He was not completely unconscious, however, all the time he was ill; he was in a feverish state, sometimes delirious, sometimes half conscious. He remembered a great deal afterwards. Sometimes it seemed as though there were a number of people round him; they wanted to take him away somewhere, there was a great deal of squabbling and discussing about him. Then he would be alone in the room; they had all gone away afraid of him, and only now and then opened the door a crack to look at him; they threatened him, plotted something together, laughed, and mocked at him. He remembered Nastasya often at his bedside; he distinguished another person, too, whom he seemed to know very well, though he could not remember who he was, and this fretted him, even made him cry. Sometimes he fancied he had been lying there a month; at other times it all seemed part of the same day. But of /that/--of /that/ he had no recollection, and yet every minute he felt that he had forgotten something he ought to remember. He worried and tormented himself trying to remember, moaned, flew into a rage, or sank into awful, intolerable terror. Then he struggled to get up, would have run away, but someone always prevented him by force, and he sank back into impotence and forgetfulness. At last he returned to complete consciousness.

It happened at ten o'clock in the morning. On fine days the sun shone into the room at that hour, throwing a streak of light on the right wall and the corner near the door. Nastasya was standing beside him with another person, a complete stranger, who was looking at him very inquisitively. He was a young man with a beard, wearing a full, short- waisted coat, and looked like a messenger. The landlady was peeping in at the half-opened door. Raskolnikov sat up.

"Who is this, Nastasya?" he asked, pointing to the young man.

"I say, he's himself again!" she said.

"He is himself," echoed the man.

Concluding that he had returned to his senses, the landlady closed the door and disappeared. She was always shy and dreaded conversations or discussions. She was a woman of forty, not at all bad-looking, fat and buxom, with black eyes and eyebrows, good-natured from fatness and laziness, and absurdly bashful.

"Who . . . are you?" he went on, addressing the man. But at that moment the door was flung open, and, stooping a little, as he was so tall, Razumihin came in.

"What a cabin it is!" he cried. "I am always knocking my head. You call this a lodging! So you are conscious, brother? I've just heard the news from Pashenka."

"He has just come to," said Nastasya.

"Just come to," echoed the man again, with a smile.

"And who are you?" Razumihin asked, suddenly addressing him. "My name is Vrazumihin, at your service; not Razumihin, as I am always called, but Vrazumihin, a student and gentleman; and he is my friend. And who are you?"

"I am the messenger from our office, from the merchant Shelopaev, and I've come on business."

"Please sit down." Razumihin seated himself on the other side of the table. "It's a good thing you've come to, brother," he went on to Raskolnikov. "For the last four days you have scarcely eaten or drunk anything. We had to give you tea in spoonfuls. I brought Zossimov to see you twice. You remember Zossimov? He examined you carefully and said at once it was nothing serious--something seemed to have gone to your head. Some nervous nonsense, the result of bad feeding, he says you have not had enough beer and radish, but it's nothing much, it will pass and you will be all right. Zossimov is a first-rate fellow! He is making quite a name. Come, I won't keep you," he said, addressing the man again. "Will you explain what you want? You must know, Rodya, this is the second time they have sent from the office; but it was another man last time, and I talked to him. Who was it came before?"

"That was the day before yesterday, I venture to say, if you please, sir. That was Alexey Semyonovitch; he is in our office, too."

"He was more intelligent than you, don't you think so?"

"Yes, indeed, sir, he is of more weight than I am."

"Quite so; go on."

"At your mamma's request, through Afanasy Ivanovitch Vahrushin, of whom I presume you have heard more than once, a remittance is sent to you from our office," the man began, addressing Raskolnikov. "If you are in an intelligible condition, I've thirty-five roubles to remit to you, as Semyon Semyonovitch has received from Afanasy Ivanovitch at your mamma's request instructions to that effect, as on previous occasions. Do you know him, sir?"

"Yes, I remember . . . Vahrushin," Raskolnikov said dreamily.

"You hear, he knows Vahrushin," cried Razumihin. "He is in 'an intelligible condition'! And I see you are an intelligent man too. Well, it's always pleasant to hear words of wisdom."

"That's the gentleman, Vahrushin, Afanasy Ivanovitch. And at the request of your mamma, who has sent you a remittance once before in the same manner through him, he did not refuse this time also, and sent instructions to Semyon Semyonovitch some days since to hand you thirty-five roubles in the hope of better to come."

"That 'hoping for better to come' is the best thing you've said, though 'your mamma' is not bad either. Come then, what do you say? Is he fully conscious, eh?"

"That's all right. If only he can sign this little paper."

"He can scrawl his name. Have you got the book?"

"Yes, here's the book."

"Give it to me. Here, Rodya, sit up. I'll hold you. Take the pen and scribble 'Raskolnikov' for him. For just now, brother, money is sweeter to us than treacle."

"I don't want it," said Raskolnikov, pushing away the pen.

"Not want it?"

"I won't sign it."

"How the devil can you do without signing it?"

"I don't want . . . the money."

"Don't want the money! Come, brother, that's nonsense, I bear witness. Don't trouble, please, it's only that he is on his travels again. But that's pretty common with him at all times though. . . . You are a man of judgment and we will take him in hand, that is, more simply, take his hand and he will sign it. Here."

"But I can come another time."

"No, no. Why should we trouble you? You are a man of judgment. . . . Now, Rodya, don't keep your visitor, you see he is waiting," and he made ready to hold Raskolnikov's hand in earnest.

"Stop, I'll do it alone," said the latter, taking the pen and signing his name.

The messenger took out the money and went away.

"Bravo! And now, brother, are you hungry?"

"Yes," answered Raskolnikov.

"Is there any soup?"

"Some of yesterday's," answered Nastasya, who was still standing there.

"With potatoes and rice in it?"

"Yes."

"I know it by heart. Bring soup and give us some tea."

"Very well."

Raskolnikov looked at all this with profound astonishment and a dull, unreasoning terror. He made up his mind to keep quiet and see what would happen. "I believe I am not wandering. I believe it's reality," he thought.

In a couple of minutes Nastasya returned with the soup, and announced that the tea would be ready directly. With the soup she brought two spoons, two plates, salt, pepper, mustard for the beef, and so on. The table was set as it had not been for a long time. The cloth was clean.

"It would not be amiss, Nastasya, if Praskovya Pavlovna were to send us up a couple of bottles of beer. We could empty them."

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

Raskolnikov still gazed wildly with strained attention. Meanwhile Razumihin sat down on the sofa beside him, as clumsily as a bear put his left arm round Raskolnikov's head, although he was able to sit up, and with his right hand gave him a spoonful of soup, blowing on it that it might not burn him. But the soup was only just warm. Raskolnikov swallowed one spoonful greedily, then a second, then a third. But after giving him a few more spoonfuls of soup, Razumihin suddenly stopped, and said that he must ask Zossimov whether he ought to have more.

