On the other side of the door on the right, which divided Sonia's room from Madame
Resslich's flat, was a room which long stood empty. A card was fixed on the gate
and a notice stuck in the windows over the canal advertising it to let. Sonia had
long been accustomed to the room's being uninhabited. But all that time Mr. Svidrigailov
had been standing, listening at the door of the empty room. When Raskolnikov went
out he stood still, thought a moment, went on tiptoe to his own room which adjoined
the empty one, brought a chair and noiselessly carried it to the door that led to
Sonia's room. The conversation had struck him as interesting and remarkable, and
he had greatly enjoyed it– so much so that he brought a chair that he might not
in the future, to-morrow, for instance, have to endure the inconvenience of standing
a whole hour, but might listen in comfort. CHAPTERFIVE Chapter Five
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
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 knockdown blow with some fatal question. Isn't
that so? It's a sacred tradition, mentioned, I fancy, in all the manuals of the
"Yes, yes…. Why, do you imagine that was why I spoke about government quarters…
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
"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. Every one 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 compacts son, 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!"