When next morning at eleven o'clock punctually Raskolnikov went into the department of the investigation of criminal causes and sent his name in to Porfiry Petrovitch, he was surprised at being kept waiting so long: it was at least ten minutes before he was summoned. He had expected that they would pounce upon him. But he stood in the waiting- room, and people, who apparently had nothing to do with him, were continually passing to and fro before him. In the next room which looked like an office, several clerks were sitting writing and obviously they had no notion who or what Raskolnikov might be. He looked uneasily and suspiciously about him to see whether there was not some guard, some mysterious watch being kept on him to prevent his escape. But there was nothing of the sort: he saw only the faces of clerks absorbed in petty details, then other people, no one seemed to have any concern with him. He might go where he liked for them. The conviction grew stronger in him that if that enigmatic man of yesterday, that phantom sprung out of the earth, had seen everything, they would not have let him stand and wait like that. And would they have waited till he elected to appear at eleven? Either the man had not yet given information, or . . . or simply he knew nothing, had seen nothing (and how could he have seen anything?) and so all that had happened to him the day before was again a phantom exaggerated by his sick and overstrained imagination. This conjecture had begun to grow strong the day before, in the midst of all his alarm and despair. Thinking it all over now and preparing for a fresh conflict, he was suddenly aware that he was trembling--and he felt a rush of indignation at the thought that he was trembling with fear at facing that hateful Porfiry Petrovitch. What he dreaded above all was meeting that man again; he hated him with an intense, unmitigated hatred and was afraid his hatred might betray him. His indignation was such that he ceased trembling at once; he made ready to go in with a cold and arrogant bearing and vowed to himself to keep as silent as possible, to watch and listen and for once at least to control his overstrained nerves. At that moment he was summoned to Porfiry Petrovitch.
He found Porfiry Petrovitch alone in his study. His study was a room neither large nor small, furnished with a large writing-table, that stood before a sofa, upholstered in checked material, a bureau, a bookcase in the corner and several chairs--all government furniture, of polished yellow wood. In the further wall there was a closed door, beyond it there were no doubt other rooms. On Raskolnikov's entrance Porfiry Petrovitch had at once closed the door by which he had come in and they remained alone. He met his visitor with an apparently genial and good-tempered air, and it was only after a few minutes that Raskolnikov saw signs of a certain awkwardness in him, as though he had been thrown out of his reckoning or caught in something very secret.
"Ah, my dear fellow! Here you are . . . in our domain" . . . began Porfiry, holding out both hands to him. "Come, sit down, old man . . . or perhaps you don't like to be called 'my dear fellow' and 'old man!'--/tout court/? Please don't think it too familiar. . . . Here, on the sofa."
Raskolnikov sat down, keeping his eyes fixed on him. "In our domain," the apologies for familiarity, the French phrase /tout court/, were all characteristic signs.
"He held out both hands to me, but he did not give me one--he drew it back in time," struck him suspiciously. Both were watching each other, but when their eyes met, quick as lightning they looked away.
"I brought you this paper . . . about the watch. Here it is. Is it all right or shall I copy it again?"
"What? A paper? Yes, yes, don't be uneasy, it's all right," Porfiry Petrovitch said as though in haste, and after he had said it he took the paper and looked at it. "Yes, it's all right. Nothing more is needed," he declared with the same rapidity and he laid the paper on the table.
A minute later when he was talking of something else he took it from the table and put it on his bureau.
"I believe you said yesterday you would like to question me . . . formally . . . about my acquaintance with the murdered woman?" Raskolnikov was beginning again. "Why did I put in 'I believe'" passed through his mind in a flash. "Why am I so uneasy at having put in that '/I believe/'?" came in a second flash. And he suddenly felt that his uneasiness at the mere contact with Porfiry, at the first words, at the first looks, had grown in an instant to monstrous proportions, and that this was fearfully dangerous. His nerves were quivering, his emotion was increasing. "It's bad, it's bad! I shall say too much again."
"Yes, yes, yes! There's no hurry, there's no hurry," muttered Porfiry Petrovitch, moving to and fro about the table without any apparent aim, as it were making dashes towards the window, the bureau and the table, at one moment avoiding Raskolnikov's suspicious glance, then again standing still and looking him straight in the face.
His fat round little figure looked very strange, like a ball rolling from one side to the other and rebounding back.
"We've plenty of time. Do you smoke? have you your own? Here, a cigarette!" he went on, offering his visitor a cigarette. "You know I am receiving you here, but my own quarters are through there, you know, my government quarters. But I am living outside for the time, I had to have some repairs done here. It's almost finished now. . . . Government quarters, you know, are a capital thing. Eh, what do you think?"
"Yes, a capital thing," answered Raskolnikov, looking at him almost ironically.
"A capital thing, a capital thing," repeated Porfiry Petrovitch, as though he had just thought of something quite different. "Yes, a capital thing," he almost shouted at last, suddenly staring at Raskolnikov and stopping short two steps from him.
This stupid repetition was too incongruous in its ineptitude with the serious, brooding and enigmatic glance he turned upon his visitor.
But this stirred Raskolnikov's spleen more than ever and he could not resist an ironical and rather incautious challenge.
"Tell me, please," he asked suddenly, looking almost insolently at him and taking a kind of pleasure in his own insolence. "I believe it's a sort of legal rule, a sort of legal tradition--for all investigating lawyers--to begin their attack from afar, with a trivial, or at least an irrelevant subject, so as to encourage, or rather, to divert the man they are cross-examining, to disarm his caution and then all at once to give him an unexpected knock-down blow with some fatal question. Isn't that so? It's a sacred tradition, mentioned, I fancy, in all the manuals of the art?"
"Yes, yes. . . . Why, do you imagine that was why I spoke about government quarters . . . eh?"
And as he said this Porfiry Petrovitch screwed up his eyes and winked; a good-humoured, crafty look passed over his face. The wrinkles on his forehead were smoothed out, his eyes contracted, his features broadened and he suddenly went off into a nervous prolonged laugh, shaking all over and looking Raskolnikov straight in the face. The latter forced himself to laugh, too, but when Porfiry, seeing that he was laughing, broke into such a guffaw that he turned almost crimson, Raskolnikov's repulsion overcame all precaution; he left off laughing, scowled and stared with hatred at Porfiry, keeping his eyes fixed on him while his intentionally prolonged laughter lasted. There was lack of precaution on both sides, however, for Porfiry Petrovitch seemed to be laughing in his visitor's face and to be very little disturbed at the annoyance with which the visitor received it. The latter fact was very significant in Raskolnikov's eyes: he saw that Porfiry Petrovitch had not been embarrassed just before either, but that he, Raskolnikov, had perhaps fallen into a trap; that there must be something, some motive here unknown to him; that, perhaps, everything was in readiness and in another moment would break upon him . . .
He went straight to the point at once, rose from his seat and took his cap.