Nastasya came in with two bottles of beer.

"And will you have tea?"

"Yes."

"Cut along, Nastasya, and bring some tea, for tea we may venture on without the faculty. But here is the beer!" He moved back to his chair, pulled the soup and meat in front of him, and began eating as though he had not touched food for three days.

"I must tell you, Rodya, I dine like this here every day now," he mumbled with his mouth full of beef, "and it's all Pashenka, your dear little landlady, who sees to that; she loves to do anything for me. I don't ask for it, but, of course, I don't object. And here's Nastasya with the tea. She is a quick girl. Nastasya, my dear, won't you have some beer?"

"Get along with your nonsense!"

"A cup of tea, then?"

"A cup of tea, maybe."

"Pour it out. Stay, I'll pour it out myself. Sit down."

He poured out two cups, left his dinner, and sat on the sofa again. As before, he put his left arm round the sick man's head, raised him up and gave him tea in spoonfuls, again blowing each spoonful steadily and earnestly, as though this process was the principal and most effective means towards his friend's recovery. Raskolnikov said nothing and made no resistance, though he felt quite strong enough to sit up on the sofa without support and could not merely have held a cup or a spoon, but even perhaps could have walked about. But from some queer, almost animal, cunning he conceived the idea of hiding his strength and lying low for a time, pretending if necessary not to be yet in full possession of his faculties, and meanwhile listening to find out what was going on. Yet he could not overcome his sense of repugnance. After sipping a dozen spoonfuls of tea, he suddenly released his head, pushed the spoon away capriciously, and sank back on the pillow. There were actually real pillows under his head now, down pillows in clean cases, he observed that, too, and took note of it.

"Pashenka must give us some raspberry jam to-day to make him some raspberry tea," said Razumihin, going back to his chair and attacking his soup and beer again.

"And where is she to get raspberries for you?" asked Nastasya, balancing a saucer on her five outspread fingers and sipping tea through a lump of sugar.

"She'll get it at the shop, my dear. You see, Rodya, all sorts of things have been happening while you have been laid up. When you decamped in that rascally way without leaving your address, I felt so angry that I resolved to find you out and punish you. I set to work that very day. How I ran about making inquiries for you! This lodging of yours I had forgotten, though I never remembered it, indeed, because I did not know it; and as for your old lodgings, I could only remember it was at the Five Corners, Harlamov's house. I kept trying to find that Harlamov's house, and afterwards it turned out that it was not Harlamov's, but Buch's. How one muddles up sound sometimes! So I lost my temper, and I went on the chance to the address bureau next day, and only fancy, in two minutes they looked you up! Your name is down there."

"My name!"

"I should think so; and yet a General Kobelev they could not find while I was there. Well, it's a long story. But as soon as I did land on this place, I soon got to know all your affairs--all, all, brother, I know everything; Nastasya here will tell you. I made the acquaintance of Nikodim Fomitch and Ilya Petrovitch, and the house- porter and Mr. Zametov, Alexandr Grigorievitch, the head clerk in the police office, and, last, but not least, of Pashenka; Nastasya here knows. . . ."

"He's got round her," Nastasya murmured, smiling slyly.

"Why don't you put the sugar in your tea, Nastasya Nikiforovna?"

"You are a one!" Nastasya cried suddenly, going off into a giggle. "I am not Nikiforovna, but Petrovna," she added suddenly, recovering from her mirth.

"I'll make a note of it. Well, brother, to make a long story short, I was going in for a regular explosion here to uproot all malignant influences in the locality, but Pashenka won the day. I had not expected, brother, to find her so . . . prepossessing. Eh, what do you think?"

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

"And all that could be wished, indeed, in every respect," Razumihin went on, not at all embarrassed by his silence.

"Ah, the sly dog!" Nastasya shrieked again. This conversation afforded her unspeakable delight.

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

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

"She isn't, is she?" cried Razumihin, delighted to get an answer out of him. "But she is not very clever either, eh? She is essentially, essentially an unaccountable character! I am sometimes quite at a loss, I assure you. . . . She must be forty; she says she is thirty- six, and of course she has every right to say so. But I swear I judge her intellectually, simply from the metaphysical point of view; there is a sort of symbolism sprung up between us, a sort of algebra or what not! I don't understand it! Well, that's all nonsense. Only, seeing that you are not a student now and have lost your lessons and your clothes, and that through the young lady's death she has no need to treat you as a relation, she suddenly took fright; and as you hid in your den and dropped all your old relations with her, she planned to get rid of you. And she's been cherishing that design a long time, but was sorry to lose the I O U, for you assured her yourself that your mother would pay."

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

"Yes, you did very sensibly. But the worst of it is that at that point Mr. Tchebarov turns up, a business man. Pashenka would never have thought of doing anything on her own account, she is too retiring; but the business man is by no means retiring, and first thing he puts the question, 'Is there any hope of realising the I O U?' Answer: there is, because he has a mother who would save her Rodya with her hundred and twenty-five roubles pension, if she has to starve herself; and a sister, too, who would go into bondage for his sake. That's what he was building upon. . . . Why do you start? I know all the ins and outs of your affairs now, my dear boy--it's not for nothing that you were so open with Pashenka when you were her prospective son-in-law, and I say all this as a friend. . . . But I tell you what it is; an honest and sensitive man is open; and a business man 'listens and goes on eating' you up. Well, then she gave the I O U by way of payment to this Tchebarov, and without hesitation he made a formal demand for payment. When I heard of all this I wanted to blow him up, too, to clear my conscience, but by that time harmony reigned between me and Pashenka, and I insisted on stopping the whole affair, engaging that you would pay. I went security for you, brother. Do you understand? We called Tchebarov, flung him ten roubles and got the I O U back from him, and here I have the honour of presenting it to you. She trusts your word now. Here, take it, you see I have torn it."

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

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

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

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

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

"What's the matter with you? . . . What are you upset about? He wanted to make your acquaintance because I talked to him a lot about you. . . . How could I have found out so much except from him? He is a capital fellow, brother, first-rate . . . in his own way, of course. Now we are friends--see each other almost every day. I have moved into this part, you know. I have only just moved. I've been with him to Luise Ivanovna once or twice. . . . Do you remember Luise, Luise Ivanovna?

"Did I say anything in delirium?"

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

"What did I rave about?"

"What next? What did you rave about? What people do rave about. . . . Well, brother, now I must not lose time. To work." He got up from the table and took up his cap.

"What did I rave about?"

