you will go mad, I am positive! Drink, pray, if only a few drops!"
He almost forced the glass of water into his hand. Raskolnikoff
raised it mechanically to his lips, when suddenly he thought better
of it, and replaced it on the table with disgust. "Yes, yes, you
have had a slight fit. One or two more, my friend, and you will
have another attack of your malady," observed the magistrate in the
kindest tone of voice, appearing greatly agitated. "Is it possible
that people can take so little care of themselves? It was the same
with Dmitri Prokofitch, who called here yesterday. I admit mine to
be a caustic temperament, that mine is a horrid disposition, but
that such a meaning could possibly be attributed to harmless
remarks. He called here yesterday, when you had gone, and in the
course of dinner he talked, talked. You had sent him, had you not?
But do sit down, batuchka! do sit down, for heaven's sake!"
"I did not indeed!--although I knew that he had called, and his
object in doing so!" replied Raskolnikoff dryly.
"Did you really know why?"
"I did. And what did you gather from it?"
"I gathered from it, batuchka! Rodion Romanovitch, the knowledge of
a good many of your doings--in fact, I know all! I know that you
went, towards nightfall, TO HIRE THE LODGINGS. I know that you
pulled the bell, and that a question of yours in connection with
bloodstains, as well as your manner, frightened both journeymen and
dvorniks. I know what was your mood at the time. Excitement of
such a kind will drive you out of your mind, be assured. A
praiseworthy indignation is at work within you, complaining now as
to destiny, now on the subject of police agents. You keep going
here and there to induce people as far as possible to formulate
their accusations. This stupid kind of tittle-tattle is hateful to
you, and you are anxious to put a stop to it as soon as possible.
Am I right? Have I laid finger on the sentiments which actuate
you? But you are not satisfied by turning your own brain, you want
to do, or rather do, the same thing to my good Razoumikhin.
Really, it is a pity to upset so good a fellow! His kindness
exposes him more than anyone else to suffer contagion from your own
malady. But you shall know all as soon as you shall be calmer.
Pray, therefore, once again sit down, batuchka! Try and recover
your spirits--you seem quite unhinged."
Raskolnikoff rose while looking at him with an air full of
contempt. "Tell me once for all," asked the latter, "tell me one
way or other, whether I am in your opinion an object for suspicion?
Speak up, Porphyrius Petrovitch, and explain yourself without any
more beating about the bush, and that forthwith!"
"Just one word, Rodion Romanovitch. This affair will end as God
knows best; but still, by way of form, I may have to ask you a few
more questions. Hence we are certain to meet again!" And with a
smile Porphyrius stopped before the young man. "Certain!" he
repeated. One might have fancied that he wished to say something
more. But he did not do so.
"Forgive my strange manner just now, Porphyrius Petrovitch, I was
hasty," began Raskolnikoff, who had regained all his self-
possession, and who even experienced an irresistible wish to chaff
the magistrate.
"Don't say any more, it was nothing," replied Porphyrius in almost
joyful tone. "Till we meet again!"
"Till we meet again!"
The young man forthwith went home. Having got there, he threw
himself on his couch, and for a quarter of an hour he tried to
arrange his ideas somewhat, inasmuch as they were very confused.
Within a few days Raskolnikoff convinced himself that Porphyrius
Petrovitch had no real proofs. Deciding to go out, in search of
fresh air, he took up his cap and made for the door, deep in
thought. For the first time he felt in the best of health, really
well. He opened the door, and encountered Porphyrius face to face.
The latter entered. Raskolnikoff staggered for a moment, but
quickly recovered. The visit did not dismay him. "Perhaps this is
the finale, but why does he come upon me like a cat, with muffled
tread? Can he have been listening?"
"I have been thinking for a long time of calling on you, and, as I
was passing, I thought I might drop in for a few minutes. Where
are you off to? I won't detain you long, only the time to smoke a
cigarette, if you will allow me?"
"Be seated, Porphyrius Petrovitch, be seated," said Raskolnikoff to
his guest, assuming such an air of friendship that he himself could
have been astonished at his own affability. Thus the victim, in
fear and trembling for his life, at last does not feel the knife at
his throat. He seated himself in front of Porphyrius, and gazed
upon him without flinching. Porphyrius blinked a little, and
commenced rolling his cigarette.
