"That's it, that's it," he repeated to himself.
"He does everything," she whispered quickly, looking down again.
"That's the way out! That's the explanation," he decided, scrutinising her with
eager curiosity, with a new, strange, almost morbid feeling. He gazed at that pale,
thin, irregular, angular little face, those soft blue eyes, which could flash with
such fire, such stern energy, that little body still shaking with indignation and
anger– and it all seemed to him more and more strange, almost impossible. "She is
a religious maniac!" he repeated to himself.
There was a book lying on the chest of drawers. He had noticed it every time
he paced up and down the room. Now he took it up and looked at it. It was the New
Testament in the Russian translation. It was bound in leather, old and worn.
"Where did you get that?" he called to her across the room.
She was still standing in the same place, three steps from the table.
"It was brought me," she answered, as it were unwillingly, not looking at him.
"Who brought it?"
"Lizaveta, I asked her for it."
"Lizaveta! strange!" he thought.
Everything about Sonia seemed to him stranger and more wonderful every moment.
He carried the book to the candle and began to turn over the pages.
"Where is the story of Lazarus?" he asked suddenly.
Sonia looked obstinately at the ground and would not answer. She was standing
sideways to the table.
"Where is the raising of Lazarus? Find it for me, Sonia."
She stole a glance at him.
"You are not looking in the right place…. It's in the fourth gospel," she whispered
sternly, without looking at him.
"Find it and read it to me," he said. He sat down with his elbow on the table,
leaned his head on his hand and looked away sullenly, prepared to listen.
"In three weeks' time they'll welcome me in the madhouse! I shall be there if
I am not in a worse place," he muttered to himself.
Sonia heard Raskolnikov's request distrustfully and moved hesitatingly to the
table. She took the book however.
"Haven't you read it?" she asked, looking up at him across the table.
Her voice became sterner and sterner.
"Long ago…. When I was at school. Read!"
"And haven't you heard it in church?"
"I… haven't been. Do you often go?"
"N-no," whispered Sonia.
"I understand…. And you won't go to your father's funeral to-morrow?"
"Yes, I shall. I was at church last week, too… I had a requiem service."
"For Lizaveta. She was killed with an axe."
His nerves were more and more strained. His head began to go round.
"Were you friends with Lizaveta?"
"Yes…. She was good… she used to come… not often… she couldn't…. We used to read
together and… talk. She will see God."
The last phrase sounded strange in his ears. And here was something new again:
the mysterious meetings with Lizaveta and both of them– religious maniacs.
"I shall be a religious maniac myself soon! It's infectious!"
"Read!" he cried irritably and insistently.
Sonia still hesitated. Her heart was throbbing. She hardly dared to read to him.
He looked almost with exasperation at the "unhappy lunatic."
"What for? You don't believe?…" she whispered softly and as it were breathlessly.
"Read! I want you to," he persisted. "You used to read to Lizaveta."
Sonia opened the book and found the place. Her hands were shaking, her voice
failed her. Twice she tried to begin and could not bring out the first syllable.
"Now a certain man was sick named Lazarus of Bethany…" she forced herself at
last to read, but at the third word her voice broke like an overstrained string.
There was a catch in her breath.
Raskolnikov saw in part why Sonia could not bring herself to read to him and
the more he saw this, the more roughly and irritably he insisted on her doing so.
He understood only too well how painful it was for her to betray and unveil all
that was her own. He understood that these feelings really were her secret treasure,
which she had kept perhaps for years, perhaps from childhood, while she lived with
an unhappy father and a distracted stepmother crazed by grief, in the midst of starving
children and unseemly abuse and reproaches. But at the same time he knew now and
knew for certain that, although it filled her with dread and suffering, yet she
had a tormenting desire to read and to read to him that he might hear it, and to
read now whatever might come of it!… He read this in her eyes, he could see it in
her intense emotion. She mastered herself, controlled the spasm in her throat and
went on reading the eleventh chapter of St. John. She went on to the nineteenth
"And many of the Jews came to Martha and Mary to comfort them concerning their
Then Martha as soon as she heard that Jesus was coming went and met Him: but
Mary sat still in the house.
Then said Martha unto Jesus, Lord, if Thou hadst been here, my brother had not
But I know that even now whatsoever Thou wilt ask of God, God will give it Thee…."
Then she stopped again with a shamefaced feeling that her voice would quiver
and break again.
"Jesus said unto her, thy brother shall rise again.
Martha saith unto Him, I know that he shall rise again in the resurrection, at
the last day.
Jesus said unto her, I am the resurrection and the life: he that believeth in
Me though he were dead, yet shall he live.
And whosoever liveth and believeth in Me shall never die. Believest thou this?
She saith unto Him,"
(And drawing a painful breath, Sonia read distinctly and forcibly as though she
were making a public confession of faith.)
"Yea, Lord: I believe that Thou art the Christ, the Son of God Which should come
into the world."
She stopped and looked up quickly at him, but controlling herself went on reading.
Raskolnikov sat without moving, his elbows on the table and his eyes turned away.
She read to the thirty-second verse.
"Then when Mary was come where Jesus was and saw Him, she fell down at His feet,
saying unto Him, Lord if Thou hadst been here, my brother had not died.
When Jesus therefore saw her weeping, and the Jews also weeping which came with
her, He groaned in the spirit and was troubled,
And said, Where have ye laid him? They said unto Him, Lord, come and see.
Then said the Jews, behold how He loved him!
And some of them said, could not this Man which opened the eyes of the blind,
have caused that even this man should not have died?"
Raskolnikov turned and looked at her with emotion. Yes, he had known it! She
was trembling in a real physical fever. He had expected it. She was getting near
the story of the greatest miracle and a feeling of immense triumph came over her.
