.
"I didn't say so; but I daresay you are right, only . . ."
"What?"
"He loves no one and perhaps he never will," Razumihin declared decisively.
"You mean he is not capable of love?"
"Do you know, Avdotya Romanovna, you are awfully like your brother, in everything, indeed!" he blurted out suddenly to his own surprise, but remembering at once what he had just before said of her brother, he turned as red as a crab and was overcome with confusion. Avdotya Romanovna couldn't help laughing when she looked at him.
"You may both be mistaken about Rodya," Pulcheria Alexandrovna remarked, slightly piqued. "I am not talking of our present difficulty, Dounia. What Pyotr Petrovitch writes in this letter and what you and I have supposed may be mistaken, but you can't imagine, Dmitri Prokofitch, how moody and, so to say, capricious he is. I never could depend on what he would do when he was only fifteen. And I am sure that he might do something now that nobody else would think of doing . . . Well, for instance, do you know how a year and a half ago he astounded me and gave me a shock that nearly killed me, when he had the idea of marrying that girl--what was her name--his landlady's daughter?"
"Did you hear about that affair?" asked Avdotya Romanovna.
"Do you suppose----" Pulcheria Alexandrovna continued warmly. "Do you suppose that my tears, my entreaties, my illness, my possible death from grief, our poverty would have made him pause? No, he would calmly have disregarded all obstacles. And yet it isn't that he doesn't love us!"
"He has never spoken a word of that affair to me," Razumihin answered cautiously. "But I did hear something from Praskovya Pavlovna herself, though she is by no means a gossip. And what I heard certainly was rather strange."
"And what did you hear?" both the ladies asked at once.
"Well, nothing very special. I only learned that the marriage, which only failed to take place through the girl's death, was not at all to Praskovya Pavlovna's liking. They say, too, the girl was not at all pretty, in fact I am told positively ugly . . . and such an invalid . . . and queer. But she seems to have had some good qualities. She must have had some good qualities or it's quite inexplicable. . . . She had no money either and he wouldn't have considered her money. . . . But it's always difficult to judge in such matters."
"I am sure she was a good girl," Avdotya Romanovna observed briefly.
"God forgive me, I simply rejoiced at her death. Though I don't know which of them would have caused most misery to the other--he to her or she to him," Pulcheria Alexandrovna concluded. Then she began tentatively questioning him about the scene on the previous day with Luzhin, hesitating and continually glancing at Dounia, obviously to the latter's annoyance. This incident more than all the rest evidently caused her uneasiness, even consternation. Razumihin described it in detail again, but this time he added his own conclusions: he openly blamed Raskolnikov for intentionally insulting Pyotr Petrovitch, not seeking to excuse him on the score of his illness.
"He had planned it before his illness," he added.
"I think so, too," Pulcheria Alexandrovna agreed with a dejected air. But she was very much surprised at hearing Razumihin express himself so carefully and even with a certain respect about Pyotr Petrovitch. Avdotya Romanovna, too, was struck by it.
"So this is your opinion of Pyotr Petrovitch?" Pulcheria Alexandrovna could not resist asking.
"I can have no other opinion of your daughter's future husband," Razumihin answered firmly and with warmth, "and I don't say it simply from vulgar politeness, but because . . . simply because Avdotya Romanovna has of her own free will deigned to accept this man. If I spoke so rudely of him last night, it was because I was disgustingly drunk and . . . mad besides; yes, mad, crazy, I lost my head completely . . . and this morning I am ashamed of it."
He crimsoned and ceased speaking. Avdotya Romanovna flushed, but did not break the silence. She had not uttered a word from the moment they began to speak of Luzhin.
Without her support Pulcheria Alexandrovna obviously did not know what to do. At last, faltering and continually glancing at her daughter, she confessed that she was exceedingly worried by one circumstance.
"You see, Dmitri Prokofitch," she began. "I'll be perfectly open with Dmitri Prokofitch, Dounia?"
"Of course, mother," said Avdotya Romanovna emphatically.
"This is what it is," she began in haste, as though the permission to speak of her trouble lifted a weight off her mind. "Very early this morning we got a note from Pyotr Petrovitch in reply to our letter announcing our arrival. He promised to meet us at the station, you know; instead of that he sent a servant to bring us the address of these lodgings and to show us the way; and he sent a message that he would be here himself this morning. But this morning this note came from him. You'd better read it yourself; there is one point in it which worries me very much . . . you will soon see what that is, and . . . tell me your candid opinion, Dmitri Prokofitch! You know Rodya's character better than anyone and no one can advise us better than you can. Dounia, I must tell you, made her decision at once, but I still don't feel sure how to act and I . . . I've been waiting for your opinion."
