His mother's letter had been a torture to him, but as regards the chief fact in it, he had felt not one moment's hesitation, even whilst he was reading the letter. The essential question was settled, and irrevocably settled, in his mind: "Never such a marriage while I am alive and Mr. Luzhin be damned!" "The thing is perfectly clear," he muttered to himself, with a malignant smile anticipating the triumph of his decision. "No, mother, no, Dounia, you won't deceive me! and then they apologise for not asking my advice and for taking the decision without me! I dare say! They imagine it is arranged now and can't be broken off; but we will see whether it can or not! A magnificent excuse: 'Pyotr Petrovitch is such a busy man that even his wedding has to be in post-haste, almost by express.' No, Dounia, I see it all and I know what you want to say to me; and I know too what you were thinking about, when you walked up and down all night, and what your prayers were like before the Holy Mother of Kazan who stands in mother's bedroom. Bitter is the ascent to Golgotha. . . . Hm . . . so it is finally settled; you have determined to marry a sensible business man, Avdotya Romanovna, one who has a fortune (has /already/ made his fortune, that is so much more solid and impressive) a man who holds two government posts and who shares the ideas of our most rising generation, as mother writes, and who /seems/ to be kind, as Dounia herself observes. That /seems/ beats everything! And that very Dounia for that very '/seems/' is marrying him! Splendid! splendid!
". . . But I should like to know why mother has written to me about 'our most rising generation'? Simply as a descriptive touch, or with the idea of prepossessing me in favour of Mr. Luzhin? Oh, the cunning of them! I should like to know one thing more: how far they were open with one another that day and night and all this time since? Was it all put into /words/, or did both understand that they had the same thing at heart and in their minds, so that there was no need to speak of it aloud, and better not to speak of it. Most likely it was partly like that, from mother's letter it's evident: he struck her as rude /a little/, and mother in her simplicity took her observations to Dounia. And she was sure to be vexed and 'answered her angrily.' I should think so! Who would not be angered when it was quite clear without any naive questions and when it was understood that it was useless to discuss it. And why does she write to me, 'love Dounia, Rodya, and she loves you more than herself'? Has she a secret conscience-prick at sacrificing her daughter to her son? 'You are our one comfort, you are everything to us.' Oh, mother!"
His bitterness grew more and more intense, and if he had happened to meet Mr. Luzhin at the moment, he might have murdered him.
"Hm . . . yes, that's true," he continued, pursuing the whirling ideas that chased each other in his brain, "it is true that 'it needs time and care to get to know a man,' but there is no mistake about Mr. Luzhin. The chief thing is he is 'a man of business and /seems/ kind,' that was something, wasn't it, to send the bags and big box for them! A kind man, no doubt after that! But his /bride/ and her mother are to drive in a peasant's cart covered with sacking (I know, I have been driven in it). No matter! It is only ninety versts and then they can 'travel very comfortably, third class,' for a thousand versts! Quite right, too. One must cut one's coat according to one's cloth, but what about you, Mr. Luzhin? She is your bride. . . . And you must be aware that her mother has to raise money on her pension for the journey. To be sure it's a matter of business, a partnership for mutual benefit, with equal shares and expenses;--food and drink provided, but pay for your tobacco. The business man has got the better of them, too. The luggage will cost less than their fares and very likely go for nothing. How is it that they don't both see all that, or is it that they don't want to see? And they are pleased, pleased! And to think that this is only the first blossoming, and that the real fruits are to come! But what really matters is not the stinginess, is not the meanness, but the /tone/ of the whole thing. For that will be the tone after marriage, it's a foretaste of it. And mother too, why should she be so lavish? What will she have by the time she gets to Petersburg? Three silver roubles or two 'paper ones' as /she/ says. . . . that old woman . . . hm. What does she expect to live upon in Petersburg afterwards? She has her reasons already for guessing that she /could not/ live with Dounia after the marriage, even for the first few months. The good man has no doubt let slip something on that subject also, though mother would deny it: 'I shall refuse,' says she. On whom is she reckoning then? Is she counting on what is left of her hundred and twenty roubles of pension when Afanasy Ivanovitch's debt is paid? She knits woollen shawls and embroiders cuffs, ruining her old eyes. And all her shawls don't add more than twenty roubles a year to her hundred and twenty, I know that. So she is building all her hopes all the time on Mr. Luzhin's generosity; 'he will offer it of himself, he will press it on me.' You may wait a long time for that! That's how it always is with these Schilleresque noble hearts; till the last moment every goose is a swan with them, till the last moment, they hope for the best and will see nothing wrong, and although they have an inkling of the other side of the picture, yet they won't face the truth till they are forced to; the very thought of it makes them shiver; they thrust the truth away with both hands, until the man they deck out in false colours puts a fool's cap on them with his own hands. I should like to know whether Mr. Luzhin has any orders of merit; I bet he has the Anna in his buttonhole and that he puts it on when he goes to dine with contractors or merchants. He will be sure to have it for his wedding, too! Enough of him, confound him!
