lebeziatnikov looked perturbed.
"i've come to you, sofya semyonovna," he began. "excuse me . . . i thought i should find you," he said, addressing raskolnikov suddenly, "that is, i didn't mean anything . . . of that sort . . . but i just thought . . . katerina ivanovna has gone out of her mind," he blurted out suddenly, turning from raskolnikov to sonia.
sonia screamed.
"at least it seems so. but . . . we don't know what to do, you see! she came back--she seems to have been turned out somewhere, perhaps beaten. . . . so it seems at least, . . . she had run to your father's former chief, she didn't find him at home: he was dining at some other general's. . . . only fancy, she rushed off there, to the other general's, and, imagine, she was so persistent that she managed to get the chief to see her, had him fetched out from dinner, it seems. you can imagine what happened. she was turned out, of course; but, according to her own story, she abused him and threw something at him. one may well believe it. . . . how it is she wasn't taken up, i can't understand! now she is telling everyone, including amalia ivanovna; but it's difficult to understand her, she is screaming and flinging herself about. . . . oh yes, she shouts that since everyone has abandoned her, she will take the children and go into the street with a barrel-organ, and the children will sing and dance, and she too, and collect money, and will go every day under the general's window . . . 'to let everyone see well-born children, whose father was an official, begging in the street.' she keeps beating the children and they are all crying. she is teaching lida to sing 'my village,' the boy to dance, polenka the same. she is tearing up all the clothes, and making them little caps like actors; she means to carry a tin basin and make it tinkle, instead of music. . . . she won't listen to anything. . . . imagine the state of things! it's beyond anything!"
lebeziatnikov would have gone on, but sonia, who had heard him almost breathless, snatched up her cloak and hat, and ran out of the room, putting on her things as she went. raskolnikov followed her and lebeziatnikov came after him.
"she has certainly gone mad!" he said to raskolnikov, as they went out into the street. "i didn't want to frighten sofya semyonovna, so i said 'it seemed like it,' but there isn't a doubt of it. they say that in consumption the tubercles sometimes occur in the brain; it's a pity i know nothing of medicine. i did try to persuade her, but she wouldn't listen."
"did you talk to her about the tubercles?"
"not precisely of the tubercles. besides, she wouldn't have understood! but what i say is, that if you convince a person logically that he has nothing to cry about, he'll stop crying. that's clear. is it your conviction that he won't?"
"life would be too easy if it were so," answered raskolnikov.
"excuse me, excuse me; of course it would be rather difficult for katerina ivanovna to understand, but do you know that in paris they have been conducting serious experiments as to the possibility of curing the insane, simply by logical argument? one professor there, a scientific man of standing, lately dead, believed in the possibility of such treatment. his idea was that there's nothing really wrong with the physical organism of the insane, and that insanity is, so to say, a logical mistake, an error of judgment, an incorrect view of things. he gradually showed the madman his error and, would you believe it, they say he was successful? but as he made use of douches too, how far success was due to that treatment remains uncertain. . . . so it seems at least."
raskolnikov had long ceased to listen. reaching the house where he lived, he nodded to lebeziatnikov and went in at the gate. lebeziatnikov woke up with a start, looked about him and hurried on.
raskolnikov went into his little room and stood still in the middle of it. why had he come back here? he looked at the yellow and tattered paper, at the dust, at his sofa. . . . from the yard came a loud continuous knocking; someone seemed to be hammering . . . he went to the window, rose on tiptoe and looked out into the yard for a long time with an air of absorbed attention. but the yard was empty and he could not see who was hammering. in the house on the left he saw some open windows; on the window-sills were pots of sickly-looking geraniums. linen was hung out of the windows . . . he knew it all by heart. he turned away and sat down on the sofa.
never, never had he felt himself so fearfully alone!
yes, he felt once more that he would perhaps come to hate sonia, now that he had made her more miserable.
"why had he gone to her to beg for her tears? what need had he to poison her life? oh, the meanness of it!"
"i will remain alone," he said resolutely, "and she shall not come to the prison!"
five minutes later he raised his head with a strange smile. that was a strange thought.
"perhaps it really would be better in siberia," he thought suddenly.
he could not have said how long he sat there with vague thoughts surging through his mind. all at once the door opened and dounia came in. at first she stood still and looked at him from the doorway, just as he had done at sonia; then she came in and sat down in the same place as yesterday, on the chair facing him. he looked silently and almost vacantly at her.
"don't be angry, brother; i've only come for one minute," said dounia.
her face looked thoughtful but not stern. her eyes were bright and soft. he saw that she too had come to him with love.
"brother, now i know all, /all/. dmitri prokofitch has explained and told me everything. they are worrying and persecuting you through a stupid and contemptible suspicion. . . . dmitri prokofitch told me that there is no danger, and that you are wrong in looking upon it with such horror. i don't think so, and i fully understand how indignant you must be, and that that indignation may have a permanent effect on you. that's what i am afraid of. as for your cutting yourself off from us, i don't judge you, i don't venture to judge you, and forgive me for having blamed you for it. i feel that i too, if i had so great a trouble, should keep away from everyone. i shall tell mother nothing /of this/, but i shall talk about you continually and shall tell her from you that you will come very soon. don't worry about her; /i/ will set her mind at rest; but don't you try her too much--come once at least; remember that she is your mother. and now i have come simply to say" (dounia began to get up) "that if you should need me or should need . . . all my life or anything . . . call me, and i'll come. good-bye!"
she turned abruptly and went towards the door.
"dounia!" raskolnikov stopped her and went towards her. "that razumihin, dmitri prokofitch, is a very good fellow."
dounia flushed slightly.
"well?" she asked, waiting a moment.
"he is competent, hardworking, honest and capable of real love. . . . good-bye, dounia."
dounia flushed crimson, then suddenly she took alarm.
"but what does it mean, brother? are we really parting for ever that you . . . give me such a parting message?"
"never mind. . . . good-bye."
he turned away, and walked to the window. she stood a moment, looked at him uneasily, and went out troubled.
no, he was not cold to her. there was an instant (the very last one) when he had longed to take her in his arms and /say good-bye/ to her, and even /to tell/ her, but he had not dared even to touch her hand.
"afterwards she may shudder when she remembers that i embraced her, and will feel that i stole her kiss."
"and would /she/ stand that test?" he went on a few minutes later to himself. "no, she wouldn't; girls like that can't stand things! they never do."
and he thought of sonia.
there was a breath of fresh air from the window. the daylight was fading. he took up his cap and went out.
he could not, of course, and would not consider how ill he was. but all this continual anxiety and agony of mind could not but affect him. and if he were not lying in high fever it was perhaps just because this continual inner strain helped to keep him on his legs and in possession of his faculties. but this artificial excitement could not last long.
he wandered aimlessly. the sun was setting. a special form of misery had begun to oppress him of late. there was nothing poignant, nothing acute about it; but there was a feeling of permanence, of eternity about it; it brought a foretaste of hopeless years of this cold leaden misery, a foretaste of an eternity "on a square yard of space." towards evening this sensation usually began to weigh on him more heavily.