Razumihin opened the note which was dated the previous evening and read as follows:
"Dear Madam, Pulcheria Alexandrovna, I have the honour to inform you that owing to unforeseen obstacles I was rendered unable to meet you at the railway station; I sent a very competent person with the same object in view. I likewise shall be deprived of the honour of an interview with you to-morrow morning by business in the Senate that does not admit of delay, and also that I may not intrude on your family circle while you are meeting your son, and Avdotya Romanovna her brother. I shall have the honour of visiting you and paying you my respects at your lodgings not later than to-morrow evening at eight o'clock precisely, and herewith I venture to present my earnest and, I may add, imperative request that Rodion Romanovitch may not be present at our interview--as he offered me a gross and unprecedented affront on the occasion of my visit to him in his illness yesterday, and, moreover, since I desire from you personally an indispensable and circumstantial explanation upon a certain point, in regard to which I wish to learn your own interpretation. I have the honour to inform you, in anticipation, that if, in spite of my request, I meet Rodion Romanovitch, I shall be compelled to withdraw immediately and then you have only yourself to blame. I write on the assumption that Rodion Romanovitch who appeared so ill at my visit, suddenly recovered two hours later and so, being able to leave the house, may visit you also. I was confirmed in that belief by the testimony of my own eyes in the lodging of a drunken man who was run over and has since died, to whose daughter, a young woman of notorious behaviour, he gave twenty-five roubles on the pretext of the funeral, which gravely surprised me knowing what pains you were at to raise that sum. Herewith expressing my special respect to your estimable daughter, Avdotya Romanovna, I beg you to accept the respectful homage of
"Your humble servant,
"P. LUZHIN."
"What am I to do now, Dmitri Prokofitch?" began Pulcheria Alexandrovna, almost weeping. "How can I ask Rodya not to come? Yesterday he insisted so earnestly on our refusing Pyotr Petrovitch and now we are ordered not to receive Rodya! He will come on purpose if he knows, and . . . what will happen then?"
"Act on Avdotya Romanovna's decision," Razumihin answered calmly at once.
"Oh, dear me! She says . . . goodness knows what she says, she doesn't explain her object! She says that it would be best, at least, not that it would be best, but that it's absolutely necessary that Rodya should make a point of being here at eight o'clock and that they must meet. . . . I didn't want even to show him the letter, but to prevent him from coming by some stratagem with your help . . . because he is so irritable. . . . Besides I don't understand about that drunkard who died and that daughter, and how he could have given the daughter all the money . . . which . . ."
"Which cost you such sacrifice, mother," put in Avdotya Romanovna.
"He was not himself yesterday," Razumihin said thoughtfully, "if you only knew what he was up to in a restaurant yesterday, though there was sense in it too. . . . Hm! He did say something, as we were going home yesterday evening, about a dead man and a girl, but I didn't understand a word. . . . But last night, I myself . . ."
"The best thing, mother, will be for us to go to him ourselves and there I assure you we shall see at once what's to be done. Besides, it's getting late--good heavens, it's past ten," she cried looking at a splendid gold enamelled watch which hung round her neck on a thin Venetian chain, and looked entirely out of keeping with the rest of her dress. "A present from her /fiance/," thought Razumihin.
"We must start, Dounia, we must start," her mother cried in a flutter. "He will be thinking we are still angry after yesterday, from our coming so late. Merciful heavens!"
While she said this she was hurriedly putting on her hat and mantle; Dounia, too, put on her things. Her gloves, as Razumihin noticed, were not merely shabby but had holes in them, and yet this evident poverty gave the two ladies an air of special dignity, which is always found in people who know how to wear poor clothes. Razumihin looked reverently at Dounia and felt proud of escorting her. "The queen who mended her stockings in prison," he thought, "must have looked then every inch a queen and even more a queen than at sumptuous banquets and levees."
"My God!" exclaimed Pulcheria Alexandrovna, "little did I think that I should ever fear seeing my son, my darling, darling Rodya! I am afraid, Dmitri Prokofitch," she added, glancing at him timidly.
"Don't be afraid, mother," said Dounia, kissing her, "better have faith in him."
"Oh, dear, I have faith in him, but I haven't slept all night," exclaimed the poor woman.
They came out into the street.
"Do you know, Dounia, when I dozed a little this morning I dreamed of Marfa Petrovna . . . she was all in white . . . she came up to me, took my hand, and shook her head at me, but so sternly as though she were blaming me. . . . Is that a good omen? Oh, dear me! You don't know, Dmitri Prokofitch, that Marfa Petrovna's dead!"
"No, I didn't know; who is Marfa Petrovna?"
"She died suddenly; and only fancy . . ."
"Afterwards, mamma," put in Dounia. "He doesn't know who Marfa Petrovna is."
"Ah, you don't know? And I was thinking that you knew all about us. Forgive me, Dmitri Prokofitch, I don't know what I am thinking about these last few days. I look upon you really as a providence for us, and so I took it for granted that you knew all about us. I look on you as a relation. . . . Don't be angry with me for saying so. Dear me, what's the matter with your right hand? Have you knocked it?"
"Yes, I bruised it," muttered Razumihin overjoyed.