"How he keeps on! Are you afraid of having let out some secret? Don't worry yourself; you said nothing about a countess. But you said a lot about a bulldog, and about ear-rings and chains, and about Krestovsky Island, and some porter, and Nikodim Fomitch and Ilya Petrovitch, the assistant superintendent. And another thing that was of special interest to you was your own sock. You whined, 'Give me my sock.' Zametov hunted all about your room for your socks, and with his own scented, ring-bedecked fingers he gave you the rag. And only then were you comforted, and for the next twenty-four hours you held the wretched thing in your hand; we could not get it from you. It is most likely somewhere under your quilt at this moment. And then you asked so piteously for fringe for your trousers. We tried to find out what sort of fringe, but we could not make it out. Now to business! Here are thirty-five roubles; I take ten of them, and shall give you an account of them in an hour or two. I will let Zossimov know at the same time, though he ought to have been here long ago, for it is nearly twelve. And you, Nastasya, look in pretty often while I am away, to see whether he wants a drink or anything else. And I will tell Pashenka what is wanted myself. Good-bye!"

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

No sooner had she left the room than the sick man flung off the bedclothes and leapt out of bed like a madman. With burning, twitching impatience he had waited for them to be gone so that he might set to work. But to what work? Now, as though to spite him, it eluded him.

"Good God, only tell me one thing: do they know of it yet or not? What if they know it and are only pretending, mocking me while I am laid up, and then they will come in and tell me that it's been discovered long ago and that they have only . . . What am I to do now? That's what I've forgotten, as though on purpose; forgotten it all at once, I remembered a minute ago."

He stood in the middle of the room and gazed in miserable bewilderment about him; he walked to the door, opened it, listened; but that was not what he wanted. Suddenly, as though recalling something, he rushed to the corner where there was a hole under the paper, began examining it, put his hand into the hole, fumbled--but that was not it. He went to the stove, opened it and began rummaging in the ashes; the frayed edges of his trousers and the rags cut off his pocket were lying there just as he had thrown them. No one had looked, then! Then he remembered the sock about which Razumihin had just been telling him. Yes, there it lay on the sofa under the quilt, but it was so covered with dust and grime that Zametov could not have seen anything on it.

"Bah, Zametov! The police office! And why am I sent for to the police office? Where's the notice? Bah! I am mixing it up; that was then. I looked at my sock then, too, but now . . . now I have been ill. But what did Zametov come for? Why did Razumihin bring him?" he muttered, helplessly sitting on the sofa again. "What does it mean? Am I still in delirium, or is it real? I believe it is real. . . . Ah, I remember; I must escape! Make haste to escape. Yes, I must, I must escape! Yes . . . but where? And where are my clothes? I've no boots. They've taken them away! They've hidden them! I understand! Ah, here is my coat--they passed that over! And here is money on the table, thank God! And here's the I O U . . . I'll take the money and go and take another lodging. They won't find me! . . . Yes, but the address bureau? They'll find me, Razumihin will find me. Better escape altogether . . . far away . . . to America, and let them do their worst! And take the I O U . . . it would be of use there. . . . What else shall I take? They think I am ill! They don't know that I can walk, ha-ha-ha! I could see by their eyes that they know all about it! If only I could get downstairs! And what if they have set a watch there--policemen! What's this tea? Ah, and here is beer left, half a bottle, cold!"

He snatched up the bottle, which still contained a glassful of beer, and gulped it down with relish, as though quenching a flame in his breast. But in another minute the beer had gone to his head, and a faint and even pleasant shiver ran down his spine. He lay down and pulled the quilt over him. His sick and incoherent thoughts grew more and more disconnected, and soon a light, pleasant drowsiness came upon him. With a sense of comfort he nestled his head into the pillow, wrapped more closely about him the soft, wadded quilt which had replaced the old, ragged greatcoat, sighed softly and sank into a deep, sound, refreshing sleep.

He woke up, hearing someone come in. He opened his eyes and saw Razumihin standing in the doorway, uncertain whether to come in or not. Raskolnikov sat up quickly on the sofa and gazed at him, as though trying to recall something.

"Ah, you are not asleep! Here I am! Nastasya, bring in the parcel!" Razumihin shouted down the stairs. "You shall have the account directly."

"What time is it?" asked Raskolnikov, looking round uneasily.

"Yes, you had a fine sleep, brother, it's almost evening, it will be six o'clock directly. You have slept more than six hours."

"Good heavens! Have I?"

"And why not? It will do you good. What's the hurry? A tryst, is it? We've all time before us. I've been waiting for the last three hours for you; I've been up twice and found you asleep. I've called on Zossimov twice; not at home, only fancy! But no matter, he will turn up. And I've been out on my own business, too. You know I've been moving to-day, moving with my uncle. I have an uncle living with me now. But that's no matter, to business. Give me the parcel, Nastasya. We will open it directly. And how do you feel now, brother?"

"I am quite well, I am not ill. Razumihin, have you been here long?"

"I tell you I've been waiting for the last three hours."

"No, before."

"How do you mean?"

"How long have you been coming here?"

"Why I told you all about it this morning. Don't you remember?"

Raskolnikov pondered. The morning seemed like a dream to him. He could not remember alone, and looked inquiringly at Razumihin.

"Hm!" said the latter, "he has forgotten. I fancied then that you were not quite yourself. Now you are better for your sleep. . . . You really look much better. First-rate! Well, to business. Look here, my dear boy."

He began untying the bundle, which evidently interested him.

"Believe me, brother, this is something specially near my heart. For we must make a man of you. Let's begin from the top. Do you see this cap?" he said, taking out of the bundle a fairly good though cheap and ordinary cap. "Let me try it on."

"Presently, afterwards," said Raskolnikov, waving it off pettishly.

"Come, Rodya, my boy, don't oppose it, afterwards will be too late; and I shan't sleep all night, for I bought it by guess, without measure. Just right!" he cried triumphantly, fitting it on, "just your size! A proper head-covering is the first thing in dress and a recommendation in its own way. Tolstyakov, a friend of mine, is always obliged to take off his pudding basin when he goes into any public place where other people wear their hats or caps. People think he does it from slavish politeness, but it's simply because he is ashamed of his bird's nest; he is such a boastful fellow! Look, Nastasya, here are two specimens of headgear: this Palmerston"--he took from the corner Raskolnikov's old, battered hat, which for some unknown reason, he called a Palmerston--"or this jewel! Guess the price, Rodya, what do you suppose I paid for it, Nastasya!" he said, turning to her, seeing that Raskolnikov did not speak.

"Twenty copecks, no more, I dare say," answered Nastasya.