"Well, . . . mother I don't wonder at, it's like her, God bless her, but how could Dounia? Dounia darling, as though I did not know you! You were nearly twenty when I saw you last: I understood you then. Mother writes that 'Dounia can put up with a great deal.' I know that very well. I knew that two years and a half ago, and for the last two and a half years I have been thinking about it, thinking of just that, that 'Dounia can put up with a great deal.' If she could put up with Mr. Svidrigailov and all the rest of it, she certainly can put up with a great deal. And now mother and she have taken it into their heads that she can put up with Mr. Luzhin, who propounds the theory of the superiority of wives raised from destitution and owing everything to their husband's bounty--who propounds it, too, almost at the first interview. Granted that he 'let it slip,' though he is a sensible man, (yet maybe it was not a slip at all, but he meant to make himself clear as soon as possible) but Dounia, Dounia? She understands the man, of course, but she will have to live with the man. Why! she'd live on black bread and water, she would not sell her soul, she would not barter her moral freedom for comfort; she would not barter it for all Schleswig-Holstein, much less Mr. Luzhin's money. No, Dounia was not that sort when I knew her and . . . she is still the same, of course! Yes, there's no denying, the Svidrigailovs are a bitter pill! It's a bitter thing to spend one's life a governess in the provinces for two hundred roubles, but I know she would rather be a nigger on a plantation or a Lett with a German master than degrade her soul, and her moral dignity, by binding herself for ever to a man whom she does not respect and with whom she has nothing in common--for her own advantage. And if Mr. Luzhin had been of unalloyed gold, or one huge diamond, she would never have consented to become his legal concubine. Why is she consenting then? What's the point of it? What's the answer? It's clear enough: for herself, for her comfort, to save her life she would not sell herself, but for someone else she is doing it! For one she loves, for one she adores, she will sell herself! That's what it all amounts to; for her brother, for her mother, she will sell herself! She will sell everything! In such cases, 'we overcome our moral feeling if necessary,' freedom, peace, conscience even, all, all are brought into the market. Let my life go, if only my dear ones may be happy! More than that, we become casuists, we learn to be Jesuitical and for a time maybe we can soothe ourselves, we can persuade ourselves that it is one's duty for a good object. That's just like us, it's as clear as daylight. It's clear that Rodion Romanovitch Raskolnikov is the central figure in the business, and no one else. Oh, yes, she can ensure his happiness, keep him in the university, make him a partner in the office, make his whole future secure; perhaps he may even be a rich man later on, prosperous, respected, and may even end his life a famous man! But my mother? It's all Rodya, precious Rodya, her first born! For such a son who would not sacrifice such a daughter! Oh, loving, over-partial hearts! Why, for his sake we would not shrink even from Sonia's fate. Sonia, Sonia Marmeladov, the eternal victim so long as the world lasts. Have you taken the measure of your sacrifice, both of you? Is it right? Can you bear it? Is it any use? Is there sense in it? And let me tell you, Dounia, Sonia's life is no worse than life with Mr. Luzhin. 'There can be no question of love,' mother writes. And what if there can be no respect either, if on the contrary there is aversion, contempt, repulsion, what then? So you will have to 'keep up your appearance,' too. Is not that so? Do you understand what that smartness means? Do you understand that the Luzhin smartness is just the same thing as Sonia's and may be worse, viler, baser, because in your case, Dounia, it's a bargain for luxuries, after all, but with Sonia it's simply a question of starvation. It has to be paid for, it has to be paid for, Dounia, this smartness. And what if it's more than you can bear afterwards, if you regret it? The bitterness, the misery, the curses, the tears hidden from all the world, for you are not a Marfa Petrovna. And how will your mother feel then? Even now she is uneasy, she is worried, but then, when she sees it all clearly? And I? Yes, indeed, what have you taken me for? I won't have your sacrifice, Dounia, I won't have it, mother! It shall not be, so long as I am alive, it shall not, it shall not! I won't accept it!"
He suddenly paused in his reflection and stood still.
"It shall not be? But what are you going to do to prevent it? You'll forbid it? And what right have you? What can you promise them on your side to give you such a right? Your whole life, your whole future, you will devote to them /when you have finished your studies and obtained a post/? Yes, we have heard all that before, and that's all /words/, but now? Now something must be done, now, do you understand that? And what are you doing now? You are living upon them. They borrow on their hundred roubles pension. They borrow from the Svidrigailovs. How are you going to save them from Svidrigailovs, from Afanasy Ivanovitch Vahrushin, oh, future millionaire Zeus who would arrange their lives for them? In another ten years? In another ten years, mother will be blind with knitting shawls, maybe with weeping too. She will be worn to a shadow with fasting; and my sister? Imagine for a moment what may have become of your sister in ten years? What may happen to her during those ten years? Can you fancy?"
So he tortured himself, fretting himself with such questions, and finding a kind of enjoyment in it. And yet all these questions were not new ones suddenly confronting him, they were old familiar aches. It was long since they had first begun to grip and rend his heart. Long, long ago his present anguish had its first beginnings; it had waxed and gathered strength, it had matured and concentrated, until it had taken the form of a fearful, frenzied and fantastic question, which tortured his heart and mind, clamouring insistently for an answer. Now his mother's letter had burst on him like a thunderclap. It was clear that he must not now suffer passively, worrying himself over unsolved questions, but that he must do something, do it at once, and do it quickly. Anyway he must decide on something, or else . . .
"Or throw up life altogether!" he cried suddenly, in a frenzy--"accept one's lot humbly as it is, once for all and stifle everything in oneself, giving up all claim to activity, life and love!"
"Do you understand, sir, do you understand what it means when you have absolutely nowhere to turn?" Marmeladov's question came suddenly into his mind, "for every man must have somewhere to turn. . . ."
He gave a sudden start; another thought, that he had had yesterday, slipped back into his mind. But he did not start at the thought recurring to him, for he knew, he had /felt beforehand/, that it must come back, he was expecting it; besides it was not only yesterday's thought. The difference was that a month ago, yesterday even, the thought was a mere dream: but now . . . now it appeared not a dream at all, it had taken a new menacing and quite unfamiliar shape, and he suddenly became aware of this himself. . . . He felt a hammering in his head, and there was a darkness before his eyes.
He looked round hurriedly, he was searching for something. He wanted to sit down and was looking for a seat; he was walking along the K---- Boulevard. There was a seat about a hundred paces in front of him. He walked towards it as fast he could; but on the way he met with a little adventure which absorbed all his attention. Looking for the seat, he had noticed a woman walking some twenty paces in front of him, but at first he took no more notice of her than of other objects that crossed his path. It had happened to him many times going home not to notice the road by which he was going, and he was accustomed to walk like that. But there was at first sight something so strange about the woman in front of him, that gradually his attention was riveted upon her, at first reluctantly and, as it were, resentfully, and then more and more intently. He felt a sudden desire to find out what it was that was so strange about the woman. In the first place, she appeared to be a girl quite young, and she was walking in the great heat bareheaded and with no parasol or gloves, waving her arms about in an absurd way. She had on a dress of some light silky material, but put on strangely awry, not properly hooked up, and torn open at the top of the skirt, close to the waist: a great piece was rent and hanging loose. A little kerchief was flung about her bare throat, but lay slanting on one side. The girl was walking unsteadily, too, stumbling and staggering from side to side. She drew Raskolnikov's whole attention at last. He overtook the girl at the seat, but, on reaching it, she dropped down on it, in the corner; she let her head sink on the back of the seat and closed her eyes, apparently in extreme exhaustion. Looking at her closely, he saw at once that she was completely drunk. It was a strange and shocking sight. He could hardly believe that he was not mistaken. He saw before him the face of a quite young, fair-haired girl--sixteen, perhaps not more than fifteen, years old, pretty little face, but flushed and heavy looking and, as it were, swollen. The girl seemed hardly to know what she was doing; she crossed one leg over the other, lifting it indecorously, and showed every sign of being unconscious that she was in the street.
Raskolnikov did not sit down, but he felt unwilling to leave her, and stood facing her in perplexity. This boulevard was never much frequented; and now, at two o'clock, in the stifling heat, it was quite deserted. And yet on the further side of the boulevard, about fifteen paces away, a gentleman was standing on the edge of the pavement. He, too, would apparently have liked to approach the girl with some object of his own. He, too, had probably seen her in the distance and had followed her, but found Raskolnikov in his way. He looked angrily at him, though he tried to escape his notice, and stood impatiently biding his time, till the unwelcome man in rags should have moved away. His intentions were unmistakable. The gentleman was a plump, thickly-set man, about thirty, fashionably dressed, with a high colour, red lips and moustaches. Raskolnikov felt furious; he had a sudden longing to insult this fat dandy in some way. He left the girl for a moment and walked towards the gentleman.
