__COPYRIGHT__
NOVOSTI PRESS
To Commemorate
the 150th
Anniversary
of the Birth
of
Dostoyevsky
Y. Karyakin
__TITLE__ Re-reading ``I am not good at singing lullabies,
though I have tried that too.''
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ F. Dostoyevsky
Translated by S. Chulaki
Edited by S. Kotlobye and L. Tetskaya
[4]To my parents
[5] Contents ``My Whole Heart Is Bleeding..... 13 ``There Appeared a New Strain of Trichinae.. ." 32 ``I Myself Wanted To Benefit Men" .... 37 ``Power Over All! That Is the Goal!" ... 45 The "Wise Men" and the ``Weaklings'' ... 57 ``A Percentage!" ......... 62 ``Accidental Murder"........ 66 ``I Did Not Prostrate Myself Before You. .." . . 71 ``It's My Sin! I'm the Killer!"..... 78 ``You're the Killer!"........ 84 ``She Will. Either Die or Go Out of Her Mind" . 87 ``Out of One Pod" ........ 90 ``Two Separate Personalities"...... 99 ``We Take a Lesson From the Jesuits" ... 107 ``A Brick to Contribute to the Common Weal" . 113 ``I Am an Aesthetic Louse!"...... 118 ``Coffin"........... 125 ``Why Had He Not Killed Himself?" .... 138 ``Surely It's Not Good-Bye Forever?" . . . 144 ``Oh, If Only I Were Alone..."..... 148 ``Is There Such a Law?"....... 152 ``I Went There Only to Test Myself" ... 159 ``Sincere Remorse" ........ 166 ``You Deserve To Be Killed!"..... 175 ``Love Has Raised Them From the Dead" . . 179 ``Something Else"......... 185 ``You Want a Fortune Straight Off?" . . . 190 Towards the Sun of Pushkin...... 200 ``I Started All Anew. .."....... 211 ``Narrated by the Author, Not by the Hero" . . 220 ``The Last Line of the Novel"...... 227 ``He Does Not Calculate"....... 231 ``Remember That He Is Twenty-Three" ... 240 Foreword [6] __ALPHA_LVL1__ ForewordThere have been few writers whose works have excited such profound interest throughout the world as the works of Dostoyevsky. Much of this has to do with what is known as dostoyevshchina-a masochistic wallowing in suffering, a pathological acceptance of the ugly in the world and at the same time a pathological protest against it; a sick conscience which derives comfort from the belief that there can be no easy conscience; a soul of such ``complexity'' that wickedness is its essential element (the 7 more ``complex'', the more wicked); a consciousness in whose ``depth'' will and a sense of responsibility cease to have existence; a sinking into the unconscious so that there is no place for the conscious; a justification of the worst in oneself, a rejoicing in one's insoluble inner conflicts, self-admiration and self-analysis as an end in itself; in short, despair and the running into a dead end.
With Dostoyevsky, however, all this was a subject for artistic exploration rather than something that one should justify. There was less dostoyeushchina in Dostoyevsky than some of his admirers would like to think, at any rate much less than there is to be found in themselves.
But, of course, Dostoyevsky without dostoyevshchina... This would not be Dostoyevsky. A ``cleaned-up'' Dostoyevsky can never be part of world culture.
On the other hand, Dostoyevsky is definitely not to be equated with dostoyeushchina. Dostoyevsky was not like that, either. He would not have survived if he were.
The real Dostoyevsky, without being made ``better'' or ``worse'' is an embodiment of intense and irreconcilable contradictions. But the more closely one looks into them, the more clearly one sees that the overriding impulse behind these contradictions is something stronger than the contradictions themselves. This is not pointless self-analysis, but the search of a way out, a happy and down-to-earth way.
N. Berdyaev, whose book Dostoyevsky's World View (Berlin, 1925) has largely set the tone of bourgeois writings on Dostoyevsky, once 8 explained, more clearly than many others, why he was attracted, not to Dostoyevsky, but to dostoyevshchina. "My religion of negation of the world,'' he wrote, "rose from a pathological and complete revulsion from life, from a disgust with life, with myself. . . I have spent my life with half-closed eyes and nose because of this revulsion. . . The thought of being rooted in this world is alien to me.'' In this remarkable comment by Berdyaev on his own views, one detects the process of decay and putrefaction.