"with this idiotic, purely physical weakness, depending on the sunset or something, one can't help doing something stupid! you'll go to dounia, as well as to sonia," he muttered bitterly.
he heard his name called. he looked round. lebeziatnikov rushed up to him.
"only fancy, i've been to your room looking for you. only fancy, she's carried out her plan, and taken away the children. sofya semyonovna and i have had a job to find them. she is rapping on a frying-pan and making the children dance. the children are crying. they keep stopping at the cross-roads and in front of shops; there's a crowd of fools running after them. come along!"
"and sonia?" raskolnikov asked anxiously, hurrying after lebeziatnikov.
"simply frantic. that is, it's not sofya semyonovna's frantic, but katerina ivanovna, though sofya semyonova's frantic too. but katerina ivanovna is absolutely frantic. i tell you she is quite mad. they'll be taken to the police. you can fancy what an effect that will have. . . . they are on the canal bank, near the bridge now, not far from sofya semyonovna's, quite close."
on the canal bank near the bridge and not two houses away from the one where sonia lodged, there was a crowd of people, consisting principally of gutter children. the hoarse broken voice of katerina ivanovna could be heard from the bridge, and it certainly was a strange spectacle likely to attract a street crowd. katerina ivanovna in her old dress with the green shawl, wearing a torn straw hat, crushed in a hideous way on one side, was really frantic. she was exhausted and breathless. her wasted consumptive face looked more suffering than ever, and indeed out of doors in the sunshine a consumptive always looks worse than at home. but her excitement did not flag, and every moment her irritation grew more intense. she rushed at the children, shouted at them, coaxed them, told them before the crowd how to dance and what to sing, began explaining to them why it was necessary, and driven to desperation by their not understanding, beat them. . . . then she would make a rush at the crowd; if she noticed any decently dressed person stopping to look, she immediately appealed to him to see what these children "from a genteel, one may say aristocratic, house" had been brought to. if she heard laughter or jeering in the crowd, she would rush at once at the scoffers and begin squabbling with them. some people laughed, others shook their heads, but everyone felt curious at the sight of the madwoman with the frightened children. the frying-pan of which lebeziatnikov had spoken was not there, at least raskolnikov did not see it. but instead of rapping on the pan, katerina ivanovna began clapping her wasted hands, when she made lida and kolya dance and polenka sing. she too joined in the singing, but broke down at the second note with a fearful cough, which made her curse in despair and even shed tears. what made her most furious was the weeping and terror of kolya and lida. some effort had been made to dress the children up as street singers are dressed. the boy had on a turban made of something red and white to look like a turk. there had been no costume for lida; she simply had a red knitted cap, or rather a night cap that had belonged to marmeladov, decorated with a broken piece of white ostrich feather, which had been katerina ivanovna's grandmother's and had been preserved as a family possession. polenka was in her everyday dress; she looked in timid perplexity at her mother, and kept at her side, hiding her tears. she dimly realised her mother's condition, and looked uneasily about her. she was terribly frightened of the street and the crowd. sonia followed katerina ivanovna, weeping and beseeching her to return home, but katerina ivanovna was not to be persuaded.
"leave off, sonia, leave off," she shouted, speaking fast, panting and coughing. "you don't know what you ask; you are like a child! i've told you before that i am not coming back to that drunken german. let everyone, let all petersburg see the children begging in the streets, though their father was an honourable man who served all his life in truth and fidelity, and one may say died in the service." (katerina ivanovna had by now invented this fantastic story and thoroughly believed it.) "let that wretch of a general see it! and you are silly, sonia: what have we to eat? tell me that. we have worried you enough, i won't go on so! ah, rodion romanovitch, is that you?" she cried, seeing raskolnikov and rushing up to him. "explain to this silly girl, please, that nothing better could be done! even organ-grinders earn their living, and everyone will see at once that we are different, that we are an honourable and bereaved family reduced to beggary. and that general will lose his post, you'll see! we shall perform under his windows every day, and if the tsar drives by, i'll fall on my knees, put the children before me, show them to him, and say 'defend us father.' he is the father of the fatherless, he is merciful, he'll protect us, you'll see, and that wretch of a general. . . . lida, /tenez vous droite/! kolya, you'll dance again. why are you whimpering? whimpering again! what are you afraid of, stupid? goodness, what am i to do with them, rodion romanovitch? if you only knew how stupid they are! what's one to do with such children?"
and she, almost crying herself--which did not stop her uninterrupted, rapid flow of talk--pointed to the crying children. raskolnikov tried to persuade her to go home, and even said, hoping to work on her vanity, that it was unseemly for her to be wandering about the streets like an organ-grinder, as she was intending to become the principal of a boarding-school.
"a boarding-school, ha-ha-ha! a castle in the air," cried katerina ivanovna, her laugh ending in a cough. "no, rodion romanovitch, that dream is over! all have forsaken us! . . . and that general. . . . you know, rodion romanovitch, i threw an inkpot at him--it happened to be standing in the waiting-room by the paper where you sign your name. i wrote my name, threw it at him and ran away. oh, the scoundrels, the scoundrels! but enough of them, now i'll provide for the children myself, i won't bow down to anybody! she has had to bear enough for us!" she pointed to sonia. "polenka, how much have you got? show me! what, only two farthings! oh, the mean wretches! they give us nothing, only run after us, putting their tongues out. there, what is that blockhead laughing at?" (she pointed to a man in the crowd.) "it's all because kolya here is so stupid; i have such a bother with him. what do you want, polenka? tell me in french, /parlez-moi francais/. why, i've taught you, you know some phrases. else how are you to show that you are of good family, well brought-up children, and not at all like other organ-grinders? we aren't going to have a punch and judy show in the street, but to sing a genteel song. . . . ah, yes, . . . what are we to sing? you keep putting me out, but we . . . you see, we are standing here, rodion romanovitch, to find something to sing and get money, something kolya can dance to. . . . for, as you can fancy, our performance is all impromptu. . . . we must talk it over and rehearse it all thoroughly, and then we shall go to nevsky, where there are far more people of good society, and we shall be noticed at once. lida knows 'my village' only, nothing but 'my village,' and everyone sings that. we must sing something far more genteel. . . . well, have you thought of anything, polenka? if only you'd help your mother! my memory's quite gone, or i should have thought of something. we really can't sing 'an hussar.' ah, let us sing in french, 'cinq sous,' i have taught it you, i have taught it you. and as it is in french, people will see at once that you are children of good family, and that will be much more touching. . . . you might sing 'marlborough s'en va-t-en guerre,' for that's quite a child's song and is sung as a lullaby in all the aristocratic houses.
"/marlborough s'en va-t-en guerre ne sait quand reviendra/ . . ."
she began singing. "but no, better sing 'cinq sous.' now, kolya, your hands on your hips, make haste, and you, lida, keep turning the other way, and polenka and i will sing and clap our hands!
"/cinq sous, cinq sous pour monter notre menage."