"Porfiry Petrovitch," he began resolutely, though with considerable irritation, "yesterday you expressed a desire that I should come to you for some inquiries" (he laid special stress on the word "inquiries"). "I have come and if you have anything to ask me, ask it, and if not, allow me to withdraw. I have no time to spare. . . . I have to be at the funeral of that man who was run over, of whom you . . . know also," he added, feeling angry at once at having made this addition and more irritated at his anger. "I am sick of it all, do you hear? and have long been. It's partly what made me ill. In short," he shouted, feeling that the phrase about his illness was still more out of place, "in short, kindly examine me or let me go, at once. And if you must examine me, do so in the proper form! I will not allow you to do so otherwise, and so meanwhile, good-bye, as we have evidently nothing to keep us now."
"Good heavens! What do you mean? What shall I question you about?" cackled Porfiry Petrovitch with a change of tone, instantly leaving off laughing. "Please don't disturb yourself," he began fidgeting from place to place and fussily making Raskolnikov sit down. "There's no hurry, there's no hurry, it's all nonsense. Oh, no, I'm very glad you've come to see me at last . . . I look upon you simply as a visitor. And as for my confounded laughter, please excuse it, Rodion Romanovitch. Rodion Romanovitch? That is your name? . . . It's my nerves, you tickled me so with your witty observation; I assure you, sometimes I shake with laughter like an india-rubber ball for half an hour at a time. . . . I'm often afraid of an attack of paralysis. Do sit down. Please do, or I shall think you are angry . . ."
Raskolnikov did not speak; he listened, watching him, still frowning angrily. He did sit down, but still held his cap.
"I must tell you one thing about myself, my dear Rodion Romanovitch," Porfiry Petrovitch continued, moving about the room and again avoiding his visitor's eyes. "You see, I'm a bachelor, a man of no consequence and not used to society; besides, I have nothing before me, I'm set, I'm running to seed and . . . and have you noticed, Rodion Romanovitch, that in our Petersburg circles, if two clever men meet who are not intimate, but respect each other, like you and me, it takes them half an hour before they can find a subject for conversation--they are dumb, they sit opposite each other and feel awkward. Everyone has subjects of conversation, ladies for instance . . . people in high society always have their subjects of conversation, /c'est de rigueur/, but people of the middle sort like us, thinking people that is, are always tongue-tied and awkward. What is the reason of it? Whether it is the lack of public interest, or whether it is we are so honest we don't want to deceive one another, I don't know. What do you think? Do put down your cap, it looks as if you were just going, it makes me uncomfortable . . . I am so delighted . . ."
Raskolnikov put down his cap and continued listening in silence with a serious frowning face to the vague and empty chatter of Porfiry Petrovitch. "Does he really want to distract my attention with his silly babble?"
"I can't offer you coffee here; but why not spend five minutes with a friend?" Porfiry pattered on, "and you know all these official duties . . . please don't mind my running up and down, excuse it, my dear fellow, I am very much afraid of offending you, but exercise is absolutely indispensable for me. I'm always sitting and so glad to be moving about for five minutes . . . I suffer from my sedentary life . . . I always intend to join a gymnasium; they say that officials of all ranks, even Privy Councillors, may be seen skipping gaily there; there you have it, modern science . . . yes, yes. . . . But as for my duties here, inquiries and all such formalities . . . you mentioned inquiries yourself just now . . . I assure you these interrogations are sometimes more embarrassing for the interrogator than for the interrogated. . . . You made the observation yourself just now very aptly and wittily." (Raskolnikov had made no observation of the kind.) "One gets into a muddle! A regular muddle! One keeps harping on the same note, like a drum! There is to be a reform and we shall be called by a different name, at least, he-he-he! And as for our legal tradition, as you so wittily called it, I thoroughly agree with you. Every prisoner on trial, even the rudest peasant, knows that they begin by disarming him with irrelevant questions (as you so happily put it) and then deal him a knock-down blow, he-he-he!--your felicitous comparison, he-he! So you really imagined that I meant by 'government quarters' . . . he-he! You are an ironical person. Come. I won't go on! Ah, by the way, yes! One word leads to another. You spoke of formality just now, apropos of the inquiry, you know. But what's the use of formality? In many cases it's nonsense. Sometimes one has a friendly chat and gets a good deal more out of it. One can always fall back on formality, allow me to assure you. And after all, what does it amount to? An examining lawyer cannot be bounded by formality at every step. The work of investigation is, so to speak, a free art in its own way, he-he-he!"
Porfiry Petrovitch took breath a moment. He had simply babbled on uttering empty phrases, letting slip a few enigmatic words and again reverting to incoherence. He was almost running about the room, moving his fat little legs quicker and quicker, looking at the ground, with his right hand behind his back, while with his left making gesticulations that were extraordinarily incongruous with his words. Raskolnikov suddenly noticed that as he ran about the room he seemed twice to stop for a moment near the door, as though he were listening.
"Is he expecting anything?"
"You are certainly quite right about it," Porfiry began gaily, looking with extraordinary simplicity at Raskolnikov (which startled him and instantly put him on his guard); "certainly quite right in laughing so wittily at our legal forms, he-he! Some of these elaborate psychological methods are exceedingly ridiculous and perhaps useless, if one adheres too closely to the forms. Yes . . . I am talking of forms again. Well, if I recognise, or more strictly speaking, if I suspect someone or other to be a criminal in any case entrusted to me . . . you're reading for the law, of course, Rodion Romanovitch?"
"Yes, I was . . ."
"Well, then it is a precedent for you for the future--though don't suppose I should venture to instruct you after the articles you publish about crime! No, I simply make bold to state it by way of fact, if I took this man or that for a criminal, why, I ask, should I worry him prematurely, even though I had evidence against him? In one case I may be bound, for instance, to arrest a man at once, but another may be in quite a different position, you know, so why shouldn't I let him walk about the town a bit? he-he-he! But I see you don't quite understand, so I'll give you a clearer example. If I put him in prison too soon, I may very likely give him, so to speak, moral support, he-he! You're laughing?"
Raskolnikov had no idea of laughing. He was sitting with compressed lips, his feverish eyes fixed on Porfiry Petrovitch's.