"Hey! You Svidrigailov! What do you want here?" he shouted, clenching his fists and laughing, spluttering with rage.
"What do you mean?" the gentleman asked sternly, scowling in haughty astonishment.
"Get away, that's what I mean."
"How dare you, you low fellow!"
He raised his cane. Raskolnikov rushed at him with his fists, without reflecting that the stout gentleman was a match for two men like himself. But at that instant someone seized him from behind, and a police constable stood between them.
"That's enough, gentlemen, no fighting, please, in a public place. What do you want? Who are you?" he asked Raskolnikov sternly, noticing his rags.
Raskolnikov looked at him intently. He had a straight-forward, sensible, soldierly face, with grey moustaches and whiskers.
"You are just the man I want," Raskolnikov cried, catching at his arm. "I am a student, Raskolnikov. . . . You may as well know that too," he added, addressing the gentleman, "come along, I have something to show you."
And taking the policeman by the hand he drew him towards the seat.
"Look here, hopelessly drunk, and she has just come down the boulevard. There is no telling who and what she is, she does not look like a professional. It's more likely she has been given drink and deceived somewhere . . . for the first time . . . you understand? and they've put her out into the street like that. Look at the way her dress is torn, and the way it has been put on: she has been dressed by somebody, she has not dressed herself, and dressed by unpractised hands, by a man's hands; that's evident. And now look there: I don't know that dandy with whom I was going to fight, I see him for the first time, but he, too, has seen her on the road, just now, drunk, not knowing what she is doing, and now he is very eager to get hold of her, to get her away somewhere while she is in this state . . . that's certain, believe me, I am not wrong. I saw him myself watching her and following her, but I prevented him, and he is just waiting for me to go away. Now he has walked away a little, and is standing still, pretending to make a cigarette. . . . Think how can we keep her out of his hands, and how are we to get her home?"
The policeman saw it all in a flash. The stout gentleman was easy to understand, he turned to consider the girl. The policeman bent over to examine her more closely, and his face worked with genuine compassion.
"Ah, what a pity!" he said, shaking his head--"why, she is quite a child! She has been deceived, you can see that at once. Listen, lady," he began addressing her, "where do you live?" The girl opened her weary and sleepy-looking eyes, gazed blankly at the speaker and waved her hand.
"Here," said Raskolnikov feeling in his pocket and finding twenty copecks, "here, call a cab and tell him to drive her to her address. The only thing is to find out her address!"
"Missy, missy!" the policeman began again, taking the money. "I'll fetch you a cab and take you home myself. Where shall I take you, eh? Where do you live?"
"Go away! They won't let me alone," the girl muttered, and once more waved her hand.
"Ach, ach, how shocking! It's shameful, missy, it's a shame!" He shook his head again, shocked, sympathetic and indignant.
"It's a difficult job," the policeman said to Raskolnikov, and as he did so, he looked him up and down in a rapid glance. He, too, must have seemed a strange figure to him: dressed in rags and handing him money!
"Did you meet her far from here?" he asked him.
"I tell you she was walking in front of me, staggering, just here, in the boulevard. She only just reached the seat and sank down on it."
"Ah, the shameful things that are done in the world nowadays, God have mercy on us! An innocent creature like that, drunk already! She has been deceived, that's a sure thing. See how her dress has been torn too. . . . Ah, the vice one sees nowadays! And as likely as not she belongs to gentlefolk too, poor ones maybe. . . . There are many like that nowadays. She looks refined, too, as though she were a lady," and he bent over her once more.
Perhaps he had daughters growing up like that, "looking like ladies and refined" with pretensions to gentility and smartness. . . .
"The chief thing is," Raskolnikov persisted, "to keep her out of this scoundrel's hands! Why should he outrage her! It's as clear as day what he is after; ah, the brute, he is not moving off!"
Raskolnikov spoke aloud and pointed to him. The gentleman heard him, and seemed about to fly into a rage again, but thought better of it, and confined himself to a contemptuous look. He then walked slowly another ten paces away and again halted.
"Keep her out of his hands we can," said the constable thoughtfully, "if only she'd tell us where to take her, but as it is. . . . Missy, hey, missy!" he bent over her once more.
She opened her eyes fully all of a sudden, looked at him intently, as though realising something, got up from the seat and walked away in the direction from which she had come. "Oh shameful wretches, they won't let me alone!" she said, waving her hand again. She walked quickly, though staggering as before. The dandy followed her, but along another avenue, keeping his eye on her.
"Don't be anxious, I won't let him have her," the policeman said resolutely, and he set off after them.
"Ah, the vice one sees nowadays!" he repeated aloud, sighing.
At that moment something seemed to sting Raskolnikov; in an instant a complete revulsion of feeling came over him.
"Hey, here!" he shouted after the policeman.
The latter turned round.
"Let them be! What is it to do with you? Let her go! Let him amuse himself." He pointed at the dandy, "What is it to do with you?"
The policeman was bewildered, and stared at him open-eyed. Raskolnikov laughed.
"Well!" ejaculated the policeman, with a gesture of contempt, and he walked after the dandy and the girl, probably taking Raskolnikov for a madman or something even worse.
"He has carried off my twenty copecks," Raskolnikov murmured angrily when he was left alone. "Well, let him take as much from the other fellow to allow him to have the girl and so let it end. And why did I want to interfere? Is it for me to help? Have I any right to help? Let them devour each other alive--what is to me? How did I dare to give him twenty copecks? Were they mine?"
In spite of those strange words he felt very wretched. He sat down on the deserted seat. His thoughts strayed aimlessly. . . . He found it hard to fix his mind on anything at that moment. He longed to forget himself altogether, to forget everything, and then to wake up and begin life anew. . . .
"Poor girl!" he said, looking at the empty corner where she had sat-- "She will come to herself and weep, and then her mother will find out. . . . She will give her a beating, a horrible, shameful beating and then maybe, turn her out of doors. . . . And even if she does not, the Darya Frantsovnas will get wind of it, and the girl will soon be slipping out on the sly here and there. Then there will be the hospital directly (that's always the luck of those girls with respectable mothers, who go wrong on the sly) and then . . . again the hospital . . . drink . . . the taverns . . . and more hospital, in two or three years--a wreck, and her life over at eighteen or nineteen. . . . Have not I seen cases like that? And how have they been brought to it? Why, they've all come to it like that. Ugh! But what does it matter? That's as it should be, they tell us. A certain percentage, they tell us, must every year go . . . that way . . . to the devil, I suppose, so that the rest may remain chaste, and not be interfered with. A percentage! What splendid words they have; they are so scientific, so consolatory. . . . Once you've said 'percentage' there's nothing more to worry about. If we had any other word . . . maybe we might feel more uneasy. . . . But what if Dounia were one of the percentage! Of another one if not that one?
