Raskolnikov sat down; he no longer shivered, he was hot all over. In amazement
he listened with strained attention to Porfiry Petrovitch who still seemed frightened
as he looked after him with friendly solicitude. But he did not believe a word he
said, though he felt a strange inclination to believe. Porfiry's unexpected words
about the flat had utterly overwhelmed him. "How can it be, he knows about the flat
then," he thought suddenly, "and he tells it me himself!"
"Yes, in our legal practice there was a case almost exactly similar, a case of
morbid psychology," Porfiry went on quickly. "A man confessed to murder and how
he kept it up! It was a regular hallucination; he brought forward facts, he imposed
upon every one and why? He had been partly, but only partly, unintentionally the
cause of a murder and when he knew that he had given the murderers the opportunity,
he sank into dejection, it got on his mind and turned his brain, he began imagining
things and he persuaded himself that he was the murderer. But at last the High Court
of Appeals went into it and the poor fellow was acquitted and put under proper care.
Thanks to the Court of Appeals! Tut-tut-tut! Why, my dear fellow, you may drive
yourself into delirium if you have the impulse to work upon your nerves, to go ringing
bells at night and asking about blood! I've studied all this morbid psychology in
my practice. A man is sometimes tempted to jump out of a window or from a belfry.
Just the same with bell-ringing…. It's all illness, Rodion Romanovitch! You have
begun to neglect your illness. You should consult an experienced doctor, what's
the good of that fat fellow? You are lightheaded! You were delirious when you did
For a moment Raskolnikov felt everything going round.
"Is it possible, is it possible," flashed through his mind, "that he is still
lying? He can't be, he can't be." He rejected that idea, feeling to what a degree
of fury it might drive him, feeling that that fury might drive him mad.
"I was not delirious. I knew what I was doing," he cried, straining every faculty
to penetrate Porfiry's game, "I was quite myself, do you hear?"
"Yes, I hear and understand. You said yesterday you were not delirious, you were
particularly emphatic about it! I understand all you can tell me! A-ach!… Listen,
Rodion Romanovitch, my dear fellow. If you were actually a criminal, or were somehow
mixed up in this damnable business, would you insist that you were not delirious
but in full possession of your faculties? And so emphatically and persistently?
Would it be possible? Quite impossible, to my thinking. If you had anything on your
conscience, you certainly ought to insist that you were delirious. That's so, isn't
There was a note of slyness in this inquiry. Raskolnikov drew back on the sofa
as Porfiry bent over him and stared in silent perplexity at him.
"Another thing about Razumihin– you certainly ought to have said that he came
of his own accord, to have concealed your part in it! But you don't conceal it!
You lay stress on his coming at your instigation."
Raskolnikov had not done so. A chill went down his back.
"You keep telling lies," he said slowly and weakly, twisting his lips into a
sickly smile, "you are trying again to show that you know all my game, that you
know all I shall say beforehand," he said, conscious himself that he was not weighing
his words as he ought. "You want to frighten me… or you are simply laughing at me…"
He still stared at him as he said this and again there was a light of intense
hatred in his eyes.
"You keep lying," he said. "You know perfectly well that the best policy for
the criminal is to tell the truth as nearly as possible… to conceal as little as
possible. I don't believe you!"
"What a wily person you are!" Porfiry tittered, "there's no catching you; you've
a perfect monomania. So you don't believe me? But still you do believe me, you believe
a quarter; I'll soon make you believe the whole, because I have a sincere liking
for you and genuinely wish you good."
Raskolnikov's lips trembled.
"Yes, I do," went on Porfiry, touching Raskolnikov's arm genially, "you must
take care of your illness. Besides, your mother and sister are here now; you must
think of them. You must soothe and comfort them and you do nothing but frighten
"What has that to do with you? How do you know it? What concern is it of yours?
You are keeping watch on me and want to let me know it?"