"I sometimes speak too much from the heart, so that Dounia finds fault with me. . . . But, dear me, what a cupboard he lives in! I wonder whether he is awake? Does this woman, his landlady, consider it a room? Listen, you say he does not like to show his feelings, so perhaps I shall annoy him with my . . . weaknesses? Do advise me, Dmitri Prokofitch, how am I to treat him? I feel quite distracted, you know."
"Don't question him too much about anything if you see him frown; don't ask him too much about his health; he doesn't like that."
"Ah, Dmitri Prokofitch, how hard it is to be a mother! But here are the stairs. . . . What an awful staircase!"
"Mother, you are quite pale, don't distress yourself, darling," said Dounia caressing her, then with flashing eyes she added: "He ought to be happy at seeing you, and you are tormenting yourself so."
"Wait, I'll peep in and see whether he has waked up."
The ladies slowly followed Razumihin, who went on before, and when they reached the landlady's door on the fourth storey, they noticed that her door was a tiny crack open and that two keen black eyes were watching them from the darkness within. When their eyes met, the door was suddenly shut with such a slam that Pulcheria Alexandrovna almost cried out.
第二天早上八点钟，拉祖米欣醒了，满腹忧虑，神情严肃。这天早晨他心里突然出现了许多未曾预见到的、使他困惑不解的新问题。以前他从未想到，有什么时候会像这样醒来。他想起昨天的事，直到每个细节都记得清清楚楚，还记得发生了一件对他来说很不平常的事，使他产生了在这以前从未有过的印象，与以前的所有印象都不一样。同时他又清清楚楚地意识到，犹如烈火般在他头脑中燃一烧起来的幻想是绝对无法实现的，——显而易见，它绝不可能实现，因此，他为这幻想感到羞愧，于是他赶快去想别的，去想其他更迫切的要一操一心的事和使他感到困惑不解的问题，这些都是“该死的昨天”给他遗留下来的。
他的最可怕的回忆就是，昨天他是多么“卑鄙，丑恶”，这倒不仅仅是因为他喝醉了，而是因为，由于愚蠢和仓促间产生妒嫉，竟利用一位姑一娘一的处境，当着她的面大骂她的未婚夫，可是他不但不知道他们之间的相互关系和义务，而且连他这个人也没好好地了解过。而且他有什么权利这样匆忙和轻率地对这个人作出判断？有谁请他作评判人呢！难道像阿芙多季娅·罗曼诺芙娜这样的人，会为了钱而嫁给一个卑鄙的人吗？可见这个人是有优点的。那么旅馆呢？可说实在的，他怎么能够知道，这是家什么旅馆？要知道，他正在准备一套住宅……呸，这一切是多么卑鄙！他喝醉了，这算什么辩解的理由？这不过是愚蠢的借口，会使他显得更加卑鄙！酒后吐真言，真话都说出来了，“也就是说，他那颗满怀妒意、粗野无礼的心中所有卑鄙污浊的东西全都吐露出来了！”难道他，拉祖米欣，可以哪怕存一点儿这样的幻想吗？与这样的姑一娘一相比，他算什么人呢——他不过是个喝醉了的不安分的家伙，昨天吹过牛的人。 “难道可以作这样无一耻和可笑的对比吗？”想到这里，拉祖米欣不禁满脸通红了，而突然，好像故意为难似的，就在这一瞬间，他清清楚楚记起，昨天他站在楼梯上对她们说，女房东会为了他嫉妒阿芙多季娅·罗曼诺芙娜……这可真让人太难堪了。他抡起拳头，对着厨房里的炉灶猛打了一拳，打伤了自己的手，还打掉了一块砖头。
