And he prepared to brave boldly the terrible catastrophe he antic.i.p.ated. Occasionally the desire came upon him to rush on Porphyrius, and to strangle him there and then. From the first moment of having entered the magistrate's office what he had dreaded most was, lest he might lose his temper. He felt his heart beating violently, his lips become parched, his spittle congealed.

He resolved, however, to hold his tongue, knowing that, under the circ.u.mstances, such would be the best tactics. By similar means, he felt sure that he would not only not become compromised, but that he might succeed in exasperating his enemy, in order to let him drop some imprudent observation. This, at all events, was Raskolnikoff's hope.

"I see you don't believe, you think I am jesting," continued Porphyrius, more and more at his ease, without ceasing to indulge in his little laugh, whilst continuing his perambulation about the room. "You may be right. G.o.d has given me a face which only arouses comical thoughts in others. I'm a buffoon. But excuse an old man's cackle. You, Rodion Romanovitch, you are in your prime, and, like all young people, you appreciate, above all things, human intelligence. Intellectual smartness and abstract rational deductions entice you. But, to return to the SPECIAL CASE we were talking about just now. I must tell you that we have to deal with reality, with nature. This is a very important thing, and how admirably does she often foil the highest skill! Listen to an old man; I am speaking quite seriously. Rodion"--(on saying which Porphyrius Petrovitch, who was hardly thirty-five years of age, seemed all of a sudden to have aged, a sudden metamorphosis had taken place in the whole of his person, nay, in his very voice)-- "to an old man who, however, is not wanting in candor. Am I or am I not candid? What do you think? It seems to me that a man could hardly be more so--for do I not reveal confidence, and that without the prospect of reward? But, to continue, acuteness of mind is, in my opinion, a very fine thing; it is to all intents and purposes an ornament of nature, one of the consolations of life by means of which it would appear a poor magistrate can be easily gulled, who, after all, is often misled by his own imagination, for he is only human. But nature comes to the aid of this human magistrate!

There's the rub! And youth, so confident in its own intelligence, youth which tramples under foot every obstacle, forgets this!

"Now, in the SPECIAL CASE under consideration, the guilty man, I will a.s.sume, lies hard and fast, but, when he fancies that all that is left him will be to reap the reward of his mendacity, behold, he will succ.u.mb in the very place where such an accident is likely to be most closely a.n.a.lyzed. a.s.suming even that he may be in a position to account for his syncope by illness or the stifling atmosphere of the locality, he has none the less given rise to suspicion! He has lied incomparably, but he has counted without nature. Here is the pitfall! Again, a man off his guard, from an unwary disposition, may delight in mystifying another who suspects him, and may wantonly pretend to be the very criminal wanted by the authorities; in such a case, he will represent the person in question a little too closely, he will place his foot a little too naturally. Here we have another token. For the nonce his interlocutor may be duped; but, being no fool, he will on the morrow have seen through the subterfuge. Then will our friend become compromised more and more! He will come of his own accord when he is not even called, he will use all kinds of impudent words, remarks, allegories, the meaning of which will be clear to everybody; he will even go so far as to come and ask why he has not been arrested as yet--hah! hah! And such a line of conduct may occur to a person of keen intellect, yes, even to a man of psychologic mind! Nature, my friend, is the most transparent of mirrors. To contemplate her is sufficient. But why do you grow pale, Rodion Romanovitch? Perhaps you are too hot; shall I open the window?"

"By no means, I beg!" cried Raskolnikoff, bursting out laughing.

"Don't heed me, pray!" Porphyrius stopped short, waited a moment, and burst out laughing himself. Raskolnikoff, whose hilarity had suddenly died out, rose. "Porphyrius Petrovitch," he shouted in a clear and loud voice, although he could scarcely stand on his trembling legs, "I can no longer doubt that you suspect me of having a.s.sa.s.sinated this old woman as well as her sister, Elizabeth. Let me tell you that for some time I have had enough of this. If you think you have the right to hunt me down, to have me arrested, hunt me down, have me arrested. But you shall not trifle with me, you shall not torture me." Suddenly his lips quivered, his eyes gleamed, and his voice, which up to that moment had been self-possessed, reached its highest diapason. "I will not permit it," he yelled hoa.r.s.ely, whilst striking a violent blow on the table. "Do you hear me, Porphyrius Petrovitch, I shall not permit this!"

"But, goodness gracious! what on earth is wrong with you?" asked the magistrate, disturbed to all appearances. "Batuchka! Rodion Romanovitch! My good friend! What on earth is the matter with you?"