"Good heavens! Why, I learnt it all from you yourself! You don't notice that
in your excitement you tell me and others everything. From Razumihin, too, I learnt
a number of interesting details yesterday. No, you interrupted me, but I must tell
you that, for all your wit, your suspiciousness makes you lose the common-sense
view of things. To return to bell-ringing, for instance. I, an examining lawyer,
have betrayed a precious thing like that, a real fact (for it is a fact worth having),
and you see nothing in it! Why, if I had the slightest suspicion of you, should
I have acted like that? No, I should first have disarmed your suspicions and not
let you see I knew of that fact, should have diverted your attention and suddenly
have dealt you a knock-down blow (your expression) saying: 'And what were you doing,
sir, pray, at ten or nearly eleven at the murdered woman's flat and why did you
ring the bell and why did you ask about blood? And why did you invite the porters
to go with you to the police station, to the lieutenant?' That's how I ought to
have acted if I had a grain of suspicion of you. I ought to have taken your evidence
in due form, searched your lodging and perhaps have arrested you, too… so I have
no suspicion of you, since I have not done that! But you can't look at it normally
and you see nothing, I say again."
Raskolnikov started so that Porfiry Petrovitch could not fail to perceive it.
"You are lying all the while," he cried, "I don't know your object, but you are
lying. You did not speak like that just now and I cannot be mistaken!"
"I am lying?" Porfiry repeated, apparently incensed, but preserving a good-humoured
and ironical face, as though he were not in the least concerned at Raskolnikov's
opinion of him. "I am lying… but how did I treat you just now, I, the examining
lawyer? Prompting you and giving you every means for your defence; illness, I said,
delirium, injury, melancholy and the police officers and all the rest of it? Ah!
He-he-he! Though, indeed, all those psychological means of defence are not very
reliable and cut both ways: illness, delirium, I don't remember– that's all right,
but why, my good sir, in your illness and in your delirium were you haunted by just
those delusions and not by any others? There may have been others, eh? He-he-he!"
Raskolnikov looked haughtily and contemptuously at him.
"Briefly," he said loudly and imperiously, rising to his feet and in so doing
pushing Porfiry back a little, "briefly, I want to know, do you acknowledge me perfectly
free from suspicion or not? Tell me, Porfiry Petrovitch, tell me once for all and
"What a business I'm having with you!" cried Porfiry with a perfectly good-humoured,
sly and composed face. "And why do you want to know, why do you want to know so
much, since they haven't begun to worry you? Why, you are like a child asking for
matches! And why are you so uneasy? Why do you force yourself upon us, eh? He-he-he!"
"I repeat," Raskolnikov cried furiously, "that I can't put up with it!"
"With what? Uncertainty?" interrupted Porfiry.
"Don't jeer at me! I won't have it! I tell you I won't have it. I can't and I
won't, do you hear, do you hear?" he shouted, bringing his fist down on the table
"Hush! Hush! They'll overhear! I warn you seriously, take care of yourself. I
am not joking," Porfiry whispered, but this time there was not the look of old womanish
good-nature and alarm in his face. Now he was peremptory, stern, frowning and for
once laying aside all mystification.
But this was only for an instant. Raskolnikov, bewildered, suddenly fell into
actual frenzy, but, strange to say, he again obeyed the command to speak quietly,
though he was in a perfect paroxysm of fury.
"I will not allow myself to be tortured," he whispered, instantly recognising
with hatred that he could not help obeying the command and driven to even greater
fury by the thought. "Arrest me, search me, but kindly act in due form and don't
play with me! Don't dare!"
"Don't worry about the form," Porfiry interrupted with the same sly smile, as
it were, gloating with enjoyment over Raskolnikov. "I invited you to see me quite
in a friendly way."
"I don't want your friendship and I spit on it! Do you hear? And, here, I take
my cap and go. What will you say now if you mean to arrest me?"
He took up his cap and went to the door.
"And won't you see my little surprise?" chuckled Porfiry, again taking him by
the arm and stopping him at the door.
He seemed to become more playful and good-humoured which maddened Raskolnikov.