(cough-cough-cough!) "set your dress straight, polenka, it's slipped down on your shoulders," she observed, panting from coughing. "now it's particularly necessary to behave nicely and genteelly, that all may see that you are well-born children. i said at the time that the bodice should be cut longer, and made of two widths. it was your fault, sonia, with your advice to make it shorter, and now you see the child is quite deformed by it. . . . why, you're all crying again! what's the matter, stupids? come, kolya, begin. make haste, make haste! oh, what an unbearable child!
"cinq sous, cinq sous.
"a policeman again! what do you want?"
a policeman was indeed forcing his way through the crowd. but at that moment a gentleman in civilian uniform and an overcoat--a solid- looking official of about fifty with a decoration on his neck (which delighted katerina ivanovna and had its effect on the policeman)-- approached and without a word handed her a green three-rouble note. his face wore a look of genuine sympathy. katerina ivanovna took it and gave him a polite, even ceremonious, bow.
"i thank you, honoured sir," she began loftily. "the causes that have induced us (take the money, polenka: you see there are generous and honourable people who are ready to help a poor gentlewoman in distress). you see, honoured sir, these orphans of good family--i might even say of aristocratic connections--and that wretch of a general sat eating grouse . . . and stamped at my disturbing him. 'your excellency,' i said, 'protect the orphans, for you knew my late husband, semyon zaharovitch, and on the very day of his death the basest of scoundrels slandered his only daughter.' . . . that policeman again! protect me," she cried to the official. "why is that policeman edging up to me? we have only just run away from one of them. what do you want, fool?"
"it's forbidden in the streets. you mustn't make a disturbance."
"it's you're making a disturbance. it's just the same as if i were grinding an organ. what business is it of yours?"
"you have to get a licence for an organ, and you haven't got one, and in that way you collect a crowd. where do you lodge?"
"what, a license?" wailed katerina ivanovna. "i buried my husband to-day. what need of a license?"
"calm yourself, madam, calm yourself," began the official. "come along; i will escort you. . . . this is no place for you in the crowd. you are ill."
"honoured sir, honoured sir, you don't know," screamed katerina ivanovna. "we are going to the nevsky. . . . sonia, sonia! where is she? she is crying too! what's the matter with you all? kolya, lida, where are you going?" she cried suddenly in alarm. "oh, silly children! kolya, lida, where are they off to? . . ."
kolya and lida, scared out of their wits by the crowd, and their mother's mad pranks, suddenly seized each other by the hand, and ran off at the sight of the policeman who wanted to take them away somewhere. weeping and wailing, poor katerina ivanovna ran after them. she was a piteous and unseemly spectacle, as she ran, weeping and panting for breath. sonia and polenka rushed after them.
"bring them back, bring them back, sonia! oh stupid, ungrateful children! . . . polenka! catch them. . . . it's for your sakes i . . ."
she stumbled as she ran and fell down.
"she's cut herself, she's bleeding! oh, dear!" cried sonia, bending over her.
all ran up and crowded around. raskolnikov and lebeziatnikov were the first at her side, the official too hastened up, and behind him the policeman who muttered, "bother!" with a gesture of impatience, feeling that the job was going to be a troublesome one.
"pass on! pass on!" he said to the crowd that pressed forward.
"she's dying," someone shouted.
"she's gone out of her mind," said another.
"lord have mercy upon us," said a woman, crossing herself. "have they caught the little girl and the boy? they're being brought back, the elder one's got them. . . . ah, the naughty imps!"
when they examined katerina ivanovna carefully, they saw that she had not cut herself against a stone, as sonia thought, but that the blood that stained the pavement red was from her chest.
"i've seen that before," muttered the official to raskolnikov and lebeziatnikov; "that's consumption; the blood flows and chokes the patient. i saw the same thing with a relative of my own not long ago . . . nearly a pint of blood, all in a minute. . . . what's to be done though? she is dying."
"this way, this way, to my room!" sonia implored. "i live here! . . . see, that house, the second from here. . . . come to me, make haste," she turned from one to the other. "send for the doctor! oh, dear!"
thanks to the official's efforts, this plan was adopted, the policeman even helping to carry katerina ivanovna. she was carried to sonia's room, almost unconscious, and laid on the bed. the blood was still flowing, but she seemed to be coming to herself. raskolnikov, lebeziatnikov, and the official accompanied sonia into the room and were followed by the policeman, who first drove back the crowd which followed to the very door. polenka came in holding kolya and lida, who were trembling and weeping. several persons came in too from the kapernaumovs' room; the landlord, a lame one-eyed man of strange appearance with whiskers and hair that stood up like a brush, his wife, a woman with an everlastingly scared expression, and several open-mouthed children with wonder-struck faces. among these, svidrigailov suddenly made his appearance. raskolnikov looked at him with surprise, not understanding where he had come from and not having noticed him in the crowd. a doctor and priest wore spoken of. the official whispered to raskolnikov that he thought it was too late now for the doctor, but he ordered him to be sent for. kapernaumov ran himself.
meanwhile katerina ivanovna had regained her breath. the bleeding ceased for a time. she looked with sick but intent and penetrating eyes at sonia, who stood pale and trembling, wiping the sweat from her brow with a handkerchief. at last she asked to be raised. they sat her up on the bed, supporting her on both sides.
"where are the children?" she said in a faint voice. "you've brought them, polenka? oh the sillies! why did you run away. . . . och!"
once more her parched lips were covered with blood. she moved her eyes, looking about her.
"so that's how you live, sonia! never once have i been in your room."
she looked at her with a face of suffering.
"we have been your ruin, sonia. polenka, lida, kolya, come here! well, here they are, sonia, take them all! i hand them over to you, i've had enough! the ball is over." (cough!) "lay me down, let me die in peace."
they laid her back on the pillow.
"what, the priest? i don't want him. you haven't got a rouble to spare. i have no sins. god must forgive me without that. he knows how i have suffered. . . . and if he won't forgive me, i don't care!"
she sank more and more into uneasy delirium. at times she shuddered, turned her eyes from side to side, recognised everyone for a minute, but at once sank into delirium again. her breathing was hoarse and difficult, there was a sort of rattle in her throat.
"i said to him, your excellency," she ejaculated, gasping after each word. "that amalia ludwigovna, ah! lida, kolya, hands on your hips, make haste! /glissez, glissez! pas de basque!/ tap with your heels, be a graceful child!
"/du hast diamanten und perlen/
"what next? that's the thing to sing.
"/du hast die schonsten augen madchen, was willst du mehr?/
"what an idea! /was willst du mehr?/ what things the fool invents! ah, yes!
"in the heat of midday in the vale of dagestan.
"ah, how i loved it! i loved that song to distraction, polenka! your father, you know, used to sing it when we were engaged. . . . oh those days! oh that's the thing for us to sing! how does it go? i've forgotten. remind me! how was it?"
she was violently excited and tried to sit up. at last, in a horribly hoarse, broken voice, she began, shrieking and gasping at every word, with a look of growing terror.
"in the heat of midday! . . . in the vale! . . . of dagestan! . . . with lead in my breast! . . ."