“当然，”过了一会儿，他带着某种自卑感喃喃地自言自语，“当然，现在这些卑鄙的行径将永远无法掩饰，也无法改正了……所以，关于这件事，已经没什么好想的了，所以我再去她们那里的时候，一句话也别说……只是履行自己的义务……也是一句话不说，而且……也不请求原谅，什么也不说，而且……当然，现在一切都完了！”
然而穿衣服的时候，他比往常更加细心地察看了自己的衣服。他没有别的衣服，即使有，也许他也不会穿，“就这样，故意不穿”。但无论如何再不能不修边幅、邋里邋遢了：他无权不尊重别人的感情，让人家感到受了侮辱，更何况这是一些正需要他的帮助、自己叫他去的人呢。他用刷子仔仔细细刷干净自己的衣服。他身上的内一衣一向还都过得去；在这方面他是特别一爱一干净的。
这天早晨他洗脸也洗得很细心，——在娜斯塔西娅那里找到了一块肥皂，——洗了头发、脖子，特别用心洗了手。要不要刮刮下巴上的短一胡一子呢？当需要回答这个问题的时候（普拉斯科维娅·帕夫洛芙娜那儿有很好的刀片，还是从扎尔尼岑先生过世后保存下来的），他甚至倔强地作出了否定的回答：“就让它这样留着好了！哼，她们会想，我刮一胡一子是为了……而且准会这么想！无论如何不刮！”
“而……而主要的是，他这么粗一鲁，又这么脏，对人的态度是粗野的；而且……而且，即使他知道，他是，虽然不能说完全是，可他到底是个正派人……嗯，不过，是个正派人，又有什么可以骄傲的？人人都该作正派人，而且还不仅仅是正派，而……而他毕竟（他记得）干过这样的勾当……倒不是说，是不光彩的，可那还不是一样！……而他曾经有过些什么样的想法啊！嗯哼……把这一切跟阿芙多季娅·罗曼诺芙娜放到一起！是呀，见鬼！好吧！哼，我就故意要弄得这么脏，浑身油污，粗里粗气，我才不在乎呢！以后我还是要这样！……”
昨夜住在普拉斯科维娅·帕夫洛芙娜客厅里的佐西莫夫进来的时候，正看到他在这样自言自语。
佐西莫夫要回家去，临走匆匆去看了一眼病人。拉祖米欣向他报告说，病人睡得很熟。佐西莫夫吩咐，在他自己醒来以前，不要叫醒他。他答应十点多再来。
“只要他能待在家里，”他补充说。“哼，见鬼！医生说的话病人根本就不听，你倒试试看，去给他治病吧！你可知道，是他去找她们，还是她们上这儿来？”
“我想，是她们来，”拉祖米欣明白他这样问的目的，回答说，“而且当然啦，他们要谈他们家里的事。我要走开；作为医生，你自然比我有更多的权利。”
“可我也不是神甫；我来看看就走；没有他们，我的事情也够多的了。”
“有件事让我不放心，”拉祖米欣皱起眉头，打断了他的话，“昨天我喝醉了，在路上走着的时候，说漏了嘴，跟他说了些各式各样的蠢话……各式各样的……顺带也说了，你担心，似乎他……有可能害一精一神病……”
“昨天你跟两位女士也说过这种蠢话了吧。”
“我知道，我很蠢！你要揍我，就揍我一顿吧！怎么，你当真有什么坚定不移的想法吗？”
“唉，我在一胡一扯；哪里有什么坚定不移的想法！你带我到他那里去的时候，自己把他描绘成一个偏执狂患者……嗯，昨天我们还火上加油，也就是说，是你说了些火上加油的话……谈起油漆匠的事；说不定他就是为了这件事才发疯的，你这场谈话可真是太好了！我要是确切地知道当时在警察局里发生的那回事，知道那里有那么个坏蛋怀疑他……侮辱了他的话！嗯哼……昨天我就不让你说这些话了。要知道，这些偏执狂患者都会小题大作，以假当真……从昨天扎苗托夫说的那些话里，仅就我所记得的，事情已经有一半弄清楚了。啊，对了！我知道这么一回事，有个四十岁的多疑病患者，因为受不了一个八岁的小男孩每天吃饭的时候嘲笑他，就把那个小男孩给杀死了！他的情况却是：衣衫褴褛，警察分局局长蛮横无礼，又碰上发病，再加上这样的怀疑！这一切都落到了一个发狂的多疑病患者的身上！而且他还有极其强烈、十分独特的虚荣心！而这也许就正是致病的原因！嗯，不错，见鬼！……顺便说说，这个扎苗托夫当真是个可一爱一的小孩子，不过，嗯哼，……昨天他不该把这些全都说出来。他这个人说话太不谨慎了！”