"I will not permit it!" repeated Raskolnikoff once again.

"Batuchka! not so loud, I must request! Someone will hear you, someone may come; and then, what shall we say? Just reflect one moment!" murmured Porphyrius Petrovitch, whose face had approached that of his visitor.

"I will not permit it, I will not permit it!" mechanically pursued Raskolnikoff, but in a minor key, so as to be heard by Porphyrius only.

The latter moved away to open the window. "Let us air the room!

Supposing you were to drink some water, dear friend? You have had a slight fit!" He was on the point of going to the door to give his orders to a servant, when he saw a water bottle in a corner.

"Drink, batuchka!" he murmured, whilst approaching the young man with the bottle, "that may do you some good."

Porphyrius's fright seemed so natural that Raskolnikoff remained silent whilst examining him with curiosity. He refused, however, the proffered water.

"Rodion Romanovitch! My dear friend! If you go on in this way, you will go mad, I am positive! Drink, pray, if only a few drops!"

He almost forced the gla.s.s of water into his hand. Raskolnikoff raised it mechanically to his lips, when suddenly he thought better of it, and replaced it on the table with disgust. "Yes, yes, you have had a slight fit. One or two more, my friend, and you will have another attack of your malady," observed the magistrate in the kindest tone of voice, appearing greatly agitated. "Is it possible that people can take so little care of themselves? It was the same with Dmitri Prokofitch, who called here yesterday. I admit mine to be a caustic temperament, that mine is a horrid disposition, but that such a meaning could possibly be attributed to harmless remarks. He called here yesterday, when you had gone, and in the course of dinner he talked, talked. You had sent him, had you not?

But do sit down, batuchka! do sit down, for heaven's sake!"

"I did not indeed!--although I knew that he had called, and his object in doing so!" replied Raskolnikoff dryly.

"Did you really know why?"

"I did. And what did you gather from it?"

"I gathered from it, batuchka! Rodion Romanovitch, the knowledge of a good many of your doings--in fact, I know all! I know that you went, towards nightfall, TO HIRE THE LODGINGS. I know that you pulled the bell, and that a question of yours in connection with bloodstains, as well as your manner, frightened both journeymen and dvorniks. I know what was your mood at the time. Excitement of such a kind will drive you out of your mind, be a.s.sured. A praiseworthy indignation is at work within you, complaining now as to destiny, now on the subject of police agents. You keep going here and there to induce people as far as possible to formulate their accusations. This stupid kind of t.i.ttle-tattle is hateful to you, and you are anxious to put a stop to it as soon as possible.

Am I right? Have I laid finger on the sentiments which actuate you? But you are not satisfied by turning your own brain, you want to do, or rather do, the same thing to my good Razoumikhin.

Really, it is a pity to upset so good a fellow! His kindness exposes him more than anyone else to suffer contagion from your own malady. But you shall know all as soon as you shall be calmer.

Pray, therefore, once again sit down, batuchka! Try and recover your spirits--you seem quite unhinged."

Raskolnikoff rose while looking at him with an air full of contempt. "Tell me once for all," asked the latter, "tell me one way or other, whether I am in your opinion an object for suspicion?

Speak up, Porphyrius Petrovitch, and explain yourself without any more beating about the bush, and that forthwith!"

"Just one word, Rodion Romanovitch. This affair will end as G.o.d knows best; but still, by way of form, I may have to ask you a few more questions. Hence we are certain to meet again!" And with a smile Porphyrius stopped before the young man. "Certain!" he repeated. One might have fancied that he wished to say something more. But he did not do so.

"Forgive my strange manner just now, Porphyrius Petrovitch, I was hasty," began Raskolnikoff, who had regained all his self- possession, and who even experienced an irresistible wish to chaff the magistrate.

"Don't say any more, it was nothing," replied Porphyrius in almost joyful tone. "Till we meet again!"

"Till we meet again!"

The young man forthwith went home. Having got there, he threw himself on his couch, and for a quarter of an hour he tried to arrange his ideas somewhat, inasmuch as they were very confused.

Within a few days Raskolnikoff convinced himself that Porphyrius Petrovitch had no real proofs. Deciding to go out, in search of fresh air, he took up his cap and made for the door, deep in thought. For the first time he felt in the best of health, really well. He opened the door, and encountered Porphyrius face to face.

The latter entered. Raskolnikoff staggered for a moment, but quickly recovered. The visit did not dismay him. "Perhaps this is the finale, but why does he come upon me like a cat, with m.u.f.fled tread? Can he have been listening?"

