Part 4 Chapter 4_罪与罚英文版(陀思妥耶夫斯基)

Part 4 Chapter 4

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raskolnikov went straight to the house on the canal bank where sonia lived. it was an old green house of three storeys. he found the porter and obtained from him vague directions as to the whereabouts of kapernaumov, the tailor. having found in the corner of the courtyard the entrance to the dark and narrow staircase, he mounted to the second floor and came out into a gallery that ran round the whole second storey over the yard. while he was wandering in the darkness, uncertain where to turn for kapernaumov's door, a door opened three paces from him; he mechanically took hold of it.

"who is there?" a woman's voice asked uneasily.

"it's i . . . come to see you," answered raskolnikov and he walked into the tiny entry.

on a broken chair stood a candle in a battered copper candlestick.

"it's you! good heavens!" cried sonia weakly, and she stood rooted to the spot.

"which is your room? this way?" and raskolnikov, trying not to look at her, hastened in.

a minute later sonia, too, came in with the candle, set down the candlestick and, completely disconcerted, stood before him inexpressibly agitated and apparently frightened by his unexpected visit. the colour rushed suddenly to her pale face and tears came into her eyes . . . she felt sick and ashamed and happy, too. . . . raskolnikov turned away quickly and sat on a chair by the table. he scanned the room in a rapid glance.

it was a large but exceedingly low-pitched room, the only one let by the kapernaumovs, to whose rooms a closed door led in the wall on the left. in the opposite side on the right hand wall was another door, always kept locked. that led to the next flat, which formed a separate lodging. sonia's room looked like a barn; it was a very irregular quadrangle and this gave it a grotesque appearance. a wall with three windows looking out on to the canal ran aslant so that one corner formed a very acute angle, and it was difficult to see in it without very strong light. the other corner was disproportionately obtuse. there was scarcely any furniture in the big room: in the corner on the right was a bedstead, beside it, nearest the door, a chair. a plain, deal table covered by a blue cloth stood against the same wall, close to the door into the other flat. two rush-bottom chairs stood by the table. on the opposite wall near the acute angle stood a small plain wooden chest of drawers looking, as it were, lost in a desert. that was all there was in the room. the yellow, scratched and shabby wall- paper was black in the corners. it must have been damp and full of fumes in the winter. there was every sign of poverty; even the bedstead had no curtain.

sonia looked in silence at her visitor, who was so attentively and unceremoniously scrutinising her room, and even began at last to tremble with terror, as though she was standing before her judge and the arbiter of her destinies.

"i am late. . . . it's eleven, isn't it?" he asked, still not lifting his eyes.

"yes," muttered sonia, "oh yes, it is," she added, hastily, as though in that lay her means of escape. "my landlady's clock has just struck . . . i heard it myself. . . ."

"i've come to you for the last time," raskolnikov went on gloomily, although this was the first time. "i may perhaps not see you again . . ."

"are you . . . going away?"

"i don't know . . . to-morrow. . . ."

"then you are not coming to katerina ivanovna to-morrow?" sonia's voice shook.

"i don't know. i shall know to-morrow morning. . . . never mind that: i've come to say one word. . . ."

he raised his brooding eyes to her and suddenly noticed that he was sitting down while she was all the while standing before him.

"why are you standing? sit down," he said in a changed voice, gentle and friendly.

she sat down. he looked kindly and almost compassionately at her.

"how thin you are! what a hand! quite transparent, like a dead hand."

he took her hand. sonia smiled faintly.

"i have always been like that," she said.

"even when you lived at home?"

"yes."

"of course, you were," he added abruptly and the expression of his face and the sound of his voice changed again suddenly.

he looked round him once more.

"you rent this room from the kapernaumovs?"

"yes. . . ."

"they live there, through that door?"

"yes. . . . they have another room like this."

"all in one room?"

"yes."

"i should be afraid in your room at night," he observed gloomily.

"they are very good people, very kind," answered sonia, who still seemed bewildered, "and all the furniture, everything . . . everything is theirs. and they are very kind and the children, too, often come to see me."

"they all stammer, don't they?"

"yes. . . . he stammers and he's lame. and his wife, too. . . . it's not exactly that she stammers, but she can't speak plainly. she is a very kind woman. and he used to be a house serf. and there are seven children . . . and it's only the eldest one that stammers and the others are simply ill . . . but they don't stammer. . . . but where did you hear about them?" she added with some surprise.

"your father told me, then. he told me all about you. . . . and how you went out at six o'clock and came back at nine and how katerina ivanovna knelt down by your bed."

sonia was confused.

"i fancied i saw him to-day," she whispered hesitatingly.

"whom?"

"father. i was walking in the street, out there at the corner, about ten o'clock and he seemed to be walking in front. it looked just like him. i wanted to go to katerina ivanovna. . . ."

"you were walking in the streets?"

"yes," sonia whispered abruptly, again overcome with confusion and looking down.

"katerina ivanovna used to beat you, i dare say?"

"oh no, what are you saying? no!" sonia looked at him almost with dismay.

"you love her, then?"

"love her? of course!" said sonia with plaintive emphasis, and she clasped her hands in distress. "ah, you don't. . . . if you only knew! you see, she is quite like a child. . . . her mind is quite unhinged, you see . . . from sorrow. and how clever she used to be . . . how generous . . . how kind! ah, you don't understand, you don't understand!"

sonia said this as though in despair, wringing her hands in excitement and distress. her pale cheeks flushed, there was a look of anguish in her eyes. it was clear that she was stirred to the very depths, that she was longing to speak, to champion, to express something. a sort of /insatiable/ compassion, if one may so express it, was reflected in every feature of her face.

"beat me! how can you? good heavens, beat me! and if she did beat me, what then? what of it? you know nothing, nothing about it. . . . she is so unhappy . . . ah, how unhappy! and ill. . . . she is seeking righteousness, she is pure. she has such faith that there must be righteousness everywhere and she expects it. . . . and if you were to torture her, she wouldn't do wrong. she doesn't see that it's impossible for people to be righteous and she is angry at it. like a child, like a child. she is good!"

"and what will happen to you?"

sonia looked at him inquiringly.

"they are left on your hands, you see. they were all on your hands before, though. . . . and your father came to you to beg for drink. well, how will it be now?"

"i don't know," sonia articulated mournfully.

"will they stay there?"

"i don't know. . . . they are in debt for the lodging, but the landlady, i hear, said to-day that she wanted to get rid of them, and katerina ivanovna says that she won't stay another minute."