"Speak! speak!" Raskolnikoff mutely cried in his heart. "What are
you going to say?"
"Oh, these cigarettes!" Porphyrius Petrovitch commenced at last,
"they'll be the death of me, and yet I can't give them up! I am
always coughing--a tickling in the throat is setting in, and I am
asthmatical. I have been to consult Botkine of late; he examines
every one of his patients at least half an hour at a time. After
having thumped and bumped me about for ever so long, he told me,
amongst other things: 'Tobacco is a bad thing for you--your lungs
are affected.' That's all very well, but how am I to go without my
tobacco? What am I to use as a substitute? Unfortunately, I can't
drink, hah! hah! Everything is relative, I suppose, Rodion
Romanovitch?"
"There, he is beginning with some more of his silly palaver!"
Raskolnikoff growled to himself. His late interview with the
magistrate suddenly occurred to him, at which anger affected his
mind.
"Did you know, by-the-by, that I called on you the night before
last?" continued Porphyrius, looking about. "I was in this very
room. I happened to be coming this way, just as I am going to-day,
and the idea struck me to drop in. Your door was open--I entered,
hoping to see you in a few minutes, but went away again without
leaving my name with your servant. Do you never shut your place?"
Raskolnikoff's face grew gloomier and gloomier. Porphyrius
Petrovitch evidently guessed what the latter was thinking about.
"You did not expect visitors, Rodion Romanovitch?" said Porphyrius,
smiling graciously.
"I have called just to clear things up a bit. I owe you an
explanation," he went on, smiling and gently slapping the young man
on the knee; but almost at the self-same moment his face assumed a
serious and even sad expression, to Raskolnikoff's great
astonishment, to whom the magistrate appeared in quite a different
light. "At our last interview, an unusual scene took place between
us, Rodion. I somehow feel that I did not behave very well to you.
You remember, I dare say, how we parted; we were both more or less
excited. I fear we were wanting in the most common courtesy, and
yet we are both of us gentlemen."
"What can he be driving at now?" Raskolnikoff asked himself,
looking inquiringly at Porphyrius.
"I have come to the conclusion that it would be much better for us
to be more candid to one another," continued the magistrate,
turning his head gently aside and looking on the ground, as if he
feared to annoy his former victim by his survey. "We must not have
scenes of that kind again. If Mikolka had not turned up on that
occasion, I really do not know how things would have ended. You
are naturally, my dear Rodion, very irritable, and I must own that
I had taken that into consideration, for, when driven in a corner,
many a man lets out his secrets. 'If,' I said to myself, 'I could
only squeeze some kind of evidence out of him, however trivial,
provided it were real, tangible, and palpable, different from all
my psychological inferences!' That was my idea. Sometimes we
succeed by some such proceeding, but unfortunately that does not
happen every day, as I conclusively discovered on the occasion in
question. I had relied too much on your character."
"But why tell me all this now?" stammered Raskolnikoff, without in
any way understanding the object of his interlocutor's question.
"Does he, perhaps, think me really innocent?"
"You wish to know why I tell you this? Because I look upon it as a
sacred duty to explain my line of action. Because I subjected you,
as I now fully acknowledge, to cruel torture. I do not wish, my
dear Rodion, that you should take me for an ogre. Hence, by way of
justification, I purpose explaining to you what led up to it. I
think it needless to account for the nature and origin of the
reports which circulated originally, as also why you were connected
with them. There was, however, one circumstance, a purely
fortuitous one, and which need not now be mentioned, which aroused
my suspicions. From these reports and accidental circumstances,
the same conclusion became evolved for me. I make this statement
in all sincerity, for it was I who first implicated you with the
matter. I do not in any way notice, the particulars notified on
the articles found at the old woman's. That, and several others of
a similar nature, are of no kind of importance. At the same time,
I was aware of the incident which had happened at the police
office. What occurred there has been told me with the utmost
accuracy by some one who had been closely connected with it, and
who, most unwittingly, had brought things to a head. Very well,
then, how, under such circumstances, could a man help becoming
biased? 'One swallow does not make a summer,' as the English
proverb says: a hundred suppositions do not constitute one single
proof. Reason speaks in that way, I admit, but let a man try to
subject prejudice to reason. An examining magistrate, after all,
is only a man--hence given to prejudice.
