Sonia said this as though in despair, wringing her hands in excitement and distress.
Her pale cheeks flushed, there was a look of anguish in her eyes. It was clear that
she was stirred to the very depths, that she was longing to speak, to champion,
to express something. A sort of insatiable compassion, if one may so express it,
was reflected in every feature of her face.
"Beat me! how can you? Good heavens, beat me! And if she did beat me, what then?
What of it? You know nothing, nothing about it…. She is so unhappy… ah, how unhappy!
And ill…. She is seeking righteousness, she is pure. She has such faith that there
must be righteousness everywhere and she expects it…. And if you were to torture
her, she wouldn't do wrong. She doesn't see that it's impossible for people to be
righteous and she is angry at it. Like a child, like a child. She is good!"
"And what will happen to you?"
Sonia looked at him inquiringly.
"They are left on your hands, you see. They were all on your hands before, though….
And your father came to you to beg for drink. Well, how will it be now?"
"I don't know," Sonia articulated mournfully.
"Will they stay there?"
"I don't know…. They are in debt for the lodging, but the landlady, I hear, said
to-day that she wanted to get rid of them, and Katerina Ivanovna says that she won't
stay another minute."
"How is it she is so bold? She relies upon you?"
"Oh, no, don't talk like that…. We are one, we live like one." Sonia was agitated
again and even angry, as though a canary or some other little bird were to be angry.
"And what could she do? What, what could she do?" she persisted, getting hot and
excited. "And how she cried to-day! Her mind is unhinged, haven't you noticed it?
At one minute she is worrying like a child that everything should be right to-morrow,
the lunch and all that…. Then she is wringing her hands, spitting blood, weeping,
and all at once she will begin knocking her head against the wall, in despair. Then
she will be comforted again. She builds all her hopes on you; she says that you
will help her now and that she will borrow a little money somewhere and go to her
native town with me and set up a boarding school for the daughters of gentlemen
and take me to superintend it, and we will begin a new splendid life. And she kisses
and hugs me, comforts me, and you know she has such faith, such faith in her fancies!
One can't contradict her. And all the day long she has been washing, cleaning, mending.
She dragged the wash tub into the room with her feeble hands and sank on the bed,
gasping for breath. We went this morning to the shops to buy shoes for Polenka and
Lida for theirs are quite worn out. Only the money we'd reckoned wasn't enough,
not nearly enough. And she picked out such dear little boots, for she has taste,
you don't know. And there in the shop she burst out crying before the shopmen because
she hadn't enough…. Ah, it was sad to see her…."
"Well, after that I can understand your living like this," Raskolnikov said with
a bitter smile.
"And aren't you sorry for them? Aren't you sorry?" Sonia flew at him again. "Why,
I know, you gave your last penny yourself, though you'd seen nothing of it, and
if you'd seen everything, oh dear! And how often, how often I've brought her to
tears! Only last week! Yes, I! Only a week before his death. I was cruel! And how
often I've done it! Ah, I've been wretched at the thought of it all day!"
Sonia wrung her hands as she spoke at the pain of remembering it.
"You were cruel?"
"Yes, I– I. I went to see them," she went on, weeping, "and father said, 'read
me something, Sonia, my head aches, read to me, here's a book.' He had a book he
had got from Andrey Semyonovitch Lebeziatnikov, he lives there, he always used to
get hold of such funny books. And I said, 'I can't stay,' as I didn't want to read,
and I'd gone in chiefly to show Katerina Ivanovna some collars. Lizaveta, the pedlar,
sold me some collars and cuffs cheap, pretty, new, embroidered ones. Katerina Ivanovna
liked them very much; she put them on and looked at herself in the glass and was
delighted with them. 'Make me a present of them, Sonia,' she said, 'please do.'
'Please do,' she said, she wanted them so much. And when could she wear them? They
just reminded her of her old happy days. She looked at herself in the glass, admired
herself, and she has no clothes at all, no things of her own, hasn't had all these
years! And she never asks any one for anything; she is proud, she'd sooner give
away everything. And these she asked for, she liked them so much. And I was sorry
to give them. 'What use are they to you, Katerina Ivanovna?' I said. I spoke like
that to her, I ought not to have said that! She gave me such a look. And she was
so grieved, so grieved at my refusing her. And it was so sad to see…. And she was
not grieved for the collars, but for my refusing, I saw that. Ah, if only I could
bring it all back, change it, take back those words! Ah, if I… but it's nothing
"Did you know Lizaveta, the pedlar?"
"Yes…. Did you know her?" Sonia asked with some surprise.
"Katerina Ivanovna is in consumption, rapid consumption; she will soon die,"
said Raskolnikov after a pause, without answering her question.
"Oh, no, no, no!"
And Sonia unconsciously clutched both his hands, as though imploring that she
"But it will be better if she does die."
"No, not better, not at all better!" Sonia unconsciously repeated in dismay.
"And the children? What can you do except take them to live with you?"
"Oh, I don't know," cried Sonia, almost in despair, and she put her hands to
It was evident that that idea had very often occurred to her before and he had
only roused it again.
"And, what, if even now, while Katerina Ivanovna is alive, you get ill and are
taken to the hospital, what will happen then?" he persisted pitilessly.
"How can you? That cannot be!"
And Sonia's face worked with awful terror.
"Cannot be?" Raskolnikov went on with a harsh smile. "You are not insured against
it, are you? What will happen to them then? They will be in the street, all of them,
she will cough and beg and knock her head against some wall, as she did to-day,
and the children will cry…. Then she will fall down, be taken to the police station
and to the hospital, she will die, and the children…"
"Oh, no…. God will not let it be!" broke at last from Sonia's overburdened bosom.
She listened, looking imploringly at him, clasping her hands in dumb entreaty,
as though it all depended upon him.