"Yet that is the case, with some types especially, for men are so different. You say 'evidence'. Well, there may be evidence. But evidence, you know, can generally be taken two ways. I am an examining lawyer and a weak man, I confess it. I should like to make a proof, so to say, mathematically clear. I should like to make a chain of evidence such as twice two are four, it ought to be a direct, irrefutable proof! And if I shut him up too soon--even though I might be convinced /he/ was the man, I should very likely be depriving myself of the means of getting further evidence against him. And how? By giving him, so to speak, a definite position, I shall put him out of suspense and set his mind at rest, so that he will retreat into his shell. They say that at Sevastopol, soon after Alma, the clever people were in a terrible fright that the enemy would attack openly and take Sevastopol at once. But when they saw that the enemy preferred a regular siege, they were delighted, I am told and reassured, for the thing would drag on for two months at least. You're laughing, you don't believe me again? Of course, you're right, too. You're right, you're right. These are special cases, I admit. But you must observe this, my dear Rodion Romanovitch, the general case, the case for which all legal forms and rules are intended, for which they are calculated and laid down in books, does not exist at all, for the reason that every case, every crime, for instance, so soon as it actually occurs, at once becomes a thoroughly special case and sometimes a case unlike any that's gone before. Very comic cases of that sort sometimes occur. If I leave one man quite alone, if I don't touch him and don't worry him, but let him know or at least suspect every moment that I know all about it and am watching him day and night, and if he is in continual suspicion and terror, he'll be bound to lose his head. He'll come of himself, or maybe do something which will make it as plain as twice two are four--it's delightful. It may be so with a simple peasant, but with one of our sort, an intelligent man cultivated on a certain side, it's a dead certainty. For, my dear fellow, it's a very important matter to know on what side a man is cultivated. And then there are nerves, there are nerves, you have overlooked them! Why, they are all sick, nervous and irritable! . . . And then how they all suffer from spleen! That I assure you is a regular gold-mine for us. And it's no anxiety to me, his running about the town free! Let him, let him walk about for a bit! I know well enough that I've caught him and that he won't escape me. Where could he escape to, he-he? Abroad, perhaps? A Pole will escape abroad, but not here, especially as I am watching and have taken measures. Will he escape into the depths of the country perhaps? But you know, peasants live there, real rude Russian peasants. A modern cultivated man would prefer prison to living with such strangers as our peasants. He-he! But that's all nonsense, and on the surface. It's not merely that he has nowhere to run to, he is /psychologically/ unable to escape me, he-he! What an expression! Through a law of nature he can't escape me if he had anywhere to go. Have you seen a butterfly round a candle? That's how he will keep circling and circling round me. Freedom will lose its attractions. He'll begin to brood, he'll weave a tangle round himself, he'll worry himself to death! What's more he will provide me with a mathematical proof--if I only give him long enough interval. . . . And he'll keep circling round me, getting nearer and nearer and then--flop! He'll fly straight into my mouth and I'll swallow him, and that will be very amusing, he-he-he! You don't believe me?"
Raskolnikov made no reply; he sat pale and motionless, still gazing with the same intensity into Porfiry's face.
"It's a lesson," he thought, turning cold. "This is beyond the cat playing with a mouse, like yesterday. He can't be showing off his power with no motive . . . prompting me; he is far too clever for that . . . he must have another object. What is it? It's all nonsense, my friend, you are pretending, to scare me! You've no proofs and the man I saw had no real existence. You simply want to make me lose my head, to work me up beforehand and so to crush me. But you are wrong, you won't do it! But why give me such a hint? Is he reckoning on my shattered nerves? No, my friend, you are wrong, you won't do it even though you have some trap for me . . . let us see what you have in store for me."
And he braced himself to face a terrible and unknown ordeal. At times he longed to fall on Porfiry and strangle him. This anger was what he dreaded from the beginning. He felt that his parched lips were flecked with foam, his heart was throbbing. But he was still determined not to speak till the right moment. He realised that this was the best policy in his position, because instead of saying too much he would be irritating his enemy by his silence and provoking him into speaking too freely. Anyhow, this was what he hoped for.
"No, I see you don't believe me, you think I am playing a harmless joke on you," Porfiry began again, getting more and more lively, chuckling at every instant and again pacing round the room. "And to be sure you're right: God has given me a figure that can awaken none but comic ideas in other people; a buffoon; but let me tell you, and I repeat it, excuse an old man, my dear Rodion Romanovitch, you are a man still young, so to say, in your first youth and so you put intellect above everything, like all young people. Playful wit and abstract arguments fascinate you and that's for all the world like the old Austrian /Hof-kriegsrath/, as far as I can judge of military matters, that is: on paper they'd beaten Napoleon and taken him prisoner, and there in their study they worked it all out in the cleverest fashion, but look you, General Mack surrendered with all his army, he-he-he! I see, I see, Rodion Romanovitch, you are laughing at a civilian like me, taking examples out of military history! But I can't help it, it's my weakness. I am fond of military science. And I'm ever so fond of reading all military histories. I've certainly missed my proper career. I ought to have been in the army, upon my word I ought. I shouldn't have been a Napoleon, but I might have been a major, he-he! Well, I'll tell you the whole truth, my dear fellow, about this /special case/, I mean: actual fact and a man's temperament, my dear sir, are weighty matters and it's astonishing how they sometimes deceive the sharpest calculation! I--listen to an old man--am speaking seriously, Rodion Romanovitch" (as he said this Porfiry Petrovitch, who was scarcely five-and-thirty, actually seemed to have grown old; even his voice changed and he seemed to shrink together) "Moreover, I'm a candid man . . . am I a candid man or not? What do you say? I fancy I really am: I tell you these things for nothing and don't even expect a reward for it, he-he! Well, to proceed, wit in my opinion is a splendid thing, it is, so to say, an adornment of nature and a consolation of life, and what tricks it can play! So that it sometimes is hard for a poor examining lawyer to know where he is, especially when he's liable to be carried away by his own fancy, too, for you know he is a man after all! But the poor fellow is saved by the criminal's temperament, worse luck for him! But young people carried away by their own wit don't think of that 'when they overstep all obstacles,' as you wittily and cleverly expressed it yesterday. He will lie--that is, the man who is a /special case/, the incognito, and he will lie well, in the cleverest fashion; you might think he would triumph and enjoy the fruits of his wit, but at the most interesting, the most flagrant moment he will faint. Of course there may be illness and a stuffy room as well, but anyway! Anyway he's given us the idea! He lied incomparably, but he didn't reckon on his temperament. That's what betrays him! Another time he will be carried away by his playful wit into making fun of the man who suspects him, he will turn pale as it were on purpose to mislead, but his paleness will be /too natural/, too much like the real thing, again he has given us an idea! Though his questioner may be deceived at first, he will think differently next day if he is not a fool, and, of course, it is like that at every step! He puts himself forward where he is not wanted, speaks continually when he ought to keep silent, brings in all sorts of allegorical allusions, he-he! Comes and asks why didn't you take me long ago? he-he-he! And that can happen, you know, with the cleverest man, the psychologist, the literary man. The temperament reflects everything like a mirror! Gaze into it and admire what you see! But why are you so pale, Rodion Romanovitch? Is the room stuffy? Shall I open the window?"
"Oh, don't trouble, please," cried Raskolnikov and he suddenly broke into a laugh. "Please don't trouble."
Porfiry stood facing him, paused a moment and suddenly he too laughed. Raskolnikov got up from the sofa, abruptly checking his hysterical laughter.