"how is it she is so bold? she relies upon you?"

"oh, no, don't talk like that. . . . we are one, we live like one." sonia was agitated again and even angry, as though a canary or some other little bird were to be angry. "and what could she do? what, what could she do?" she persisted, getting hot and excited. "and how she cried to-day! her mind is unhinged, haven't you noticed it? at one minute she is worrying like a child that everything should be right to-morrow, the lunch and all that. . . . then she is wringing her hands, spitting blood, weeping, and all at once she will begin knocking her head against the wall, in despair. then she will be comforted again. she builds all her hopes on you; she says that you will help her now and that she will borrow a little money somewhere and go to her native town with me and set up a boarding school for the daughters of gentlemen and take me to superintend it, and we will begin a new splendid life. and she kisses and hugs me, comforts me, and you know she has such faith, such faith in her fancies! one can't contradict her. and all the day long she has been washing, cleaning, mending. she dragged the wash tub into the room with her feeble hands and sank on the bed, gasping for breath. we went this morning to the shops to buy shoes for polenka and lida for theirs are quite worn out. only the money we'd reckoned wasn't enough, not nearly enough. and she picked out such dear little boots, for she has taste, you don't know. and there in the shop she burst out crying before the shopmen because she hadn't enough. . . . ah, it was sad to see her. . . ."

"well, after that i can understand your living like this," raskolnikov said with a bitter smile.

"and aren't you sorry for them? aren't you sorry?" sonia flew at him again. "why, i know, you gave your last penny yourself, though you'd seen nothing of it, and if you'd seen everything, oh dear! and how often, how often i've brought her to tears! only last week! yes, i! only a week before his death. i was cruel! and how often i've done it! ah, i've been wretched at the thought of it all day!"

sonia wrung her hands as she spoke at the pain of remembering it.

"you were cruel?"

"yes, i--i. i went to see them," she went on, weeping, "and father said, 'read me something, sonia, my head aches, read to me, here's a book.' he had a book he had got from andrey semyonovitch lebeziatnikov, he lives there, he always used to get hold of such funny books. and i said, 'i can't stay,' as i didn't want to read, and i'd gone in chiefly to show katerina ivanovna some collars. lizaveta, the pedlar, sold me some collars and cuffs cheap, pretty, new, embroidered ones. katerina ivanovna liked them very much; she put them on and looked at herself in the glass and was delighted with them. 'make me a present of them, sonia,' she said, 'please do.' '/please do/,' she said, she wanted them so much. and when could she wear them? they just reminded her of her old happy days. she looked at herself in the glass, admired herself, and she has no clothes at all, no things of her own, hasn't had all these years! and she never asks anyone for anything; she is proud, she'd sooner give away everything. and these she asked for, she liked them so much. and i was sorry to give them. 'what use are they to you, katerina ivanovna?' i said. i spoke like that to her, i ought not to have said that! she gave me such a look. and she was so grieved, so grieved at my refusing her. and it was so sad to see. . . . and she was not grieved for the collars, but for my refusing, i saw that. ah, if only i could bring it all back, change it, take back those words! ah, if i . . . but it's nothing to you!"

"did you know lizaveta, the pedlar?"

"yes. . . . did you know her?" sonia asked with some surprise.

"katerina ivanovna is in consumption, rapid consumption; she will soon die," said raskolnikov after a pause, without answering her question.

"oh, no, no, no!"

and sonia unconsciously clutched both his hands, as though imploring that she should not.

"but it will be better if she does die."

"no, not better, not at all better!" sonia unconsciously repeated in dismay.

"and the children? what can you do except take them to live with you?"

"oh, i don't know," cried sonia, almost in despair, and she put her hands to her head.

it was evident that that idea had very often occurred to her before and he had only roused it again.

"and, what, if even now, while katerina ivanovna is alive, you get ill and are taken to the hospital, what will happen then?" he persisted pitilessly.

"how can you? that cannot be!"

and sonia's face worked with awful terror.

"cannot be?" raskolnikov went on with a harsh smile. "you are not insured against it, are you? what will happen to them then? they will be in the street, all of them, she will cough and beg and knock her head against some wall, as she did to-day, and the children will cry. . . . then she will fall down, be taken to the police station and to the hospital, she will die, and the children . . ."

"oh, no. . . . god will not let it be!" broke at last from sonia's overburdened bosom.

she listened, looking imploringly at him, clasping her hands in dumb entreaty, as though it all depended upon him.

raskolnikov got up and began to walk about the room. a minute passed. sonia was standing with her hands and her head hanging in terrible dejection.

"and can't you save? put by for a rainy day?" he asked, stopping suddenly before her.

"no," whispered sonia.

"of course not. have you tried?" he added almost ironically.

"yes."

"and it didn't come off! of course not! no need to ask."

and again he paced the room. another minute passed.

"you don't get money every day?"

sonia was more confused than ever and colour rushed into her face again.

"no," she whispered with a painful effort.

"it will be the same with polenka, no doubt," he said suddenly.

"no, no! it can't be, no!" sonia cried aloud in desperation, as though she had been stabbed. "god would not allow anything so awful!"

"he lets others come to it."

"no, no! god will protect her, god!" she repeated beside herself.

"but, perhaps, there is no god at all," raskolnikov answered with a sort of malignance, laughed and looked at her.

sonia's face suddenly changed; a tremor passed over it. she looked at him with unutterable reproach, tried to say something, but could not speak and broke into bitter, bitter sobs, hiding her face in her hands.

"you say katerina ivanovna's mind is unhinged; your own mind is unhinged," he said after a brief silence.

five minutes passed. he still paced up and down the room in silence, not looking at her. at last he went up to her; his eyes glittered. he put his two hands on her shoulders and looked straight into her tearful face. his eyes were hard, feverish and piercing, his lips were twitching. all at once he bent down quickly and dropping to the ground, kissed her foot. sonia drew back from him as from a madman. and certainly he looked like a madman.

"what are you doing to me?" she muttered, turning pale, and a sudden anguish clutched at her heart.

he stood up at once.

"i did not bow down to you, i bowed down to all the suffering of humanity," he said wildly and walked away to the window. "listen," he added, turning to her a minute later. "i said just now to an insolent man that he was not worth your little finger . . . and that i did my sister honour making her sit beside you."

"ach, you said that to them! and in her presence?" cried sonia, frightened. "sit down with me! an honour! why, i'm . . . dishonourable. . . . ah, why did you say that?"