"But where am I going?" he thought suddenly. "Strange, I came out for something. As soon as I had read the letter I came out. . . . I was going to Vassilyevsky Ostrov, to Razumihin. That's what it was . . . now I remember. What for, though? And what put the idea of going to Razumihin into my head just now? That's curious."
He wondered at himself. Razumihin was one of his old comrades at the university. It was remarkable that Raskolnikov had hardly any friends at the university; he kept aloof from everyone, went to see no one, and did not welcome anyone who came to see him, and indeed everyone soon gave him up. He took no part in the students' gatherings, amusements or conversations. He worked with great intensity without sparing himself, and he was respected for this, but no one liked him. He was very poor, and there was a sort of haughty pride and reserve about him, as though he were keeping something to himself. He seemed to some of his comrades to look down upon them all as children, as though he were superior in development, knowledge and convictions, as though their beliefs and interests were beneath him.
With Razumihin he had got on, or, at least, he was more unreserved and communicative with him. Indeed it was impossible to be on any other terms with Razumihin. He was an exceptionally good-humoured and candid youth, good-natured to the point of simplicity, though both depth and dignity lay concealed under that simplicity. The better of his comrades understood this, and all were fond of him. He was extremely intelligent, though he was certainly rather a simpleton at times. He was of striking appearance--tall, thin, blackhaired and always badly shaved. He was sometimes uproarious and was reputed to be of great physical strength. One night, when out in a festive company, he had with one blow laid a gigantic policeman on his back. There was no limit to his drinking powers, but he could abstain from drink altogether; he sometimes went too far in his pranks; but he could do without pranks altogether. Another thing striking about Razumihin, no failure distressed him, and it seemed as though no unfavourable circumstances could crush him. He could lodge anywhere, and bear the extremes of cold and hunger. He was very poor, and kept himself entirely on what he could earn by work of one sort or another. He knew of no end of resources by which to earn money. He spent one whole winter without lighting his stove, and used to declare that he liked it better, because one slept more soundly in the cold. For the present he, too, had been obliged to give up the university, but it was only for a time, and he was working with all his might to save enough to return to his studies again. Raskolnikov had not been to see him for the last four months, and Razumihin did not even know his address. About two months before, they had met in the street, but Raskolnikov had turned away and even crossed to the other side that he might not be observed. And though Razumihin noticed him, he passed him by, as he did not want to annoy him.