“可他是对谁说的呢？对我和对你，不是吗？”
“还有波尔菲里。”
“那又怎样呢，对波尔菲里说了，又怎样呢？”
“顺便说一声，对那两位，对母亲和妹妹，你能起点儿什么作用，能影响她们吗？今天对她们得更加小心……”
“跟她们会说得通的！”拉祖米欣不乐意地回答。
“你为什么要这样对待这个卢任呢？他是个有钱的人，看来，她并不讨厌他……可她们不是什么也没有吗？啊？”
“可你干吗要打听这些？”拉祖米欣恼怒地大声嚷，“我怎么知道她有什么，还是什么也没有？你自己去问好了，也许会打听出来……”
“呸，有时候你是多么愚蠢！昨天的醉意还在起作用吗……再见；代我谢谢普拉斯科维娅·帕夫洛芙娜，谢谢她给我提供了个过夜的地方。她把门锁上了，我隔着房门对她说了声崩儒尔①，她没回答，她自己七点钟就起来了，从厨房里穿过走廊给她送去了茶炊……我没有荣幸会见她……”
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①法文bonjour的音译，“日安”之意。
九点整，拉祖米欣来到了巴卡列耶夫的旅馆。两位女士早就怀着歇斯底里的急不可耐的心情等着他了。她们七点钟、也许更早些就已经起来了。他进去的时候脸色像黑夜一样一陰一郁，笨拙地点头行礼，并立刻为此生气了——当然，是生自己的气。他的猜测完全错了：普莉赫里娅·亚历山德罗芙娜突然向他跑过来，拉住他的双手，几乎要吻他的手。他不好意思地朝阿芙多季娅·罗曼诺芙娜看了一眼；但是就连这张高傲的脸上，这时露出的也是感谢和友好的表情，出乎他意料的对他极其尊敬，（而不是嘲讽的目光和不由自主、掩饰不住的蔑视！）如果迎接他的是辱骂，说真的，他反而会觉得轻松些，现在竟是这样，倒使他感到太难为情了。幸好有现成的话题，于是他赶紧谈正经事。
听说“他还没醒”，不过“一切都很好”，普莉赫里娅·亚历山德罗芙娜说，这是好现象，“因为她非常，非常，非常需要事先商量一下”。接着问他喝过茶没有，并邀请他一道喝茶；因为在等着拉祖米欣，她们自己还没喝过茶。阿芙多季娅·罗曼诺芙娜按了按铃，应声前来的是一个很脏、衣服也破破烂烂的人，吩咐他送茶来，茶终于摆好了，但是一切都那么脏，那么不像样，因此两位女士都面有愧色。拉祖米欣起劲地大骂这家旅馆，但是一想起卢任，立刻就住了声，感到很窘，因此，当普莉赫里娅·亚历山德罗芙娜终于接连不断提出一连串问题的时候，他真高兴极了。
他回答这些问题，讲了足有三刻钟，他的话不断地被打断，一个问题要问上几遍；罗季昂·罗曼诺维奇最近一年来的生活情况，只要是他知道的，他都把最重要和不能不讲的一切事情告诉了她们，最详尽地叙述了他的病情。不过有很多事情他都略而不提，那都是应当省略的，其中也有警察局里发生的事及其一切后果。她们全神贯注地听着他讲；但是每当他认为已经讲完了，已经能够满足这两位听众的要求的时候，却总是发现，对于她们来说，似乎这还只不过是刚刚开始。
“请您，请您告诉我，您是怎么想的……哎哟，请原谅，到现在我还不知道您的大名呢？”普莉赫里娅·亚历山德罗芙娜急忙说。
“德米特里·普罗科菲伊奇。”
“那么，德米特里·普罗科菲伊奇，我很想，很想知道……一般说来……他对各种事物有什么看法，也就是说，请理解我的意思，这该怎么跟您说呢，最好还是这么说吧：他喜欢什么，不喜欢什么？他是不是总是这样一爱一发脾气？他有些什么愿望，也可以说，有些什么理想，如果可以这样说的话？现在是什么对他有特殊影响？总之，我希望……”
“哎哟，一妈一妈一，怎么能一下子回答这一切问题啊！”杜尼娅说。
“啊，我的天哪，我可完全，完全没想到会看到他像这个样子，德米特里·普罗科菲伊奇。”