"it was not because of your dishonour and your sin i said that of you, but because of your great suffering. but you are a great sinner, that's true," he added almost solemnly, "and your worst sin is that you have destroyed and betrayed yourself /for nothing/. isn't that fearful? isn't it fearful that you are living in this filth which you loathe so, and at the same time you know yourself (you've only to open your eyes) that you are not helping anyone by it, not saving anyone from anything? tell me," he went on almost in a frenzy, "how this shame and degradation can exist in you side by side with other, opposite, holy feelings? it would be better, a thousand times better and wiser to leap into the water and end it all!"

"but what would become of them?" sonia asked faintly, gazing at him with eyes of anguish, but not seeming surprised at his suggestion.

raskolnikov looked strangely at her. he read it all in her face; so she must have had that thought already, perhaps many times, and earnestly she had thought out in her despair how to end it and so earnestly, that now she scarcely wondered at his suggestion. she had not even noticed the cruelty of his words. (the significance of his reproaches and his peculiar attitude to her shame she had, of course, not noticed either, and that, too, was clear to him.) but he saw how monstrously the thought of her disgraceful, shameful position was torturing her and had long tortured her. "what, what," he thought, "could hitherto have hindered her from putting an end to it?" only then he realised what those poor little orphan children and that pitiful half-crazy katerina ivanovna, knocking her head against the wall in her consumption, meant for sonia.

but, nevertheless, it was clear to him again that with her character and the amount of education she had after all received, she could not in any case remain so. he was still confronted by the question, how could she have remained so long in that position without going out of her mind, since she could not bring herself to jump into the water? of course he knew that sonia's position was an exceptional case, though unhappily not unique and not infrequent, indeed; but that very exceptionalness, her tinge of education, her previous life might, one would have thought, have killed her at the first step on that revolting path. what held her up--surely not depravity? all that infamy had obviously only touched her mechanically, not one drop of real depravity had penetrated to her heart; he saw that. he saw through her as she stood before him. . . .

"there are three ways before her," he thought, "the canal, the madhouse, or . . . at last to sink into depravity which obscures the mind and turns the heart to stone."

the last idea was the most revolting, but he was a sceptic, he was young, abstract, and therefore cruel, and so he could not help believing that the last end was the most likely.

"but can that be true?" he cried to himself. "can that creature who has still preserved the purity of her spirit be consciously drawn at last into that sink of filth and iniquity? can the process already have begun? can it be that she has only been able to bear it till now, because vice has begun to be less loathsome to her? no, no, that cannot be!" he cried, as sonia had just before. "no, what has kept her from the canal till now is the idea of sin and they, the children. . . . and if she has not gone out of her mind . . . but who says she has not gone out of her mind? is she in her senses? can one talk, can one reason as she does? how can she sit on the edge of the abyss of loathsomeness into which she is slipping and refuse to listen when she is told of danger? does she expect a miracle? no doubt she does. doesn't that all mean madness?"

he stayed obstinately at that thought. he liked that explanation indeed better than any other. he began looking more intently at her.

"so you pray to god a great deal, sonia?" he asked her.

sonia did not speak; he stood beside her waiting for an answer.

"what should i be without god?" she whispered rapidly, forcibly, glancing at him with suddenly flashing eyes, and squeezing his hand.

"ah, so that is it!" he thought.

"and what does god do for you?" he asked, probing her further.

sonia was silent a long while, as though she could not answer. her weak chest kept heaving with emotion.

"be silent! don't ask! you don't deserve!" she cried suddenly, looking sternly and wrathfully at him.

"that's it, that's it," he repeated to himself.

"he does everything," she whispered quickly, looking down again.

"that's the way out! that's the explanation," he decided, scrutinising her with eager curiosity, with a new, strange, almost morbid feeling. he gazed at that pale, thin, irregular, angular little face, those soft blue eyes, which could flash with such fire, such stern energy, that little body still shaking with indignation and anger--and it all seemed to him more and more strange, almost impossible. "she is a religious maniac!" he repeated to himself.

there was a book lying on the chest of drawers. he had noticed it every time he paced up and down the room. now he took it up and looked at it. it was the new testament in the russian translation. it was bound in leather, old and worn.

"where did you get that?" he called to her across the room.

she was still standing in the same place, three steps from the table.

"it was brought me," she answered, as it were unwillingly, not looking at him.

"who brought it?"

"lizaveta, i asked her for it."

"lizaveta! strange!" he thought.

everything about sonia seemed to him stranger and more wonderful every moment. he carried the book to the candle and began to turn over the pages.

"where is the story of lazarus?" he asked suddenly.

sonia looked obstinately at the ground and would not answer. she was standing sideways to the table.

"where is the raising of lazarus? find it for me, sonia."

she stole a glance at him.

"you are not looking in the right place. . . . it's in the fourth gospel," she whispered sternly, without looking at him.

"find it and read it to me," he said. he sat down with his elbow on the table, leaned his head on his hand and looked away sullenly, prepared to listen.

"in three weeks' time they'll welcome me in the madhouse! i shall be there if i am not in a worse place," he muttered to himself.

sonia heard raskolnikov's request distrustfully and moved hesitatingly to the table. she took the book however.

"haven't you read it?" she asked, looking up at him across the table.

her voice became sterner and sterner.

"long ago. . . . when i was at school. read!"

"and haven't you heard it in church?"

"i . . . haven't been. do you often go?"

"n-no," whispered sonia.

raskolnikov smiled.

"i understand. . . . and you won't go to your father's funeral to-morrow?"

"yes, i shall. i was at church last week, too . . . i had a requiem service."

"for whom?"

"for lizaveta. she was killed with an axe."

his nerves were more and more strained. his head began to go round.

"were you friends with lizaveta?"

"yes. . . . she was good . . . she used to come . . . not often . . . she couldn't. . . . we used to read together and . . . talk. she will see god."

the last phrase sounded strange in his ears. and here was something new again: the mysterious meetings with lizaveta and both of them-- religious maniacs.

"i shall be a religious maniac myself soon! it's infectious!"

"read!" he cried irritably and insistently.

sonia still hesitated. her heart was throbbing. she hardly dared to read to him. he looked almost with exasperation at the "unhappy lunatic."

"what for? you don't believe? . . ." she whispered softly and as it were breathlessly.

"read! i want you to," he persisted. "you used to read to lizaveta."

sonia opened the book and found the place. her hands were shaking, her voice failed her. twice she tried to begin and could not bring out the first syllable.