"Twenty copecks, silly!" he cried, offended. "Why, nowadays you would cost more than that--eighty copecks! And that only because it has been worn. And it's bought on condition that when's it's worn out, they will give you another next year. Yes, on my word! Well, now let us pass to the United States of America, as they called them at school. I assure you I am proud of these breeches," and he exhibited to Raskolnikov a pair of light, summer trousers of grey woollen material. "No holes, no spots, and quite respectable, although a little worn; and a waistcoat to match, quite in the fashion. And its being worn really is an improvement, it's softer, smoother. . . . You see, Rodya, to my thinking, the great thing for getting on in the world is always to keep to the seasons; if you don't insist on having asparagus in January, you keep your money in your purse; and it's the same with this purchase. It's summer now, so I've been buying summer things-- warmer materials will be wanted for autumn, so you will have to throw these away in any case . . . especially as they will be done for by then from their own lack of coherence if not your higher standard of luxury. Come, price them! What do you say? Two roubles twenty-five copecks! And remember the condition: if you wear these out, you will have another suit for nothing! They only do business on that system at Fedyaev's; if you've bought a thing once, you are satisfied for life, for you will never go there again of your own free will. Now for the boots. What do you say? You see that they are a bit worn, but they'll last a couple of months, for it's foreign work and foreign leather; the secretary of the English Embassy sold them last week--he had only worn them six days, but he was very short of cash. Price--a rouble and a half. A bargain?"

"But perhaps they won't fit," observed Nastasya.

"Not fit? Just look!" and he pulled out of his pocket Raskolnikov's old, broken boot, stiffly coated with dry mud. "I did not go empty- handed--they took the size from this monster. We all did our best. And as to your linen, your landlady has seen to that. Here, to begin with are three shirts, hempen but with a fashionable front. . . . Well now then, eighty copecks the cap, two roubles twenty-five copecks the suit--together three roubles five copecks--a rouble and a half for the boots--for, you see, they are very good--and that makes four roubles fifty-five copecks; five roubles for the underclothes--they were bought in the lo-- which makes exactly nine roubles fifty-five copecks. Forty-five copecks change in coppers. Will you take it? And so, Rodya, you are set up with a complete new rig-out, for your overcoat will serve, and even has a style of its own. That comes from getting one's clothes from Sharmer's! As for your socks and other things, I leave them to you; we've twenty-five roubles left. And as for Pashenka and paying for your lodging, don't you worry. I tell you she'll trust you for anything. And now, brother, let me change your linen, for I daresay you will throw off your illness with your shirt."

"Let me be! I don't want to!" Raskolnikov waved him off. He had listened with disgust to Razumihin's efforts to be playful about his purchases.

"Come, brother, don't tell me I've been trudging around for nothing," Razumihin insisted. "Nastasya, don't be bashful, but help me--that's it," and in spite of Raskolnikov's resistance he changed his linen. The latter sank back on the pillows and for a minute or two said nothing.

"It will be long before I get rid of them," he thought. "What money was all that bought with?" he asked at last, gazing at the wall.

"Money? Why, your own, what the messenger brought from Vahrushin, your mother sent it. Have you forgotten that, too?"

"I remember now," said Raskolnikov after a long, sullen silence. Razumihin looked at him, frowning and uneasy.

The door opened and a tall, stout man whose appearance seemed familiar to Raskolnikov came in.

不过,并不是他生病的这段时间里,一直完全不省人事:他在发烧,说一胡一话,处于一种半昏迷的状态.以后他记起了许多事情.一会儿他好像觉得,有许多人聚集在他身边,他们想要逮住他,把他送到什么地方去,为他争论得很激烈,还争吵起来.一会儿突然只有他一个人在屋里,大家都走了,都怕他,只是偶尔稍稍打开房门看看他,威胁他,相互间不知在商量什么,他们还在笑,在逗他.他记得娜斯塔西娅经常在他身边;他还认出了一个人,好像是他很熟的一个熟人,可到底是谁,他却怎么也想不起来,为此他很苦恼,甚至哭了.有时他好像觉得,他已经躺了一个月的样子;有时又觉得,还是在那同一天里.但是那件事--那件事他却忘得干干净净;然而又时刻记得,他忘记了一件不能忘记的事,--他苦苦回忆,极其苦恼,痛苦不堪,呻一吟,发狂,或者陷于无法忍受的极端恐惧之中.于是他竭力挣扎着起来,想要逃走,可总是有人制止他,强迫他躺下,他又陷入虚弱无力,昏迷不醒的状态.终于他完全清醒过来了.

这是在上午十点钟的时候.天气晴朗的日子里,上午这个时候总是有一道长长的一�一光照射一到他右边的墙上,照亮门边上的那个角落.娜斯塔西娅站在他一床一边,一床一边还有一个人,正在十分好奇地细细打量他,他根本不认识这个人.这是个年轻小伙子,穿一件束着腰带的长上衣,下巴底下留着小一胡一子,看样子像个送信的.女房东正从半开着的房门外往里张望.拉斯科利尼科夫欠起身来.

"这是什么人,娜斯塔西娅?"他指着那个小伙子问.

"瞧,他醒过来了!"她说.

"醒过来了,"送信的回答.从门外偷看的女房东猜到他清醒过来了,立刻掩上房门,躲了起来.她一向很腼腆,怕跟人说话和作解释;她有四十来岁,很胖,满身肥肉,黑眉一毛一,黑眼睛,由于肥胖和懒洋洋的,看上去似乎很善良;甚至长得还挺不错.却腼腆得有点儿过分.

"您......是什么人?"他对着那个送信的继续询问.但就在这时房门又大大敞开了,拉祖米欣因为个子高,稍稍低下头,走了进来.

"真像个船舱,"他进来时高声说,"总是碰到额头;这也叫住房呢!老兄,你醒过来了?刚听帕申卡说的."

"刚醒过来,"娜斯塔西娅说.

"刚醒过来,"那个送信的面带微笑,附和说.

"请问您是谁?"拉祖米欣突然问他."我姓弗拉祖米欣;不是像大家叫我的那样,不是拉祖米欣,而是弗拉祖米欣,大学生,贵族子弟,他是我的朋友.那么,您是哪一位?"

"我是我们办事处的信差,商人舍洛帕耶夫的办事处,来这儿有件事."

"请坐在这把椅子上,"拉祖米欣自己坐到桌子另一边的另一把椅子上."老兄,你醒过来了,这太好了,"接着他又对拉斯科利尼科夫说."已经是第四天了,你几乎不吃也不喝.不错,拿小勺喂过你茶喝.我带佐西莫夫来看过你两次.你记得佐西莫夫吗?他给你仔细作了检查,立刻就说,不要紧,--可能是受了点儿刺激.有点儿神经错乱,伙食太差,他说,啤酒喝得太少,洋姜也吃得太少,于是就病了,不过没关系,会过去的,会好起来的.佐西莫夫真是好样的!开始给你治病了,而且医术高超.啊,那么我就不耽误您了,"他又对那个信差说,"能不能说说,您有什么事?你听我说,罗佳,他们办事处已经是第二次来人了;不过上次来的不是这一位,而是另一个人,我跟那人谈过.在您以前来的是谁啊?"