"Porfiry Petrovitch," he began, speaking loudly and distinctly, though his legs trembled and he could scarcely stand. "I see clearly at last that you actually suspect me of murdering that old woman and her sister Lizaveta. Let me tell you for my part that I am sick of this. If you find that you have a right to prosecute me legally, to arrest me, then prosecute me, arrest me. But I will not let myself be jeered at to my face and worried . . ."
His lips trembled, his eyes glowed with fury and he could not restrain his voice.
"I won't allow it!" he shouted, bringing his fist down on the table. "Do you hear that, Porfiry Petrovitch? I won't allow it."
"Good heavens! What does it mean?" cried Porfiry Petrovitch, apparently quite frightened. "Rodion Romanovitch, my dear fellow, what is the matter with you?"
"I won't allow it," Raskolnikov shouted again.
"Hush, my dear man! They'll hear and come in. Just think, what could we say to them?" Porfiry Petrovitch whispered in horror, bringing his face close to Raskolnikov's.
"I won't allow it, I won't allow it," Raskolnikov repeated mechanically, but he too spoke in a sudden whisper.
Porfiry turned quickly and ran to open the window.
"Some fresh air! And you must have some water, my dear fellow. You're ill!" and he was running to the door to call for some when he found a decanter of water in the corner. "Come, drink a little," he whispered, rushing up to him with the decanter. "It will be sure to do you good."
Porfiry Petrovitch's alarm and sympathy were so natural that Raskolnikov was silent and began looking at him with wild curiosity. He did not take the water, however.
"Rodion Romanovitch, my dear fellow, you'll drive yourself out of your mind, I assure you, ach, ach! Have some water, do drink a little."
He forced him to take the glass. Raskolnikov raised it mechanically to his lips, but set it on the table again with disgust.
"Yes, you've had a little attack! You'll bring back your illness again, my dear fellow," Porfiry Petrovitch cackled with friendly sympathy, though he still looked rather disconcerted. "Good heavens, you must take more care of yourself! Dmitri Prokofitch was here, came to see me yesterday--I know, I know, I've a nasty, ironical temper, but what they made of it! . . . Good heavens, he came yesterday after you'd been. We dined and he talked and talked away, and I could only throw up my hands in despair! Did he come from you? But do sit down, for mercy's sake, sit down!"
"No, not from me, but I knew he went to you and why he went," Raskolnikov answered sharply.
"You knew?"
"I knew. What of it?"
"Why this, Rodion Romanovitch, that I know more than that about you; I know about everything. I know how you went /to take a flat/ at night when it was dark and how you rang the bell and asked about the blood, so that the workmen and the porter did not know what to make of it. Yes, I understand your state of mind at that time . . . but you'll drive yourself mad like that, upon my word! You'll lose your head! You're full of generous indignation at the wrongs you've received, first from destiny, and then from the police officers, and so you rush from one thing to another to force them to speak out and make an end of it all, because you are sick of all this suspicion and foolishness. That's so, isn't it? I have guessed how you feel, haven't I? Only in that way you'll lose your head and Razumihin's, too; he's too /good/ a man for such a position, you must know that. You are ill and he is good and your illness is infectious for him . . . I'll tell you about it when you are more yourself. . . . But do sit down, for goodness' sake. Please rest, you look shocking, do sit down."
Raskolnikov sat down; he no longer shivered, he was hot all over. In amazement he listened with strained attention to Porfiry Petrovitch who still seemed frightened as he looked after him with friendly solicitude. But he did not believe a word he said, though he felt a strange inclination to believe. Porfiry's unexpected words about the flat had utterly overwhelmed him. "How can it be, he knows about the flat then," he thought suddenly, "and he tells it me himself!"
"Yes, in our legal practice there was a case almost exactly similar, a case of morbid psychology," Porfiry went on quickly. "A man confessed to murder and how he kept it up! It was a regular hallucination; he brought forward facts, he imposed upon everyone and why? He had been partly, but only partly, unintentionally the cause of a murder and when he knew that he had given the murderers the opportunity, he sank into dejection, it got on his mind and turned his brain, he began imagining things and he persuaded himself that he was the murderer. But at last the High Court of Appeal went into it and the poor fellow was acquitted and put under proper care. Thanks to the Court of Appeal! Tut-tut-tut! Why, my dear fellow, you may drive yourself into delirium if you have the impulse to work upon your nerves, to go ringing bells at night and asking about blood! I've studied all this morbid psychology in my practice. A man is sometimes tempted to jump out of a window or from a belfry. Just the same with bell-ringing. . . . It's all illness, Rodion Romanovitch! You have begun to neglect your illness. You should consult an experienced doctor, what's the good of that fat fellow? You are lightheaded! You were delirious when you did all this!"
For a moment Raskolnikov felt everything going round.
"Is it possible, is it possible," flashed through his mind, "that he is still lying? He can't be, he can't be." He rejected that idea, feeling to what a degree of fury it might drive him, feeling that that fury might drive him mad.
"I was not delirious. I knew what I was doing," he cried, straining every faculty to penetrate Porfiry's game, "I was quite myself, do you hear?"
"Yes, I hear and understand. You said yesterday you were not delirious, you were particularly emphatic about it! I understand all you can tell me! A-ach! . . . Listen, Rodion Romanovitch, my dear fellow. If you were actually a criminal, or were somehow mixed up in this damnable business, would you insist that you were not delirious but in full possession of your faculties? And so emphatically and persistently? Would it be possible? Quite impossible, to my thinking. If you had anything on your conscience, you certainly ought to insist that you were delirious. That's so, isn't it?"
There was a note of slyness in this inquiry. Raskolnikov drew back on the sofa as Porfiry bent over him and stared in silent perplexity at him.
"Another thing about Razumihin--you certainly ought to have said that he came of his own accord, to have concealed your part in it! But you don't conceal it! You lay stress on his coming at your instigation."
Raskolnikov had not done so. A chill went down his back.
"You keep telling lies," he said slowly and weakly, twisting his lips into a sickly smile, "you are trying again to show that you know all my game, that you know all I shall say beforehand," he said, conscious himself that he was not weighing his words as he ought. "You want to frighten me . . . or you are simply laughing at me . . ."
He still stared at him as he said this and again there was a light of intense hatred in his eyes.
"You keep lying," he said. "You know perfectly well that the best policy for the criminal is to tell the truth as nearly as possible . . . to conceal as little as possible. I don't believe you!"
"What a wily person you are!" Porfiry tittered, "there's no catching you; you've a perfect monomania. So you don't believe me? But still you do believe me, you believe a quarter; I'll soon make you believe the whole, because I have a sincere liking for you and genuinely wish you good."
Raskolnikov's lips trembled.
"Yes, I do," went on Porfiry, touching Raskolnikov's arm genially, "you must take care of your illness. Besides, your mother and sister are here now; you must think of them. You must soothe and comfort them and you do nothing but frighten them . . ."
"What has that to do with you? How do you know it? What concern is it of yours? You are keeping watch on me and want to let me know it?"