Raskolnikov got up and began to walk about the room. A minute passed. Sonia was
standing with her hands and her head hanging in terrible dejection.
"And can't you save? Put by for a rainy day?" he asked, stopping suddenly before
"No," whispered Sonia.
"Of course not. Have you tried?" he added almost ironically.
"And it didn't come off! Of course not! No need to ask."
And again he paced the room. Another minute passed.
"You don't get money every day?"
Sonia was more confused than ever and colour rushed into her face again.
"No," she whispered with a painful effort.
"It will be the same with Polenka, no doubt," he said suddenly.
"No, no! It can't be, no!" Sonia cried aloud in desperation, as though she had
been stabbed. "God would not allow anything so awful!"
"He lets others come to it."
"No, no! God will protect her, God!" she repeated beside herself.
"But, perhaps, there is no God at all," Raskolnikov answered with a sort of malignance,
laughed and looked at her.
Sonia's face suddenly changed; a tremor passed over it. She looked at him with
unutterable reproach, tried to say something, but could not speak and broke into
bitter, bitter sobs, hiding her face in her hands.
"You say Katerina Ivanovna's mind is unhinged; your own mind is unhinged," he
said after a brief silence.
Five minutes passed. He still paced up and down the room in silence, not looking
at her. At last he went up to her; his eyes glittered. He put his two hands on her
shoulders and looked straight into her tearful face. His eyes were hard, feverish
and piercing, his lips were twitching. All at once he bent down quickly and dropping
to the ground, kissed her foot. Sonia drew back from him as from a madman. And certainly
he looked like a madman.
"What are you doing to me?" she muttered, turning pale, and a sudden anguish
clutched at her heart.
He stood up at once.
"I did not bow down to you, I bowed down to all the suffering of humanity," he
said wildly and walked away to the window. "Listen," he added, turning to her a
minute later. "I said just now to an insolent man that he was not worth your little
finger… and that I did my sister honour making her sit beside you."
"Ach, you said that to them! And in her presence?" cried Sonia, frightened. "Sit
down with me! An honour! Why, I'm… dishonourable…. Ah, why did you say that?"
"It was not because of your dishonour and your sin I said that of you, but because
of your great suffering. But you are a great sinner, that's true," he added almost
solemnly, "and your worst sin is that you have destroyed and betrayed yourself for
nothing. Isn't that fearful? Isn't it fearful that you are living in this filth
which you loathe so, and at the same time you know yourself (you've only to open
your eyes) that you are not helping any one by it, not saving any one from anything!
Tell me," he went on almost in a frenzy, "how this shame and degradation can exist
in you side by side with other, opposite, holy feelings? It would be better, a thousand
times better and wiser to leap into the water and end it all!"
"But what would become of them?" Sonia asked faintly, gazing at him with eyes
of anguish, but not seeming surprised at his suggestion.
Raskolnikov looked strangely at her. He read it all in her face; so she must
have had that thought already, perhaps many times, and earnestly she had thought
out in her despair how to end it and so earnestly, that now she scarcely wondered
at his suggestion. She had not even noticed the cruelty of his words. (The significance
of his reproaches and his peculiar attitude to her shame she had, of course, not
noticed either, and that, too, was clear to him.) But he saw how monstrously the
thought of her disgraceful, shameful position was torturing her and had long tortured
her. "What, what," he thought, "could hitherto have hindered her from putting an
end to it?" Only then he realised what those poor little orphan children and that
pitiful half-crazy Katerina Ivanovna, knocking her head against the wall in her
consumption, meant for Sonia.
But, nevertheless, it was clear to him again that with her character and the
amount of education she had after all received, she could not in any case remain
so. He was still confronted by the question how could she have remained so long
in that position without going out of her mind, since she could not bring herself
to jump into the water? Of course he knew that Sonia's position was an exceptional
case, though unhappily not unique and not infrequent, indeed; but that very exceptionalness,
her tinge of education, her previous life might, one would have thought, have killed
her at the first step on that revolting path. What held her up– surely not depravity?
All that infamy had obviously only touched her mechanically, not one drop of real
depravity had penetrated to her heart; he saw that. He saw through her as she stood
"There are three ways before her," he thought, "the canal, the madhouse, or…
at last to sink into depravity which obscures the mind and turns the heart to stone."
The last idea was the most revolting, but he was a sceptic, he was young, abstract,
and therefore cruel, and so he could not help believing that the last end was the
"But can that be true?" he cried to himself. "Can that creature who has still
preserved the purity of her spirit be consciously drawn at last into that sink of
filth and iniquity? Can the process already have begun? Can it be that she has only
been able to bear it till now, because vice has begun to be less loathsome to her?
No, no, that cannot be!" he cried, as Sonia had just before. "No, what has kept
her from the canal till now is the idea of sin and they, the children…. And if she
has not gone out of her mind… but who says she has not gone out of her mind? Is
she in her senses? Can one talk, can one reason as she does? How can she sit on
the edge of the abyss of loathsomeness into which she is slipping and refuse to
listen when she is told of danger? Does she expect a miracle? No doubt she does.
Doesn't that all mean madness?"
He stayed obstinately at that thought. He liked that explanation indeed better
than any other. He began looking more intently at her.
"So you pray to God a great deal, Sonia?" he asked her.
Sonia did not speak; he stood beside her waiting for an answer.
"What should I be without God?" she whispered rapidly, forcibly, glancing at
him with suddenly flashing eyes, and squeezing his hand.
"Ah, so that is it!" he thought.
"And what does God do for you?" he asked, probing her further.
Sonia was silent a long while, as though she could not answer. Her weak chest
kept heaving with emotion.
"Be silent! Don't ask! You don't deserve!" she cried suddenly, looking sternly
and wrathfully at him.