"大概这是前天吧.不错.这是阿列克谢·谢苗诺维奇;也是我们办事处的."

"可他比您一精一明,您认为呢?"

"是的,他的确比我更懂业务."

"很好;那么请您接着说下去."

"阿凡纳西·伊万诺维奇·瓦赫鲁申,我想,这个人您听到过不止一次了,应令堂请求,通过我们办事处给您汇来了一笔钱,"那个信差直接对拉斯科利尼科夫说."如果您已经清醒过来了--就要一交一给您三十五卢布,因为谢苗·谢苗诺维奇又接到了阿凡纳西·伊万诺维奇应令堂请求,按上次方式寄来的汇款通知.您知道这件事吗?"

"是的......我记得......瓦赫鲁申......"拉斯科利尼科夫若有所思地说.

"您听到了:他知道这个商人瓦赫鲁申!"拉祖米欣大声喊了起来."怎么会不醒呢?不过,现在我发觉,您也是个一精一明能干的人.哈!聪明话听起来就是让人觉得愉快."

"就是他,瓦赫鲁申,阿凡纳西·伊万诺维奇,有一次令堂也是通过他,已经用这种方式给您汇过一笔钱来,这次他也没有拒绝令堂的请求,日前他通知谢苗·谢苗诺维奇,给您汇来三十五卢布,希望会有助于您改善生活."

"'希望会有助于您改善生活',您说得太好了;'令堂'这个词用得也不错.好,那么怎么样呢,您看他是不是完全清醒了,啊?"

"我认为那倒没什么.不过得签个字."

"他能签字!您带回单簿来了?"

"是回单簿,这就是."

"拿过来吧.喂,罗佳,起来.我扶着你;给他签上个拉斯科利尼科夫,拿起笔来吧,因为,老兄,现在对我们来说,钱比糖浆还甜呢."

"不用,"拉斯科利尼科夫把笔推开,说.

"不用什么?"

"我不签字."

"唉,见鬼,怎么能不签字呢?"

"我用不着......钱......"

"钱会用不着!唉,老兄,你这是说谎,我就是见证人!请别担心,他这只不过是......又在说一胡一话.不过,他清醒的时候也常常这样......您是个通情达理的人,我们来教导他,也就是说,干脆抓住他的手,他就会签字了.来吧......"

"不过,我可以下次再来."

"不,不;干吗麻烦您呢.您是个通情达理的人......喂,罗佳,别耽误客人的时间了......你看,人家在等着呢,"说者他当真要抓住拉斯科利尼科夫的手.

"放开,我自己签......"拉斯科利尼科夫说,拿起笔来,在回单簿上签了字.信差拿出钱来,就走了.

"好哇!老兄,现在想吃东西了吗?"

"想,"拉斯科利尼科夫回答.

"你们这儿有汤?"

"昨儿个的,"这段时间里一直站在这儿的娜斯塔西娅回答.

"土豆加大米的?"

"是土豆大米汤."

"我就知道是这种汤.端汤来,把茶也拿来."

"我就拿来."

拉斯科利尼科夫隐隐怀着一种说不出道理来的恐惧心理,非常惊奇地看着这一切.他决定默不作声,等着以后还会发生什么事."好像我不是处于昏迷状态,"他想,"好像这都是真的......"

两分钟后,娜斯塔西娅端着汤回来了,还说,这就送茶来.和汤一起拿来了两把调羹,两个小碟子,还有整套调味瓶:盐瓶,一胡一椒瓶,还有吃牛肉时要加的芥末,等等,已经好久没有像这样把这些东西统统摆出来了.桌布是干净的.

"娜斯塔西尤什卡,要是让普拉斯科维娅·帕夫洛芙娜给送两瓶啤酒来,倒也不错.咱们喝它个痛快."

"哼,你可真机灵!"娜斯塔西娅嘟嘟囔囔地说,于是照他吩咐的去办了.

拉斯科利尼科夫继续奇怪而紧张地注视着这一切.这时拉祖米欣坐到沙发上来,坐到他身边,像头熊样笨拙地用左手抱住他的头,--虽说他自己也可以欠起身来了--然后用右手把一调羹汤送到他嘴边,还先吹了好几次,以免烫着他.其实汤是一温一的.拉斯科利尼科夫贪婪地喝了一调羹,又一调羹,第三调羹.但是喂了几调羹以后,拉祖米欣突然停下来了,说是,能不能再吃,得跟佐西莫夫商量一下.

娜斯塔西娅拿着两瓶啤酒进来了.

"想喝茶吗?"

"想."

"快把茶也拿来,娜斯塔西娅,因为,茶嘛,不用问医生,好像也可以喝.哈,啤酒也有了!"他又回到自己那把椅子上,把汤,牛肉都拉到自己面前,狼吞虎咽地吃了起来,看那样子真像三天没吃饭似的.

"罗佳老兄,现在我每天都在你们这儿像这样吃饭,"他嘴里塞满了牛肉,想尽可能说清楚些,可还是说得含糊不清,"而这全都是帕申卡,你的女房东请客,真心诚意地热情招待我.我当然没坚持让她这样做,不过也不提出异议.瞧,娜斯塔西娅送茶来了.真够麻利的!娜斯金卡,想喝啤酒吗?"

"真是个调皮鬼!"

"那么茶呢?"

"茶嘛,好吧."

"你斟上.等等,我亲自给你斟;坐到桌边来吧."

他立刻张罗起来,斟了一杯茶,然后又斟了一杯,放下早餐不吃了,又坐到沙发上.他仍然用左手抱着病人的头,扶起他来,用茶匙喂他喝茶,又不断地特别热心地吹茶,仿佛恢复健康的最主要,最有效的关键,就全在于吹茶这道程序了.拉斯科利尼科夫默不作声,也不反对人家这样做,尽管他感觉到自己有足够的力气欠起身来,不需要别人的任何帮助就可以坐在沙发上了,而且不仅能用手拿住茶匙或茶杯,也许连走路都不成问题.但是由于某种奇怪的,几乎是野兽所特有的那种狡猾心理,他忽然想要暂时隐瞒自己的力气,不让人看出来,如有必要,甚至想假装尚未完全清醒,留心听听,弄清这儿到底发生了什么事情?不过他无法控制自己的厌恶心情:喝了十来茶匙茶以后,他突然把头挣脱出来,任一性一地推开茶匙,又倒在枕头上.现在他头底下当真垫着几个真正的枕头套着干净枕套的绒一毛一枕头;这一点他也发觉了,注意到了.

"得让帕申卡今天给我们送点儿马林果酱来,给他做饮料,"拉祖米欣说着坐回自己的座位上,又喝起汤和啤酒来.

"她上哪儿给你弄马林果去?"娜斯塔西娅问,她正叉一开五个手指托着茶碟,嘴里含一着糖块喝茶.