"Good heavens! Why, I learnt it all from you yourself! You don't notice that in your excitement you tell me and others everything. From Razumihin, too, I learnt a number of interesting details yesterday. No, you interrupted me, but I must tell you that, for all your wit, your suspiciousness makes you lose the common-sense view of things. To return to bell-ringing, for instance. I, an examining lawyer, have betrayed a precious thing like that, a real fact (for it is a fact worth having), and you see nothing in it! Why, if I had the slightest suspicion of you, should I have acted like that? No, I should first have disarmed your suspicions and not let you see I knew of that fact, should have diverted your attention and suddenly have dealt you a knock-down blow (your expression) saying: 'And what were you doing, sir, pray, at ten or nearly eleven at the murdered woman's flat and why did you ring the bell and why did you ask about blood? And why did you invite the porters to go with you to the police station, to the lieutenant?' That's how I ought to have acted if I had a grain of suspicion of you. I ought to have taken your evidence in due form, searched your lodging and perhaps have arrested you, too . . . so I have no suspicion of you, since I have not done that! But you can't look at it normally and you see nothing, I say again."
Raskolnikov started so that Porfiry Petrovitch could not fail to perceive it.
"You are lying all the while," he cried, "I don't know your object, but you are lying. You did not speak like that just now and I cannot be mistaken!"
"I am lying?" Porfiry repeated, apparently incensed, but preserving a good-humoured and ironical face, as though he were not in the least concerned at Raskolnikov's opinion of him. "I am lying . . . but how did I treat you just now, I, the examining lawyer? Prompting you and giving you every means for your defence; illness, I said, delirium, injury, melancholy and the police officers and all the rest of it? Ah! He-he-he! Though, indeed, all those psychological means of defence are not very reliable and cut both ways: illness, delirium, I don't remember--that's all right, but why, my good sir, in your illness and in your delirium were you haunted by just those delusions and not by any others? There may have been others, eh? He-he-he!"
Raskolnikov looked haughtily and contemptuously at him.
"Briefly," he said loudly and imperiously, rising to his feet and in so doing pushing Porfiry back a little, "briefly, I want to know, do you acknowledge me perfectly free from suspicion or not? Tell me, Porfiry Petrovitch, tell me once for all and make haste!"
"What a business I'm having with you!" cried Porfiry with a perfectly good-humoured, sly and composed face. "And why do you want to know, why do you want to know so much, since they haven't begun to worry you? Why, you are like a child asking for matches! And why are you so uneasy? Why do you force yourself upon us, eh? He-he-he!"
"I repeat," Raskolnikov cried furiously, "that I can't put up with it!"
"With what? Uncertainty?" interrupted Porfiry.
"Don't jeer at me! I won't have it! I tell you I won't have it. I can't and I won't, do you hear, do you hear?" he shouted, bringing his fist down on the table again.
"Hush! Hush! They'll overhear! I warn you seriously, take care of yourself. I am not joking," Porfiry whispered, but this time there was not the look of old womanish good nature and alarm in his face. Now he was peremptory, stern, frowning and for once laying aside all mystification.
But this was only for an instant. Raskolnikov, bewildered, suddenly fell into actual frenzy, but, strange to say, he again obeyed the command to speak quietly, though he was in a perfect paroxysm of fury.
"I will not allow myself to be tortured," he whispered, instantly recognising with hatred that he could not help obeying the command and driven to even greater fury by the thought. "Arrest me, search me, but kindly act in due form and don't play with me! Don't dare!"
"Don't worry about the form," Porfiry interrupted with the same sly smile, as it were, gloating with enjoyment over Raskolnikov. "I invited you to see me quite in a friendly way."
"I don't want your friendship and I spit on it! Do you hear? And, here, I take my cap and go. What will you say now if you mean to arrest me?"
He took up his cap and went to the door.
"And won't you see my little surprise?" chuckled Porfiry, again taking him by the arm and stopping him at the door.
He seemed to become more playful and good-humoured which maddened Raskolnikov.
"What surprise?" he asked, standing still and looking at Porfiry in alarm.
"My little surprise, it's sitting there behind the door, he-he-he!" (He pointed to the locked door.) "I locked him in that he should not escape."
"What is it? Where? What? . . ."
Raskolnikov walked to the door and would have opened it, but it was locked.
"It's locked, here is the key!"
And he brought a key out of his pocket.
"You are lying," roared Raskolnikov without restraint, "you lie, you damned punchinello!" and he rushed at Porfiry who retreated to the other door, not at all alarmed.
"I understand it all! You are lying and mocking so that I may betray myself to you . . ."
"Why, you could not betray yourself any further, my dear Rodion Romanovitch. You are in a passion. Don't shout, I shall call the clerks."
"You are lying! Call the clerks! You knew I was ill and tried to work me into a frenzy to make me betray myself, that was your object! Produce your facts! I understand it all. You've no evidence, you have only wretched rubbishly suspicions like Zametov's! You knew my character, you wanted to drive me to fury and then to knock me down with priests and deputies. . . . Are you waiting for them? eh! What are you waiting for? Where are they? Produce them?"
"Why deputies, my good man? What things people will imagine! And to do so would not be acting in form as you say, you don't know the business, my dear fellow. . . . And there's no escaping form, as you see," Porfiry muttered, listening at the door through which a noise could be heard.
"Ah, they're coming," cried Raskolnikov. "You've sent for them! You expected them! Well, produce them all: your deputies, your witnesses, what you like! . . . I am ready!"
But at this moment a strange incident occurred, something so unexpected that neither Raskolnikov nor Porfiry Petrovitch could have looked for such a conclusion to their interview.