"now a certain man was sick named lazarus of bethany . . ." she forced herself at last to read, but at the third word her voice broke like an overstrained string. there was a catch in her breath.

raskolnikov saw in part why sonia could not bring herself to read to him and the more he saw this, the more roughly and irritably he insisted on her doing so. he understood only too well how painful it was for her to betray and unveil all that was her /own/. he understood that these feelings really were her /secret treasure/, which she had kept perhaps for years, perhaps from childhood, while she lived with an unhappy father and a distracted stepmother crazed by grief, in the midst of starving children and unseemly abuse and reproaches. but at the same time he knew now and knew for certain that, although it filled her with dread and suffering, yet she had a tormenting desire to read and to read to /him/ that he might hear it, and to read /now/ whatever might come of it! . . . he read this in her eyes, he could see it in her intense emotion. she mastered herself, controlled the spasm in her throat and went on reading the eleventh chapter of st. john. she went on to the nineteenth verse:

"and many of the jews came to martha and mary to comfort them concerning their brother.

"then martha as soon as she heard that jesus was coming went and met him: but mary sat still in the house.

"then said martha unto jesus, lord, if thou hadst been here, my brother had not died.

"but i know that even now whatsoever thou wilt ask of god, god will give it thee. . . ."

then she stopped again with a shamefaced feeling that her voice would quiver and break again.

"jesus said unto her, thy brother shall rise again.

"martha saith unto him, i know that he shall rise again in the resurrection, at the last day.

"jesus said unto her, i am the resurrection and the life: he that believeth in me though he were dead, yet shall he live.

"and whosoever liveth and believeth in me shall never die. believest thou this?

"she saith unto him,"

(and drawing a painful breath, sonia read distinctly and forcibly as though she were making a public confession of faith.)

"yea, lord: i believe that thou art the christ, the son of god which should come into the world."

she stopped and looked up quickly at him, but controlling herself went on reading. raskolnikov sat without moving, his elbows on the table and his eyes turned away. she read to the thirty-second verse.

"then when mary was come where jesus was and saw him, she fell down at his feet, saying unto him, lord if thou hadst been here, my brother had not died.

"when jesus therefore saw her weeping, and the jews also weeping which came with her, he groaned in the spirit and was troubled,

"and said, where have ye laid him? they said unto him, lord, come and see.

"jesus wept.

"then said the jews, behold how he loved him!

"and some of them said, could not this man which opened the eyes of the blind, have caused that even this man should not have died?"

raskolnikov turned and looked at her with emotion. yes, he had known it! she was trembling in a real physical fever. he had expected it. she was getting near the story of the greatest miracle and a feeling of immense triumph came over her. her voice rang out like a bell; triumph and joy gave it power. the lines danced before her eyes, but she knew what she was reading by heart. at the last verse "could not this man which opened the eyes of the blind . . ." dropping her voice she passionately reproduced the doubt, the reproach and censure of the blind disbelieving jews, who in another moment would fall at his feet as though struck by thunder, sobbing and believing. . . . "and /he, he/--too, is blinded and unbelieving, he, too, will hear, he, too, will believe, yes, yes! at once, now," was what she was dreaming, and she was quivering with happy anticipation.

"jesus therefore again groaning in himself cometh to the grave. it was a cave, and a stone lay upon it.

"jesus said, take ye away the stone. martha, the sister of him that was dead, saith unto him, lord by this time he stinketh: for he hath been dead four days."

she laid emphasis on the word /four/.

"jesus saith unto her, said i not unto thee that if thou wouldest believe, thou shouldest see the glory of god?

"then they took away the stone from the place where the dead was laid. and jesus lifted up his eyes and said, father, i thank thee that thou hast heard me.

"and i knew that thou hearest me always; but because of the people which stand by i said it, that they may believe that thou hast sent me.

"and when he thus had spoken, he cried with a loud voice, lazarus, come forth.

"and he that was dead came forth."

(she read loudly, cold and trembling with ecstasy, as though she were seeing it before her eyes.)

"bound hand and foot with graveclothes; and his face was bound about with a napkin. jesus saith unto them, loose him and let him go.

"then many of the jews which came to mary and had seen the things which jesus did believed on him."

she could read no more, closed the book and got up from her chair quickly.

"that is all about the raising of lazarus," she whispered severely and abruptly, and turning away she stood motionless, not daring to raise her eyes to him. she still trembled feverishly. the candle-end was flickering out in the battered candlestick, dimly lighting up in the poverty-stricken room the murderer and the harlot who had so strangely been reading together the eternal book. five minutes or more passed.

"i came to speak of something," raskolnikov said aloud, frowning. he got up and went to sonia. she lifted her eyes to him in silence. his face was particularly stern and there was a sort of savage determination in it.

"i have abandoned my family to-day," he said, "my mother and sister. i am not going to see them. i've broken with them completely."

"what for?" asked sonia amazed. her recent meeting with his mother and sister had left a great impression which she could not analyse. she heard his news almost with horror.

"i have only you now," he added. "let us go together. . . . i've come to you, we are both accursed, let us go our way together!"

his eyes glittered "as though he were mad," sonia thought, in her turn.

"go where?" she asked in alarm and she involuntarily stepped back.

"how do i know? i only know it's the same road, i know that and nothing more. it's the same goal!"

she looked at him and understood nothing. she knew only that he was terribly, infinitely unhappy.

"no one of them will understand, if you tell them, but i have understood. i need you, that is why i have come to you."

"i don't understand," whispered sonia.

"you'll understand later. haven't you done the same? you, too, have transgressed . . . have had the strength to transgress. you have laid hands on yourself, you have destroyed a life . . . /your own/ (it's all the same!). you might have lived in spirit and understanding, but you'll end in the hay market. . . . but you won't be able to stand it, and if you remain alone you'll go out of your mind like me. you are like a mad creature already. so we must go together on the same road! let us go!"

"what for? what's all this for?" said sonia, strangely and violently agitated by his words.

"what for? because you can't remain like this, that's why! you must look things straight in the face at last, and not weep like a child and cry that god won't allow it. what will happen, if you should really be taken to the hospital to-morrow? she is mad and in consumption, she'll soon die and the children? do you mean to tell me polenka won't come to grief? haven't you seen children here at the street corners sent out by their mothers to beg? i've found out where those mothers live and in what surroundings. children can't remain children there! at seven the child is vicious and a thief. yet children, you know, are the image of christ: 'theirs is the kingdom of heaven.' he bade us honour and love them, they are the humanity of the future. . . ."

"what's to be done, what's to be done?" repeated sonia, weeping hysterically and wringing her hands.