"What surprise?" he asked, standing still and looking at Porfiry in alarm.
"My little surprise, it's sitting there behind the door, he-he-he! (He pointed
to the locked door.) I locked him in that he should not escape."
"What is it? Where? What?…"
Raskolnikov walked to the door and would have opened it, but it was locked.
"It's locked, here is the key!"
And he brought a key out of his pocket.
"You are lying," roared Raskolnikov without restraint, "you lie, you damned punchinello!"
and he rushed at Porfiry who retreated to the other door, not at all alarmed.
"I understand it all! You are lying and mocking so that I may betray myself to
"Why, you could not betray yourself any further, my dear Rodion Romanovitch.
You are in a passion. Don't shout, I shall call the clerks."
"You are lying! Call the clerks! You knew I was ill and tried to work me into
a frenzy to make me betray myself, that was your object! Produce your facts! I understand
it all. You've no evidence, you have only wretched rubbishly suspicions like Zametov's!
You knew my character, you wanted to drive me to fury and then to knock me down
with priests and deputies…. Are you waiting for them? eh! What are you waiting for?
Where are they? Produce them?"
"Why deputies, my good man? What things people will imagine! And to do so would
not be acting in form as you say, you don't know the business, my dear fellow….
And there's no escaping form, as you see," Porfiry muttered, listening at the door
through which a noise could be heard.
"Ah, they're coming," cried Raskolnikov. "You've sent for them! You expected
them! Well, produce them all: your deputies, your witnesses, what you like!… I am
But at this moment a strange incident occurred, something so unexpected that
neither Raskolnikov nor Porfiry Petrovitch could have looked for such a conclusion
to their interview. CHAPTERSIX Chapter Six
WHEN HE remembered the scene afterwards, this is how Raskolnikov saw it.
The noise behind the door increased, and suddenly the door was opened a little.
"What is it?" cried Porfiry Petrovitch, annoyed. "Why, I gave orders…"
For an instant there was no answer, but it was evident that there were several
persons at the door, and that they were apparently pushing somebody back.
"What is it?" Porfiry Petrovitch repeated, uneasily.
"The prisoner Nikolay has been brought," some one answered.
"He is not wanted! Take him away! Let him wait! What's he doing here? How irregular!"
cried Porfiry, rushing to the door.
"But he…" began the same voice, and suddenly ceased.
Two seconds, not more, were spent in actual struggle, then some one gave a violent
shove, and then a man, very pale, strode into the room.
This man's appearance was at first sight very strange. He stared straight before
him, as though seeing nothing. There was a determined gleam in his eyes; at the
same time there was a deathly pallor in his face, as though he were being led to
the scaffold. His white lips were faintly twitching.
He was dressed like a workman and was of medium height, very young, slim, his
hair cut in round crop, with thin spare features. The man whom he had thrust back
followed him into the room and succeeded in seizing him by the shoulder; he was
a warder; but Nikolay pulled his arm away.
Several persons crowded inquisitively into the doorway. Some of them tried to
get in. All this took place almost instantaneously.
"Go away, it's too soon! Wait till you are sent for!… Why have you brought him
so soon?" Porfiry Petrovitch muttered, extremely annoyed, and as it were thrown
out of his reckoning.
But Nikolay suddenly knelt down.
"What's the matter?" cried Porfiry, surprised.
"I am guilty! Mine is the sin! I am the murderer," Nikolay articulated suddenly,
rather breathless, but speaking fairly loudly.
For ten seconds there was silence as though all had been struck dumb; even the
warder stepped back, mechanically retreated to the door, and stood immovable.
"What is it?" cried Porfiry Petrovitch, recovering from his momentary stupefaction.
"I am the murderer," repeated Nikolay, after a brief pause.
"What… you… what… whom did you kill?" Porfiry Petrovitch was obviously bewildered.
Nikolay again was silent for a moment.
"Alyona Ivanovna and her sister Lizaveta Ivanovna, I… killed… with an axe. Darkness
came over me," he added suddenly, and was again silent.