"我的朋友,马林果,她可以到小铺里去买.你知道吗,罗佳,在你睡着的时候,这儿发生了多少事情.你以那样不讲信义的方式从我那儿溜之乎也,又不告诉我你的地址,我突然觉得那么恨你,决定要找到你,惩罚你.当天我就行动起来.我东奔西走,到处打听!现在你住的这个地方我忘了;其实我从来也没记住过,因为我根本不知道.至于你以前住的那个地方 --我只记得是在五角场①附近,--哈尔拉莫夫②的房子.我找啊,找啊,寻找这幢哈尔拉莫夫的房子.后来才弄清,这幢房子根本不是哈尔拉莫夫的,而是布赫的,--有时就是会把读音搞错,而且错得这么厉害!我气坏了!一气之下,第二天我就到居民地址查询处去查问,反正豁出去了,你瞧,那里只花了两分钟就给我查到了你的住址.你的名字登记在那儿了."

--------

①五角场是彼得堡的地名,有好几条街道在那里会合.

②哈尔拉莫夫是当时一个房主的真姓,他的房子在干草广场附近的马巷里.

"登记了!"

"那当然;可是我亲眼看到,有人在那里怎么也查不到科别列夫将军的住址.嗯,说起来话长着呢.我一来到这儿,立刻了解了你的一切情况;一切,老兄,一切,什么我都知道;喏,她也看到的:我认识了尼科季姆·福米奇,让我见到了伊利亚·彼特罗维奇,还认识了管院子的,扎苗托夫先生,亚历山大·格里戈里耶维奇,这儿警察分局的办事员,最后又认识了帕申卡,这已经是顶峰了;喏,这些她都知道......"

"你是在拍马屁呀,"娜斯塔西娅狡黠地笑着,含糊不清地说.

"您最好还是把糖放在茶里,娜斯塔西娅·尼基福罗娃."

"哼,你呀,你这条狗!"娜斯塔西娅突然喊了一声,忍不住噗嗤一声笑了."可我姓彼特罗娃,不姓尼基福罗娃,"等她笑完了,突然补上这么一句.

"以后咱准牢牢记住.嗯,那么,老兄,废话少说,起初我本想在这儿到处都通上电流,好一下子就根除这儿的一切偏见;可是帕申卡获得了胜利.老兄,我怎么也没想到,她是这么......阿文南特①......对吗?你认为呢?"

拉斯科利尼科夫一声不响,虽说连一分钟也没把自己惊恐的目光从他身上移开,现在也仍然在执拗地盯着他.

"甚至是非常迷人,"拉祖米欣接着说,一点儿也不因为朋友沉默不语而感到发窘,而且仿佛是在附和已经得到的回答,"甚至是完美无缺,在各方面都是如此."

"哎哟,你这个坏蛋!"娜斯塔西娅又高声说,看来这场谈话使她得到了一种难以理解的快乐.

"糟糕的是,老兄,一开始你没能把事情处理好.对待她不应该这样.因为,这个人的一性一格可以说最让人摸不透!啊,不过一性一格嘛,可以留待以后再说......只不过,譬如说,你怎么会弄得她连饭都不供给你了呢?再譬如说,这张借据是怎么回事?你疯了,还是怎么的,怎么能在借据上签字呢!再譬如说这门拟议中的婚事,在她女儿,娜塔利娅·叶戈罗芙娜还活着的时候......我全都知道!不过我明白,这是一根十分微妙的弦②,我也知道自己是头笨驴;请你原谅我.不过也顺便谈谈愚蠢这个问题:你是怎么认为呢,老兄,普拉斯科维娅·帕夫洛芙娜可完全不像第一眼看上去所想象的那么愚蠢,不是吗?"

--------

①法文avenante的音译,"迷人","讨人喜欢"之意.

②意思是:这是个很微妙的问题.

"是的......"拉斯科利尼科夫望着一旁,从牙齿缝里含含糊糊挤出一句话来,不过他明白,让谈话继续下去更为有利.

"对吧?"拉祖米欣高声叫喊,看得出来,他得到了回答,这使他非常高兴,"不过也不聪明,不是吗?她的一性一格完全,完全让人摸不透!老兄,请你相信,我也有点儿摸不准......她无疑有四十岁了.她说--三十六岁,她完全有权这样说.不过,我向你起誓,我多半是从理一性一上,只是以形而上学的观点来对她作判断的;老兄,我们之间发生了这么一种象征一性一的关系,这就像代数一样.我什么也弄不明白!唉,这全都是一胡一扯,不过她看到你已经不是大学生了,教课的工作丢一了,像样的衣服也没有了,她那位小一姐一死,已经没有理由把你看作亲戚了,于是突然害怕起来;而从你自己这方面说呢,因为你躲到屋里,断绝了从前的一切联系,所以她就想把你撵出去.她心里早就有这个想法,可是又舍不得那张借据.何况你自己还肯定地说,一妈一妈一会还给她......"

"我说这话是因为我太卑鄙无一耻了......我母亲自己几乎要求人施舍......我却撒了谎,这是为了使她让我住在这里......供给我饭吃,"拉斯科利尼科夫高声说,而且说得清清楚楚.

"对,这你做得很有道理.不过全部问题在于,这时突然杀出个七等文官切巴罗夫先生来,这是个一精一明能干的人.没有他,帕申卡什么诡计也想不出来,她太腼腆了;而一精一明能干的人却厚颜无一耻,首先他自然会提出这样一个问题:凭这张借据,有没有希望拿到钱?回答是:有,因为他有这样一个一妈一妈一,即使她自己饿着,也会从她那一百二十五卢布①养老金里拿出钱来接济罗坚卡,而且他还有这样一个妹妹,为了哥哥,肯去作一奴一隶.他的一�一谋诡计就建立在这一点上......你吃惊了?老兄,现在你的全部底细我都摸清了,帕申卡还把你看作亲戚的时候,你对她开诚布公,把什么都告诉了她,那些话可没白说,现在我跟你说这些,是因为我把你当作朋友......问题就在这里了:正直而一爱一动感情的人开诚布公,一精一明能干的人却边听边吃,然后统统吃掉②.这不是,现在她把这张借据让给了这个切巴罗夫,似乎是用来抵帐,而他却恬不知耻地正式向你讨债.我一了解到这些情况,为了免受良心责备,本想也出出气,可是这时候我和帕申卡之间达成了协议,我担保你一定还钱,要求从根本上了结这个案子.我为你担保,老兄,你听到吗?我们把切巴罗夫叫了来,塞给他十个卢布,收回了借据,喏,我很荣幸能把它一交一给你,--现在她相信你了--请拿去吧,我已经把它撕得粉碎了."

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①前面说,是一百二十卢布.不过此处是拉祖米欣说的,可能他不知道确切的数目.因此不能断定是作者疏忽,前后不一致.