“这是很自然的，”德米特里·普罗科菲伊奇回答。“我母亲不在了，嗯，可我舅舅每年都来一趟，几乎每次都认不出我，就连外貌也认不出来，可他是个聪明人；嗯，你们离别三年了，岁月流逝，人怎么能不发生变化呢。而且我能跟你们说什么呢？我认识罗季昂只有一年半：他忧郁，总是闷闷不乐，高傲而且倔强；最近一个时期（也许，还要早得多）他神经过敏，患了多疑症。他为人慷慨，心地善良。他不喜欢流露自己的感情，宁愿做出一些被人看作冷酷无情的事情，也不肯用言词说明自己的心意。不过，有时他根本不像多疑病患者，而只不过是冷淡无情，麻木不仁达到了缺乏人一性一的程度，真的，就好像他有两种截然相反的一性一格，这两种一性一格在他身上轮流一出现。有时他极端沉默！他总是没有空，什么都妨碍他，可他却一直躺着，什么事也不做。他不嘲笑人，倒不是因为他缺少说俏皮话的机智，而似乎是他没有时间花在这种小事上。他总是不听完别人说的话。对当前大家感兴趣的事，他从来不感兴趣。他对自己估计很高，似乎这也并非毫无根据。嗯，还有什么呢？……我觉得，你们的到来会对他产生最有益的、可以使他得救的影响。”
“啊，上帝保佑！”普莉赫里娅·亚历山德罗芙娜高声惊呼，拉祖米欣对她的罗佳的评语使她痛苦到极点。
最后，拉祖米欣较为大胆地看了看阿芙多季娅·罗曼诺芙娜。谈话的时候他时常看她，不过只是匆匆地看一眼，只看一眼，就立刻把目光移开了。阿芙多季娅·罗曼诺芙娜一会儿坐到桌边，留心听着，一会儿又站起来，按照她往常的一习一惯，两手一交一叉，抱在胸前，闭紧嘴唇，从一个角落走到另一个角落，有时提个问题，但并不停下来，一面走，一面在沉思。她也有不听完别人说话的一习一惯。她穿一件料子轻而薄的深色连衫裙，脖子上系一条透明的白色围巾。根据许多迹象来看，拉祖米欣立刻发觉，两位妇女的境况贫困到了极点。如果阿芙多季娅·罗曼诺芙娜穿得像一位女王，似乎他就根本不会怕她了；现在，也许正因为她穿得这样寒酸，正因为他发觉了她们贫穷的境况，他心里才感到恐惧，并为自己的每一句话、每一个姿势都感到害怕，对于一个本来就缺乏自信的人来说，这当然会使他感到格外拘束了。
“您讲了我哥哥一性一格中许多很有意思的情况，而且……说得很公正。这很好；我认为，您很敬重他，”阿芙多季娅·罗曼诺芙娜微笑着说。“您说，得有个女人待在他身边，看来，这话说得也不错，”她沉思着补上一句。
“这话我没说过，不过，也许，这一点您说得对，只是……”
“什么？”
“要知道，他什么人也不一爱一；也许永远也不会一爱一上谁，”拉祖米欣毫无顾忌地说。
“也就是说，他不能一爱一？”
“您要知道，阿芙多季娅·罗曼诺芙娜，您太像您哥哥了，甚至各方面都像！”出乎自己意料地，他突然很不谨慎地说，但立刻想起，现在是在对她谈她哥哥哪方面的情况，满脸涨得通红，感到很窘。阿芙多季娅·罗曼诺芙娜看着他，不能不大笑起来。
“关于罗佳，你们俩可能都看错了，”有点儿见怪的普莉赫里娅·亚历山德罗芙娜接着话茬说。“我说的不是现在，杜涅奇卡。彼得·彼特罗维奇在这封信里写的那些话……还有我和你所作的推测，也许都不对，不过，您无法想象，德米特里·普罗科菲伊奇，他是多么一爱一幻想，还有，这该怎么说呢，他总是变化无常。他的一性一格我从来就摸不透，还在他十五岁的时候就是这样。我相信，现在他也会突然对自己做出什么别人永远也不想做的事情来……对了，眼前就有个例子：您知道吗，一年半以前，他让我多么吃惊和震动，差点儿没把我折磨死，因为他突然想跟这个，她叫什么来着，——跟这个扎尔尼岑娜的女儿，也就是他女房东的女儿结婚？”
“关于这件事，您知道些什么详细情况吗？”阿芙多季娅·罗曼诺芙娜问。
“您以为，”普莉赫里娅·亚历山德罗芙娜激动地接着说，“当时我的眼泪，我的央求，我的病，我的死，也许我会愁死，还有我们的贫穷，会阻止他吗？他会满不在乎地跨过一切障碍。可是难道他，难道他不一爱一我们吗？”
“这件事，他自己从来没跟我说起过，什么也没说过”，拉祖米欣小心谨慎地回答，“不过我从扎尔尼岑娜太太那儿多少听到过一些，她也不是个一爱一说话的人，我听到的话，甚至有点儿使人奇怪……”
“您到底听到了些什么呢？”两位妇女一起问。
“其实也没有任何太特殊的情况。我只是知道，这门亲事已经完全办妥了，只是因为新一娘一死了，才没有成亲，对这门亲事，扎尔尼岑娜太太很不称心……除此而外，据说新一娘一甚至长得并不好看，也就是说，甚至长得很丑……而且有病，而且……而且她有点儿怪……不过，好像也有某些优点。大概一定有一些优点；不然就完全不可理解了……什么嫁妆也没有，而且他也不会指望靠嫁妆生活……总之，对这种事情很难作出判断。”
“我相信，他是一个值得尊敬的姑一娘一，”阿芙多季娅·罗曼诺芙娜简短地说。