"I also remembered, on the occasion in question, the article you
had published in some review. That virgin effort of yours, I
assure you, I greatly enjoyed--as an amateur, however, be it
understood. It was redolent of sincere conviction, of genuine
enthusiasm. The article was evidently written some sleepless night
under feverish conditions. That author, I said to myself, while
reading it, will do better things than that. How now, I ask you,
could I avoid connecting that with what followed upon it? Such a
tendency was but a natural one. Am I saying anything I should not?
Am I at this moment committing myself to any definite statement? I
do no more than give utterance to a thought which struck me at the
time. What may I be thinking about now? Nothing--or, at all
events, what is tantamount to it. For the time being, I have to
deal with Mikolka; there are facts which implicate him--what are
facts, after all? If I tell you all this now, as I am doing, I do
so, I assure you, most emphatically, so that your mind and
conscience may absolve me from my behavior on the day of our
interview. 'Why,' you will ask, 'did you not come on that occasion
and have my place searched?' I did so, hah! hah! I went when you
were ill in bed--but, let me tell you, not officially, not in my
magisterial capacity; but go I did. We had your rooms turned
topsy-turvy at our very first suspicions, but umsonst! Then I said
to myself: 'That man will make me a call, he will come of his own
accord, and that before very long! If he is guilty, he will be
bound to come. Other kinds of men would not do so, but this one
will.'
"And you remember, of course, Mr. Razoumikhin's chattering? We had
purposely informed him of some of our suspicions, hoping that he
might make you uneasy, for we knew perfectly well that Razoumikhin
would not be able to contain his indignation. Zametoff, in
particular, had been struck by your boldness, and it certainly was
a bold thing for a person to exclaim all of a sudden in an open
traktir: 'I am an assassin!' That was really too much of a good
thing. Well, I waited for you with trusting patience, and, lo and
behold, Providence sends you! How my heart did beat when I saw you
coming! Now, I ask you, where was the need of your coming at that
time at all? If you remember, you came in laughing immoderately.
That laughter gave me food for thought, but, had I not been very
prejudiced at the time, I should have taken no notice of it. And
as for Mr. Razoumikhin on that occasion--ah! the stone, the stone,
you will remember, under which the stolen things are hidden? I
fancy I can see it from here; it is somewhere in a kitchen garden--
it was a kitchen garden you mentioned to Zametoff, was it not? And
then, when your article was broached, we fancied we discovered a
latent thought beneath every word you uttered. That was the way,
Rodion Romanovitch, that my conviction grew little by little. 'And
yet,' said I to myself, 'all that may be explained in quite a
different way, and perhaps more rationally. After all, a real
proof, however slight, would be far more valuable.' But, when I
heard all about the bell-ringing, my doubts vanished; I fancied I
had the indispensable proof, and did not seem to care for further
investigation.
"We are face to face with a weird and gloomy case--a case of a
contemporary character, if I may say so--a case possessing, in the
fullest sense of the word, the hallmark of time, and circumstances
pointing to a person and life of different surroundings. The real
culprit is a theorist, a bookworm, who, in a tentative kind of way,
has done a more than bold thing; but this boldness of his is of
quite a peculiar and one-sided stamp; it is, after a fashion, like
that of a man who hurls himself from the top of a mountain or
church steeple. The man in question has forgotten to cut off
evidence, and, in order to work out a theory, has killed two
persons. He has committed a murder, and yet has not known how to
take possession of the pelf; what he has taken he has hidden under
a stone. The anguish he experienced while hearing knocking at the
door and the continued ringing of the bell, was not enough for him:
no, yielding to an irresistible desire of experiencing the same
horror, he has positively revisited the empty place and once more
pulled the bell. Let us, if you like, attribute the whole of this
to disease--to a semidelirious condition--by all means; but there
is another point to be considered: he has committed a murder, and
yet continues to look upon himself as a righteous man!"
Raskolnikoff trembled in every limb. "Then, who--who is it--that
has committed the murder?" he stammered forth, in jerky accents.
The examining magistrate sank back in his chair as though
astonished at such a question. "Who committed the murder?" he
retorted, as if he could not believe his own ears. "Why, you--you
did, Rodion Romanovitch! You!--" he added, almost in a whisper,
and in a tone of profound conviction.
Raskolnikoff suddenly rose, waited for a few moments, and sat down
again, without uttering a single word. All the muscles of his face
were slightly convulsed.