Here is what Dostoyevsky wrote nine years before his death: "Despite all the waste, I love life intensely, I love it for its own sake, and I am seriously thinking of beginning my life anew... This is the main thing about my character, and probably also about my work.''
Dostoyevsky would never have endorsed Berdyaev's words. And Berdyaev would not have found Dostoyevsky's sentiments expressed here congenial, which are against his very nature.
Another ``heir'' to dostoyevshchina, not to Dostoyevsky, was V. V. Rozanov, who is still regarded by many critics in the West as an ``authority'' on Dostoyevsky. While praising Dostoyevsky, Rozanov nevertheless reproached him for "returning the ticket to God" in protest against the ill-deserved and unvindicated sufferings of children. Rozanov wrote: "But it only seems that children are without sin and therefore innocent. .. It did not occur to Dostoyevsky that such an explanation is possible.'' (Rozanov is here referring to the new heredity theory). The possibility of such an explanation, however, did occur to Dostoyevsky. In The Brothers __PRINTERS_P_9_COMMENT__ 1B---707 9 Karamazov he wrote of the eight-year-old boy hunted to his death by dogs before his mother's eyes: "Some joker might say that the child would have grown up and would have sinned anyway. But the point is that the child did not have a chance to grow up.'' It is quite possible that this ``joker'' had the same kind of outlook as Berdyaev for whom everything was for the worst in the worst of possible worlds, for whom life was disgusting, and who infected others with his sense of disgust. In a moment of candour Rozanov said about himself: "A cesspool with gold fish swimming on its surface.'' This is a splendid definition of the lovers of dostoyeushchina, although the gold fish would surely not survive in such a medium.
It is doubtful that Dostoyevsky, were he alive today, would be pleased to find himself identified with dostoyevshchina or with some of his characters, or to know that whole schools of thought (whole ``isms'') have been created on the strength of some remarks made by his heroes, that some of his minor characters have been elevated to the position of sole spokesmen of his ideas and views.~^^*^^
It would be fitting to observe the 150th birthday of Dostoyevsky not by praising his greatness but by thinking about the questions he raised. One somehow has the feeling that it would be inappropriate to consider his anniversary a " _-_-_
^^*^^ In his book Existentialism and Scientific Cognition ( Moscow, 1966) E. Soloviev makes an important comment on the existentialist interpretation of Dostoyevsky: " Dostoyevsky knew everything which existentialism has `discovered' about man. Few writers would be so vehemently opposed to the spirit of this philosophy as Dostoyevsky.''
10 holiday" (one feels the same about the dates associated with the discovery of nuclear energy).Dostoyevsky may be said to have constructed a microscope of tremendous power with which one comes to see many things previously invisible to the human eye, but which often refracts and distorts their image. Thus one should calculate accurately the index of this ``refraction'' in order to be able to use (and develop) the insights attained by Dostoyevsky, to use them against his own delusions and against any attempt to make capital out of them. And Dostoyevsky's insights are indeed profound and invaluable.
Our approach to Dostoyevsky is based on the Marxist attitude to world culture; Marxism upholds all that is progressive in world culture, and is alien to all that is reactionary in it. The opportunistic call for supplementing Marx with Dostoyevsky is no better than the nihilistic attempt to "do away with Dostoyevsky.'' Such attitudes can only appeal to those undesirous or incapable of understanding either Marx or Dostoyevsky.
The purpose of this book is to consider how Dostoyevsky as an artist interprets the motives behind man's actions. The discussion is centred around Crime and Punishment and Dostoyevsky's notes for the novel, though references are made to nearly all his other works.
By 1866, when Crime and Punishment was published, Dostoyevsky had written Poor Folk, The Double, Notes from the Dead House, and Notes from Underground. He was still to write The Idiot, The Possessed, A Raw Youth, The Dream of a Queer Fellow, and The Tale of Pushkin. The earlier works placed Dostoyevsky
1B* 11 among the leading writers of Russia. Crime and Punishment made him a world literary figure. Crime and Punishment, which ranks with The Divine Comedy, Don Quixote, Hamlet, and Faust, is probably one of the most widely read novels of our time. [12] __ALPHA_LVL1__ ``My Whole Heart ``I suddenly found myself alone and
frightened... And yet, it still seems
that I'm just beginning to live. Funny,
isn't it? A kind of feline tenacity for
life!"