"I have been thinking for a long time of calling on you, and, as I was pa.s.sing, I thought I might drop in for a few minutes. Where are you off to? I won't detain you long, only the time to smoke a cigarette, if you will allow me?"

"Be seated, Porphyrius Petrovitch, be seated," said Raskolnikoff to his guest, a.s.suming such an air of friendship that he himself could have been astonished at his own affability. Thus the victim, in fear and trembling for his life, at last does not feel the knife at his throat. He seated himself in front of Porphyrius, and gazed upon him without flinching. Porphyrius blinked a little, and commenced rolling his cigarette.

"Speak! speak!" Raskolnikoff mutely cried in his heart. "What are you going to say?"

"Oh, these cigarettes!" Porphyrius Petrovitch commenced at last, "they'll be the death of me, and yet I can't give them up! I am always coughing--a tickling in the throat is setting in, and I am asthmatical. I have been to consult Botkine of late; he examines every one of his patients at least half an hour at a time. After having thumped and b.u.mped me about for ever so long, he told me, amongst other things: 'Tobacco is a bad thing for you--your lungs are affected.' That's all very well, but how am I to go without my tobacco? What am I to use as a subst.i.tute? Unfortunately, I can't drink, hah! hah! Everything is relative, I suppose, Rodion Romanovitch?"

"There, he is beginning with some more of his silly palaver!"

Raskolnikoff growled to himself. His late interview with the magistrate suddenly occurred to him, at which anger affected his mind.

"Did you know, by-the-by, that I called on you the night before last?" continued Porphyrius, looking about. "I was in this very room. I happened to be coming this way, just as I am going to-day, and the idea struck me to drop in. Your door was open--I entered, hoping to see you in a few minutes, but went away again without leaving my name with your servant. Do you never shut your place?"

Raskolnikoff's face grew gloomier and gloomier. Porphyrius Petrovitch evidently guessed what the latter was thinking about.

"You did not expect visitors, Rodion Romanovitch?" said Porphyrius, smiling graciously.

"I have called just to clear things up a bit. I owe you an explanation," he went on, smiling and gently slapping the young man on the knee; but almost at the self-same moment his face a.s.sumed a serious and even sad expression, to Raskolnikoff's great astonishment, to whom the magistrate appeared in quite a different light. "At our last interview, an unusual scene took place between us, Rodion. I somehow feel that I did not behave very well to you.

You remember, I dare say, how we parted; we were both more or less excited. I fear we were wanting in the most common courtesy, and yet we are both of us gentlemen."

"What can he be driving at now?" Raskolnikoff asked himself, looking inquiringly at Porphyrius.

"I have come to the conclusion that it would be much better for us to be more candid to one another," continued the magistrate, turning his head gently aside and looking on the ground, as if he feared to annoy his former victim by his survey. "We must not have scenes of that kind again. If Mikolka had not turned up on that occasion, I really do not know how things would have ended. You are naturally, my dear Rodion, very irritable, and I must own that I had taken that into consideration, for, when driven in a corner, many a man lets out his secrets. 'If,' I said to myself, 'I could only squeeze some kind of evidence out of him, however trivial, provided it were real, tangible, and palpable, different from all my psychological inferences!' That was my idea. Sometimes we succeed by some such proceeding, but unfortunately that does not happen every day, as I conclusively discovered on the occasion in question. I had relied too much on your character."

"But why tell me all this now?" stammered Raskolnikoff, without in any way understanding the object of his interlocutor's question.

"Does he, perhaps, think me really innocent?"

"You wish to know why I tell you this? Because I look upon it as a sacred duty to explain my line of action. Because I subjected you, as I now fully acknowledge, to cruel torture. I do not wish, my dear Rodion, that you should take me for an ogre. Hence, by way of justification, I purpose explaining to you what led up to it. I think it needless to account for the nature and origin of the reports which circulated originally, as also why you were connected with them. There was, however, one circ.u.mstance, a purely fortuitous one, and which need not now be mentioned, which aroused my suspicions. From these reports and accidental circ.u.mstances, the same conclusion became evolved for me. I make this statement in all sincerity, for it was I who first implicated you with the matter. I do not in any way notice, the particulars notified on the articles found at the old woman's. That, and several others of a similar nature, are of no kind of importance. At the same time, I was aware of the incident which had happened at the police office. What occurred there has been told me with the utmost accuracy by some one who had been closely connected with it, and who, most unwittingly, had brought things to a head. Very well, then, how, under such circ.u.mstances, could a man help becoming biased? 'One swallow does not make a summer,' as the English proverb says: a hundred suppositions do not const.i.tute one single proof. Reason speaks in that way, I admit, but let a man try to subject prejudice to reason. An examining magistrate, after all, is only a man--hence given to prejudice.