母亲的信让他痛苦到了极点。但是关于信中最主要、最基本的一点，就是他还在看信的时候，也连一分钟都没怀疑过。最主要的实质一性一意见已经在他头脑里形成，而且完全决定了：“只要我活着，这门亲事就不会实现，让卢任先生见鬼去吧！”
“因为这事是显而易见的，”他自言自语，嘟嘟囔囔地说，同时得意地微笑着，满怀愤恨地预祝自己的决定必定成功。
“不，一妈一妈一，不，杜尼娅，你们骗不了我！……她们还要为没征求我的意见，没得到我的同意就作了决定向我道歉呢！可不是吗！她们以为，现在已经不能破坏这门婚事了，可是咱们倒要瞧瞧，——能，还是不能！借口是多么冠冕堂皇：‘彼得·彼特罗维奇是这么一位大忙人，所以得赶快举行婚礼，越快越好’。不，杜涅奇卡，我什么都看得出来，也知道你打算跟我讲的那许多话是什么内容；也知道你整夜在屋里踱来踱去想些什么，还知道你跪在一妈一妈一卧室里那个喀山圣母像①前祈祷什么。去各各地②是痛苦的。嗯……这么说，已经最终决定了：阿芙多季娅·罗曼诺芙娜，请你嫁给一个一精一明能干、深明事理的人吧，他拥有一大笔资产（已经拥有一笔资产，这更可靠，更能给人留下深刻印象），同时在两处供职，而且赞同我们最新一代人的信念（一妈一妈一在信上是这么说的），而且‘看来心地善良’，杜涅奇卡自己就是这么说的。看来这一点最重要了！于是这位杜涅奇卡就要嫁给这个看来了！……真妙极了！真妙极了！……
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①喀山圣母像是孤儿和穷人的保护者，在俄罗斯民间特别受人尊敬。
②各各地是耶路撒冷近郊的一个小丘，传说耶稣在这里给钉到了十字架上。现在“各各地”已成为苦难的同义词。
“……不过，真有意思，一妈一妈一在信上为什么跟我提到‘最新一代’呢？只不过为了描述一个人的一性一格特征，还是有更深刻的用意：想要迎一合我，让我对卢任先生产生好感？噢，她们真不简单！我怀着很大兴趣想要弄清的还有一个情况：在那一天和那天夜里，以及以后所有这些日子里，她们两人彼此开诚布公、毫不隐瞒究竟达到了什么程度？她们之间是不是把所有的话都直截了当地说出来了，还是两人都明白，彼此心里想的完全一致，所以用不着把所有的话都说出来，也毫无必要说出来。大概在某种程度上是这样的；从信上就可以看出：一妈一妈一觉得他说话不客气，只是有点儿，可是天真的一妈一妈一竟把自己的意见告诉了杜尼娅。杜尼娅自然生气了，所以 ‘不愉快地回答’。可不是吗！如果用不着提出天真的问题，事情就已经明明白白，如果已经决定，再也没有什么好讲的了，那也就不会让任何人生气了。而且她为什么要在信上给我写这样的话：‘你要一爱一杜尼娅，罗佳，而她一爱一你胜过一爱一她自己’；为了儿子，她同意牺牲女儿，她是否因此暗暗受到良心谴责呢。‘你是我们的指望，你是我们的一切！’噢，一妈一妈一！……”他满腔愤怒，越来越恨，如果现在他碰到卢任先生，看来他准会把他杀了。
“嗯，这倒是真的，”他随着像旋风样在他脑子里飞速旋转的思绪继续想，“这倒是真的，‘要想了解一个人，得逐步和细心地进行观察’；不过卢任先生的为人却显而易见。主要的是，‘是个能干的人，而且看来心地善良’：他给托运行李，大箱子的运费由他负担，这可真是非同小可的事！瞧，他怎么会不是个心地善良的人呢？而她们两个，未婚妻和母亲，却雇一个庄稼汉，坐一辆席篷大车上路（不是吗，我就坐过这样的大车）！没关系！因为只有九十俄里，‘在车站，我们坐三等车走也就十分满意了’，就这样再走一千俄里。这很有道理：要量力而行嘛；而您呢，卢任先生，您干什么呢？要知道，这是您的未婚妻呀……而且您不可能不知道，母亲是用自己的养老金作抵押预先借来路费，不是吗？当然啦，你们这是合伙做一笔生意，生意对双方有利，股金相等，可见开支也得对半分摊，面包和盐合在一起，烟叶却要各一抽一各的，谚语就是这么说的。不过一精一明能干的人在这件事上稍有点儿欺骗了她们：托运行李的费用比她们的路费便宜，说不定根本不要花钱。她们怎么竟看不出这一点来，还是故意不理会呢？因为她们已经感到满意，心满意足了！也该多少想一想，这还只不过是开了个头，更厉害的还在后头呢！要知道，这儿重要的是什么：不是小气，不是极端吝啬，而是他的作风。要知道，这也是将来他婚后的作风，是预兆……然而一妈一妈一干吗要花掉最后一点点钱呢？她带多少钱到彼得堡来？只带三个卢布，或者只带两张 ‘一卢布的票子’，就像那个……老太婆所说的……哼！以后她指望靠什么在彼得堡生活？由于某些原因，她不是已经猜到，他们结婚以后她不能与杜尼娅住在一起，就连最初一段时间也不可能吗？那个可一爱一的人一大概说漏了嘴，让人看出了他的一性一格，尽管一妈一妈一挥着双手否认这一点，说是：‘我自己拒绝接受’。那么她把希望寄托在谁的身上呢：指靠那一百二十卢布养老金，其中还要扣除向阿凡纳西·伊万诺维奇借的那笔债吗？她可以编织冬天用的三角头巾，还可以缝袖套，可是这会弄坏自己的老眼。再说，编织头巾，一年总共只能在那一百二十卢布之外增加二十个卢布，这我是知道的。这么说，还是得指望卢任先生情感高尚，慷慨大度，说是： ‘他自己会提出邀请，竭力劝我去住的’。别妄想了！席勒①笔下那些好心人总是这样：直到最后一刻，他们总是用孔雀羽一毛一把人打扮得十分漂亮，直到最后一刻，他们总是只往好的方面、而不往坏的方面去想；虽然他们也预感到坏的一面，但是无论如何事先对自己不说真话；单单是这么想一想，就使他们感到厌恶；他们挥着双手逃避真理，直到最后一刻，直到那个给打扮得十分漂亮的人亲自欺骗了他们。真想知道，卢任先生有没有勋章：我敢打赌，他的钮扣眼里有一枚安娜勋章②，跟包工头和商人们一道吃饭的时候，他都戴着它，大概在他举行婚礼的时候也会戴上的！不过，叫他见鬼去吧！……
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①德国诗人和剧作家席勒（一七五九——一八○五）对陀思妥耶夫斯基的创作有很大影响。
②圣安娜勋章共有四级，这里是指四级安娜勋章——一种无足轻重的勋章。