``To be able to write well, one has to suffer!" said Dostoyevsky. And he could have added: "and to overcome one's suffering.'' For every one of his works is an attempt to overcome suffering. Sometimes the attempt is successful, but often the effort is doomed.
What Dostoyevsky means by suffering is not only, and not so much his personal suffering as the suffering of his people, of humanity at large. But while putting into Raskolnikov's mouth the words: "I prostrate myself not before you but before all human suffering,'' the writer himself could not 13 accept such contraposition. He wished that the time would come when it would be possible to " prostrate oneself" before every man, when mind and conscience would stop destroying each other. And in prostrating himself before the suffering humanity he dreamed of prostrating himself before a happy humanity.
While in Russia and abroad Dostoyevsky was haunted by the question: "Will there ever be a time when strife will cease and men will come together?''
Indivisibility of mind and conscience, indivisibility of all men on earth, of all people in the past, present and future-such was his belief, which became all the stronger and more passionate, the less corroboration it found in reality.
In a letter to his brother dated October 9, 1859, Dostoyevsky wrote: "You remember I told you about a confession-novel which I wanted to write after I had written all the others, and which I myself had yet to live through. Now I decided to start working on it without delay. The novel will be impressive and passionate; my whole bleeding heart will be put into it. I conceived the idea back in my prison days, lying on a plankbed, at a moment of bitterness and sadness, when both my mind and body seemed to be falling apart. .. This `Confession' will finally establish me as a writer.''~^^*^^
Things turned out exactly as Dostoyevsky had hoped except that he finished the novel later than _-_-_
^^*^^ Dostoyevsky realized the idea in both Notes from Underground and Crime and Punishment. The former anticipated the latter in many respects.
14 he had planned, and that the writing involved much greater physical and moral suffering than he had expected, or wanted.Having come to know the Russia of penal servitude Dostoyevsky now took a fresh look at the Russia of St. Petersburg, "the most premeditated city on earth,'' St. Petersburg with its Sennaya Square and government offices. He saw that in his home country, too. Mammon held sway, and brothels and taverns were taking the place of the church.
He began his long war with the socialists, and he was quite right in exposing those among them whom Marx called ``drill-ground'' socialists. It was they who proclaimed through their leader Nechayev: "Poison, the dagger, the noose-the revolution sanctifies them all.'' It was they who called themselves "Jesuits whose mission is not to enslave but to emancipate people.'' Marx and Engels described this approach as "bourgeois immorality driven to the extreme.''
At the same time Dostoyevsky was grossly mistaken when he ascribed to all revolutionaries the views and motives, the aims and tactics of these quasi-socialists, when he identified social protest with crime. And the main thing is that, as a former member of the revolutionary circle of Petrashevsky,~^^*^^ he could not but feel that here he was wrong, and this feeling tormented him. For he knew that many young people turned to the ideals of socialism and revolution "with a sense of dedication, inspired by a genuine love _-_-_
^^*^^ M. V. Petrashevsky was the leader of a group of Russian revolutionary democrats and Utopian socialists in the late 1840's.
15 for humanity, in the name of honour, truth and real good.'' And whatever his later attitude to socialism, that is, Utopian socialism, one must not overlook the role of the socialist "prime impulse" in shaping him as a writer. It was this "prime impulse" that made him an implacable foe of the "grand prince Rothschild" (i.e., the bourgeoisie) and a passionate believer in the possibility that mankind would attain happiness on earth. Dostoyevsky knew little about scientific socialism which regards the all-round development of the individual as the only "aim of history" (Capital) and which holds that "the free development of each is the condition for the free development of all" (Manifesto of the Communist Party). It is a striking fact, which reflects the contradictory nature of the time, that Marx (1818-- 1883) and Dostoyevsky (1821--1881), who were nearly of the same age, most likely had not read the works of one another.~^^*^^ Those writers whose works Dostoyevsky did read (for example, Hertzen, Shchedrin, and Chernyshevsky) he attacked and subjected to cruel ridicule _-_-_^^*^^ It is possible that Marx and Engels knew about Dostoyevsky from the Russian magazines which they kept in their library (for instance, Otechestvenniye Zapiski which carried Shchedrin's reviews of Dostoyevsky's works). But thus far no mention of Dostoyevsky has been found in the works of Marx and Engels. As for Dostoyevsky, he mentioned Marx once (and probably the only time) in October 1873. Speaking about the Pope's attempt to capture the souls of men with the aid of an army of Jesuits, Dostoyevsky said: "Would Marx and Bakunin be able to stand up to these fighters? Most unlikely.'' This remark shows that Dostoyevsky did not regard Marx and Bakunin as antagonists, and that he did not know, or did not wish to know, the difference between Marxism and Bakuninism.