"your excellency!" she wailed suddenly with a heart-rending scream and a flood of tears, "protect the orphans! you have been their father's guest . . . one may say aristocratic. . . ." she started, regaining consciousness, and gazed at all with a sort of terror, but at once recognised sonia.
"sonia, sonia!" she articulated softly and caressingly, as though surprised to find her there. "sonia darling, are you here, too?"
they lifted her up again.
"enough! it's over! farewell, poor thing! i am done for! i am broken!" she cried with vindictive despair, and her head fell heavily back on the pillow.
she sank into unconsciousness again, but this time it did not last long. her pale, yellow, wasted face dropped back, her mouth fell open, her leg moved convulsively, she gave a deep, deep sigh and died.
sonia fell upon her, flung her arms about her, and remained motionless with her head pressed to the dead woman's wasted bosom. polenka threw herself at her mother's feet, kissing them and weeping violently. though kolya and lida did not understand what had happened, they had a feeling that it was something terrible; they put their hands on each other's little shoulders, stared straight at one another and both at once opened their mouths and began screaming. they were both still in their fancy dress; one in a turban, the other in the cap with the ostrich feather.
and how did "the certificate of merit" come to be on the bed beside katerina ivanovna? it lay there by the pillow; raskolnikov saw it.
he walked away to the window. lebeziatnikov skipped up to him.
"she is dead," he said.
"rodion romanovitch, i must have two words with you," said svidrigailov, coming up to them.
lebeziatnikov at once made room for him and delicately withdrew. svidrigailov drew raskolnikov further away.
"i will undertake all the arrangements, the funeral and that. you know it's a question of money and, as i told you, i have plenty to spare. i will put those two little ones and polenka into some good orphan asylum, and i will settle fifteen hundred roubles to be paid to each on coming of age, so that sofya semyonovna need have no anxiety about them. and i will pull her out of the mud too, for she is a good girl, isn't she? so tell avdotya romanovna that that is how i am spending her ten thousand."
"what is your motive for such benevolence?" asked raskolnikov.
"ah! you sceptical person!" laughed svidrigailov. "i told you i had no need of that money. won't you admit that it's simply done from humanity? she wasn't 'a louse,' you know" (he pointed to the corner where the dead woman lay), "was she, like some old pawnbroker woman? come, you'll agree, is luzhin to go on living, and doing wicked things or is she to die? and if i didn't help them, polenka would go the same way."
he said this with an air of a sort of gay winking slyness, keeping his eyes fixed on raskolnikov, who turned white and cold, hearing his own phrases, spoken to sonia. he quickly stepped back and looked wildly at svidrigailov.