“求上帝饶恕我，可当时我对她的死是那么高兴，虽说我不知道，他们两个是谁害了谁，是他害了她呢，还是她害了他？”普莉赫里娅·亚历山德罗芙娜结束了这个话题；然后小心谨慎地，欲言又止，又问起昨天罗佳和卢任发生争吵的事来，而且不断地看看杜尼娅，弄得她显然感到不高兴了。看得出来，罗佳和卢任之间的争吵最使她心烦意乱，简直让她感到可怕，颤栗。拉祖米欣又把当时的情况详详细细地说了一遍，但这一次加上了自己的结论：他直截了当地责备拉斯科利尼科夫故意侮辱彼得·彼特罗维奇，这一次几乎没有因为他有病而原谅他。
“还在生病以前，他就想好了的，”他补充说。
“我也这么想，”普莉赫里娅·亚历山德罗芙娜很伤心地说。但是使她十分惊讶的是，这一次拉祖米欣谈到彼得·彼特罗维奇时是那么小心，甚至好像有些尊敬的样子。这也使阿芙多季娅·罗曼诺芙娜感到惊讶。
“那么您对彼得·彼特罗维奇的看法就是这样的了？”普莉赫里娅·亚历山德罗芙娜忍不住问。
“对令一爱一的未婚夫我不能有别的看法，”拉祖米欣坚决而又热情地回答，“而且我不仅是出于庸俗的礼貌才这么说，而是因为……因为……嗯，至少是因为阿芙多季娅·罗曼诺芙娜自己选中了这个人，单凭这一点，就不能有别的看法。如果说，昨天我把他那样痛骂了一顿，那么这是因为昨天我喝得烂醉，而且一精一神失常；对，是一精一神失常，愚蠢，发疯，完全发疯了……今天为这感到羞愧！……”他脸红了，不作声了。阿芙多季娅·罗曼诺芙娜一下子涨红了脸，但是没有打破沉默。从他们开始谈论卢任的那一分钟起，都没说过一句话。
然而，没有女儿的支持，看来普莉赫里娅·亚历山德罗芙娜自己拿不定主意。最后，她不断地看看女儿，讷讷地说，现在有个情况让她非常担心。
“您要知道，德米特里·普罗科菲伊奇……”他开始说。
“我想完全开诚布公地和德米特里·普罗科菲伊奇谈谈，杜尼娅，你看怎么样？”
“那是当然了，一妈一妈一，”阿芙多季娅·罗曼诺芙娜庄严地说。
“是这么回事，”她赶紧说，允许她诉说自己的苦衷，仿佛是卸下了她肩上的千斤重担。“今天很早我们收到了彼得·彼特罗维奇的一封短简，是对我们昨天通知他我们已经到达的答复。您要知道，昨天他本该像他答应过的，在车站接我们。可他没去，却派了一个仆人到车站去接我们，带去了这家旅馆的地址，让他告诉我们该怎么走，彼得·彼特罗维奇还让这个仆人转告，他本人今天清早来我们这里。可是今天早晨他又没来，却送来了这封短简……您最好还是自己看看吧；信里有一点让我非常担心……您马上就会看到谈的是什么了，而且……请直言不讳地把您的意见告诉我，德米特里·普罗科菲伊奇！您最了解罗佳的一性一格，也最能给我们出个主意。我先告诉您，杜涅奇卡已经作出决定，一看过信就决定了，可我还不知道该怎么办，所以……所以一直在等着您。”
拉祖米欣打开写着昨天日期的短简，看到上面写的是：
“普莉赫里娅·亚历山德罗芙娜夫人：敬启者，因意外延误，未能亲至车站迎候尊驾，特派干员前往代候。又因参政院紧急事务亟待处理，且不愿妨碍夫人与令郎、阿芙多季娅·罗曼诺芙娜与兄长骨肉重新一团一聚，明晨亦不能与夫人晤面，为此深感遗憾。定于明晚八时整赴尊寓拜谒夫人，并冒昧附带提出一恳切而又坚决之请求，仆与夫人会晤时，希望罗季昂·罗曼诺维奇已不在座，因昨日仆于其病中前住探望时，彼曾对仆横加指责，无礼辱骂，此种侮辱，实属空前；此外，另有一事必须亲自向夫人作详细说明，亦望听取夫人对此作出解释。如不顾仆之请求，届时与罗季昂·罗曼诺维奇相遇，仆将被迫立即告退，则夫人咎由自取，勿谓言之不预也。仆修此书，盖恐有如下情况：仆探望罗季昂·罗曼诺维奇时，彼病情尚如此严重，而两小时后竟霍然痊愈，足见其已能离家前往尊寓。仆曾亲眼目睹，在一于马蹄下丧生之醉汉家中，借口安葬死者，彼竟将为数达二十五卢布之巨款赠予该醉汉之女，而伊乃一行为不端之女人，为此仆深感震惊，因仆得悉，此款夫人得来非易。谨此，请代向令一爱一阿芙多季娅·罗曼诺芙娜致意。请接受诚挚敬意。
您的忠实仆人
彼·卢任”
“我现在该怎么办呢，德米特里·普罗科菲伊奇？”普莉赫里娅·亚历山德罗芙娜说，几乎要哭出来了。“您说，我怎么能叫罗佳别来呢？昨天他那么坚决要求他妹妹拒绝与彼得·彼特罗维奇结婚，现在又叫我们别让他来！只要他知道了，他准会故意来的，那……到那时会怎样呢？”
“阿芙多季娅·罗曼诺芙娜怎么决定的，就怎么办好了，”
拉祖米欣立刻不慌不忙地回答。
“啊，我的天哪！她说……天知道她在说些什么，也不对我说明她有什么目的！她说，最好是，倒不是最好，而是，不知是为了什么，一定得让罗佳故意在今晚八点钟来这里，一定要让他们见面……我却连这封信也不想给他看到，想要通过您想个巧妙的办法，让他别来……因为他是那么容易发脾气，……而且我什么也不明白，又是死了个什么醉汉，又是什么女儿，他又怎么会把仅有的一点钱全都送给了这个女儿……这些钱……”
