Provided by site.

Sunday, February 24, 2013

(18) C. P. Part 2 (Chap III)

   It was almost evening when  he arrived home, he had been walking about six hours. He quivered
while undressing like an over-worked horse. Laying down on the sofa with his winter coat over him and sank into oblivion.

   Around dusk he was awakened by a fearful scream. Such unnatural sounds, such howling, wailing, grinding, tears, blows and curses he had never heard.

   He could never of imagined such brutality. In terror he sat up, the fighting, wailing, grew louder. He heard the voice of his landlady. She was the one howling, shrieking, wailing, he could not make out what she was talking about. She was mercilessly being beaten on the stairs. The voice of her assailant was horrible from rage. All at once Raskolnikov recognized the voice of Ilya Petrovitch. He was beating the landlady! Has the world gone Topsy-turvy? "But why, and how could it be?" He seriously was thinking that he had gone mad! He should fasten his door, but he could not move. Terror gripped his heart like ice, tortured him and numbed him . . . After about ten minutes the horror stopped.
   Raskolnikov sank worn out into the sofa, but could not close his eyes. Such anguish, such an intolerable sensation of infinite terror.

   Then a light flashed in his room, Nastaysa sit the candle on the table, bringing him a meal. "You've not eaten anything since yesterday, I'm sure. You've been trudging about all day, and you're shaking with fever."

   "Nastaysa . . . what were they beating the landlady for?"

   Nastaysa scrutinised him, silent and frowning, her scrutiny lasted a long time. He felt uneasy, even frightened at her searching eyes.

   "Nastaysa why don't you speak," she answered softly as though speaking to herself. "Blood?"

   "What blood?" he muttered, growing white and turning to the wall.

   Nastaysa looked at him without speaking. "Nobody has been beating the landlady," she declared at last in a firm voice.

   He gazed at her, hardly able to breathe. "I heard it myself . . . I was not asleep . . .

   "No one has been here. THAT'S THE BLOOD CRYING IN YOUR EARS. You been fancying things .  . . Will you eat something?"             [END OF CHAPTER 2]
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

                                                [ CHAPTER III (page 104) ]
   He was not completely unconscious, however all the time he was ill; he was in a feverish state, sometimes delirious, sometimes half conscious. Sometimes it seemed as though there was a number of people around him; they wanted to take him away somewhere, there was a great deal of squabbling and discussing about him. Then he would be all alone, every now and then the door would open and someone would look at him; they threatened him, plotted something together, laughed, and mocked at him. He remembered Nastaysa (his landlady's servant) often at his bedside; he distinguished another person, too. whom he seemed to know very well, though he could not remember who he was, and this fretted him, even made him cry. Sometimes he fancied he had been lying there a month; at other times it seemed part of the same day. But of THAT--(the murders) he had no recollection. At last he returned to complete consciousness.

   Nastaysa was standing beside him with another person, a complete stranger, who was looking at him very inquisitively. He was a young man with a beard, wearing a full, short waisted coat.

   "Who . . . are you?"  addressing the man. At that moment the door flew open, stooping because of his height, was Razumihin.

   "What a cabin it is!" "I am always hitting my head. You call this a lodging! So you are conscious, brother? I've just heard the news from Praskovya." (Raskolnikov's landlady who is suing him for past lodging.)

  "He has just come to," said Nastaysa.

  "Just come to," echoed the stranger with a smile.

   "Who are you Razumihin asked, suddenly addressing the man.

   "I am a messenger from the merchant Shelopaev, I've come on business."
   Razumihin seated himself, "It's a good thing you've come to brother," he went on to Raskolnikov." For the last four days you have scarcely eaten or drunk anything. We had to give you tea in spoonfuls. I brought Zossimov to see you twice. You remember Zossimov? He examined you carefully and said at once there was nothing serious--something seemed to have gone to your head. Some nervous nonsense, the result of bad feeding. Zossimov is a first rate fella!

   "Will you explain what you want?" Razumihin addressed the messenger.

   "Through your mamma's request through Afanasy Ivanovitch Vahrushin, (Raskolnikov's sister's fiancee) thirty-five roubles in the hope of better to come. I just need your signature."

   "I don't want it, " said Raskolnikov, pushing away the pen. Razumihin convinces him to accept it.

   Raskolnikov looked at all of this with profound astonishment and a dull, unreasoning terror. He made up his mind to keep quiet and see what would happen. "I believe it's reality," he thought.
(( I had better describe Razumihin for you, before I go any farther. He was introduced in part one chapter four and remember Raskolnikov visited him the day after the murders, where Razumihin gave him three roubles and papers to translate.

   Razumihin was a friend of Raskolnikov's from the university. With Razumihin he became friends, it was impossible to be on any other terms with him. He was an exceptionally good-humored and candid youth, good natured to the point of simplicity, though both depth and dignity lay concealed under that simplicity. The better of his comrades understood this, and all were fond of him. He was of striking appearance--tall, thin, black haired and always badly shaven. He was sometimes uproarious and reputed to be of great physical strength. There was no limit to his drinking powers, but he could abstain from drinking all together; he sometimes went too far with his pranks; but could do without pranks altogether. Another striking thing about Razumihin, no failure distressed him, and it seemed as though no unfavourable circumstances could crush him. He was very poor and kept himself entirely on what he could earn by work of one sort or another. He knew of no end of resources by which to earn money. At present he too, had been obliged to leave the university.   ((I RE-INTRODUCE YOU TO RAZUMIHIN.))

   "It would not be amiss, Nastaysa , if Praskovya Pavlovna were to send us up a couple of bottles of beer. We could empty them." (Razumihin has Raskolnikov's landlady smitten!)