"how do you know?" he whispered, hardly able to breathe.
"why, i lodge here at madame resslich's, the other side of the wall. here is kapernaumov, and there lives madame resslich, an old and devoted friend of mine. i am a neighbour."
"you?"
"yes," continued svidrigailov, shaking with laughter. "i assure you on my honour, dear rodion romanovitch, that you have interested me enormously. i told you we should become friends, i foretold it. well, here we have. and you will see what an accommodating person i am. you'll see that you can get on with me!"
列别贾特尼科夫神色惊慌不安。
“我是来找您的，索菲娅·谢苗诺芙娜。请原谅……我就料到会在家里找到您，”他突然对拉斯科利尼科夫说，“也就是说我根本没往……这方面想过……不过我想的是……卡捷琳娜·伊万诺芙娜在我们那儿发疯了，”他突然撇开拉斯科利尼科夫，斩钉截铁地对索尼娅说。
索尼娅惊叫了一声。
“也就是，至少是看上去好像疯了。不过……我们在那儿都不知道该怎么办，事情就是这样！她回来了，——好像不知从哪里把她赶了出来，也许还打了她……至少看上去好像是这样……她跑去找谢苗·扎哈雷奇的上司，在家里没找到他，他在一位也是将军的人家里吃饭……请您想想看，她就到他们吃饭的那儿去了……也就是到那另一位将军家里去了，而且，请您想想看，她坚持要把谢苗·扎哈雷奇的上司叫出来，而且，好像是要把人家从饭桌旁叫出来。可想而知，那里发生了什么事情。当然，人家赶走了她；她却说，她把他骂了一顿，还朝他扔了个什么东西。这甚至是可以想象得到的……怎么会没把她抓起来，——这可就不知道了！现在她正对大家讲这件事，也对阿玛莉娅·伊万诺芙娜说，只不过很难听懂她说什么，她在大喊大叫，浑身发抖……啊，对了：她说，而且高声叫嚷说，因为现在大家都抛弃了她，所以她要带着孩子们上街去，背着手摇风琴，让孩子们唱歌跳舞，她也唱歌跳舞，向观众讨钱，而且每天都到那位将军的窗子底下去……她说，‘让他们看到，父亲做过官的高贵的子弟怎样在街上乞讨！’ 她打那些孩子们，孩子们在哭。她教廖尼娅唱《小小农庄》，教男孩子跳舞，也教波琳娜·米哈依洛芙娜跳舞，撕掉所有的衣服；给他们做了些像给演员戴的那种小帽子；她想带着一个面盆，去敲敲打打，当作音乐……她什么话也不听……请您想想看，怎么能这样呢？这样简直是不行的！”
列别贾特尼科夫也许还会说下去的，但是几乎气也不喘地听着的索尼娅，突然抓起披巾、帽子，跑出屋去，一面跑，一面戴上帽子，披上披巾。拉斯科利尼科夫也跟着她出去了，列别贾特尼科夫跟在他的后面。
“一定是疯了！”他对拉斯科利尼科夫说，跟他一道来到了街上，“我只是不想吓坏索菲娅·谢苗诺芙娜，所以说：‘好像’，不过，这是毫无疑问的。据说，害肺病的人，结核也会突然跑到脑子里去；可惜我不懂医学。不过我曾试图说服她，可她什么话也不听。”
“您跟她谈结核了？”
“也就是说，不完全是谈结核。而且她什么也不会懂的。不过我说的是：如果合乎逻辑地劝说一个人，告诉他，其实他没有什么好哭的，那么他就不会再哭了。这是很清楚的。您却认为，他不会不哭吗？”
“要是那样的话，生活也就太容易了，”拉斯科利尼科夫回答。
“对不起，对不起；当然，要让卡捷琳娜·伊万诺芙娜理解，那是相当困难的；不过您是不是知道，巴黎已经在进行认真的试验了，试验单用合乎逻辑地劝说的办法，是不是有可能治好疯子？那里有一个教授，不久前才去世，是个很严肃的学者，他认为，可以这样治疗。他的基本观念是，疯子的机体并没有受到特殊损害，而疯狂这种症状，可以说是一种逻辑性的错误，判断的错误，对事物的不正确的看法。他逐渐驳倒病人的错误看法，您要知道，据说，获得了结果！不过因为他同时还使用了淋浴疗法，所以这种治疗的效果当然也就受到了怀疑……至少看来好像是这样……”
拉斯科利尼科夫早就已经没听他在说什么了。来到了自己那幢房子跟前，他向列别贾特尼科夫点了点头，转身进了大门。列别贾特尼科夫明白过来，朝四下里望了望，继续往前跑去。
拉斯科利尼科夫回到自己那间小屋里，站到房屋中间。
“他为什么回到这里来呢？”他扫视了一下这些微微发黄的破旧的墙纸，这些灰尘，他那张沙发床……从院子里传来不知是敲打什么的、连续不断的、刺耳的响声；好像什么地方在钉什么，在钉钉子……他走到窗前，踮起脚尖，朝院子里望了好久，好像异常关心的样子。但院子里空荡荡的，看不见有人在敲打什么。左边厢房里，可以看到有些地方窗子敞着；窗台上摆着几盆长得很不茂盛的天竺葵，窗外晾着内衣……
这一切他都太熟悉了。于是他转身坐到沙发上。
他从来，还从来没感到过这样可怕的孤独！
是的，他又一次感觉到，也许他真的会痛恨索尼娅，而且正是现在，在他使她更加不幸以后，他却要恨她。“他为什么去她那里，乞求她的眼泪？他为什么一定要坑害她一辈子？
噢，卑鄙！”
“我还是孤单单的一个人吧！”他突然坚决地说，“她也不会到监狱去看我！”
过了大约五分钟，他抬起头来，奇怪地微微一笑。这是一个奇怪的想法：“也许去服苦役当真会好一些，”他突然想。
他脑子里塞满种种模模糊糊的想法，他记不得这样在自己屋里坐了多久。突然房门开了，进来的是阿芙多季娅·罗曼诺芙娜。她先站住，像不久前索尼娅进来时那样，从门口看了看他，然后才进来，在他对面的椅子上坐下，坐在昨天她坐过的地方。他默默地看了她一眼，不知为什么心里什么也没有想。
“你别生气，哥哥，我只待一会儿，”杜尼娅说。她脸上的表情若有所思，但并不严峻。她的目光明亮而且平静。他看出，这一个也是满怀着爱心来找他的。
“哥哥，我现在什么都知道了，一切都知道了。德米特里·普罗科菲伊奇把一切都告诉了我，讲给我听了。由于愚蠢和卑鄙的怀疑，你受到迫害，受尽折磨……德米特里·普罗科菲伊奇对我说，没有任何危险，你用不着对这件事感到那么害怕。我倒不这样想，而且完全理解你心里感到多么愤慨，这样的愤慨会在你心里留下永不磨灭的痕迹。我担心的就是这一点。你抛弃了我们，我并不责备你，也不敢责备你，我以前责备过你，请你原谅我。我自己也觉得，如果我心里有这么大的痛苦，我也会离开所有的人。关于这件事，我什么也不会告诉母亲，不过会经常不断地谈起你，还要用你的名义告诉她，说你很快就会去看她。你不要为她难过，我会安慰她的；不过请你也不要折磨她，——哪怕去看她一次也好；你要记住，她是母亲！现在我来，只是要告诉你（杜尼娅说着从座位上站起来），如果万一你需要我做什么事情，或者你需要……我的整个生命或者什么…… 那么只要你喊一声，我就会来。别了！”