“这些钱是您很不容易弄来的，一妈一妈一，”阿芙多季娅·罗曼诺芙娜补充说。
“昨天他不大正常，”拉祖米欣若有所思地说。“要是你们知道昨天他在一家小饭馆里干了些什么的话，虽说他做得很聪明……嗯哼！我们昨天一道回家的时候，他的确跟我提到过一个死了的人和一个什么姑一娘一，不过我一句也没听懂……
其实我自己也……”
“一妈一妈一，最好我们一起到他那儿去，请您相信，一到了那儿，我们立刻就会看出该怎么办了。再说，我们也该走了——上帝啊！十点多了！”她看了看用一条纤细的威尼斯表链挂在脖子上的、很好看的珐郎面金表，突然喊了一声，——这块金表和她的其他服饰极不协调。“未婚夫送的礼物”，拉祖米欣想。
“啊，该走了！……该走了，杜涅奇卡，该走了！”普莉赫里娅·亚历山德罗芙娜焦急地忙乱起来，“他又会认为，我们这么久不去，准是还在为昨天的事生气呢。唉，我的天哪。”
这么说着，她慌忙披上披肩，戴上帽子；杜尼娅也穿戴起来。拉祖米欣发觉，她的手套不但是旧的，甚至也破了，然而服装的这种明显的寒酸样子甚至使两位女士显得特别尊严，那些衣着寒酸，可是善于打扮的人，总是具有这种特殊的尊严。拉祖米欣怀着崇敬的心情看着杜涅奇卡，并为自己能伴送她而感到自豪。“那位皇后，”他暗自想，“那位在监狱里补自己长袜的皇后①，看上去才像一位真正的皇后，甚至比她参加最豪华的庆典或接受朝见的时候更像一位真正的皇后。”
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①指法国路易十六的妻子，玛丽亚—安图安涅塔（一七五五——一七九三）。法国大革命时，她被关进监狱。
“我的天哪！”普莉赫里娅·亚历山德罗芙娜突然高声说，“我哪会想到，我竟会像现在这样怕跟儿子、怕跟我亲一爱一的、亲一爱一的罗佳见面呢！……我害怕，德米特里·普罗科菲伊奇！”
她怯生生地瞅了他一眼，补充说。
“您别怕，一妈一妈一，”杜尼娅说着吻了吻她。“您最好是相信他。我相信。”
“唉，我的天哪！我也相信，可是整整一一夜我都没睡！”这个可怜的女人高声说。
他们来到了街上。
“你要知道，杜涅奇卡，快到早晨的时候，我刚刚稍微打了个盹儿，忽然梦见了玛尔法·彼特罗芙娜……她穿着一身白衣服……来到我跟前，拉着我的手，对着我直摇头，而且是那么严厉，那么严厉，好像是责备我……这是好兆头吗？唉，我的天哪，德米特里·普罗科菲伊奇，您还不知道呢：玛尔法·彼特罗芙娜死了！”
“不，我不知道；哪一个玛尔法·彼特罗芙娜？”
“她是突然死的！您要知道……”
“以后再说吧，一妈一妈一，”杜尼娅插嘴说，“因为他还不知道玛尔法·彼特罗芙娜是谁呢。”
“啊，您不知道吗？可我还以为您已经什么都知道了呢。请您原谅我，德米特里·普罗科菲伊奇，这几天我简直糊涂了。真的，我把您当成了我们的神明，所以才深信不疑，以为您已经全都知道了。我把您当成了亲人……我这么说，您可别生气。哎哟，我的天哪，您右手怎么了？受伤了？”
“是啊，受伤了，”感到非常幸福的拉祖米欣含糊不清地说。
“我有时候说话太直，所以杜尼娅常常纠正我……不过，我的天哪，他住在一间什么样的房子里啊！可是，他醒了没有？这个女人，他的女房东，认为这也叫房子吗？您听我说，您说过，他不喜欢流露自己的感情，那么我也许，由于我的……那些弱点，让他感到讨厌了吧？……您能教教我吗，德米特里·普罗科菲伊奇？我对他该怎样呢？我，您要知道，我真完全不知所措了。”
“如果看到他皱眉，就不要钉着追问他；尤其是不要钉着追问他的健康状况：他不喜欢人家问他身一体怎样。”
“唉，德米特里·普罗科菲伊奇，作母亲可真痛苦啊！不过，就是这道楼梯了……这楼梯多么可怕！”
“一妈一妈一，您连脸色都发白了，镇静下来吧，我亲一爱一的，”杜尼娅亲一热地对母亲说，“他看到您，应该感到幸福才对，您却这么折磨自己，”她两眼闪闪发亮，又补上一句。
“请你们稍等一等，我先去看看他醒了没有？”
两位女士悄悄地跟在走到前边先上楼去的拉祖米欣后面，已经走到四楼女房东的房门前时，发觉女房东的房门开着一条小一缝，两只的溜溜转动的黑眼睛正从暗处注视着她们。当她们的目光碰到门后的目光时，房门突然砰地一声关上了，吓得普莉赫里娅·亚历山德罗芙娜差点儿没有大叫起来。