第二天上午十一点整，拉斯科利尼科夫走进×分局侦查科，要求向波尔菲里·彼特罗维奇通报，他来了；可是好久还没接见他，这时他甚至感到奇怪了：至少过了十分钟，才叫他进去。他估计，似乎应该立刻向他提出一连串问题。然而他站在接待室里，一些人从他身边过来过去，看样子，都完全不理会他。后面一间像是办公室的房间里，坐着几个司书，正在书写，显然，他们当中甚至谁也不知道，谁是拉斯科利尼科夫，他是个什么人？他用不安和怀疑的目光注视着自己周围的一切，暗暗观察，他身旁有没有卫兵，有没有监视他的神秘的目光，以防他会逃跑？可是根本就没有任何这一类的迹象：他只看见一些小职员，一些为什么小事一操一心的人的脸，随后还看见一些别的人，他们谁也不理会他：他一爱一上哪里去就上哪里去好了，没人管他。他越来越坚定地想：如果昨天这个神秘的人，这个从地底下钻出来的幽灵当真什么都知道，什么都看到了，——那么难道会让他，拉斯科利尼科夫，现在这样站在这里，安安静静地等着吗？难道会在这里一直等到十一点钟，等着他自己来这里吗？可见，要么是那个人还没来告发，要么就是……只不过是他什么都不知道，什么也没看见（他怎么能看见呢？），所以，他，拉斯科利尼科夫，昨天所发生的一切，又是被他那受到刺激的、病态的想象力夸大了的主观幻想。甚至还在昨天，在他感到最强烈的不安，陷于悲观绝望之中的时候，这个猜测就已经在他心中渐渐确定下来了。现在他把这一切又细细考虑了一番，准备投入新的战斗，却突然感到，他在发一抖，——一想到他竟会在可恨的波尔菲里·彼特罗维奇面前吓得发一抖，他甚至勃然大怒。对他来说，最可怕的就是又要见到这个人：他恨透了他，恨之入骨，甚至害怕自己的憎恨情绪会暴露自己。他的愤怒如此强烈，竟使他立刻不再发一抖了；他打算进去的时候装出一副冷静和大胆的样子，决心尽可能保持沉默，细心观察，留心倾听，至少这一次无论如何也要克服自己那种病态的容易激动的一性一格。这时有人来叫他去见波尔菲里·彼特罗维奇。
原来这时候只有波尔菲里·彼特罗维奇一个人待在自己的办公室里。他的办公室不大，也不算小；里面，一张漆布面的长沙发前摆着一张大写字台，还有一张办公桌，角落里摆着一个公文橱，还有几把椅子——都是公家的家具，都是用磨光的黄色木料制作的。后边那面墙的角落里，或者不如说是在隔板上，有一扇锁着的门：可见那里，隔板后面，大概还有几个房间。拉斯科利尼科夫一进来，波尔菲里·彼特罗维奇立刻把他进去时走的那道门掩上，于是屋里就只有他们两个人了。看来，他是装出最愉快、最亲切的神情来迎接自己的客人，不过，已经过了几分钟以后，拉斯科利尼科夫根据某些迹象发觉，他心里好像有点儿慌乱，——仿佛他突然给搞糊涂了，或者是被人发现了什么隐藏得很深的秘密。
“啊，最尊敬的朋友！瞧，您也……上我们这地方来了……”波尔菲里说，双手都向他伸了过来。“好，请坐，老兄！也许您不喜欢管您叫最尊敬的朋友和……老兄，——不喜欢这样toutcourt①？请不要把这看作亲一昵……请这边坐，坐在沙发上。”
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①法文，“亲一昵”之意。
拉斯科利尼科夫坐下来，目不转睛地看着他。
“我们这地方”，为过于亲一昵而请求原谅，法语词汇“toutcourt”，等等，等等，——这一切都是他的一性一格特征的表现。
“然而，他把两只手都向我伸了过来，却一只也没和我握手，及时缩回去了，”这想法疑问地在他脑子里忽然一闪。两人互相注视着对方，但是他们的目光一碰到，立刻就像闪电一般移开了。
“我给您送来了申请书……关于表的……这就是。这样写行吗，还是得重写呢？”
“什么？申请书？对，对……您别担心，就是这样写，”波尔菲里·彼特罗维奇说，好像急于要到哪里去似的，已经说完了这些话，这才接过申请书去，看了一遍。 “对，就这样写。不需要再写什么了，”他又很快地重说了一遍，随手把申请书放到桌子上。后来过了一分钟，已经在谈别的了，他又从桌子上拿起申请书，把它放到自己的办公桌上。
“昨天您好像说过，想要问问我……正式地……问问我认识这个……被害的老太婆的情况？”拉斯科利尼科夫又开始说，“唉，我为什么要加上个好像呢？”这想法像闪电般在他脑子里一闪而过。“可我为什么为了加上个好像就这样担心呢？”立刻又有另一个想法犹如闪电般在他脑子里忽地一闪。
他突然感觉到，刚一与波尔菲里接触，刚刚说了一两句话，刚刚一交一换了一两次目光，他的神经过敏就已经发展到了骇人听闻的程度……而这是非常危险的：神经紧张起来，不安增强了。“糟糕！糟透了！……我又说漏了嘴。”
“对——对——对！请别担心！时间来得及，来得及的，”波尔菲里·彼特罗维奇含糊不清地说，同时在桌旁踱来踱去，不过似乎毫无目的，好像一会儿匆匆走到窗前，一会儿走到办公桌那里，一会儿又回到桌子这里，一会儿避开拉斯科利尼科夫怀疑的目光，一会儿又突然站住，目不转睛地直盯着他。这时他那又胖又圆的矮小身躯让人觉得非常奇怪，好像一个小球，一会儿滚到这边，一会儿滚到那边，撞到墙上或角落里，立刻就反弹回来。
“我们来得及的，来得及的！……您一抽一烟吗？有烟吗？给，来一支香烟吧……”他说着递给客人一支香烟。“您要知道，我在这儿接待您，可我的住房就在这里，隔板后面……公家的房子，不过目前我住在自己租来的房子里，暂时住住。这儿需要修缮一下。现有差不多就要完工了……公家的房子，这玩意儿太好了，——不是吗？您认为呢？”
“是啊，是好得很，”拉斯科利尼科夫几乎是嘲笑地望着他回答。
“好得很，好得很……”波尔菲里·彼特罗维奇反复说，似乎突然考虑起与此毫不相干的问题来了，“对！好得很！”最后他几乎高声叫喊起来，突然抬起眼来看了看拉斯科利尼科夫，在离他两步远的地方站住了。他多次愚蠢地重复说，公家的房子好得很，就其庸俗一性一来说，与现在他注视自己客人的严肃、深思和神秘的目光实在是太矛盾了。
但这更加激怒了拉斯科利尼科夫，他已经无论如何也忍不住了，忍不住要含讥带讽，相当不谨慎地向波尔菲里提出挑战。