她急遽地转身往门口走去。
“杜尼娅！”拉斯科利尼科夫叫住了她，站起来，走到她跟前，“这个拉祖米欣，德米特里·普罗科菲伊奇，是个很好的人。”
杜尼娅微微脸红了。
“说呀！”稍等了一会儿，她问。
“他是个能干、勤劳、正直而且能热爱人的人……别了，杜尼娅！”
杜尼娅满脸绯红，随后突然惊慌起来：
“可你这是什么意思，哥哥，难道我们真的要永远分别了，所以你给我……留下这几句遗言？”
“反正一样……别了……”
他转身离开她，朝窗前走去。她站了一会儿，担心地看了看他，十分担忧地走了。
不，他对她并不是冷酷无情。有一瞬间（最后一刹那），他非常想紧紧拥抱她，和她告别，甚至还想告诉她，可是就连跟她握手，他也下不了决心：
“以后，她想起现在我拥抱过她，也许会发抖的，还会说，是我偷去了她的吻！”
“这个人经受得住吗？”几分钟以后他暗自补充说。“不，她经受不住；这样的人是经受不住的！这样的人永远也经受不住……”
于是他想起了索尼娅。
从窗外吹进一阵凉爽的微风。外面光线已经不是那么亮了。他突然拿起帽子，走了出去。
他当然不能，而且也不想注意自己的病情。但是所有这些不断的担忧和内心的恐惧，对他的病情却不能不产生影响。如果说他虽然在发高烧，却没有完全病倒，那也许正是因为这内心里不断的忧虑还在支持着他，不让他倒下来，让他的头脑保持清醒，不过这种状况是人为的，暂时的。
他无目的地徘徊着。太陽正在慢慢地落下去。最近他开始感到一种特殊的烦闷。这烦闷中并没有任何特别刺激他、让他特别伤心的东西；但是他却感觉到，这愁闷是经常的和永恒的，预感到这令人沮丧的、无情的烦闷将终生伴随着他，无穷无尽，预感到他将永远站在那“一俄尺见方的空间”。通常，在黄昏时分，这种感觉会使他更加痛苦。
“太陽落山会让人身体特别虚弱，在这种十分愚蠢、纯粹是体力虚弱的情况下，可要当心，别干出什么蠢事来！这时你不但会去找索尼娅，而且还会去找杜尼娅呢！”他憎恨地喃喃地说。
有人喊了他一声。他回头一看；列别贾特尼科夫向他跑来。
“您要知道，我去过您那里，去找您。您信不信，她怎么想，真的就那么干了，领着孩子们出去了！我和索菲娅·谢苗诺芙娜好容易才找到他们。她自己敲着煎锅，让孩子们跳舞。孩子们在哭。他们停在十字路口几家小铺子前面。一群蠢人跟着他们跑。咱们快去吧。”
“索尼娅呢？……”拉斯科利尼科夫担心地问，赶紧跟着列别贾特尼科夫走了。
“简直是发疯了。也就是说，发疯的不是索菲娅·谢苗诺芙娜，而是卡捷琳娜·伊万诺芙娜，不过索菲娅·谢苗诺芙娜也快疯了。我告诉您，她完全疯了。会把他们弄到警察局去的。您要知道，这会产生什么影响啊……他们这会儿在运河岸上，x桥附近，离索菲娅·谢苗诺芙娜那里不远。近得很。”
离桥不太远，和索尼娅住的房子隔着不到两幢房子，那儿运河岸上聚集着一小群人。小男孩和小姑娘们特别多。还从桥上就听到了卡捷琳娜·伊万诺芙娜异常激动的、嘶哑的声音。这当真是一个很能吸引街头观众的、奇怪的场面。卡捷琳娜·伊万诺芙娜穿着她那件旧连衫裙，披着德拉德达姆呢的披巾，歪戴着一顶已经压得不像帽子的破草帽，的确像真的疯了一样。她累坏了，气喘吁吁。她那害肺病的、疲惫不堪的脸，看上去比以往任何时候都更痛苦（何况在街上，在陽光下，害肺病的人看上去总好像比在屋里的时候病得更厉害，显得更难看）；但是她那激动的心情并未平静下来，她的怒气反而每时每刻都在增长。她冲到孩子们跟前，对他们高声叫喊，就在这里，当着观众，哄他们，教他们跳舞、唱歌，还对他们解释，为什么要这样做，因为他们不理解她的意思，她感到绝望了，于是动手打他们……随后，跟孩子们还没说完，又突然朝观众跑去；如果发现一个穿得稍微像样一点儿的人站下来观看，她就立刻对他解释说，请看，“高贵的家庭里，甚至可以说是贵族家庭的子弟”沦落到了什么样的地步。如果听到人群中有笑声或者是有人讥笑他们，她立刻就冲到那些无礼的人面前，和他们对骂起来。有人当真笑了，另一些人却在摇头；总之大家都很好奇，都想看看这个疯婆娘和那些吓坏了的孩子们。列别贾特尼科夫说的那个煎锅不见了，至少拉斯科利尼科夫没有看到；不过卡捷琳娜·伊万诺芙娜虽然没敲煎锅，在她逼着波列奇卡唱歌、廖尼娅和科利亚跳舞的时候，却用她那干瘦的手掌打起拍子来；而且她自己也跟着和唱，可是由于痛苦的咳嗽，每次唱到第二个音的时候，就猝然中断了，这样一来她又感到悲观失望了，于是咒骂自己的咳嗽，甚至会哭起来。最惹她生气的是科利亚和廖尼娅的哭泣和恐惧。真的，她曾试图让孩子们装扮起来，给他们穿上街头卖唱的男女艺人们穿的那种服装。男孩子头上裹着不知用什么做的红白相间的缠头巾，让他扮作土耳其人。廖尼娅却没有服装化装了；只给她头上戴了一顶已故的谢苗·扎哈雷奇的红绒线帽（或者不如说是一顶尖顶帽），帽子上又插了一段白鸵鸟毛，这鸵鸟毛还是卡捷琳娜·伊万诺芙娜祖母的遗物，至今一直作为传家宝保藏在箱子里。波列奇卡还是穿着平常穿的衣服。她胆怯而且惊慌失措地瞅着母亲，一步也不离开她，不让人看见她在掉泪，她猜到母亲疯了，不时焦急不安地朝四下里看看。街道和人群都让她觉得非常害怕。索尼娅寸步不离地紧跟着卡捷琳娜·伊万诺芙娜，哭着不断地恳求她回家去。但是卡捷琳娜·伊万诺芙娜无动于衷。
“别说了，索尼娅，别说了！”她急急忙忙，说得很快地高声叫嚷，气喘吁吁，不停地咳嗽。“你自己也不知道你是在要求什么，就像个小孩子似的！我已经跟你说过了，我决不回到那个醉鬼德国女人那里去。让大家都看到，让全圣彼得堡都看到，高贵的父亲的孩子们在乞讨，他们的父亲忠诚地服务了一辈子，而且可以说是以身殉职。（卡捷琳娜·伊万诺芙娜已经臆造出这样一个故事，而且盲目地对此深信不疑。）让这个，让这个卑鄙的将军看看。唉，索尼娅，你真傻：现在我们吃什么呢，你说说看？我们拖累了你，让你受够了苦，我不想再拖累你了！哎哟，罗季昂·罗曼内奇，这是您吗！”她看到了拉斯科利尼科夫，向他跑了过去，同时大声叫喊，“请您跟这个傻丫头解释解释，再没有比这样做更聪明的办法了！就连背手摇风琴的流浪乐师也能挣钱，可是人们一眼就能看出，就能分辨出来，我们是高贵的贫困家庭里的人，无依无靠，沦落到赤贫的地步，这个卑鄙的将军准会丢掉官职的，您瞧着吧！我们每天都到他窗子底下去，要是皇上打这儿路过，我就跪下来，让这些孩子们跪在前面，让他看看他们：‘父亲，你要保护他们呀！’他是孤儿们的父亲，他是仁慈的，他一定会保护我们，您会看到的，而这个卑鄙的将军……廖尼娅！tenez－vousdroite！1你，科利亚，马上又要跳舞了。你抽抽搭搭地哭什么？又哭！唉，你怕什么，怕什么呢，小傻瓜！上帝啊！我可拿他们怎么办呢，罗季昂·罗曼内奇！要是您知道的话，他们是多么不懂事啊！唉，拿这样的孩子们可怎么办呢！……”