"what's to be done? break what must be broken, once for all, that's all, and take the suffering on oneself. what, you don't understand? you'll understand later. . . . freedom and power, and above all, power! over all trembling creation and all the ant-heap! . . . that's the goal, remember that! that's my farewell message. perhaps it's the last time i shall speak to you. if i don't come to-morrow, you'll hear of it all, and then remember these words. and some day later on, in years to come, you'll understand perhaps what they meant. if i come to-morrow, i'll tell you who killed lizaveta. . . . good-bye."

sonia started with terror.

"why, do you know who killed her?" she asked, chilled with horror, looking wildly at him.

"i know and will tell . . . you, only you. i have chosen you out. i'm not coming to you to ask forgiveness, but simply to tell you. i chose you out long ago to hear this, when your father talked of you and when lizaveta was alive, i thought of it. good-bye, don't shake hands. to-morrow!"

he went out. sonia gazed at him as at a madman. but she herself was like one insane and felt it. her head was going round.

"good heavens, how does he know who killed lizaveta? what did those words mean? it's awful!" but at the same time /the idea/ did not enter her head, not for a moment! "oh, he must be terribly unhappy! . . . he has abandoned his mother and sister. . . . what for? what has happened? and what had he in his mind? what did he say to her? he had kissed her foot and said . . . said (yes, he had said it clearly) that he could not live without her. . . . oh, merciful heavens!"

sonia spent the whole night feverish and delirious. she jumped up from time to time, wept and wrung her hands, then sank again into feverish sleep and dreamt of polenka, katerina ivanovna and lizaveta, of reading the gospel and him . . . him with pale face, with burning eyes . . . kissing her feet, weeping.

on the other side of the door on the right, which divided sonia's room from madame resslich's flat, was a room which had long stood empty. a card was fixed on the gate and a notice stuck in the windows over the canal advertising it to let. sonia had long been accustomed to the room's being uninhabited. but all that time mr. svidrigailov had been standing, listening at the door of the empty room. when raskolnikov went out he stood still, thought a moment, went on tiptoe to his own room which adjoined the empty one, brought a chair and noiselessly carried it to the door that led to sonia's room. the conversation had struck him as interesting and remarkable, and he had greatly enjoyed it--so much so that he brought a chair that he might not in the future, to-morrow, for instance, have to endure the inconvenience of standing a whole hour, but might listen in comfort.

拉斯科利尼科夫径直往运河边上的那幢房子走去，索尼娅就住在那里。这是一幢三层楼房，是幢绿色的旧房子。他找到了管院子的，后者明确地告诉了他，裁缝卡佩尔纳乌莫夫住在哪里。他在院子的角落里找到又窄又暗的楼梯的入口，顺着楼梯上去，终于到了二楼1，走进从靠院子的那一边环绕着二楼的回廊。正当他在黑暗中慢慢走着，摸不清哪里是卡佩尔纳乌莫夫家的房门的时候，离他三步远的地方突然有一道门开了；他不由自主地拉住了房门。

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1前面曾说，索尼娅是住在三楼。

“是谁？”一个女人的声音惊慌不安地问。

“是我……来找您的，”拉斯科利尼科夫回答，说罢走进了那间很小的前室。这儿一把破椅子上放着个歪着的铜烛台，上面插着一支蜡烛。

“是您！上帝啊！”索尼娅声音微弱地惊呼，像在地上扎了根似地呆呆地站住不动了。

“往您屋里去怎么走？往这边吗？”

拉斯科利尼科夫竭力不看她，赶快走进屋里。

稍过了一会儿，索尼娅也拿着蜡烛进来了，把蜡烛放下，站在他面前，完全惊慌失措，说不出地激动，看来，他的突然来访使她感到吃惊。突然，红云飞上了她苍白的面颊，眼里甚至出现了泪花……她心里很难过，既感到羞愧，又感到快乐……拉斯科利尼科夫很快转身坐到桌边的一把椅子上。

他匆匆地向整个房间扫视了一眼。

这是一间大房间，不过非常矮，是卡佩尔纳乌莫夫家出租的唯一一间房间，通往他们家的房门就在左边墙上，这道门锁起来了。对面，右边墙上还有一道门，也一直紧紧地锁着。门那边已经是邻居家另一个房号的另一套房子了。索尼娅住的房间像间板棚，样子是个很不规则的四边形，好似一个畸形的怪物。靠运河那边的墙上有三扇窗子，这面墙有点儿斜着，好像把这间房子切掉了一块，因此房子的一角显得特别尖，仿佛深深地插进什么地方去了，这样一来，如果光线较暗，甚至看不清那个角落；而另一个角却是个钝得很不像样子的钝角。这个大房间里几乎没有什么家具。右边角落里摆着一张床；床旁靠门的那边放着一把椅子。放床的那堵墙边，紧挨着通另一套房子的房门，放着一张普通的木板桌子，上面铺着淡蓝色的桌布；桌旁放着两把藤椅。对面墙边，靠近那个锐角的地方，放着一个用普通木料做的、不大的五斗橱，因为地方太空旷了，看上去显得孤零零的。这就是屋里的全部家具。各个角落里，那些又脏又破的淡黄色墙纸都已经发黑了；冬天里这儿想必非常潮湿，而且烟气弥漫。贫穷的状况十分明显，床前甚至没有帷幔。

索尼娅默默地看着自己的客人，而他正在那样仔细、那样没有礼貌地打量着她的房间，最后，她甚至吓得发抖了，仿佛她是站在一个法官和能决定她命运的人面前。

“我来的时间太晚了……有十一点了吧？”他问，一直还没有抬起眼睛来看她。

“是的，”索尼娅喃喃地说。“啊，是的，是有十一点了！”她突然急急忙忙地说，似乎她的出路就在于此，“房东家的钟刚刚打过……我听见了，是十一点。”

“我是最后一次来看您，”拉斯科利尼科夫忧郁地接着说下去，虽说这不过是他头一次来这里，“也许，以后，我再也不会看到您了……”

“您……要出门？”

“我不知道……一切都看明天了……”

“那么明天您不去卡捷琳娜·伊万诺芙娜那儿了？”索尼娅的声音发抖了。

“我不知道。一切都看明天早晨……问题不在这里：我来，是要跟您说一句话……”

他向她抬起眼来，目光若有所思，突然发现，他坐着，她却一直站在他面前。

“您为什么站着？您坐啊，”他说，声音突然变得温和而又亲切。

她坐下了。他和蔼可亲地，几乎是怜悯地看了她一会儿。

“您多瘦啊！瞧您的手！多么苍白。手指就像死人的一样。”