“您知道吗，”他突然问，几乎无礼地看着波尔菲里，仿佛从自己的无礼中感觉到乐趣，“好像司法界有这么个惯例，有这么个司法界通用的手法——对所有侦查员都适用的手法，首先从老远开始，从一些无足轻重的小事谈起，或者甚至也可能从严肃的问题开始，不过是毫不相干的其他问题，这样可以，也可以说是鼓励，或者不如说是分散受审的人的注意力，使他麻痹大意，然后突然以最出其不意的方式，冷不防向他提出最具有决定意义的关键一性一问题，一举击中要害，就像一下子击中天灵盖一样；是这样吗？似乎到目前，所有规章和指南上还都神圣一地提到这一点，是吧？”
“是这样，是这样……怎么，您认为，我跟您谈公家的房子就是……啊？”波尔菲里·彼特罗维奇说过了这句话，眯缝起眼来，眨了眨眼；脸上掠过某种快乐和狡猾的神情，额上的皱纹舒展开了，眼睛眯成了两条细缝，脸拉长了，他突然神经质地、持续不停地哈哈大笑起来，全身抖动着，摇晃着，直瞅着拉斯科利尼科夫的眼睛。后者本来也在笑，不过笑得有点儿做作；可是波尔菲里看到他也在笑，于是高声狂笑起来，笑得几乎涨红了脸，这时拉斯科利尼科夫的厌恶情绪突然越过了小心谨慎所允许的界线：他不再笑了，皱起眉头，在波尔菲里好像故意不停地许久大笑不止的这段时间里，一直目不转睛地久久注视着他。不过，显然双方都不小心，所以，波尔菲里·彼特罗维奇似乎毫不客气地嘲笑这个憎恨他这样大笑的客人，而且对这一情况几乎丝毫也不感到惊慌失措。对拉斯科利尼科夫来说，这一点具有特别重要的意义：他明白，波尔菲里·彼特罗维奇刚才根本就没发窘，恰恰相反，倒是他，拉斯科利尼科夫，大概落入了圈套；这儿显然有什么他不知道的东西，有什么目的；也许一切已经准备就绪，立刻，马上就会见分晓，马上就会落到他头上来了……
他立刻直截了当地谈到正题上来，站起身，拿起制帽。
“波尔菲里·彼特罗维奇，”他坚决地开口说，不过语气相当气愤，“您昨天表示，希望我来这里接受审问。（他特别强调审问这个词。）我来了，如果您要问，那么就请问吧，不然的话，请允许我告退。我没空，我有事……我得去参加那个被马踩死的官员的葬礼，那个人……您也知道的……”他补上一句，可是立刻又为补上这句话生起气来，随后又立刻更加恼怒了，“这一切让我感到厌烦了，您听到吗，早就厌烦了……我生病，在某种程度上就是由于这个原因，……总之，”他几乎高声叫嚷起来，觉得谈到生病，更加不合时宜，“总而言之：请您要么审问我，要么马上让我走……如果审问，一定要合乎手续！不然我是不答应的；因此暂时告辞了，因为现在我们两个人在一起没有什么事情好做了。”
“上帝啊！您这是怎么了！问您什么呢，”波尔菲里·彼特罗维奇突然抑扬顿挫地说，语气和神情立刻都改变了，笑声也戛然而止，“您请放心好了，”他忙碌起来，又一会儿匆匆地走来走去，一会儿突然请拉斯科利尼科夫坐下，“时间来得及，来得及的，这一切只不过是些小事！我，恰恰相反，您终于到我们这儿来了，我感到那么高兴……我是把您作为客人来接待的。而这该死的笑，您，罗季昂·罗曼诺维奇老兄，就请您原谅我吧。是罗季昂·罗曼诺维奇吧？好像，您的父名是这样吧？……我是个神经质的人，您那些非常机智的俏皮话逗乐了我；有时，真的，我会笑得像橡皮一样抖个不停，就这样笑上半个钟头……是个一爱一笑的人。就我的体质来说，我甚至害怕会瘫痪。嗳，您请坐啊，您怎么了？……请坐，老兄，要不，我会认为您生气了……”
拉斯科利尼科夫默默不语，听着，观察着，一直还在恼怒地皱着眉头。不过他还是坐下了，然而没有放下帽子。
“罗季昂·罗曼诺维奇老兄，我要告诉您一件事，关于我自己的，可以这样说吧，给我自己作个鉴定，”波尔菲里·彼特罗维奇接着说下去，继续在屋里匆匆走来走去，好像仍然避免与自己客人的目光接触。“我，您要知道，是个单身汉，既不属于上流社会，又没有名望。品质极坏，有些改不了的一习一惯，可是已经变聪明了，而且……而且……您注意到了吗，罗季昂·罗曼诺维奇，我们这儿，也就是说，在我们俄罗斯，尤其是在我们彼得堡各界，如果有两个聪明人，彼此还不太熟悉，不过，可以这么说吧，互相尊敬，喏，就像现在我和您这样，这样的两个聪明人到了一起，就会整整半个小时怎么也找不到一交一谈的话题，——一个对着一个，很不自然，十分冷淡，坐在一起，互相都感到尴尬。要一交一谈，大家都有话题，譬如说，女士们……譬如说，上流社会那些风度翩翩的人士，他们总有话可谈，c’estderigueur①，可是像我们这些中等的人，却容易发窘，不善于一交一谈……也就是说，都是些善于思考的人。老兄，这是由于什么原因呢？是不是因为没有共同利益，还是因为我们都很正直，不愿意互相欺骗呢，这我就不知道了。啊？您认为呢？啊，请您把帽子放下吧，好像马上就要走的样子，叫人看着真怪不好意思的……我吗，恰恰相反，我是这么高兴……”
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①法文，“这是必然的；就跟上了发条一样，自然而然地”之意。
拉斯科利尼科夫放下了帽子，仍然默默不语，神情严肃，皱着眉头，在听波尔菲里·彼特罗维奇说这些空空洞一洞、不相连贯的废话。“怎么，他真的是想用他这些愚蠢的废话来分散我的注意力吗？”
“我不请您喝咖啡，这儿不是地方；不过为什么不跟朋友在一起坐上五分钟呢，解解闷嘛，”波尔菲里滔一滔一不一绝地说，“您要知道，所有这些公务……老兄，我一直这样走来走去，您可别见怪；请原谅，老兄，我很担心会得罪您，可对我来说，散步简直是必不可少的。我一直坐着，能够这样来来回回走上四、五分钟，真是太高兴了……我有痔疮……一直打算采用体一操一疗法；据说，那些文官们，四等文官，就连三等文官，也都喜欢跳绳；就是这样嘛，在我们这个时代，这就叫科学……就是这样……至于这儿这些职务，什么审讯啦，还有种种形式上的程序啦……这不是，您，老兄，您刚刚提到了审问……是这样的，您要知道，真的，罗季昂·罗曼诺维奇老兄，这些审问有时会把审问的人搞得糊里糊涂，搞得他比受审的人更糊涂……关于这一点，老兄，刚才您说得非常机智，完全正确。（拉斯科利尼科夫根本就没说过一句这样的话。）是会搞糊涂的！真的，是会搞糊涂的！翻来覆去老是那一套，翻来覆去老是那一套，就像敲鼓一样！喏，不是在改革①吗，我们至少会改改名称，换换名目嘛，嘿！嘿！嘿！至于说到我们司法界的手法嘛，——您说得多么俏皮，——我完全同意您的意见。您说，所有被告当中，就连那些穿粗麻布衣服的乡下佬当中，有谁不知道，譬如说吧，一开始会用不相干的问题分散他的注意力（用您的妙语来说），然后突然击中他的要害呢，而且是用斧背，嘿！嘿！嘿！用您巧妙的比喻来说，也就是一下击中他的天灵盖！嘿！嘿！那么您当真认为，我是想用房子来分散您……嘿！嘿！您真是个一爱一讽刺人的人。好，我不再说了！啊，对了，顺便说说，一句话会引出另一句话，一个想法会引出另一个想法，——这不是，刚才您还提到了手续，您要知道，是关于审问的手续……什么合乎手续啊！您要知道，在很多情况下，手续毫无意义。有时像朋友那样随便聊聊，倒更有好处。手续永远也跑不了，这一点我可以请您放心；可手续的实质是什么呢，我请问您？可不能每走一步都用手续来束缚侦查员，因为侦查员的工作，可以这么说吧，是一种自一由的艺术，当然是就某一点来说，或者大致如此……嘿！嘿！嘿！”