②这句话引自俄罗斯寓言作家克雷洛夫(一七六九--一八四四)的寓言<猫和厨子>.原文是:"瓦斯卡(猫)却边听,边吃"这里的意思是:说者无心,听者有心.

拉祖米欣把借据放到桌子上;拉斯科利尼科夫朝它看了一眼,一句话也没说,就转过脸去,面对着墙壁.就连拉祖米欣也对他感到厌恶了.

"老兄,"稍过了一会儿,他说,"看得出来,我又干了蠢事.我本想给你解解闷儿,闲扯几句,让你开开心,可好像只是惹得你生气."

"我在昏迷不醒的时候没认出来的就是你吗?"也是在沉默了一会儿以后,拉斯科利尼科夫问,还是没有转过脸来.

"是我,你甚至为此气得发狂,特别是有一次我把扎苗托夫带了来的时候."

"扎苗托夫?......那个办事员吗?......他来干什么?"拉斯科利尼科夫很快转过脸来,眼睛盯着拉祖米欣.

"你干吗这样......为什么惊慌不安?他想和您认识一下;因为我跟他谈了不少关于你的事,他才想认识你......不然我能从谁那儿了解到你这么多情况?老兄,他是个很不错的人,好极了......当然,只是就某一方面来说.现在我们是朋友了;几乎天天见面.因为我搬到这个地区来了.你还不知道吗?刚刚搬来.和他一起到拉维扎家去过两次.拉维扎你记得吗,"拉维扎·伊万诺芙娜?"

"我一胡一说过什么吗?"

"那还用说!神智不清嘛."

"我都一胡一说了些什么?"

"吓!一胡一说了些什么?大家都知道会一胡一说些什么......喂,老兄,为了不一浪一费时间,还是行动起来吧."

他从椅子上站起来,拿起制帽.

"我一胡一说了些什么?"

"唉,又问这个!是不是怕泄露什么秘密呢?别担心:关于公爵夫人,什么也没说过.可是说过什么叭儿狗,耳环,链子,克列斯托夫斯基岛,还有什么管院子的,还提到尼科季姆·福米奇,伊利亚·彼特罗维奇,那个副局长,说了很多这一类的话.对了,除了这些,对您自己的一只袜子,您甚至非常关心,关心得出奇!您抱怨说:给我呀,翻来覆去总是这句话.扎苗托夫亲自在各个角落里找你这双袜子,用他那在香水里洗过,戴着戒指的手把这脏东西一交一给您.这时您才放了心,整天整夜把这玩意儿攥在手里,夺也夺不过来.大概现在还放在你被子底下的什么地方呢.要不,就是要什么裤腿上的一毛一边,而且是苦苦哀求!我们问:要什么一毛一边?可是什么也弄不清......好啦,现在谈正经事!喏,这儿是三十五卢布;我从这里拿走十个卢布,两个钟头以后给你报帐.同时通知佐西莫夫,虽说不用通知他,他也早该到这儿来了,因为已经十一点多了.而您,娜斯金卡,我不在的时候,您要常来看看,看他是不是要吃点儿什么,或者想要什么旁的东西......帕申卡那里,我马上亲自去告诉她,需要她做什么.再见!"

"管她叫帕申卡呢!哼,你这个滑头!"他出去后,娜斯塔西娅对着他的背影说;然后打开房门,偷偷地听着,可是忍不住了,于是自己跑了下去.她很想知道,他在那里跟女房东说些什么;而且看得出来,她完全让拉祖米欣给迷住了.

房门刚在她身后关上,病人立刻掀掉身上的被子,像个疯子样从一床一上跳了起来.他心急如焚,焦躁不安,很不耐烦地等着他们快点儿出去,好在他们不在的时候立刻行动起来.不过做什么,做什么事情呢?--好像故意和他为难似的,现在他偏偏把这一点给忘了."上帝啊!你只要告诉我一句话:一切他们都知道了,还是不知道?万一他们已经知道了,不过在我躺着的时候假装不知道,耍弄我,以后突然进来,说,一切大家早就知道了,他们只不过是......现在该怎么办?瞧,就像故意为难似的,忘了;突然忘了,刚刚我还记得的!

......"

他站在房屋中间,痛苦,困惑不解地环顾四周;走到门边,把门打开,侧耳倾听;但这不是他要做的事.突然,他仿佛想起了什么,冲到墙纸后有个窟窿的那个角落,仔细查看起来,把一只手伸进窟窿里摸索了一阵,可是这也不是他要做的事.他走到炉边,打开炉门,又在炉灰里摸了起来:裤腿上的几条一毛一边和几块撕碎了的口袋布,仍然像他把它们丢进去的时候一样丢在那里,这么说,没有人来检查过!这时他想起拉祖米欣刚刚讲的那只袜子来了.不错,它就放在沙发上,被子底下,不过从那以后已经穿得那么破,弄得那么脏,扎苗托夫当然什么也看不出来.

"噢,扎苗托夫......办公室!......为什么叫我到办公室去?通知书呢!啊!......我混淆起来了:是那时候叫我去!那时候我也仔细检查过这只袜子,而现在......现在我病了.不过扎苗托夫来干什么?拉祖米欣为什么要领他到这里来?......"他虚弱无力地嘟嘟囔囔地说,又坐到沙发上."这是怎么回事?是我仍然昏迷不醒,还在呓语,还是这都是真的?好像是真的......啊,想起来了:逃跑!赶快逃跑,一定,一定得逃跑!对......不过逃到哪里去呢?我的衣服在哪里?靴子没有了!给拿走了!藏起来了!我明白!啊,这件大衣他们没注意,漏掉了!钱也放在桌子上,谢天谢地!啊,借据也在这儿......我拿了钱就走,另租一间房子,他们找不到的!--对了,不是有居民地址查询处吗?找得到的!拉祖米欣会找到的.最好一走了之......跑得远远的......到美国去,去他们的吧!把借据也拿着......以后会有用处.还要拿些什么呢?他们认为我在生病!他们不知道我能走路,嘿,嘿,嘿!......看他们的眼神我就猜到了,他们什么都知道!只要能跑下楼梯!要是他们那儿有警卫,有警察把守着呢!这是什么,是茶吧?瞧,还有剩下的啤酒,半瓶,冷的!"

他拿起酒瓶,里面还剩了整整一杯啤酒,于是十分高兴地一口气把它喝干,仿佛是用它来浇灭胸中的火焰.但是还不到一分钟,酒劲就冲到头上来了,背上感觉到一阵轻微的寒颤,这甚至使他觉得愉快.他躺下,拉过被子来,盖到身上.他那本来就已经是病态的和毫不连贯的思想,越来越混乱了,不久,轻松而又愉快的睡意袭来,完全控制了他.他舒适地把头枕到枕头上,把棉被裹得更紧一些--现在他盖的已经不是从前那件破制一服大衣了,--然后轻轻叹了口气,就睡着了,睡得很熟,酣睡不醒,而这对他的健康是有益的.