他握住她的手。索尼娅微微一笑。

“我一向是这样的，”她说。

“住在家里的时候也是这样？”

“是的。”

“唉，那当然了！”他断断续续地说，他脸上的神情和说话的声音又突然改变了。他又朝四下里看了看。

“这是您向卡佩尔纳乌莫夫租的？”

“是的……”

“他们就住在那边，房门后面？”

“是的……他们住的也是这样一间房子。”

“一家人都住在一间屋里？”

“住在一间屋里。”

“要叫我住在您这间屋里，夜里会害怕的，”他忧郁地说。

“房东一家人都很好，待人很亲切，”索尼娅回答，一直好像还没镇静下来，还没明白是怎么回事，“所有家具，还有这一切……都是房东的，他们心地都很好，孩子们也常上我这儿来……”

“他们说话都口齿不清，是吗？”

“是的……他说话结结巴巴，还是个跛子。他妻子也是这样……倒不是口吃，而是，好像老是没把话说完。她心很好……他从前是地主家的仆人。有七个孩子……只有老大说话结巴，另外几个只不过有病……说话倒不结巴……您怎么知道他们的？”她有点儿惊奇地补上一句。

“当时您父亲把什么全都对我说了。您的情况，他全都告诉了我……连有一次您六点出去，八点多才回来，还有卡捷琳娜·伊万诺芙娜跪在您床前，连这些也都告诉我了。”

索尼娅感到很难为情。

“我今天好像看到了他，”她犹豫不决地喃喃地说。

“看到了谁？”

“父亲。我在街上走着，就在那里附近，街道的一个角落上，八点多的时候，他好像在前面走。完全像他。我想去卡捷琳娜·伊万诺芙娜那里……”

“您在散步？”

“是的，”索尼娅断断续续地喃喃地说，她又不好意思了，于是低下头去。

“住在父亲那里的时候，卡捷琳娜·伊万诺芙娜几乎要打您，是吗？”

“啊，不，看您说的，看您说的，没有的事！”索尼娅甚至有点儿惊恐地看了看他。

“那么您爱她吗？”

“她吗？那还—用—说！”索尼娅悲哀地拖长声音回答说，突然痛苦地双手交叉在一起。“唉，您要是……您要是能了解她就好了。因为她完全像个孩子……因为她完全像疯了似的……愁疯的。可从前她多么聪明……多么慷慨……多么善良啊！您什么，什么也不知道……唉！”

索尼娅说这些话的时候十分激动，绞着手，仿佛陷入绝望之中。她那苍白的双颊又变得绯红，眼里露出痛苦的神情。看得出来，她的心灵被深深触动了，她很想有所表示，把心里的话说出来，很想进行辩解。突然她脸上露出一种，如果可以这样说的话，永无止境的同情。

“她打过！您说这些做什么！上帝啊，她打过我！即使打过，那又怎样！嗯，那又怎样呢？您什么，什么也不知道……这是一个多么不幸，唉，多么不幸的人！而且还有病……她在寻求公正……她是纯洁的。她那么相信，无论什么事情都应该有公正，她要求……即使折磨她，她也决不会做不公正的事。她自己不明白，要让人人都公正，这是不可能的，因此她感到气愤……就像个孩子，就像个孩子！她是公正的，公正的！”

“您以后怎么办？”

索尼娅疑问地看看他。

“他们不是都留给您来照顾了吗？不错，以前一家人也是靠您生活，已经去世的那个还要来跟您要钱去买酒喝。嗯，那么现在怎么办呢？”

“我不知道，”索尼娅忧愁地说。

“他们还会住在那儿吗？”

“我不知道，他们欠了那儿的房租；不过听说，女房东今天说过，她要撵他们走，卡捷琳娜·伊万诺芙娜却说，她自己连一分钟也不想再待在那儿了。”

“她怎么胆敢说这样的大话？是指望您吗？”

“唉，不，您别这么说……我们是一家人，要在一起生活，”索尼娅突然又激动起来，甚至生气了，完全像一只金丝雀或者什么别的小鸟儿生气一样。“再说她又能怎么办呢？嗯，她能怎么，怎么办呢？”她焦急而激动地问。“今天她哭了多少次啊！她都发疯了，这您没看出来吗？她疯了；一会儿像个小孩子似的，为明天的事担心，想让一切都弄得很体面，下酒的菜啊，还有旁的，一切都应有尽有……一会儿又绞看手，咯血，痛哭，突然头往墙上撞，好像已经完全绝望。后来又自己安慰自己，把希望全都寄托在您的身上，她说，现在您帮助她，她要在什么地方借一点儿钱，和我一起回故乡去，为贵族出身的女孩子办一所寄宿中学，让我作学监，于是我们就会开始过一种十分美好的全新的生活了，说着还吻我，拥抱我，安慰我，因为她是那么相信这一切！那么相信这些幻想！您说，难道能反驳她吗？今天她整天在洗啊，擦啊，缝补啊，她那么虚弱无力，还亲自把洗衣盆拖到屋里去，累得上气不接下气，一下子就倒到床上了；可是早晨我还跟她一道去商场给波列奇卡和廖尼娅1买鞋呢，因为她们的鞋都穿破了，可是一算，我们的钱不够，只差一点儿，可她挑了一双那么好看的小皮鞋，因为她有审美力，您不知道……她就在铺子里，当着卖东西的人哭了起来，因为钱不够……唉，看着多可怜哪。”

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1前面说，小女儿叫莉达（莉多奇卡）。

“你们过的是……这样的日子，这是可以理解的，”拉斯科利尼科夫苦笑着说。

“难道您不觉得可怜吗？不觉得可怜吗？”索尼娅又责问说，“因为您，我知道，您还什么也没看到，就把自己最后的一点儿钱都给了她了。要是您看到这一切的话，上帝啊！可我曾经有多少次惹得她伤心落泪啊！那还是上星期的事！唉，我呀！只不过在他去世前一个星期。我做得太忍心了！而且我这样做了多个次啊。唉，现在整整一天回想起来都感到痛心！”

索尼娅说这些话的时候，由于回忆给她带来的痛苦，甚至绞着双手。

“这是您太忍心吗？”