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1法文，“站直”之意。
她向他指着那些嘤嘤啜泣的孩子，自己也几乎要哭出来了（但是这并不妨碍她继续滔滔不绝、毫不停顿、很快地说话）。拉斯科利尼科夫本想试图劝她回去，甚至想激起她的自尊心，说她像流浪乐师那样到街头来卖唱是不成体统的，因为她打算作贵族女子寄宿中学的校长……
“寄宿中学，哈——哈——哈！无法实现的梦想！”卡捷琳娜·伊万诺芙娜高声叫喊，笑过一阵以后，立刻不停地咳嗽起来，“不，罗季昂·罗曼诺维奇，梦想已经破灭了！所有人都抛弃了我们！……而这个卑鄙的将军……您要知道，罗季昂·罗曼内奇，我拿墨水瓶朝他扔了过去，——刚好在门房里的桌子上，签名簿旁有一个墨水瓶，我签了名，把墨水瓶朝他扔过去，就跑掉了。噢，卑鄙的人们，卑鄙的人们。我才瞧不起他们呢；现在我要自己来养活这些孩子，决不向任何人弯腰低头！我们折磨她已经折磨得够了！（她指指索尼娅。）波列奇卡，让我看看，收了多少钱了？怎么？总共才两个戈比？噢，这些卑鄙的家伙！什么也不给，只是伸着舌头跟着我们跑！喂，这个蠢货笑什么？（她指指人群中的一个人。）这都是因为，这个科利亚这么不机灵，尽给我添麻烦！你是怎么了，波列奇卡？用法语跟我说，parlez－moifrancais1我不是教过你，你不是会说几句吗！……要不然，怎么能看得出来，你们是高贵家庭里受过教育的孩子，根本不像那些流浪乐师们呢；我们可不是在街头演什么《彼特鲁什卡》2，而是唱高尚的抒情歌曲……啊，对了！我们唱什么呢？你们老是打断我，可我们……您要知道，罗季昂·罗曼内奇，我们在这里停留下来，是想挑一首歌来演唱的，——挑一首科利亚能够伴舞的歌……因为这一切，您要知道，我们都没有准备；应当商量一下，完全排练好，然后我们到涅瓦大街去，那儿上流社会的人要多得多，我们立刻就会引起他们的注意：廖尼娅会唱《小小农庄》……不过老是唱什么《小小农庄》，《小小农庄》，这首歌大家都会唱！我们应当唱一首优美得多的歌……喂，你想出什么来吗，波莉娅，哪怕你能帮帮母亲也好啊！我记性太差，记性太差了，要不，我会想得起来的！真的，不该唱《一个骠骑兵拄着马刀》3！哦，咱们用法语来唱《cinqsous！》4吧！我不是教过你们吗，是教过啊。主要是因为，这是用法语来唱的，那么人家立刻就会看出，你们是贵族家庭的孩子，这会更让人感动……甚至也可以唱《malboroughs’enva－t－enguerre》5，因为这完全是一首儿童歌曲，贵族家庭里摇着孩子哄他们睡觉的时候，都是唱这首歌：
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1法文，“用法语对我说”之意。
2《彼特鲁什卡》是俄罗斯民间讽刺木偶戏中一个很受欢迎的人物。
3用俄罗斯诗人康·尼·巴丘什科夫（一七八七——一八五五）的一首诗《离别》谱写的歌曲。在十九世纪，这首歌十分流行。
4法文，《五个苏》。这是法国剧本《上帝的恩惠》中乞丐们唱的一首歌。一个苏等于二十分之一法郎。
5法文，《马尔布鲁格准备远征》。这是一首流行的法国诙谐歌曲。
malboroughs’enva－t－enguerre，
nesaitquandreviendra……”1
她本来已经开始唱了……“不过，不，最好还是唱《cinqsous》！喂，科利亚，双手插腰，快，而你，廖尼娅，你也要往相反的方向转圈子，我跟波列奇卡和唱，打拍子！
cinqsous，cinqsous，
pourmonternotreménage……2
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1法文，马尔布鲁格准备远征，
不知何时才能踏上归程……
2法文，五个苏，五个苏，
安排我们家里的开支……
咳——咳——咳！（她不停地咳嗽起来。）把衣服拉好，波列奇卡，背带都滑下来了，”她咳着，稍喘了口气，说。“现在你们特别需要举止得体，显得特别尊严，好让大家都看到，你们是贵族子弟。当时我就说过，胸衣要裁得长一些，而且要用两幅布料。是你，索尼娅，当时你出主意说：‘短一些，短一些’，你看，结果让孩子穿着显得多难看……唉，你们又哭了！你们是怎么搞的，傻孩子们！好，科利亚，快点儿，开始吧，快点儿，快点儿，——哎呀，这孩子多讨厌啊！……
当兵的又来了！喂，你来干什么？”
真的，有个警察从人丛中挤了过来。可是就在这时候，有一个穿文官制服和大衣的先生，一个五十来岁、神态庄严、脖子上挂着勋章（对这一点卡捷琳娜·伊万诺芙娜非常高兴，而且这也影响了那个警察）的官员走近前来，默默地递给卡捷琳娜·伊万诺芙娜一张绿色的三卢布的钞票。他脸上流露出真挚的同情。卡捷琳娜·伊万诺芙娜接过钱来，并且彬彬有礼，甚至是恭恭敬敬地向他鞠了个躬。
“谢谢您，先生，”她高傲地说，“使我们流落街头的原因……波列奇卡，把钱拿去。你看，是有一些高尚和慷慨的人，立刻准备向落难的贵族妇人伸出援助之手。先生，您看到这些出身于高贵家庭的孤儿们了，甚至可以说他们有贵族亲友……可是这个将军却坐着吃松鸡……还要跺脚，因为我打扰了他……‘大人，’我说， ‘请您保护这些孤儿，因为您很熟悉已故的谢苗·扎哈雷奇，而且因为，就在他去世的那天，有一个最卑鄙的家伙诬陷他的亲生女儿……’这个当兵的又来了！请您保护我们！”她对那个官员高声呼喊，“这个当兵的干吗老来找我的麻烦？我们已经躲开了一个，从小市民街逃到这里来了……喂，关你什么事，傻瓜！”
“因为不准在街上这样。请不要胡闹。”
“你自己才是胡闹！我不过是像背着手摇风琴那样嘛，这关你什么事？”
“背手摇风琴要得到许可，可您未经许可，而且惊动了这么多人。您住在哪里？”
“怎么，许可，”卡捷琳娜·伊万诺芙娜喊叫起来。“我今天才安葬了丈夫，这还要什么许可！”
“太太，太太，请您安静下来，”那个官员说，“我们一道走，我送您回去……这儿，在人群当中，这可不好……您有病……”
“先生，先生，您什么也不了解！”卡捷琳娜·伊万诺芙娜大声叫喊，“我们去涅瓦大街，——索尼娅，索尼娅！她在哪儿？她也在哭！你们大家到底是怎么了！……科利亚，廖尼娅，你们上哪儿去？”她突然惊恐地大喊一声，“噢，傻孩子们！科利亚，廖尼娅，他们这是上哪儿去！……”
事情是这样的，科利亚和廖尼娅被街上的人群和发疯的母亲的反常行为吓坏了，而且看到那个当兵的要把他们抓起来，送到什么地方去，突然不约而同地手拉手逃跑了。可怜的卡捷琳娜·伊万诺芙娜高声哭喊着跑去追赶他们。她边哭边跑，气喘吁吁，那样子叫人看了觉得又不像话，又很可怜。
索尼娅和波列奇卡都急忙跑去追她。
“叫他们回来，叫他们回来，索尼娅！噢，这些不知好歹的傻孩子！……波莉娅！抓住他们……我都是为了你们呀……”
她拼命地跑着，绊了一下，跌倒了。
“她跌伤了，流血了！噢，上帝啊！”索尼娅弯下腰去看着她，喊了一声。
大家都跑拢来，拥挤着围成一圈。最先跑过来的人们当中有拉斯科利尼科夫和列别贾特尼科夫；那个官员也急忙走了过来，那个警察跟在他后面，抱怨说：“唉——！”并且挥了挥手，预感到事情麻烦了。