他听到有人进来,于是醒了,睁开眼睛,看到了拉祖米欣,拉祖米欣把门大大敞开,站在门口,犹豫不决:不知是不是该进来?拉斯科利尼科夫很快在沙发上欠起身来,瞅着他,好像要努力想起什么来似的.

"啊,你没睡啊,瞧,我又来了!娜斯塔西娅,把包袱拿来!"拉祖米欣朝楼下喊了一声."你这就会拿到帐单......"

"几点了?"拉斯科利尼科夫惊慌不安地朝四下里看看,问.

"太好了,老兄,睡了一觉:已经是晚上了,快六点了.

你睡了六个多钟头......"

"上帝啊!我这是怎么了!......"

"这有什么不好?对健康有好处!你急着要上哪儿去?去赴约会,是吗?现在时间都是我们的.我已经等了你三个钟头了;来过两次,你都在睡着.佐西莫夫那里,我去看过两趟:总是不在家!不过没关系,他会来的!......为我自己的事我也出去了一趟.今天我搬了家,完全搬走了,和舅舅一起.现在舅舅住在我那里......嘿,去它的吧,谈正经的!......娜斯金卡,把包袱拿到这儿来.我们这就......老兄,现在你觉得怎么样?"

"我身一体健康;我没病......拉祖米欣,你来了很久了吗?"

"我说过,等了三个钟头了."

"不,以前呢?"

"什么以前?"

"你是从什么时候起经常来这儿的?"

"我不是早就跟你讲过:你记不得了?"

拉斯科利尼科夫沉思起来.他如同在梦中一般,仿佛隐约看到了不久前发生的事情.他独自一人回忆不起来,于是疑问地望着拉祖米欣.

"嗯哼,"拉祖米欣说,"忘了!还在不久前我就觉得,你神智一直还不清醒......现在睡了一觉,清醒过来了......不错,看起来好得多了.好样的!好,谈正经的吧!你马上就会想起来的.你看这里,亲一爱一的朋友!"

他动手解一开包袱,看来,他对这包袱异乎寻常地感兴趣.

"老兄,你相信不,这是我特别关心的.往后得把你弄得像个人样儿.这就动手吧:先从头上开始.你看到这顶便帽了吗?"说着,他从包袱里拿出一顶相当好,但同时又是极普通和很便宜的制帽."请你试试看."

"以后,等以后再试,"拉斯科利尼科夫不满地摆摆手,说.

"不,罗佳老兄,别拒绝了,以后可就迟了;再说,他不试,我会一宿都睡不着,因为没有尺寸,我是估量着买的.刚好!"试戴过以后,他洋洋得意地高声说,"大小正好合适!帽子,老兄,这是服装中一样最重要的东西,就好比是一封介绍信.托尔斯佳科夫,我的一个朋友,每次进入任何公共场所,都不得不摘下自己的帽子,而别人都戴着呢帽或制帽.大家都认为,这是由于他的一奴一性一在作怪,可他却只不过是为他那顶鸟窝感到不好意思:他就是这么一个腼腆的人!喂,娜斯塔西娅,现在给您两顶帽子:您要这顶帕麦斯顿(他从墙角落里拿出拉斯科利尼科夫那顶已经很不像样的破圆帽,不知为什么把它叫作'帕麦斯顿')①,还是要这顶一精一致的帽子?罗佳,你给估估价,猜猜我花了多少钱?娜斯塔西尤什卡,你认为呢?"看到拉斯科利尼科夫不作声,他又对她说.

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①享利·帕麦斯顿(一七八四--一八六五),英国政治家,国务活动家,一八五五--一八六五任英国首相.

"恐怕花了二十戈比,"娜斯塔西娅回答.

"二十戈比,傻瓜!"他生气了,高声叫喊,"现在二十戈比就连买你都买不到,--八十戈比!而且这还是因为,是顶旧的.不错,还有个讲好的条件:这顶戴坏了,明年免费赠送一顶,真的!好,现在来看看美利坚合众国吧,我们中学里都管裤子叫合众国①.预先声明,这条裤子我可很得意呢!"说着,他在拉斯科利尼科夫面前抖开一条夏天穿的灰色薄呢料裤子,"没有破洞,没有污迹,虽然是旧的,可是挺不错,还有同样一件坎肩,同样的颜色,时兴这样.至于是旧的嘛,说实在的,这倒更好:比较软和,穿着更舒服些.你要知道,罗佳,在社会上要想出人头地,照我看,随时注意季节就足够了;如果一月份里你不吃芦笋,就能在钱袋里保存下几个卢布;这次买东西也是如此.现在是夏天,所以我就买夏装,因为到秋天反正需要暖和些的料子,那么就不得不把它扔掉了......何况到那时这些东西就都穿不得了,即使不是由于过分考究,也会因为它们本身不够结实而穿破了.喂,估估看!你看值多少?两卢布二十五戈比!而且你要记住,又是同样的条件:这条穿坏了,明年免费另拿一条!费佳耶夫的铺子里作生意就是如此:一次花钱,终生满意,所以你也就不会再去了.好,现在来看看靴子,--什么样的?看得出来,旧的,不过两个月也穿不破,因为是外国制造的,外国货:英国大使馆的一个秘书上星期在旧货市场上卖掉的;总共只穿了六天,他急需钱用.价钱是一卢布五十戈比.合算吧?"

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①英文States(合众国)与俄文URKVW(裤子)发音相近.

"可也许穿着不合适!"娜斯塔西娅说.

"不合适!可这是什么?"他从口袋里拖出拉斯科利尼科夫的一只旧靴子,靴子上粘满干泥,已经穿洞,而且都变一硬了."我是带着样子去的,就是照着这个怪物给我量出了一精一确的尺寸.办这件事可真是煞费苦心.至于内一衣吗,我已经跟女房东谈妥了.第一,要三件粗麻布衬衫,领子要时髦的......嗯,那么:帽子八十戈比,其他衣服两卢布二十五戈比,一共是三卢布零五戈比;靴子是一卢布五十戈比,--因为是双很好的靴子,--一共是四卢布五十五戈比,还有五卢布是买内一衣的, --讲好了的,按批发价钱,--总共正好是九卢布五十五戈比.四十五戈比找头,都是五戈比的铜币,请收下吧,这样一来,罗佳,现在你全套衣服都置备齐了,因为,照我看,你这件夏季大衣不仅还可以穿,甚至式样还特别优雅:到底是在沙尔美①订做的!至于袜子和其余的东西,你自己去买好了;我们还剩下二十五卢布,而帕申卡和房