RAZUMIKHIN was one of his former university friends. Raskol had almost no friends at the university, kept aloof from everyone. Made no attempt at social gatherings, conversations, merrymaking.
Yet for some reason he became close to Razumikhin, not really close but more socialable, more frank with him. It was almost impossible to be on any other terms with Razumikhin. He was an an exceptionally cheerful and socialable fellow, kind to the point of simplicity. However, this simplicity concealed both depth and dignity. The best of his friends understood that, everyone loved him. He was far from stupid, although a bit simple at times. His appearance was expressive--tall, thin, black-haired, always badly shaved. He would be violent on occasion, and reputed to be a very strong man, Once at night, in company, he knocked a six-an-a-half-foot keeper of the peace down with one blow. He could drink ad infinit, or he could not drink at all; he could be impossibly mischievous, or he could not be mischievous at all. Razumikhin was also remarkable that no setbacks ever confounded him, and no bad circumstances seemed able to crush him. He was very poor, and supported himself decidedly on his own, alone, getting money by work of one sort or another. Presently forced to leave the university, but not for long, and he was trying in all haste to straighten out his circumstances so he could continue.
THIS DESCRIPTION OF RAZUMIKHIN IS AT THE END OF IV.
The question of why he was now going to Razumikhin troubled him more than he was even aware; he anxiously tried to find some sinister, meaning for himself in this seemingly quite ordinary act.
"So, then, I really mean to straighten things out with Razumikhin alone? To find the solution for everything in Razumikhin?" He asked himself in surprise.
After reflection, there came into his head a certain most strange thought.
"Hm . . . to Razumikhin," he said suddenly, quite calmly, as if with a sense of final decision, "I will go to Razumikhin, of course I will . . . but--not now . . .
I will go to him . . . the next day, after THAT, once THAT is already finished and everything has taken a new course . . ."
And suddenly he came to his senses.
"After THAT," he cried out, "but will THAT be?" Will it really be?"
It was there, in that terrible cupboard, that for more than a month all THAT had been ripening; and so he just followed his nose.
HE BECAME FEVERISH AND CHILLED, LOOKING AT EVERY OBJECT FOR A DIVERSION. HIS MIND TOTALLY LOST IN THOUGHT, DAYDREAMING, BUT FORGETTING WHAT HE WAS JUST THINKING! HE CROSSED THE LITTLE NEVA TOWARD THE ISLANDS, AT FIRST THE GREENERY PLEASED HIS EYES, HERE THERE WAS NO CLOSENESS NOR STENCH OF THE TAVERNS. SOON THESE NEW PLEASANT SENSATIONS TURNED PAINFUL AND IRRITATING. HE TOOK SPECIAL INTEREST IN THE FLOWERS, WATCHING THE CARRIAGES UNTIL THEY DISAPPEARED FROM SIGHT. HE GOES INTO A COOK-SHOP, DRINKS A GLASS OF VODKA AND A PIECE OF PIE. THE VODKA AFFECTED HIM ALL AT ONCE, HE IMMEDIATELY FELT A STRONG INCLINATION TO SLEEP, HE STARTED FOR HOME BUT COULD WALK NO MORE, WENT INTO THE BUSHES AND FELL ASLEEP.
In a morbid condition dreams are often distinguished bye their remarkably graphic, vivid, and lifelike quality. The resulting picture is sometimes monstrous, but the setting and the whole process of the presentation sometimes happen to be probable and with details so subtle, unexpected, yet artistically consistent with the whole fullness of the picture, that even the dreamer himself would be unable to invent them in reality. Such dreams, morbid dreams, are always long remembered and produce a strong impression on the disturbed and already excited organism of the person.
THE NEXT SEVERAL PAGES OF THE BOOK DESCRIBES RASKOL'S DREAM AND ITS IMPORTANCE IS SO MUCH SO, THAT I'M GOING TO STOP HERE AND PICK UP WITH CONTINUATION OF PART V.