“是的，是我，是我！那次我到他们那里去，”她哭着继续说，“先父说：‘索尼娅，你给我念念，我头痛，你给我念念……这是书’，他那里有本什么小册子，是从安德烈·谢苗内奇那儿弄来的，也就是从列别贾特尼科夫那儿弄来的，他就住在这儿，经常弄一些这样可笑的书来。我却说：‘我该走了’，我才不愿给他念呢，我去他们那儿，主要是想让卡捷琳娜·伊万诺芙娜看看几条领子；女小贩莉扎薇塔拿来了几条活领和套袖，说是便宜点儿卖给我，这些活领和套袖都挺好看，式样也新颖，还绣着花。卡捷琳娜·伊万诺芙娜很喜欢，她戴上，照了照镜子，她非常、非常喜欢，‘索尼娅，”她说，‘请你送给我吧’。她请我送给她。她多想要啊。可是她要这些活领有什么用？只不过让她回想起从前的幸福日子罢了！她照着镜子，顾影自怜，可是她什么衣服都没有，连一件像样的衣裳都没有，什么也没有，这样的日子已经有多少年了！可是她从来没跟任何人要过任何东西；她高傲得很，宁愿把自己最后的东西送给人家，可这时候却跟我要这些活领——可见她是多么喜欢！我却舍不得给她，我说，‘您要这些东西有什么用呢，卡捷琳娜·伊万诺芙娜？’我就是这么说的：‘有什么用’。可真不该对她说这种话呀！她那样看了我一眼，我不给她，这让她感到那么难过，看着她真觉得怪可怜的……她难过，倒不是为了那几条活领，而是因为我不肯给她，我看得出来。唉，我觉得，要是现在能收回以前说的这些话，改正这些话，那该多好…… 唉，我呀……我为什么会这样呢！

……可在您看来，还不都是一样！”

“您认识这个女小贩莉扎薇塔？”

“是的……莫非您也认识她？”索尼娅有点儿惊讶地反问。

“卡捷琳娜·伊万诺芙娜有肺病，治不好的；她不久就会死的，”拉斯科利尼科夫沉默了一会儿，说，对她的问题避而不答。

“啊，不，不，不！”索尼娅不由得抓住他的双手，仿佛是求他，不要让她死。

“要知道，她要死了，反倒好些。”

“不，不好，不好，根本不好！”她惊恐地、无意识地反复说。

“可是孩子们呢？要是不让他们到您这里来，您让他们上哪里去呢？”

“唉，这我可不知道！”索尼娅用手抱住头，绝望地叫喊。看来，这个想法已经在她的脑子里闪现过许多次了，他只不过又惊醒了这个想法。

“嗯，如果您，在卡捷琳娜·伊万诺芙娜还活着的时候，就是现在，如果您生了病，给送进医院，那么会怎么样呢？”

他残酷无情地坚持说下去。

“哎哟，您怎么说这种话，怎么说这种话呢！这决不可能！”

索尼娅吓坏了，吓得脸都变了样。

“怎么不可能呢？”拉斯科利尼科夫继续往下说，脸上露出严峻的笑容，“您保过险了？到那时他们会怎样呢？他们一家人将会流浪街头，她会像今天这样，咳嗽，哀求，头往墙上撞，孩子们会放声大哭……她会倒在街上，给送到警察分局，然后送进医院，死在那里，可孩子们……”

“啊，不！……上帝不允许发生这样的事！”最后，从索尼娅感到压抑的胸膛里冲出这样一句话来。她听着，恳求地看着他，合起双手默默无言地恳求着，好像一切都取决于他似的。

拉斯科利尼科夫站起来，开始在屋里踱来踱去。过了一分钟光景。索尼娅垂下双手，低着头站着，心里难过极了。

“不能攒点儿钱吗？能不能积攒点儿钱，以备不时之需？”

他突然在她面前站下来，问。

“不能，”索尼娅喃喃地说。

“当然不能！不过您试过吗？”他几乎是冷笑着补上一句。

“试过。”

“可是攒不下来！唉，那还用说！还用得着问吗！”

于是他又在屋里走了起来。又过了一分钟的样子。

“您不是每天都挣得到钱吧？”

索尼娅比刚才更难为情了，脸忽然又涨得通红。

“不是，”她十分痛苦地勉强说，声音很低，很低。

“大概，波列奇卡也会这样的，”他突然说。

“不！不！不可能，绝不会的！”索尼娅突然绝望地高声叫喊，就像突然被人扎了一刀似的。“上帝，上帝绝不允许发生这种可怕的事！……”

“可他允许别人发生这样的事。”

“不，不！上帝会保佑她，上帝……”她反复说，已经无法控制自己。

“可也许根本就没有上帝，”拉斯科利尼科夫甚至是怀着某种幸灾乐祸的心情回答，他笑了起来，而且看了看她。

索尼娅的脸突然变了，一阵痉挛，使她的脸看上去非常可怕。她瞅了他一眼，目光中流露出难以形容的责备神情，本想说点儿什么，可是什么也没能说出来，只是突然用双手捂住脸，悲悲切切地失声痛哭起来。

“您说卡捷琳娜·伊万诺芙娜失去了理智，倒是您自己已经失去理智了，”沉默了一会儿以后，他说。

过了五分钟。他一直默默地踱来踱去，一直不看着她。最后，他走到她面前，他的眼睛闪闪发亮。他双手抓住她的肩膀，直对着她那挂满泪珠的脸看了一眼。他的目光冷漠，兴奋，锐利，嘴唇抖得厉害……突然他迅速俯下身去，伏在地板上，吻了吻她的脚。索尼娅惊恐地躲开了他，就像躲开一个疯子。真的，看上去他当真像个疯子。

“您这是做什么，您这是做什么？伏在我的脚下！”她脸色发白，喃喃地说，她的心突然十分痛苦地揪紧了。

他立刻站了起来。

“我膜拜的不是你，而是向人类的一切苦难下拜，”他有点儿古怪地说，然后走到窗前。“你听我说，”一分钟后又回到她跟前来，补充说，“不久前我曾对一个欺侮人的人说，他抵不上你的一个小指头……还说，今天我让妹妹坐在你身边，让她感到荣幸。”

“哎哟，您跟他们说这些做什么！而且是当着她的面？”索尼娅惊恐地喊道，“跟我坐在一起！荣幸！可我……我是个可耻的女人，我是个很大的大罪人！唉，您为什么要说这种话！”