Her voice rang out like a bell; triumph and joy gave it power. The lines danced
before her eyes, but she knew what she was reading by heart. At the last verse "Could
not this Man which opened the eyes of the blind…" dropping her voice she passionately
reproduced the doubt, the reproach and censure of the blind disbelieving Jews, who
in another moment would fall at His feet as though struck by thunder, sobbing and
believing…. "And he, he– too, is blinded and unbelieving, he, too, will hear, he,
too, will believe, yes, yes! At once, now," was what she was dreaming, and she was
quivering with happy anticipation.
"Jesus therefore again groaning in Himself cometh to the grave. It was a cave,
and a stone lay upon it.
Jesus said, Take ye away the stone. Martha, the sister of him that was dead,
saith unto Him, Lord by this time he stinketh: for he hath been dead four days."
She laid emphasis on the word four.
"Jesus saith unto her, Said I not unto thee that if thou wouldest believe, thou
shouldest see the glory of God?
Then they took away the stone from the place where the dead was laid. And Jesus
lifted up His eyes and said, Father, I thank Thee that Thou hast heard Me.
And I knew that Thou hearest Me always; but because of the people which stand
by I said it, that they may believe that Thou hast sent Me.
And when He thus had spoken, He cried with a loud voice, Lazarus, come forth.
And he that was dead came forth."
(She read loudly, cold and trembling with ecstasy, as though she were seeing
it before her eyes.)
"Bound hand and foot with graveclothes; and his face was bound about with a napkin.
Jesus saith unto them, Loose him and let him go.
Then many of the Jews which came to Mary and had seen the things which Jesus
did believed on Him."
She could read no more, closed the book and got up from her chair quickly.
"That is all about the raising of Lazarus," she whispered severely and abruptly,
and turning away she stood motionless, not daring to raise her eyes to him. She
still trembled feverishly. The candle-end was flickering out in the battered candlestick,
dimly lighting up in the poverty-stricken room the murderer and the harlot who had
so strangely been reading together the eternal book. Five minutes or more passed.
"I came to speak of something," Raskolnikov said aloud, frowning. He got up and
went to Sonia. She lifted her eyes to him in silence. His face was particularly
stern and there was a sort of savage determination in it.
"I have abandoned my family to-day," he said, "my mother and sister. I am not
going to see them. I've broken with them completely."
"What for?" asked Sonia amazed. Her recent meeting with his mother and sister
had left a great impression which she could not analyse. She heard his news almost
"I have only you now," he added. "Let us go together…. I've come to you, we are
both accursed, let us go our way together!"
His eyes glittered "as though he were mad," Sonia thought, in her turn.
"Go where?" she asked in alarm and she involuntarily stepped back.
"How do I know? I only know it's the same road, I know that and nothing more.
It's the same goal!"
She looked at him and understood nothing. She knew only that he was terribly,
"No one of them will understand, if you tell them, but I have understood. I need
you, that is why I have come to you."
"I don't understand," whispered Sonia.
"You'll understand later. Haven't you done the same? You, too, have transgressed…
have had the strength to transgress. You have laid hands on yourself, you have destroyed
a life… your own (it's all the same!). You might have lived in spirit and understanding,
but you'll end in the Hay Market…. But you won't be able to stand it, and if you
remain alone you'll go out of your mind like me. You are like a mad creature already.
So we must go together on the same road! Let us go!"
"What for? What's all this for?" said Sonia, strangely and violently agitated
by his words.
"What for? Because you can't remain like this, that's why! You must look things
straight in the face at last, and not weep like a child and cry that God won't allow
it. What will happen, if you should really be taken to the hospital to-morrow? She
is mad and in consumption, she'll soon die, and the children? Do you mean to tell
me Polenka won't come to grief? Haven't you seen children here at the street corners
sent out by their mothers to beg? I've found out where those mothers live and in
what surroundings. Children can't remain children there! At seven the child is vicious
and a thief. Yet children, you know, are the image of Christ: 'theirs is the kingdom
of Heaven.' He bade us honour and love them, they are the humanity of the future…."
"What's to be done, what's to be done?" repeated Sonia, weeping hysterically
and wringing her hands.
"What's to be done? Break what must be broken, once for all, that's all, and
take the suffering on oneself. What, you don't understand? You'll understand later….
Freedom and power, and above all, power! Over all trembling creation and all the
antheap!… That's the goal, remember that! That's my farewell message. Perhaps it's
the last time I shall speak to you. If I don't come to-morrow, you'll hear of it
all, and then remember these words. And some day later on, in years to come, you'll
understand perhaps what they meant. If I come to-morrow, I'll tell you who killed
Sonia started with terror.
"Why, do you know who killed her?" she asked, chilled with horror, looking wildly
"I know and will tell… you, only you. I have chosen you out. I'm not coming to
you to ask forgiveness, but simply to tell you. I chose you out long ago to hear
this, when your father talked of you and when Lizaveta was alive, I thought of it.
Good-bye, don't shake hands. To-morrow!"
He went out. Sonia gazed at him as at a madman. But she herself was like one
insane and felt it. Her head was going round.
"Good heavens, how does he know who killed Lizaveta? What did those words mean?
It's awful!" But at the same time the idea did not enter her head, not for a moment!
"Oh, he must be terribly unhappy!… He has abandoned his mother and sister…. What
for? What has happened? And what had he in his mind? What did he say to her? He
had kissed her foot and said… said (yes, he had said it clearly) that he could not
live without her…. Oh, merciful heavens!"
Sonia spent the whole night feverish and delirious. She jumped up from time to
time, wept and wrung her hands, then sank again into feverish sleep and dreamt of
Polenka, Katerina Ivanovna and Lizaveta, of reading the gospel and him… him with
pale face, with burning eyes… kissing her feet, weeping.