Crime and Punishment (35 page)

‘So you do believe in the New Jerusalem?'

‘I do,' answered Raskolnikov firmly. While saying this, and
throughout the course of his long tirade, he'd been staring at the floor, having chosen for himself a particular spot on the rug.

‘And . . . you believe in God? Please forgive my curiosity.'

‘I do,' repeated Raskolnikov, lifting his eyes towards Porfiry.

‘And . . . you believe in the raising of Lazarus?'
22

‘I . . . do. But why are you asking?'

‘You believe in it literally?'

‘Literally.'

‘I see, sir . . . Well, I was just being curious. Do forgive me. But with respect – I refer to your earlier remark – they are not
always
punished; in fact, some . . .'

‘Are victorious during their lifetime? Oh yes, some get their way even during their lifetime, and then . . .'

‘They begin handing out punishments themselves?'

‘If necessary, and actually, you know, more often than not. Rather witty of you, I must say.'

‘My humble thanks. But tell me, if you would: how exactly are the extraordinary to be distinguished from the ordinary? Should we look out for birthmarks of some kind? The reason I ask is that we could do with some accuracy here, some objective certainty, as it were: please forgive the natural anxiety of a practical and well-intentioned man, but couldn't one introduce some special type of clothing, for example; couldn't they be, I don't know, branded in some way?
23
Because wouldn't you agree that if things got muddled and one person from one category fancied that he belonged to the other, and began to “remove all obstacles”, as you so felicitously put it, then . . .'

‘Oh, that happens all the time! This observation is even wittier than your previous one . . .'

‘My humble thanks . . .'

‘Don't mention it, sir. But please bear in mind that such a mistake is possible only on the part of the first category, i.e., “ordinary” people (a rather unfortunate phrase, I'll admit). For despite their innate predisposition towards obedience, a very great number of them, by virtue of a certain natural playfulness, such as even a cow possesses, like to fancy themselves as the vanguard, as “destroyers”, to claim their slice of the “new word”, and they couldn't be more sincere, sir. And very often they don't even notice those who really are
new
,
24
and even look down on them as people with outmoded and demeaning ways of thinking. But, in my view, there can be no significant danger
here, and you really have nothing to worry about, because if they take one step forward they take two steps back. Of course, you could flog them a little every now and again for getting carried away, so as to put them in their place, but no more than that; you don't even need to find someone to do it: being so well-behaved, they'll do it themselves. Some will render this service to their peers, others will even flog themselves . . . They'll also submit themselves to various forms of public penance – it's all rather beautiful and edifying, and there's nothing, in short, for you to worry about . . . There's a law at work here.'

‘Well, on this point, at least, you've reassured me a little. But there's something else that worries me, sir. Tell me, please, are there many such people, “extraordinary ones”, I mean, who have the right to butcher others? I don't mind bowing down, of course, but wouldn't you agree that having a lot of them would be rather frightful, sir?'

‘Oh, don't you worry about that, either,' Raskolnikov continued in the same tone. ‘In general, the number of people born with new ideas, with the ability to say something, anything, even the slightest bit
new
, is extraordinarily small, strangely so, in fact. Only one thing is clear: the pattern according to which these people are born, of these categories and subdivisions, must be very reliably and precisely determined by some law of nature. This law, needless to say, is not currently known, but I believe it exists and that it might become known in due course. The great mass of humanity, the base material, exists only for that reason – so that, in the end, by some special effort, via some hitherto mysterious process, through some intersection of blood and breed, it can make one last push and finally bring into the world that one person in, let's say, a thousand, born with at least some measure of independence. Even broader will be the independence of the one in, say, ten thousand (these are approximate figures, of course). Still broader – the one in a hundred thousand. Geniuses take millions, while the great geniuses who crown human history may require the passing of many thousands of millions of people on this earth. I've not peeked into the retort where all this takes place. But there simply must be a definite law. It can't be chance.'