“……唉，一妈一妈一，就不去说她了，上帝保佑她，她就是一个这样的人，不过杜尼娅是怎么回事？杜涅奇卡，亲一爱一的，要知道，我是了解您的！不是吗，我们最近一次见面的时候，您已经过了十九岁了：我已经了解您的一性一格。您瞧，一妈一妈一在信上写道：‘杜涅奇卡能够忍辱负重’。这一点我是知道的。这一点，两年半以前我就知道了，而且从那以后，两年半时间里我一直在想着这一点，正是想着这一点： ‘杜涅奇卡能够忍辱负重’。既然她能忍受斯维德里盖洛夫先生以及由此而产生的一切后果，可见她当真能够忍辱负重。而现在她和一妈一妈一都认为，卢任先生也是可以忍受的；这个人提出一套理论，说是从穷人家娶受了丈夫恩惠的妻子大有好处，而且几乎是初次会面的时候就说这样的话，她们竟认为，这样的人也是可以忍受的。嗯，就假定说，他是‘说漏了嘴’吧，尽管他是一个深明事理的人（可也许他根本不是说漏了嘴，而恰恰是想要尽快说明自己的看法），可是杜尼娅，杜尼娅呢？不是吗，对这个人她是看得清清楚楚的，她可是要跟这个人在一起生活的啊。要知道，她宁愿只吃黑面包和喝白开水，忍饥挨饿，也决不会出卖自己的灵魂，决不会贪图舒适的生活而出卖一精一神上的自一由；即使是为了石勒苏益格—荷尔斯泰因①，她也决不会出卖自己，更不用说为了卢任先生了。不，据我所知，杜尼娅不是这样一个人……而且，当然啦，现在她也没变！……还用说吗！斯维德里盖洛夫一家是让人难以忍受的！为了两百卢布，一辈子在外省各地作家庭教师，东奔西走，也是痛苦的，不过我还是知道，我妹妹宁愿像黑人那样到种植场去作一奴一隶，或者像拉脱维亚人那样到波罗的海东部沿岸的德国人那里去做苦工②，也决不会有辱自己的尊严，践踏自己的感情，和一个她既不尊重也毫无共同语言的人结合在一起，——仅仅为了个人的利益而和他结为终身伴侣！即使卢任先生是用纯金铸就，或是用整块钻石雕成的，她也决不会同意作卢任先生合法的姘妇！现在她为什么同意了呢？这是怎么回事？谜底在哪里呢？事情是明摆着的：为了自己，为了自己过舒适的生活，甚至为了救自己的一性一命，她绝不会出卖自己，而为了别人，她却出卖了自己！为了一个亲一爱一的人，为了一个她热一爱一的人，她是肯出卖的！这就是事情的实质：为了哥哥，为了母亲，她会出卖自己！什么都肯出卖！噢，在这种情况下，只要一有必要，我们就会压制我们的道德感；我们就会把自一由、安宁、甚至良心，把一切、一切都拿到旧货市场上去拍卖。牺牲一性一命也在所不惜！只要我们热一爱一的这些人能够幸福。不仅如此，我们还编造出一套强词夺理的理由，向耶稣会会员学一习一③，大概这样可以暂时安慰自己，让自己相信，应该如此，为了良好的目的，当真应该这样行一事。我们就是这样的人，一切都如同白昼一般清楚。显而易见，这儿处于最重要位置的那个人不是别人，正是罗季昂·罗曼诺维奇·拉斯科利尼科夫。哼，那还用说吗，可以帮助他获得幸福，供他上大学，让他成为事务所的合伙人，可以使他的一生得到保障；大概以后他会成为富翁，成为一个体面的、受人尊敬的人，说不定甚至会作为一个享有荣誉的人而终其一生！可是母亲呢？不是吗，这儿所谈的是罗佳，她亲一爱一的罗佳，她的第一个孩子！为了这样的头生子，怎么能不牺牲女儿呢，哪怕是这么好的一个女儿！噢，亲一爱一的、不公正的心哪！而且，当然啦：在这种情况下，就连索涅奇卡那样的命运，我们大概也不会不肯接受吧！索涅奇卡，索涅奇卡·马尔梅拉多娃，只要世界还存在，索涅奇卡就永远不会消失！这牺牲，对这样的牺牲，你们俩充分估量过吗？估量过吗？能做得到吗？有没有好处？合乎情理吗？杜涅奇卡，您是不是明白，索涅奇卡的命运丝毫也不比与卢任先生在一起生活更加可憎可恶？‘这谈不上有什么一爱一情’，一妈一妈一在信上这样说。如果除了没有一爱一情，连尊敬也不可能有，那会怎样呢，如果恰恰相反，已经有的反倒是厌恶、鄙视和极端的反感，那又会怎样呢？那么，可见结果又将是不得不‘保持整洁’了。是不是这样呢？您明白吗，您明白吗，您是否明白，这整洁意味着什么？你是不是明白，卢任的整洁与索涅奇卡的整洁是完全一样的，说不定更坏，更丑恶，更卑鄙，因为您，杜涅奇卡，到底是贪图并非必需的舒适生活，而她那里要考虑的恰恰是饿死的问题！‘杜涅奇卡，这整洁的代价是昂贵的，太昂贵了！’嗯，如果以后感到力不胜任，您会后悔吗？会有多少悲痛，多少忧愁，多少诅咒，瞒着大家，背着人们要流多少眼泪，因为您可不是玛尔法·彼特罗芙娜，不是吗？到那时母亲会怎样呢？要知道，现在她已经感到不安，感到痛苦了；到那时，当她把一切都看清了的时候，又会怎样呢？而我又会怎样呢？……关于我，您到底是怎么想的？我不要您的牺牲，杜涅奇卡，我不要，一妈一妈一！只要我活着，就决不会有这样的事，决不会有，决不会有！我不接受！”
他突然清醒过来，站住了。
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①石勒苏益格—荷尔斯泰因是日德兰半岛南部的一块土地。一八六一四年，为争夺石勒苏益格和荷尔斯泰因公国，普鲁士与丹麦之间爆发了一场战争。一八六六年普鲁士和奥地利之间又为此发生战争。一八六七年这块地方成了普鲁士的两个省。十九世纪六十年代俄罗斯的报刊上报道了这一系列事件。
②美国黑人的痛苦处境以及拉脱维亚农民不堪忍受地主的剥削和压迫而逃亡的情况，都是十九世纪六十年代俄罗斯报纸上经常报道和评论的事情。
③指天主教耶稣会提出的口号：“目的可以证明手段是合法的”，“为了良好的目的，一切手段都是好的”（包括一切一陰一谋诡计、暗杀、收买等卑鄙的手段）。
“决不会有！为了让这样的事不至发生，你要做什么呢？制止吗？可你有什么权利？为了获得这样的权利，从你这方面来说，你能向她们作出什么允诺呢？等你大学毕业，有了工作，把自己的整个命运和前途都献给她们吗？我们听到过这一类的话，可这还是个未知数，而现在怎么办呢？要知道，得现在立刻就做点儿什么，这一点你明白吗？可现在你在做什么呢？你在夺走她们的最后一点点钱。要知道，她们的钱是以一百卢布养老金，以斯维德里盖洛夫先生家的薪水作抵押借来的！你，这个未来的百万富智，主宰她们命运的宙斯①，你有什么办法保护她们，使她们不受斯维德里盖洛夫一家和阿凡纳西·伊万诺维奇·瓦赫鲁申的剥削呢？十年以后吗？可是在这十年里，母亲会因为编织三角头巾熬瞎双眼，大概，光是哭也会把眼哭瞎的；由于省吃俭用，她会日渐憔悴，而妹妹呢？唉，你想想看吧，十年以后，或者在这十年里，妹妹会怎样呢？你猜到了吗？”
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①宙斯是希腊神话中最高的天神，诸神之王。
他就这样用这些问题折磨自己，嘲笑自己，甚至是怀着一种强烈的愉快心情这么做。其实，所有这些问题都不是新提出来的，不是突然产生的，而是早已使他感到痛苦的老问题，很久以前的老问题了。这些问题早就在折磨他的心灵，使他痛苦到了极点。所有现在的这些烦恼早已在他心灵里产生了，后来逐渐增强，日积月累，最近更发展成熟，形成一个可怕、古怪、不切实际的问题，以这个问题的形式凝聚集中了起来，这个问题开始折磨他的心灵和头脑，不可抗拒地要求得到解决。现在母亲的信好似一声霹雳，突然击中了他。显然，现在应该做的不是消极地发愁，难过，仅限于谈论问题无法解决，而一定得采取某种行动，立刻行动起来，越快越好，无论如何得作出决定，随便什么决定都行，或者……