"I also remembered, on the occasion in question, the article you had published in some review. That virgin effort of yours, I a.s.sure you, I greatly enjoyed--as an amateur, however, be it understood. It was redolent of sincere conviction, of genuine enthusiasm. The article was evidently written some sleepless night under feverish conditions. That author, I said to myself, while reading it, will do better things than that. How now, I ask you, could I avoid connecting that with what followed upon it? Such a tendency was but a natural one. Am I saying anything I should not?

Am I at this moment committing myself to any definite statement? I do no more than give utterance to a thought which struck me at the time. What may I be thinking about now? Nothing--or, at all events, what is tantamount to it. For the time being, I have to deal with Mikolka; there are facts which implicate him--what are facts, after all? If I tell you all this now, as I am doing, I do so, I a.s.sure you, most emphatically, so that your mind and conscience may absolve me from my behavior on the day of our interview. 'Why,' you will ask, 'did you not come on that occasion and have my place searched?' I did so, hah! hah! I went when you were ill in bed--but, let me tell you, not officially, not in my magisterial capacity; but go I did. We had your rooms turned topsy-turvy at our very first suspicions, but umsonst! Then I said to myself: 'That man will make me a call, he will come of his own accord, and that before very long! If he is guilty, he will be bound to come. Other kinds of men would not do so, but this one will.'

"And you remember, of course, Mr. Razoumikhin's chattering? We had purposely informed him of some of our suspicions, hoping that he might make you uneasy, for we knew perfectly well that Razoumikhin would not be able to contain his indignation. Zametoff, in particular, had been struck by your boldness, and it certainly was a bold thing for a person to exclaim all of a sudden in an open traktir: 'I am an a.s.sa.s.sin!' That was really too much of a good thing. Well, I waited for you with trusting patience, and, lo and behold, Providence sends you! How my heart did beat when I saw you coming! Now, I ask you, where was the need of your coming at that time at all? If you remember, you came in laughing immoderately.

That laughter gave me food for thought, but, had I not been very prejudiced at the time, I should have taken no notice of it. And as for Mr. Razoumikhin on that occasion--ah! the stone, the stone, you will remember, under which the stolen things are hidden? I fancy I can see it from here; it is somewhere in a kitchen garden-- it was a kitchen garden you mentioned to Zametoff, was it not? And then, when your article was broached, we fancied we discovered a latent thought beneath every word you uttered. That was the way, Rodion Romanovitch, that my conviction grew little by little. 'And yet,' said I to myself, 'all that may be explained in quite a different way, and perhaps more rationally. After all, a real proof, however slight, would be far more valuable.' But, when I heard all about the bell-ringing, my doubts vanished; I fancied I had the indispensable proof, and did not seem to care for further investigation.

"We are face to face with a weird and gloomy case--a case of a contemporary character, if I may say so--a case possessing, in the fullest sense of the word, the hallmark of time, and circ.u.mstances pointing to a person and life of different surroundings. The real culprit is a theorist, a bookworm, who, in a tentative kind of way, has done a more than bold thing; but this boldness of his is of quite a peculiar and one-sided stamp; it is, after a fashion, like that of a man who hurls himself from the top of a mountain or church steeple. The man in question has forgotten to cut off evidence, and, in order to work out a theory, has killed two persons. He has committed a murder, and yet has not known how to take possession of the pelf; what he has taken he has hidden under a stone. The anguish he experienced while hearing knocking at the door and the continued ringing of the bell, was not enough for him: no, yielding to an irresistible desire of experiencing the same horror, he has positively revisited the empty place and once more pulled the bell. Let us, if you like, attribute the whole of this to disease--to a semidelirious condition--by all means; but there is another point to be considered: he has committed a murder, and yet continues to look upon himself as a righteous man!"

Raskolnikoff trembled in every limb. "Then, who--who is it--that has committed the murder?" he stammered forth, in jerky accents.

The examining magistrate sank back in his chair as though astonished at such a question. "Who committed the murder?" he retorted, as if he could not believe his own ears. "Why, you--you did, Rodion Romanovitch! You!--" he added, almost in a whisper, and in a tone of profound conviction.

Raskolnikoff suddenly rose, waited for a few moments, and sat down again, without uttering a single word. All the muscles of his face were slightly convulsed.

"Why, I see your lips tremble just as they did the other day,"