16 although they exposed the ``drill-ground'' socialists with as much conviction as Dostoyevsky and with greater fervour. Dostoyevsky's lack of objectivity and his castigating tone, especially in The Possessed, have nothing in common, for instance, with Pushkin's attitude to the Decembrists. Pushkin had never taken upon himself the role of spiritual chastiser of the revolutionaries despite the profound differences which divided them. Dostoyevsky, in his crusade against the revolution, often openly identified his position with that of the officialdom. All this surprised and angered both the revolutionary socialists and the radical democrats.For example, Saltykov-Shchedrin wrote: "Mr. Dostoyevsky, without the slightest qualms, is hacking away at his own cause by heaping shame on people whose efforts are bent in the direction to which, it seems, the most cherished thoughts of the author himself aspire.''
While in Europe~^^*^^ Dostoyevsky was shocked by the new creed of the bourgeoisie: "One must accumulate money and acquire as many things as possible. Only in this way can one hope to be respectable. Otherwise one can have no respect from others, and not even self-respect.'' Dostoyevsky describes Luzhin, one of the characters in Crime and Punishment, as follows: "But more than anything in the world he loved and prized his money, got together laboriously and by every means in his power; it raised him to the level of everything that had been superior to him.''
_-_-_^^*^^ During his visits in June 1862, in August-October 1863 and in July-October 1865.
17In London, Dostoyevsky visited the Crystal Palace which housed the World Fair of 1862. "The fair is truly magnificent,'' he wrote. "You feel the tremendous power which has attracted here this mass of people from all over the world into one herd. . . And no matter how free and independent you might have felt before, here you are seized with an unknown fear.. . There is something biblical about the scene, something Babylonian, as if the prophecy from the Apocalypse has come true. You become suddenly aware that it would take much spiritual resistance and denial over centuries to withstand the pressure and not to succumb completely to the awesome impression, not to bow to the fact and not to worship Mammon, in other words, not to accept the existing for the ideal. . .''
Here is another scene from the existing reality: "In Hay Market I saw mothers who brought their young daughters to `work'. Girls of twelve or so would catch you by the hand and ask you to go with them. . .'' This far-off Hay Market differed little from Sennaya Square where " children cannot remain children,'' as Raskolnikov would say.
In her memoirs A. P. Suslova described the following scene: "Once when we were having dinner, he {Dostoyevsky] looked at a girl who was taking 'a lesson' and said: 'Just imagine, a girl like this going with an old man, and then some Napoleon suddenly saying: 'Smash the whole town.' It has always been that way.' "
Unexpected as it may appear, this outburst is nevertheless characteristic of Dostoyevsky who was obsessed with his ideas.
In Europe he was also surprised to find how 18 much freedom there was for vain and ambitious men. One of them, Napoleon III, wrote The Story of Julius Caesar in which he claimed that a ``genius'', especially a political ``genius'' like himself, was entitled to do whatever he wished. The example of Napoleon I had already conjured up visions of another Toulon in some young hotheads, and now the example of his nephew seemed to put the Napoleonic ideal within reach of the young impatients. A wave of Napoleonic fever had gripped society. Pushkin had noted this too:
``We've stamped out prejudice.
And everyone is naught to us,
As 'number one' but ourselves we see,
We all Napoleons would be.
And all the countless million bipeds
As just so many tools we see.''
Dostoyevsky had still more reasons for asking: "Who among us in Russia does not now think himself a Napoleon?" (This is Porfiry's question in Crime and Punishment).