“要不，就完全放弃生活！”他突然发狂似地大声叫喊，“顺从地听天由命，一劳永逸，放弃行动、生活和一爱一的一切权利，扼杀自己心中的一切！”
“您明白吗？您是不是明白，先生，已经无处可去意味着什么？”他突然想起马尔梅拉多夫昨天提出的问题，“因为得让每个人至少能有个可以去的地方……”
他突然打了个哆嗦：有一个念头，这念头也是昨天的，又掠过他的脑海。但是他颤栗并不是因为这个念头在脑海中掠过。因为他知道，他预感到它必然会“掠过”，而且已经在等着它了；这个念头也完全不是昨天才有的。但区别在于，一个月前，甚至昨天，它还仅仅是个幻想，而现在……现在它突然已经不是以幻想的形式，而是以一种可怕的，他完全陌生的新形式出现了，他自己突然意识到了这一点……不知什么东西在他头上猛一撞了一下，他两眼一阵发黑。
他急忙向四周看了看，在寻找什么东西。他想要坐下，在寻找长椅子；当时他正在K林荫道上行走。可以看到前面有一条长椅，离他大约有一百来步远。他尽可能走得快一些；但是路上遇到一桩意外的事，有几分钟，这件事吸引了他的注意力。
他找到长椅的时候，发觉他前面二十来步远的地方，有一个女人在路上走，但起初他并没注意她，就像在此以前他从未注意在他面前一闪而过的一切东西一样。譬如说，这样的情况已经有好多次了：他回家去的时候，根本不记得走过的路，他已经一习一惯像这样走路了。但这个行路的女人身上不知有什么让人觉得奇怪，而且第一眼就惹人注目，因此他的注意力渐渐给吸引到她的身上，——起初是无意识地，甚至好像有点儿遗憾似的，后来却越来越强烈地引起他的注意。他突然想要弄清，这个女人身上到底是什么让人觉得奇怪。第一，她大概是个很年轻的姑一娘一，天这么热，她出来却既不戴帽子，也不打伞，也没戴手套，而且有点儿好笑地挥舞着双手。她穿一件用一种轻柔的丝织品衣料（“绸子”）做的连衫裙，可是不知为什么穿得也很奇怪，扣子都没好好扣上，后面腰部底下，就在裙子的最上端，撕一开一条裂口；有一大块耷一拉下来，晃来晃去。一块很小的三角头巾搭在她一裸一露的脖子上，但不知怎的歪到了一边。除此而外，那姑一娘一走路脚步不稳，踉踉跄跄，甚至摇摇晃晃。这终于吸引了拉斯科利尼科夫的全部注意力。就在长椅旁边，他和这姑一娘一遇到了一起，但是一走到长椅前，她突然一下子倒到长椅的一头，把头一仰，靠到椅背上，闭上了眼，看样子是由于极端疲倦的缘故。他仔细看了看她，立刻猜到，她已经完全喝醉了。这景象让人看了觉得奇怪，而且不合情理。他甚至想，是不是他弄错了。他面前是一张非常年轻的小一脸，约摸十六岁，甚至也许只有十五岁，——一张小小的脸，相当漂亮，淡黄色的头发，但是满脸通红，而且好像有点儿浮肿。看来这姑一娘一神智已经不大清楚；她把一条腿搭到另一条腿上，而且一裸一露得太多了，根据一切迹象来看，她几乎没意识到自己是在街上。
拉斯科利尼科夫没有坐下，又不想走开，而是犹豫不决地站在她的面前。这条林荫道上总是阒无一人，现在，下午一点多钟，天又那么热，几乎不见一个人影。然而有一位先生就在旁边十四、五步远的地方，在林荫道边上站住了，从他的神情上可以看出，他正怀着某种目的，很想也到这个姑一娘一跟前来。大概他也是从老远就看到她，跟踪而来，可是拉斯科利尼科夫妨碍了他。他不时向拉斯科利尼科夫投来凶恶的目光，不过又竭力不想让拉斯科利尼科夫看到，并且急不可耐地等着这个让他讨厌的、衣衫褴褛的家伙走开，自己好走近前去。事情是很清楚的。这位先生三十来岁，身一体健壮，肥胖，脸色红一润，粉一红色的嘴唇，留着两撇小一胡一子，衣著考究入时。拉斯科利尼科夫勃然大怒；他突然想要设法侮辱一下这个肥胖的花花公子。他暂时丢下这个姑一娘一，走到那位先生跟前。
“嗳，是您呀，斯维德里盖洛夫！您在这儿干吗？”他高声喊，同时攥紧拳头，狞笑着，由于愤怒，弄得嘴唇上沾满了唾沫。
“这是怎么回事？”那位先生皱起眉头，露出傲慢而惊诧的神情，严厉地问。
“您给我滚开，就是这么回事！”
“你怎么敢，骗子！……”
他挥了挥皮鞭。拉斯科利尼科夫攥着拳头朝他扑了过去，甚至没考虑到，这个身一体健壮的先生能对付两个像他这样的人。但就在这时有人从后面牢牢抓住了他，一个警察站到了他们两人中间。
“够了，先生们，公共场所不准斗殴。你们要干什么？您是什么人？”他看清拉斯科利尼科夫身上的衣服破烂不堪，严厉地问。
拉斯科利尼科夫仔细瞅了瞅他。这是一张看上去威武雄壮的、士兵的脸，留着两撇灰白色的小一胡一子，一脸络腮一胡一须，眼神好像很一精一明的样子。
“我正要找您，”他一把抓住警察的手，高声说。“我以前是大学生，拉斯科利尼科夫……这一点您也可以看得出来，”
他对那个先生说，“请您过来，我要让您看看……”
说着，他抓住警察的手，把他拉到长椅跟前。
“喏，请看，她已经完全喝醉了，刚才在林荫道上走：谁知道她是什么人，不过不像是干这一行的。最有可能是在什么地方让人灌醉了，诱骗了她……是头一次…… 您懂吗？而且就这样把她撵到街上来了。请看，她的连衫裙给撕成了什么样子，请看，衣服是怎么穿着的：是别人给她穿上的，而不是她自己，而且给她穿衣服的是不会给人穿衣服的手，是男人的手。这显而易见。啊，现在请您再往这边看看：刚刚我想跟他打架的这个花花公子，我并不认识，我是头一次看到他；但是他也是刚刚在路上看见她的，她喝醉了，自己无法控制自己，现在他很想到她跟前来，把她弄到手，——因为她正处于这种状态，——带到什么地方去……大概就是这样；请您相信，我的判断准没有错。我亲眼看到，他在注意观察她，跟踪她，只不过我碍他的事，现在他正等着我走开。瞧，现在他稍走开了一些，站在那儿，好像是在卷烟卷儿……我们怎样才能制止他，不让他的一陰一谋得逞？我们怎样才能设法送她回家，——请您想想办法吧！”
警察立刻明白了，并且思索起来。那个胖先生的意图当然不难了解，只剩下这个小姑一娘一让人弄不清是怎么回事。警察弯下腰，凑得更近一些，仔细看看她，他的脸上露出真心实意怜悯她的神情。
“唉，多可怜哪！”他摇摇头，说，“还完全像个孩子。让人骗了，准是这样。喂，小一姐，”他开始呼唤她，“请问您住在哪里？”姑一娘一睁开疲倦而无一精一打采的眼睛，毫无表情地看了看问她的人，挥了挥手。
“喂，”拉斯科利尼科夫说，“喏（他在衣袋里摸了摸，掏出二十个戈比；袋里还有钱），给，请您叫辆马车，吩咐车夫照地址送她回去。不过我们还得问问她的地址！”
“小一姐，小一姐？”警察收下钱，又开始叫她，“我这就给您叫一辆马车，亲自送您回去。请告诉我，送您去哪儿呀？啊？
请问您家住在哪里？”
“走开！……缠得人烦死了！”小姑一娘一含糊不清地说，又挥了挥手。
“哎哟，哎哟，这多不好；唉，多丢人哪，小一姐，多丢人哪！”他又摇摇头，有点儿奚落，又有点儿惋惜和气愤。“这可真是件难分的事！”他对拉斯科利尼科夫说，说着又从头到脚把他匆匆打量了一遍。大概他觉得这个人很奇怪：穿着这么破烂的衣服，却要给人钱！
“您看到她，离这儿远吗？”警察问他。