   "Well you are a cool hand," muttered Nastaysa, and she departed to carry out his orders.

  Razumihin spoon feeds Raskolnikov even though he believed himself capable. But from some queer almost animal, cunning he conceived the idea of hiding his strength and lying low for a time. Yet he could not overcome his sense of repugnance.

   Razumihin rambles about eating well everyday thanks to Praskovya, she loves to do anything for me. "I don't ask for yet, but, of course, I don't object. All sorts of things have happened while you have been laid up. I was so angry when you left in that rascally way, I sought you out to punish you. I did not know your address so I went to the police station and they had your address. I got to know all your affairs, I know everything, I made the acquaintance of all, at the police office. Last, but not least your Praskovya. To make a long story short, Praskovya won the day. I had not expected, brother to find her so  . . . prepossessing. Eh, what do you think?"

   Raskolnikov did not speak, but kept his eyes fixed upon him, full of alarm.

   Razumihin's conversation was giving Nastasya unspeakable delight.

   "It's a pity, brother, that you did not approach her in the right way at first. She is, so to speak, a most unaccountable character. But we will talk about her character later. . . . How could you let things come to the point she quit sending you dinner? You must of been mad to sign an I O U And that promise of marriage to her daughter, Natalya when she was alive? I know all about it! I can see that's a delicate matter and I am an ass; forgive me. But talking of foolishness, do you know Praskovya is not nearly so foolish as you would think at first sight?"


   "No," mumbled Raskolnikov, looking away, but feeling it better to keep up the conversation.

   "She isn't, is she?" cried Razumihin delighted at getting an answer. "But she is not very clever either, eh? She is essentially an unaccountable character! Seeing you are not a student now and have lost your lessons and your clothes, and that through the young lady's death she has no need to treat you as a relation, she took fright; you hid in your den and dropped all relations with her, she planned to get rid of you. And she's been cherishing that for a time, but was sorry to lose the I O U, for you assured her your mother would pay."

   It was wrong of me to say that. . . . My mother herself is almost a beggar . . . and I told a lie to keep my lodging . . . and be fed," Raskolnikov said loudly and distinctly.

   "Yes you did very sensibly. But Mr, Tecebarov who is a business man, asks, 'is there any chance of realising the I O U?' Answer; there is, because his mother would starve and his sister would go into bondage for his sake. I know all the ins and outs of your affairs now, my dear boy--it's not for nothing that you were so open with Praskovya when you were her prospective son-in-law, and I say all this as a friend. . . . But I tell you what it is: an honest and sensitive man is open: and a business man 'listens and goes on eating' you up. As soon as Tecebarov got the I O U he made a formal demand for payment. I wanted to blow him up, but by them harmony reigned between me and  Praskovya, and I insisted in stopping the whole affair, I went security for you brother. We flung him ten roubles and got the I O U back from him, and here I have the honour of presenting it to you. She trusts your word now."

   Razumihin put the note on the table. Raskolnikov looked at him and turned to the wall without uttering a word. Even Razumihin felt a twinge.

   "I see, brother," he said a moment later, "that I have been playing the fool again. I thought I should amuse you with my chatter, and I believe I have only made you cross."

   "Was it you I did not recognise when I was delirious?" Raskolnikov asked, after a moment's pause without turning his head.

   "Yes, and you flew into a rage about it, especially when I brought Zametov one day."

   "Zametov? The head clerk from the police station? What for?" Raskolnikov turned round quickly and fixed his eyes on Razumihin.

   "What's the matter with you? . . . What are you upset about? He is a capital fellow and I have found out much from him. We are friends-- see each other almost every day."

   "Did I say anything in delirium?"

   "I should think so! You were beside yourself."

   "What did I rave about?"

   "How he keeps on! Are you afraid of having let out some secret? Don't worry yourself; you said nothing about a countess. But you said a lot about a bulldog, earrings, chains, and Krestovsky Island, and some porter and Nikodim Fomitch (district superintendent at police station) and Ilya Petrovitch.(assistant police superintendent) You whined about a sock, 'Give me my sock.' Now to business! Here are thirty five roubles; I will take ten and give you an account of them in an hour or two. You Nastaysa, keep an eye on him, I will tell Pashenka what is wanted myself. Good-bye!"

   "He calls her Pashenka! Ah, he's a deep one!" said Nastaysa as he went out; then she opened the door and stood listening, but could not resist running downstairs after him. She was very eager to hear what he would say to the landlady. She was evidently quite fascinated by Razumihin.

   No sooner had Nastaysa left the room, the sick man was standing in the middle of the room and gazed in miserable bewilderment about him, he walked to the door listened; but that was not what he wanted. Suddenly as though recalling something, he rushed to the corner where the hole was under the wallpaper. Then remembering the stove where he placed the sock and frayed edges of his trousers and pockets. No one noticed them. Why did Razumihin bring Zametov? (head clerk at police station) "What does it mean? Am I still in delirium, or is it real? I believe it is real . . . Ah, I remember; I must escape! Yes . . . but where are my clothes? I've no boots. They've taken them away! They've hidden them! I understand! Here is money on the table. I'll take the money and get another lodging.

   He gulped the glass of beer down, quenching a flame. The beer quickly went to his head sending a pleasant shiver down his spine. He lay back down and pulled the quilt over him, sinking into a deep, refreshing sleep.

   Razumihin woke him up coming in the door six hours later. "I've been waiting for you to wake up the last three hours."


1 comment:

  1. Hmmm, I think you really are a professor. You teach Literature there at the university right?