"Why, I see your lips tremble just as they did the other day,"
observed Porphyrius Petrovitch, with an air of interest. "You have
not, I think, thoroughly realized the object of my visit, Rodion
Romanovitch," he pursued, after a moment's silence, "hence your
great astonishment. I have called with the express intention of
plain speaking, and to reveal the truth."
"It was not I who committed the murder," stammered the young man,
defending himself very much like a child caught in the act of doing
wrong.
"Yes, yes, it was you, Rodion Romanovitch, it was you, and you
alone," replied the magistrate with severity. "Confess or not, as
you think best; for the time being, that is nothing to me. In
either case, my conviction is arrived at."
"If that is so, why have you called?" asked Raskolnikoff angrily.
"I once more repeat the question I have put you: If you think me
guilty, why not issue a warrant against me?"
"What a question! But I will answer you categorically. To begin
with, your arrest would not benefit me!"
"It would not benefit you? How can that be? From the moment of
being convinced, you ought to--"
"What is the use of my conviction, after all? For the time being,
it is only built on sand. And why should I have you placed AT
REST? Of course, I purpose having you arrested--I have called to
give you a hint to that effect--and yet I do not hesitate to tell
you that I shall gain nothing by it. Considering, therefore, the
interest I feel for you, I earnestly urge you to go and acknowledge
your crime. I called before to give the same advice. It is by far
the wisest thing you can do--for you as well as for myself, who
will then wash my hands of the affair. Now, am I candid enough?"
Raskolnikoff considered a moment. "Listen to me, Porphyrius
Petrovitch! To use your own statement, you have against me nothing
but psychological sentiments, and yet you aspire to mathematical
evidence. Who has told you that you are absolutely right?"
"Yes, Rodion Romanovitch, I am absolutely right. I hold a proof!
And this proof I came in possession of the other day: God has sent
it me!"
"What is it?"
"I shall not tell you, Rodion Romanovitch. But I have no right to
procrastinate. I am going to have you arrested! Judge, therefore:
whatever you purpose doing is not of much importance to me just
now; all I say and have said has been solely done for your
interest. The best alternative is the one I suggest, you may
depend on it, Rodion Romanovitch! When I shall have had you
arrested--at the expiration of a month or two, or even three, if
you like--you will remember my words, and you will confess. You
will be led to do so insensibly, almost without being conscious of
it. I am even of opinion that, after careful consideration, you
will make up your mind to make atonement. You do not believe me at
this moment, but wait and see. In truth, Rodion Romanovitch,
suffering is a grand thing. In the mouth of a coarse man, who
deprives himself of nothing, such a statement might afford food for
laughter. Never mind, however, but there lies a theory in
suffering. Mikolka is right. You won't escape, Rodion
Romanovitch."
Raskolnikoff rose and took his cap. Porphyrius Petrovitch did the
same. "Are you going for a walk? The night will be a fine one, as
long as we get no storm. That would be all the better though, as
it would clear the air."
"Porphyrius Petrovitch," said the young man, in curt and hurried
accents, "do not run away with the idea that I have been making a
confession to-day. You are a strange man, and I have listened to
you from pure curiosity. But remember, I have confessed to
nothing. Pray do not forget that."
"I shall not forget it, you may depend-- How he is trembling!
Don't be uneasy, my friend--I shall not forget your advice. Take a
little stroll, only do not go beyond certain limits. I must,
however, at all costs," he added with lowered voice, "ask a small
favor of you; it is a delicate one, but has an importance of its
own; assuming, although I would view such a contingency as an
improbable one--assuming, during the next forty-eight hours, the
fancy were to come upon you to put an end to your life (excuse me
my foolish supposition), would you mind leaving behind you
something in the shape of a note--a line or so--pointing to the
spot where the stone is?--that would be very considerate. Well, au
revoir! May God send you good thoughts!"
Porphyrius withdrew, avoiding Raskolnikoff's eye. The latter
approached the window, and impatiently waited till, according to
his calculation, the magistrate should be some distance from the
house. He then passed out himself in great haste.
A few days later, the prophecy of Porphyrius Petrovitch was
fulfilled. Driven by the torment of uncertainty and doubt,
Raskolnikoff made up his mind to confess his crime. Hastening
through the streets, and stumbling up the narrow stairway, he
presented himself at the police office.