“我告诉您：她在我前面走，摇摇晃晃地，就在这儿林荫道上。一走到长椅这儿，立刻就倒到椅子上了。”
“唉，上帝呀，如今世上发生了多么可耻的事啊！这么年轻，可已经喝得醉醺醺的！让人骗了，就是这么回事！瞧，她的连衫裙也给撕一破了……唉，如今怎么尽出些道德败坏的事！……好像还是名门出身呢，不过也许是穷人家的……如今这样的事多着呢。看样子娇滴滴的，像是个小一姐，”他又弯下腰去看她。
也许他也有这样的女儿——“像个小一姐，而且娇滴滴的”，行为举止彬彬有礼，追逐时髦，衣著入时……“主要的是，”拉斯科利尼科夫很关心地说，“可别让她落到这个坏蛋手里！还不知他会怎样糟塌她呢！一眼就可以看出，他想要干什么；瞧这个坏蛋，他还不走开！”
拉斯科利尼科夫高声说，还伸出手来直指着他。那人听到了，又要发怒，可是改了主意，只用蔑视的目光瞅了他一眼。随后那人慢慢地再走开十来步，又站住了。
“不让她落到他手里，这倒办得到，”警察若有所思地回答。“只要她说出，送她到哪里去，不然……小一姐，小一姐！”他又弯下了腰。
她突然完全睁开眼，仔细看了看，仿佛明白是怎么回事了，于是从长椅子上站起来，往她来的那个方向走回去。
“呸，这些不要脸的家伙，纠缠不休！”她又挥挥手，说。她走得很快，但仍然摇晃得很厉害。花花公子也跟着她走了。不过是在另一条林荫道上，一边走，一边目不转睛地盯着她。
“请别担心，我不会让她落到他手里的，”留小一胡一子的警察坚决地说，于是跟在他们后面走了。
“唉，如今怎么尽出些道德败坏的事！”他高声叹息着重复说。
这时拉斯科利尼科夫仿佛让什么给整了一下似的；刹时间感到心里十分难过。
“喂，请听我说！”他追着小一胡一子大声喊。
小一胡一子回过头来。
“您别管了！关您什么事？您别管了！让他去关心她吧（他指指那个花花公子）。关您什么事？”
警察不懂他的意思，睁大了眼睛望着他。拉斯科利尼科夫笑了。
“嘿！”警察挥挥手说，于是跟在花花公子和那个小姑一娘一后面走了，大概他要么是把拉斯科利尼科夫当成了疯子，要么是把他看作比疯子更糟的人。
“把我的二十戈比带走了，”只剩下了拉斯科利尼科夫一个人，这时他气愤地说。“哼，让他也去跟那个人要几个钱，允许那人把姑一娘一带走，事情就这么完了，算了……我干吗要卷进来，帮什么忙呢！用得着我来帮忙吗？我有没有帮忙的权利？让他们互相把对方活活吃掉好了，——与我什么相干？我哪有权利把这二十戈比送给别人。难道这钱是我的吗？”
他虽然说了这些奇怪的话，却感到心情十分沉重。他坐到空下来的长椅子上。他的思绪纷乱，心不在焉……这时他根本什么也不能思考了。他倒希望完全失去知觉，忘记一切，然后一觉醒来，一切重新开始……
“可怜的小姑一娘一！”他看看已经没有人坐着的长椅子的一端，说。 “她会清醒过来，痛哭一场，以后母亲会知道……先把她打一顿，后来又拿鞭子一抽一她，痛苦，羞辱，说不定会把她赶出去……即使不把她赶出去，那些达里娅·弗兰佐芙娜之类的人也会有所风闻，于是我们这个小姑一娘一就要东奔西走……以后不久就会进医院（那些住在十分清白的母亲家里，瞒着她们背地里悄悄干不正当勾当的姑一娘一总是这样），那么以后呢……以后又进医院……喝酒……小酒馆……又是医院……两三年后就成了残废，从出生以来，她总共只活了十九年，或者十七年……难道我没有看到过这样的姑一娘一吗？她们是怎么沦落到了这步田地的？可是，瞧，她们都沦落到了这步田地……呸！管她们呢！据说，就应该如此。据说，每年都应该有这么百分之几①去……去某个地方……去见鬼，想必是为了让其余的人保持纯洁，不受妨害。百分之几！真的，他们的这些话怪好听的：这些话那么令人欣慰，合乎科学。说是只有百分之几，因此没有什么好担心的。如果用另一个词儿，那么……也许会更让人感到不安……万一杜涅奇卡也落到这个百分之几里呢！……不是落入这个百分之几，就是落入那个百分之几呢？……”
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①指比利时数学家、经济学家、统计学家A·凯特列的理论。他的著作译成俄文后，一八六五——一八六六年俄罗斯报刊上也常讨论这个问题。
“不过我这是往哪儿去呀？”他突然想。“奇怪。我出来是有个什么目的的，不是吗。一看完信，我就出来了……我是去瓦西利耶夫斯基岛，去找拉祖米欣，我要去哪儿，现在……想起来了。不过，去干什么呢？去找拉祖米欣的想法为什么恰恰是现在忽然闯进了我的脑子？这真奇怪。”
他对自己的行动感到诧异。拉祖米欣是他以前大学里的同学。奇怪的是，拉斯科利尼科夫在大学里的时候几乎没有朋友，不与大家来往，不去找任何人，也不高兴别人来找他。不过不久大家也就不理睬他了。他既不参加同学们的聚会，也不参加别人的议论，也不参加娱乐活动，什么也不参加。他只是用功读书，不知一爱一惜自己的身一体，大家都为此尊敬他，但是谁也不喜欢他。他很穷，有点儿目空一切，高傲自大，不一爱一交一际；仿佛心里隐藏着什么秘密似的。他的有些同学觉得，他傲慢地把他们、把他们大家好像都看作小孩子，仿佛无论就文化程度、学识和信念来说，他都胜过他们大家，他认为，他们的信念和兴趣都是低级的。
不知为什么，他和拉祖米欣倒是情投意合，其实倒也说不上情投意合，而是和拉祖米欣比较接近，也较为坦率。不过，和拉祖米欣的关系也不可能不是如此。这是一个异常快活和善于一交一际的小伙子，善良到了憨厚的程度。不过在这憨厚的外表下却暗藏着思想的深刻和自尊。他最要好的同学都知道这一点，大家都喜欢他。他很聪明，虽说有时当真有点儿单纯而轻信。他的外貌很富有表情——身材高大，瘦瘦的，脸总是刮得不大干净，一头黑发。有时他也一胡一闹，是个出名的大力士。有一天夜里，和朋友们在一起的时候，他一拳头打倒了一个两俄尺十二俄寸①高的警察。他酒量很大，可以喝个没完，可是也能滴酒不沾；有时他调皮起来甚至会达到令人不能容忍的地步，但也能一本正经，毫不调皮。拉祖米欣还有一个引人注意的特点，任何失败永远也不会使他感到不安，任何恶劣的处境似乎也不能使他感到气馁。他可以哪怕是住在房顶上，能忍受别人无法忍受的饥寒。他很穷，而且完全是靠自己维持自己的生活，有什么工作就做什么工作，这样来挣点儿钱。他有数不尽的财源，当然是靠工作挣钱。有一年，整整一冬他屋里根本没生炉子，并且断言，这样甚至更为愉快，因为屋里冷，睡得就更香甜。目前他也不得不暂时中断学业，离开大学，但辍学不会太久，他正竭尽全力设法改善经济状况，好继续求学。拉斯科利尼科夫已经有将近四个月没去他那儿了，拉祖米欣甚至不知道他住在哪里。有一次，大约两个月以前，他们曾在街上不期而遇，但是拉斯科利尼科夫不理睬他，甚至走到马路对面去，以免让他看见。拉祖米欣虽然看到了他，可是从一旁走了过去，不愿意打搅朋友。
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①一俄尺等于七一厘米，一俄寸等于四·四四厘米。两俄尺十二俄寸等于一米九七。