“走！走！”他赶开挤在周围的人们。
“她要死了！”有人叫喊。
“她疯了！”另一个说。
“上帝啊，保佑她吧！”一个女人画着十字说。“小姑娘和小男孩给抓住了吗？那不是，把他们领来了，大女儿抓住的……唉，这些任性的孩子！”
可是等大家仔细看了看卡捷琳娜·伊万诺芙娜，这才看清，她并不是像索尼娅所想的那样，碰到石头上，摔伤了，染红了路面的血是从她胸膛里、由喉咙里涌出来的。
“这我是知道的，我看到过，”那个官员对拉斯科利尼科夫和列别贾特尼科夫低声说，“这是肺痨；血这样涌出来，是会把人憋死的。还在不久前我就曾亲眼看到，我的一个女亲戚也是这样，吐出的血有一杯半……突然……不过，怎么办呢？她马上就会死的。”
“这儿来，这儿来，到我家去！”索尼娅恳求说，“瞧，我就住在这里！……就是这幢房子，从这儿数起，第二幢……到我家去，快，快！……”她一会儿跑到这个人那里，一会儿跑到另一个人跟前。“叫人去请医生……噢，上帝啊！”
多亏那个官员努力，事情总算顺利解决了，就连那个警察也帮着来抬卡捷琳娜·伊万诺芙娜。把她抬到索尼娅家去的时候，她几乎已经失去知觉，把她放到了床上。还在继续吐血，不过她开始慢慢苏醒过来了。几个人一起走进屋里，除了索尼娅，还有拉斯科利尼科夫和列别贾特尼科夫，那个官员和预先驱散了看热闹的人群的警察，人群中有几个一直跟着他们，直到门口。波列奇卡拉看浑身发抖、正在哭泣的科利亚和廖尼娅的手，把他们领进屋里。卡佩尔纳乌莫夫家的人也全都跑来了：卡佩尔纳乌莫夫是个跛子，又是独眼，样子很古怪，又粗又硬的头发直竖着，还留着连鬓胡子；他的妻子神情好像总是有点儿害怕的样子；他们的几个孩子脸上经常露出惊讶的神情，因此反而显得很呆板，而且他们都一直张着嘴。斯维德里盖洛夫突然也在这群人中间出现了。拉斯科利尼科夫惊讶地望了望他，不明白他是打哪儿来的，也不记得曾在看热闹的人群中看到过他。
大家都在谈论，该请医生和神甫来。那个官员虽然悄悄对拉斯科利尼科夫说，看来，现在请医生已经是多此一举了，不过还是叫人去请了。卡佩尔纳乌莫夫亲自跑去请医生。
然而卡捷琳娜·伊万诺芙娜已经苏醒过来，吐血也暂时停止了。她用痛苦的、然而是专注和感人的目光瞅着面色苍白、浑身发抖的索尼娅，索尼娅正在用手帕擦去她额上的汗珠；最后，她请求把她扶起来。让她在床上坐了起来，两边都有人扶着她。
“孩子们呢？”她有气无力地问。“你把他们领来了，波莉娅？噢，傻孩子们！……唉，你们跑什么……哎呀！”
鲜血还积在她那干裂的嘴唇上。她转着眼珠朝四下里望望，说：
“原来你是住在这样的地方，索尼娅！我连一次也没来过你这儿……现在却有机会……”
她痛苦地瞅了瞅索尼娅：
“我们把你的血都吸干了，索尼娅……波莉娅，廖尼娅，科利亚，到这儿来……瞧，他们都在这儿了，索尼娅，你就收留下他们吧……我把他们交给你了……就我来说，已经够了！……一切都完了！啊！……让我睡下来，至少让我安安静静地死吧……”
又让她躺到枕头上。
“什么？请神甫？……用不着……你们哪儿来的闲钱？……我没有罪！……不用忏悔，上帝也会宽恕我……他知道我受了多少苦！……即使他不宽恕我，那也就算了！……”
她越来越陷入不安宁的昏迷状态。有时她打个哆嗦，用眼睛往四下里看看，有一会儿认出了大家；但短时间的清醒后立刻又变得不省人事了。她声音嘶哑、困难地喘着气，仿佛喉咙里有个什么东西呼哧呼哧地响。
“我对他说：‘大人！……’”她拼命地喊出来，每说出一个词，都要喘息一下，“这个阿玛莉娅·柳德维戈芙娜……唉！廖尼娅，科利亚！双手叉腰，快，快，滑步——滑步，巴斯克人1的舞步！用脚打拍子……要作个舞姿优美的好孩子。
duhastdiamantenundperlen……2下面怎么唱
啊？应该唱……
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1巴斯克人是西班牙和法国的一个少数民族。
2德文，你有钻石和珍珠（这是舒伯特以海涅的诗句作歌词谱写的一首抒情歌曲）。
duhastdiescho(nstenaugen，
ma(dchen，waswillstdumehr？1
嗯，是吗，才不是这样呢！waswillstdumehr，——这是他臆造的，傻瓜！……啊，对了，还有：
中午溽暑难熬，在达吉斯坦伪山谷里……2
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1德文，你有一双最美的眼睛，姑娘，你还需要什么？
2这是俄罗斯著名作曲家米·阿·巴拉基烈夫（一八三六——一九一○）用莱蒙托夫的诗《梦》作歌词谱写的一首抒情歌曲。
啊，我多喜欢啊……这首抒情歌曲我真喜欢极了，波列奇卡！……你要知道，你父亲……在他还是我未婚夫的时候，他就唱过……噢，那些日子啊！……要是我们，要是我们也来唱这首歌，那该多好！啊！怎么唱的了，怎么唱的了……我忘了……你们提示一下啊，是怎么唱来的？”她异常激动，努力欠起身来。终于用可怕的嘶哑的声音，拼命叫喊着唱了起来，每唱一个词都累得喘不过气来，神色也越来越可怕了：
“中午溽暑难熬，在山谷里！……达吉斯坦！……
胸膛里带着一颗子弹！……”
“大人！”突然一声裂人心肺的哀号，泪水止不住地从她眼里流淌出来，“请您保护这些孤儿啊！您受过已故的谢苗·扎哈雷奇的款待！……甚至可以说是贵族家庭的！……啊！”她颤栗了一下，突然清醒过来，恐惧地看了看所有在场的人，但立刻认出了索尼娅。“索尼娅，索尼娅！”她柔和而又亲切地说，看到她站在自己面前，似乎感到惊讶，“索尼娅，亲爱的，你也在这里吗？”
又扶着她稍微欠起身来。
“够了！……是时候了！……别了，苦命的人！……驽马已经给赶得精疲力尽！1……再也没有——力——气了！”她绝望而痛恨地大喊一声，头沉重地倒在了枕头上。
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1这里她是以一匹累坏的马自比。这句话的意思是：“我这个身体虚弱的人已经给折磨得精疲力尽”。
她又昏迷过去了，但是这最后一次昏迷持续的时间不长。她那白中透黄、憔悴不堪的脸往后一仰，嘴张了开来，两条腿抽搐着伸直了。她深深地叹了一口气，死了。
索尼娅扑到她的尸体上，双手抱住她，头紧贴在死者干瘦的胸膛上，就这样一动不动了。波列奇卡伏在母亲脚边，吻她的脚，放声大哭。科利亚和廖尼娅还不明白发生了什么事，不过预感到这非常可怕，彼此用双手搭在对方的肩上，目不转睛地互相对看着，突然一下子一起张开小嘴，高声叫喊起来。两人还都穿着演出的服装：一个头上裹着缠头巾，另一个戴一顶插着鸵鸟毛的小圆帽。
这张“奖状”怎么会突然出现在床上，放在卡捷琳娜·伊万诺芙娜身旁？它就放在枕头旁边；拉斯科利尼科夫看到了它。
他走到窗前。列别贾特尼科夫也急忙到他跟前来了。
“她死了！”列别贾特尼科夫说。
“罗季昂·罗曼诺维奇，我要对您说两句必须要说的话，”斯维德里盖洛夫走过来，说。列别贾特尼科夫立刻让开，很客气地悄悄走到一边去了。斯维德里盖洛夫把感到惊讶的拉斯科利尼科夫拉到更远一些的一个角落