“我这样谈论你，不是因为你的耻辱和罪恶，而是因为你所受的极大的苦难。至于说你是个大罪人，这倒是真的，”他几乎是热情洋溢地补充说，“你所以是罪人，就因为你犯下了最大的罪，白白毁掉了自己，出卖了自己。这还不可怕吗！你过着自己这么痛恨的卑贱生活，同时自己也知道（只要睁开眼来看看），这样你既不能帮助任何人，也救不了谁，这难道还不可怕吗？最后，请你告诉我，”他几乎发狂似地说，“这样的耻辱和这样的卑贱怎么能和另一些与之对立的神圣感情集于你一人之身呢？要知道，投水自尽，一下子结束这一切，倒更正确些，正确一千倍，也明智一千倍！”

“那他们呢？”索尼娅有气无力地问，十分痛苦地看了他一眼，但同时又好像对他的建议一点儿也不感到惊讶。拉斯科利尼科夫奇怪地看了看她。

从她看他的目光中，他看出了一切。可见她自己当真已经有过这个想法。也许她在绝望中曾多次认真反复考虑过，真想一下子结束一切，而且这样考虑时是那么认真，所以现在对他的建议已经几乎不觉得奇怪了。就连他的话是多么残酷，她也没有发觉（他对她责备的意思，以及对她的耻辱的特殊看法，她当然也没发觉，这一点他是看得出来的）。不过他完全明白，她也知道自己的地位卑贱，极其可耻，这个想法早已使她痛苦不堪，折磨了她很久了。他想，是什么，到底有什么能使她至今还下不了决心，一下子结束这一切呢？这时他才完全明白，这些可怜的小孤儿，这个不幸的、半疯狂的、害了肺病、头往墙上撞的卡捷琳娜·伊万诺芙娜，对她起了多么重大的作用。

虽说这样，然而他还是明白，以索尼娅这样的性格，还有她所受的教育，无论如何她绝不会这样终其一生。不过，对他来说，这还是一个问题：既然她不能投水自尽，为什么她能这么久生活在这样的处境中而没有发疯？当然，他明白，索尼娅的处境是社会上的一种偶然现象，虽说，可惜，远不是个别的和特殊的现象。但是这偶然性本身，还有这一定的文化程度，以及她以前的全部生活，似乎这一切会在她一开始走上这条令人厌恶的道路的时候，立刻就夺去她的生命。那么是什么在支持着她呢？不会是婬荡吧？显然，这种耻辱只不过是机械地接触到了她；真正的婬荡还丝毫也没渗透进她的心灵：这一点他看得出来；她就站在他面前，这是真的……“她面前有三条道路，”他想：“跳进运河，进疯人院，或者……或者，终于堕落，头脑麻木，心变得冷酷无情。”他最厌恶的是最后那个想法；然而他已经是一个怀疑主义者，而且他年轻，又远远脱离了现实生活，所以他也残酷无情，因此他不能不相信，最后一条路，也就是堕落，是最有可能的。

“不过难道这是真的吗，”他心中暗暗惊呼，“难道这个还保持着精神纯洁的人，会终于有意识地陷入这个卑鄙污浊，臭气熏天的深坑吗？难道这陷入的过程已经开始了？难道仅仅是因为这耻辱已经不是让她觉得那么厌恶，她才能忍辱至今吗？不，不，这绝不可能！”他像索尼娅刚才那样叫喊，“不，使她直到现在还没有跳进运河的，是关于罪恶的想法，还有他们，那些……如果到现在她还没有发疯……不过，谁说她还没发疯？难道她有健全的理智吗？难道能像她这样说话吗？难道一个有健全理智的人能像她这样考虑问题？难道能够这样坐在毁灭的边缘，就像坐在一个臭气熏天的深坑边上，眼看就要掉下去，可是有人提醒说这太危险的时候，却塞住耳朵，置之不理吗？她怎么，莫非是在等待奇迹吗？大概是这样。难道这一切不是发疯的迹象吗？”

他把思想执拗地停留在这一点上。与其他任何结局相比，他甚至更喜欢这个结局。他更加凝神注视着她。

“索尼娅，你经常这样虔诚地向上帝祈祷吗？”他问她。

索尼娅默默不语，他站在她身旁，等待回答。

“要是没有上帝的话，我会怎样呢？”她很快而且十分坚决地低声说，抬起那双突然闪闪发光的眼睛匆匆地向他看了一眼，并且用双手紧紧攥住他的一只手。

“嗯，的确是疯了！”他想。

“可上帝为你做什么了？”他继续追问她。

索尼娅沉默了许久，好像无法回答。她那瘦弱的胸脯激动得一起一伏。

“请您别说话！请您别问了！您不配！……”她突然严厉而愤怒地看着他，高声呼喊。

“真的疯了！真的疯了！”他暗自坚决地反复说。

“他在做一切！”她很快地低声说，又低下了头。

“这就是出路！这就是对这条出路的解释！”他暗自作出结论，同时怀着贪婪的好奇心细细打量着她。

他怀着某种奇怪的、几乎是痛苦的、前所未有的感情，细细端详这张苍白、瘦削、轮廓不太端正、颧骨突出的小脸；细细端详这双温柔的浅蓝色的眼睛，这双眼睛能闪射出那么明亮的光芒，流露出那样严厉而坚决的神情；细细端详这瘦小的身躯，因为愤懑和发怒，这身躯还在发抖；这脸，这眼睛，还有这身躯——这一切使他觉得越来越奇怪了，他几乎觉得这是不可能的。“狂热的信徒，狂热的信徒！”他暗自反复说。

五斗橱上放着一本书。他踱来踱去的时候，每次经过那里都注意到它；现在他把它拿起来，看了一眼。这是《新约全书》的俄译本。书是皮封面的，已经破旧了。

“这是哪儿来的？”他从房屋的另一端对她大声喊。她仍然站在原处，离桌子三步远。

“人家拿来的，”她仿佛不乐意似地回答，也不看着他。

“谁拿来的？”

“莉扎薇塔拿来的，我请她拿来的。”

“莉扎薇塔！奇怪！”他想。对他来说，索尼娅这里的一切，每分钟都变得越来越奇怪，越来越不可思议了。他把这本书拿到烛光前，动手翻阅。

“关于拉撒路的那一段在哪里？”他突然问。

索尼娅执拗地看着地上，没有回答。他稍稍侧身对着桌子站着。

“关于拉撒路的复活是在哪一章？你找给我看看，索尼娅。”

她斜着眼睛看了他一眼。

“别在那里找……在第四篇福音里……”她严厉地低声说，并没有向他走过去。

“请你找出来，念给我听听，”他说，坐下来，胳膊肘撑在桌子上，用一只手托着头，忧郁地朝一旁凝望着，做出在听着的样子。