One may also recall that Napoleon and Napoleonomania are a dominant theme in Leo Tolstoi's War and Peace which appeared in RussKii Vestnik in 1865 (Crime and Punishment began to be published in the same magazine in January 1866).
Why had Rousseau lost ground to Robespierre, Robespierre to Napoleon, and Napoleon again to the Bourbons? Why had the Great French Revolution failed to escape what Hegel called "the irony of history'', and led to the victory of ideals that were opposed to those which it had proclaimed and in which it had sincerely believed? What must be done so that Russia 19 would avoid the fate of the French Revolution?~^^*^^
Dostoyevsky approached the question of means and ends, a question which he regarded as having tremendous importance, from the positions of ethical maximalism. He posed ideological questions as ethical questions and ethical questions as ideological ones.
He wrote: "Voluntary, fully conscious and entirely unforced sacrifice of oneself for the benefit of all is, in my view, a mark of the highest development of an individual, the highest development of one's moral power, the highest development of one's self-command, the highest form of freedom of one's will. Only an individual with a highly developed personality can lay down his life for the benefit of all, only he can carry the cross or go to the stake. One with a highly developed personality, who is fully convinced of his right to be an individual and is free from any fear for himself, can find no other purpose in life than giving himself to all others, so that they can also develop into independent and happy individuals. This is the law oi nature. Every normal person is inclined toward this.''
But Dostoyevsky is fully aware of the danger inherent in false, self-deceiving pledges to serve the cause of "universal happiness": "Here is one little hair which, if it gets into a machine, will cause the whole thing to shake and break _-_-_
^^*^^ "The Revolution was Number One, and Napoleon Number Two, but then Napoleon became Number One and the Revolution Number Two. Isn't that so?" (A Raw Youth}. In his book, The Disappointment and Collapse of Rodion Raskolnikov (Moscow, 1970), V. Kirpotin writes: "The defeat [of the revolutionary forces in Russia] in the 1860's was, in Dostoyevsky's view, analogous to the defeat of the French Revolution at the end of the 18th century.''
20 down. This little hair is personal interest: woe to him who has an axe to grind.. . For example: I want to sacrifice the whole of myself for the good of all, so it is necessary that I should sacrifice myself completely, without any thought about personal gains, or any secret hope that if I sacrifice myself for society it will in return give all of itself to me.~^^*^^ One has to sacrifice oneself in such a way as to give everything of oneself, and to act in such a way as to preclude even the remotest chance, the slightest possibility of one's getting anything out of it. But how is this to be done? It is like trying not to think about the white bear. You say to yourself: `Don't think about the white bear,' and you'll be thinking about the accursed beast every minute. So how is this to be done? There is no way of doing it; it must come about oi itself, it must be part ol yourself, and be unconsciously part of the whole human race. In short, there must be a fraternal, loving principle; one must love. . .''The concerns of the world must be treated as personal concerns.
And how about personal concerns? Dostoyevsky went abroad in order not to fall into the hands of his creditors. There he gambled, lost all the money he had and begged his mistress, Apollinaria Suslova, to send him some money (his dying wife stayed behind in Russia). He tried to justify himself before his brother: "I need money. For me, for you, for my wife, for the novel I am writing... Here one can easily win tens of _-_-_
^^*^^ Perhaps it was this "little hair" that spoiled Raskolnikov's apparently faultless ``arithmetic''?
21 thousands of roubles. Yes, I came here in order to save us all, and to get myself out of trouble.'' His brother was indignant: "I don't see how you can gamble while travelling with a woman you love.''Dostoyevsky was oppressed by a sense of guilt before his wife. He was also haunted by the fear of losing the young Suslova, a ``demonic'' woman. The latter explained the reasons for her break with Dostoyevsky in a conversation with Rozanov:
``He did not want to divorce his wife, who was a consumptive, 'because she was dying.' "
``Was she dying?''
``Yes. She was dying. She died six months later. But I no longer loved him then.''