With pale lips and fixed gaze, Raskolnikoff slowly advanced toward
Elia Petrovitch. Resting his head upon the table behind which the
lieutenant was seated, he wished to speak, but could only give vent
to a few unintelligible sounds.
"You are in pain, a chair! Pray sit down! Some water"
Raskolnikoff allowed himself to sink on the chair that was offered
him, but he could not take his eyes off Elia Petrovitch, whose face
expressed a very unpleasant surprise. For a moment both men looked
at one another in silence. Water was brought!
"It was I--" commenced Raskolnikoff.
"Drink."
With a movement of his hand the young man pushed aside the glass
which was offered him; then, in a low-toned but distinct voice he
made, with several interruptions, the following statement:--
"It was I who killed, with a hatchet, the old moneylender and her
sister, Elizabeth, and robbery was my motive."
Elia Petrovitch called for assistance. People rushed in from
various directions. Raskolnikoff repeated his confession.
Anton Chekhoff
The Safety Match
On the morning of October 6, 1885, in the office of the Inspector
of Police of the second division of S---- District, there appeared
a respectably dressed young man, who announced that his master,
Marcus Ivanovitch Klausoff, a retired officer of the Horse Guards,
separated from his wife, had been murdered. While making this
announcement the young man was white and terribly agitated. His
hands trembled and his eyes were full of terror.
"Whom have I the honor of addressing?" asked the inspector.
"Psyekoff, Lieutenant Klausoff's agent; agriculturist and
mechanician!"
The inspector and his deputy, on visiting the scene of the
occurrence in company with Psyekoff, found the following: Near the
wing in which Klausoff had lived was gathered a dense crowd. The
news of the murder had sped swift as lightning through the
neighborhood, and the peasantry, thanks to the fact that the day
was a holiday, had hurried together from all the neighboring
villages. There was much commotion and talk. Here and there,
pale, tear-stained faces were seen. The door of Klausoff's bedroom
was found locked. The key was inside.
"It is quite clear that the scoundrels got in by the window!" said
Psyekoff as they examined the door.
They went to the garden, into which the bedroom window opened. The
window looked dark and ominous. It was covered by a faded green
curtain. One corner of the curtain was slightly turned up, which
made it possible to look into the bedroom.
"Did any of you look into the window?" asked the inspector.
"Certainly not, your worship!" answered Ephraim, the gardener, a
little gray-haired old man, who looked like a retired sergeant.
"Who's going to look in, if all their bones are shaking?"
"Ah, Marcus Ivanovitch, Marcus Ivanovitch!" sighed the inspector,
looking at the window, "I told you you would come to a bad end! I
told the dear man, but he wouldn't listen! Dissipation doesn't
bring any good!"
"Thanks to Ephraim," said Psyekoff; "but for him, we would never
have guessed. He was the first to guess that something was wrong.
He comes to me this morning, and says: 'Why is the master so long
getting up? He hasn't left his bedroom for a whole week!' The
moment he said that, it was just as if some one had hit me with an
ax. The thought flashed through my mind, 'We haven't had a sight
of him since last Saturday, and to-day is Sunday'! Seven whole
days--not a doubt of it!"
"Ay, poor fellow!" again sighed the inspector. "He was a clever
fellow, finely educated, and kind-hearted at that! And in society,
nobody could touch him! But he was a waster, God rest his soul! I
was prepared for anything since he refused to live with Olga
Petrovna. Poor thing, a good wife, but a sharp tongue! Stephen!"
the inspector called to one of his deputies, "go over to my house
this minute, and send Andrew to the captain to lodge an information
with him! Tell him that Marcus Ivanovitch has been murdered. And
run over to the orderly; why should he sit there, kicking his
heels? Let him come here! And go as fast as you can to the
examining magistrate, Nicholas Yermolaiyevitch. Tell him to come
over here! Wait; I'll write him a note!"
The inspector posted sentinels around the wing, wrote a letter to
the examining magistrate, and then went over to the director's for
a glass of tea. Ten minutes later he was sitting on a stool,
carefully nibbling a lump of sugar, and swallowing the scalding
tea.
"There you are!" he was saying to Psyekoff; "there you are! A
noble by birth! a rich man--a favorite of the gods, you may say, as
Pushkin has it, and what did he come to? He drank and dissipated
and--there you are--he's murdered."