‘Are the pair of you joking?' cried Razumikhin at last. ‘Are you pulling each other's legs? Look at them sitting there, laughing at the other's expense! Are you being serious, Rodya?'

Raskolnikov silently lifted towards him his pale, almost sad face and made no reply. And to Razumikhin there seemed something
strange, next to this quiet, sad face, about Porfiry's unconcealed, importunate, petulant and
discourteous
sarcasm.

‘Well, brother, if you really are serious, then . . . Of course, you're right to say that this isn't new and resembles everything we've read and heard a thousand times before; but what is truly
original
about it all – and truly belongs to you alone, to my horror – is that, in the end, you permit bloodshed
as a matter of conscience
, and, if you'll excuse me, you're actually quite fanatical about it . . . This, then, must be the main idea of your article. But the permission to shed blood
as a matter of conscience
, well . . . it's more terrifying, to my mind, than any official permission, any legal permission . . .'

‘Spot on, sir, it is more terrifying,' Porfiry chimed in.

‘No, you must have got carried away somehow! There's some mistake here. I'll read it . . . You just got carried away! You can't really think that . . . I'll read it.'

‘None of that's in the article, only hints,' said Raskolnikov.

‘Yes indeedy,' – Porfiry just couldn't sit still – ‘and your views on the subject of crime are by now almost clear to me, sir, but . . . do please forgive my persistence (what a nuisance I'm being – I'm quite ashamed of myself!), but you see, sir, you did so much to reassure me before about those erroneous cases in which the two categories are confused, but . . . I'm still rather bothered about how it all works in practice! I mean, what if some man or youth were to fancy himself a Muhammad or Lycurgus – of the future, needless to say – and went around removing all the obstacles in his way . . . ? He's making preparations for some big crusade, say . . . and needs to rustle up some funds . . . understand?'

Zametov gave a sudden snort from his corner. Raskolnikov didn't even look round.

‘I have to agree with you,' he calmly replied, ‘that such cases must indeed occur. Those who are a bit stupid or a bit vain are particularly susceptible; the young, especially.'

‘You see, sir. So what about it, sir?'

‘What about it?' Raskolnikov sneered. ‘It's hardly my fault. That's how it is and always will be. He was saying just now,' (he nodded towards Razumikhin) ‘that I permit bloodshed. Well, so what? Society, after all, has more safeguards than it needs – exile, prisons, investigators, penal servitude – so why worry? Catch him if you can!'

‘And if we do?'

‘Serves him right.'

‘You're logical, I'll grant you that. But what about his conscience, sir?'

‘Why should you care about that?'

‘You know, simply on grounds of humanity.'

‘Well, he can suffer if he's got one and if he acknowledges his mistake. That'll be his punishment – besides hard labour.'

‘So what about those who really are geniuses,' asked Razumikhin, frowning, ‘the ones who've actually been given the right to butcher others – are you saying they shouldn't suffer at all, not even for the blood they've shed?'

‘What does the word
should
have to do with it? It's not a matter of permitting something or forbidding something. Let him suffer, if he's sorry for his victim . . . Suffering and pain are always mandatory for broad minds and deep hearts. Truly great people, it seems to me, should feel great sadness on this earth,' he added with sudden pensiveness, in a tone that jarred with the conversation.

He looked up, fixed everyone with a thoughtful gaze, smiled and picked up his cap. He was far too calm compared to how he'd walked in, and he was aware of it. Everyone stood up.

‘Well, sir, curse me if you must, be angry if you must, but I just can't help myself,' Porfiry Petrovich piped up once more. ‘Just one more tiny question (I know I'm being a nuisance, sir!), just one little idea I wanted to air, purely so as not to forget it later . . .'

‘All right, share your little idea with us,' said Raskolnikov, standing expectantly before him, serious and pale.