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①指一八六一四年实行的司法改革。这次改革规定，审理案件时要有律师和陪审员参加，但预审仍然完全是警察局的职权。
波尔菲里·彼特罗维奇稍微喘了口气。他不知疲倦地滔一滔一不一绝地说着，一会儿尽说些毫无意义的、空洞的废话，一会儿突然插一进几句高深莫测的话，但立刻又语无伦次，又说起废话来了。他已经几乎是在屋里跑来跑去，两条胖胖的腿挪动得越来越快，眼睛一直看着地下，右手背在背后，不停地挥动着左手，做出各种不同的姿势，每个姿势都与他正在说的话很不协调。拉斯科利尼科夫突然发觉，他在屋里跑来跑去的时候，有两次好像在门边站了一会儿，仿佛是侧耳倾听……“他是不是在等什么呢？”
“您当真完全正确，”波尔菲里又接着话茬说，并且快活地、带着异常天真的神情望着拉斯科利尼科夫（他不由得颤栗了一下，立刻作好应付一切的思想准备）， “您这样机智地嘲笑法律手续，当真完全正确，嘿！嘿！我们这些（当然是某些）用意深刻的心理学手法的确极其可笑，大概也毫无用处，如果太受手续束缚的话。是的……我又谈到了手续：唔，如果我认定，或者不如说怀疑某一个人，另一个人或第三个人，可以这么说吧，如果我怀疑他是一交一给我侦查的某一案件的罪犯……您不是要作法学家吗，罗季昂·罗曼诺维奇？”
“是的，是有这个打算……”
“好，那么，可以这么说吧，这儿就有一个案例，可以作为您将来的参考，——您可别以为，我竟敢教导您：您不是发表过论犯罪的文章吗！不，我是向您提供一个实际的案例，——那么，譬如说，如果我认为某个人，另一个人或第三个人是罪犯，试问，时机不到，我为什么要去惊动他呢，即使我有证明他有罪的证据？有的人，譬如说吧，我必须赶快逮捕他，可另一个人却不是这种一性一质的问题，真的；那么为什么不让他在城里溜达溜达呢，嘿！嘿！不，我看得出来，您还没完全理解，那么我给您说得更清楚些：譬如说吧，如果我过早地把他关起来，那么大概，这样一来，我不是就给了他，可以这么说吧，给了他一一精一神上的支柱吗，嘿！嘿！您笑了？（拉斯科利尼科夫根本就没想笑：他咬紧嘴唇坐在那里，兴奋的目光一直盯着波尔菲里·彼特罗维奇的眼睛。）然而事实就是这样，特别是对付某一个人，因为人是各式各样的，而对付所有的人，都只能从实践中摸索出经验来。您刚才说：罪证；假定说吧，罪证倒是有了，可是，老兄，罪证大部分都可以作不同的解释，可因为我是个侦查员，所以，很抱歉，也是个能力很差的人：总希望侦查的结果能像数学一般清清楚楚摆在面前，总希望弄到像二二得四一样明白无误的罪证！总希望得到直接的、无可争辩的证据！因为如果我不到时候就把他关起来的话，——虽然我深信，罪犯就是他——那么，我大概是自己夺走了我进一步揭露他的手段，这是为什么呢？因为我，可以这么说吧，让他的处境变得明确了，可以这么说吧，让他在心理上明确起来，反倒使他放了心，于是他就会缩进自己的壳里，什么话也不再说了，因为他终于明白，他被捕了。据说，在塞瓦斯托波尔，阿尔马战役①刚一结束的时候，嗬，一些聪明人都吓得要命，生怕敌人立刻进攻，马上就会夺取塞瓦斯托波尔；可是等他们看到敌人宁愿采取正规围困的办法，正在挖第一道战壕的时候，据说，那些聪明人都高兴死了，放心了，因为既然敌人要正规围困，那么事情至少要拖两个月！您又在笑，又不相信吗？当然，您也是对的。您是对的，您是对的！这都是特殊情况，我同意您的看法；刚才所说的情况的确特殊！不过，最亲一爱一的罗季昂·罗曼诺维奇，同时您也应该看到：一般情况，可供一切法律程序和法规借鉴的、作为制定这些程序和法规的依据、并据以写进书本里的一般情况，事实上根本就不存在，因为各种案件，每个案件，譬如，就拿犯罪来说吧，一旦在现实中发生，立刻就会变成完全特殊的情况；有时会变得那么特殊，和以前的任何案件都不相同。有时也会发生这类滑稽可笑的情况。如果我让某一位先生完全自一由：即不逮捕他，也不惊动他，可是让他每时每刻都知道，或者至少是怀疑，我什么都知道，我已经知道他的全部底细，而且日夜都在毫不懈怠地监视着他，如果让他有意识地经常疑神疑鬼，提心吊胆，那么，真的，他一定会心慌意乱，真的，一定会来投案自首，大概还会干出什么别的事来，那可就像二二得四一样，也可以说，像数学一样明确了，——这可是让人高兴的事。就连傻头傻脑的乡下佬也可能发生这种情况，至于我们这样的人，有现代人的头脑，又受过某一方面的教育，那就更不用说了。所以，亲一爱一的朋友，了解一个人受过哪方面的教育，这可是非常重要的。而神经，神经，您可不能把神经忘了！因为现在人们的神经都有一毛一病，不太正常，容易激动！……都是那么一爱一发脾气！我跟您说，必要的时候，这就好像是材料的源泉！我何必为他还没给逮住，还在城里自一由活动而担心呢！由他去，让他暂时自一由活动吧，由他去；即便如此，我也知道，他是我的猎物，他逃不出我的掌心！再说，他能逃到哪里去呢，嘿！嘿！逃往国外吗？波兰人会逃到国外去，他却不会，何况我还在监视他，采取了某些措施呢。深入祖国腹地吗？可是住在那里的都是农民，穿粗麻布衣服的，真正的俄罗斯农民；而这样一个文化程度很高的现代人却宁愿坐牢，也不愿和像我们农民那样的外国人生活在一起，嘿——嘿！不过这都是废话，是从表面上来看。逃跑，这是什么意思呢！这是说真正逃跑；可主要问题不在这里；并不仅仅是因为他无处可逃，所以才逃不出我的掌心，而是因为在心理上他不可能从我这儿逃脱，嘿——嘿！这话怎么讲呢！由于自然法则，即使他有去处，他也决逃不出我的掌心。您见过飞蛾扑火吗？嗯，就像飞蛾总是围绕着蜡烛盘旋一样，他也将