‘Well, here it is, sir . . . though I don't know how best to put it . . . It's a terribly playful little idea . . . a psychological one, sir . . . Well, here it is: when you were composing that little article of yours, well, it's simply inconceivable – heh-heh! – that you didn't also think of yourself as being at least a teeny bit “extraordinary” as well, as also having a
new word
to utter, in your understanding of those terms . . . Wouldn't you say, sir?'

‘Quite possibly,' came Raskolnikov's contemptuous reply.

Razumikhin stirred.

‘Well if that's the case, then do you really mean to say that you would decide – in view of certain disappointments and hardships in everyday life or in order to assist all humanity in some way – to step
right over this or that obstacle? . . . Say, for example, commit murder and robbery?'

And somehow he suddenly winked at him again with his left eye and broke into silent laughter – just like before.

‘I'd hardly tell you if I did step over them,' Raskolnikov replied with defiant, haughty contempt.

‘No, sir, the only reason I ask, frankly, is to gain a better understanding of your article, in a purely literary respect, sir . . .'

‘Ugh, the brazen cheek of it all!' thought Raskolnikov with disgust.

‘Permit me to observe,' he replied stiffly, ‘that I consider myself neither a Muhammad nor a Napoleon . . . nor any such figure; consequently, I am unable, being none of the above, to give you a satisfactory account of how I'd behave.'

‘Come come, which of us in Rus today does not consider himself a Napoleon?'
25
Porfiry suddenly uttered, with terrifying familiarity. This time, there was something blatant even in the tone of his voice.

‘What if it was some future Napoleon who bumped off Alyona Ivanovna last week with an axe?' Zametov suddenly blurted out from his corner.

Raskolnikov said nothing, staring hard at Porfiry. Razumikhin was frowning darkly. Even before this, he thought he could sense something. He cast an angry glance round the room. A minute passed in gloomy silence. Raskolnikov turned to leave.

‘Don't tell me you're leaving!' said Porfiry warmly, offering his hand with the utmost courtesy. ‘So, so glad to have met you. And do put your mind at rest about that request of yours. Just write it the way I told you. Or even better, come and find me there yourself . . . in the next few days . . . even tomorrow, if you like. I expect I'll be there at about eleven. We'll sort everything out . . . have a chat . . . And you, as one of the last people
there
, might even be able to tell us something . . . ,' he added with the kindliest air.

‘So you want to question me officially, by the book?' asked Raskolnikov curtly.

‘Whatever for, sir? That certainly won't be necessary for now. You misunderstood me. I'm not one to miss an opportunity, you see . . . and I've already spoken to all the pawners . . . taken statements from some . . . and you, as the last . . . Ah, by the way,' he cried, with sudden delight, ‘how could I forget?' – he turned to Razumikhin – ‘Remember
how you gave me an earful that time about that Mikolai . . . I know perfectly well, of course,' – he turned to Raskolnikov – ‘that the boy's clean, but it had to be done, and I had to bother Mitka as well . . . but here's the thing, sir, the nub of the matter: climbing the stairs that time, sir . . . between seven and eight, if I'm not mistaken?'

‘Correct,' replied Raskolnikov, struck that same second by an unpleasant awareness that he need not have said it.

‘So, as I say, climbing the stairs, sir, between seven and eight, sir, did you at least happen to see, on the second floor, I mean, in the apartment with the open door – remember? – two workmen or at least one of the two? They were decorating, perhaps you noticed? It is of the utmost, utmost importance for them!'

‘Decorators? No, I didn't . . . ,' Raskolnikov slowly replied, as if rummaging through his memory while tensing every muscle, rigid with the agony of suspense: where was the trap, what was he missing? ‘No, I didn't, and I can't say I noticed an open door either . . . but the fourth floor' – he'd mastered the trap and now he could gloat – ‘now that I do remember, someone was moving out, a civil servant . . . opposite Alyona Ivanovna . . . I remember that . . . quite clearly, in fact . . . soldiers were carrying out some couch or other, squeezing me against the wall . . . but decorators – no, I don't recall there being any decorators . . . and I'm fairly sure there weren't any open doors. No, there weren't . . .'