Suslova left Dostoyevsky for a foreign student, and when he jilted her she decided to kill him. Dostoyevsky asked her: "How can you settle problems of human relations by bloodshed?" It seemed that she had planned to turn her revenge into some kind of heroic act. She said: "It does not matter which man will pay for the outrage committed against me. But if one decides to avenge oneself, one should do it in such a way that the whole world would be talking about a unique, unprecedented, inimitable act of revenge.'' She had the thought of assassinating the czar: "It is such a challenge. Just think, the immensity of the step. And it's so simple: a mere gesture, a flip of the hand-and you find yourself among celebrities, men of genius, great people, the saviours of humanity...''
``But glory is earned by hard work.''
"Or with dauntless courage.. .''
"But think about the punishment.''
``That was what stopped me. I suddenly realized that I might be executed. To live to the age of eighty in a quiet place, somewhere near the sea in the south, enjoying the warm sunshine, would be much better.''
``. . .it's so simple: a mere gesture, a flip of the hand-and you find yourself among celebrities. ..'' Do these words not remind us of Raskolnikov with his desire to get "a fortune straight off?''
Dostoyevsky spent the year 1864 in Russia.
On April 15, his wife died. The next day he wrote a confession unparalleled in emotional strength: "April 16. Masha is dead. Shall I ever see Masha again? It is impossible to love another person as one loves oneself, as our Lord teaches us. The law of the individual binds us here on earth, and the ego stands in the way. . . When a person has failed to observe the law of striving for the ideal, i.e., if he has not through love sacrificed his ego for the good of people or even of one human being (Masha and I), he suffers pains and calls this condition a sin. . . Man must always be in a state of suffering which is balanced by the heavenly joy of the fulfilment of his destiny through self-sacrifice. Therein lies the earthly balance. Otherwise our earthly life would be senseless.'' It seems that Dostoyevsky used this personal experience in describing Raskolnikov's inner struggle, and that this is what gives Crime and Punishment its confessional tone. For the hero in the novel also tries to solve the ``eternal'' questions for himself and to overcome his ego.
On June 10, the writer suffered another blow: the death of his brother Mikhail who had been his helper and adviser.
23Soon after, on September 25, Apollon Grigoriev, Dostoyevsky's close friend, died.
In a letter to A. E. Vrangel, dated March 31, 1865, Dostoyevsky wrote: "I suddenly found myself alone and frightened. My whole life has fallen to pieces. Oh, my friend, I would gladly serve another sentence in a penal camp for as many years in order to be able to pay my debts and feel free again. Now I am going to write a novel under the lash, that is, for sheer want of money, and I must make a quick job of it. . . And yet, it still seems that I'm just beginning to live. Funny, isn't it? A kind of feline tenacity for life!''
He wrote later: "I had hoped to find a responsive heart, but I failed.'' For a short time Dostoyevsky was close to Marfa Braun (Panina). Later he proposed to A. V. Korvin-Krukowska, the elder sister of Sofia Kowalewska, but was rejected. The lonely writer found solace in his work.
On June 8, he wrote to A. Krayevsky, the editor of Otechestvenniye Zapiski, to ask for an advance, but was refused.
Also in June, to meet his debts, Dostoyevsky sold the copyright of all his works to the profiteering publisher Stellovsky and promised to complete a new novel by November 1, 1866. Should he fail to meet the deadline, all his works, including those he would write in the future, were to become Stellovsky's property.
In July, Dostoyevsky went abroad again to escape his creditors. And again he gambled and lost. All his requests for loans were refused. Like Marmeladov, the jobless civil servant in Crime and Punishment, Dostoyevsky knew what 24 it was like "to plead without hope for a loan''.
Dostoyevsky began Crime and Punishment in Wiesbaden. There, early in August, Suslova visited him. After she left he wrote to her: "The next morning.. . I was told that I would be served neither dinner, nor tea, nor coffee... And although I still go without dinner and have been living on morning and evening tea for the third day now, I somehow don't feel very hungry. What is annoying, though, is that they don't give me candles in the evening. My affairs are in a mess. .. I cannot go on like this any longer.'' Hertzen's refusal to lend money hurt him deeply. "He could not doubt that I would pay him back: he has my letter. After all, I am not a lost soul,'' he complained. And again a desperate cry for help: "Polia, my friend, help me out, save me. Get 150 guldens somewhere... I shall pay you back. I won't leave you in the lurch. That would be unthinkable. ..''
He began writing the novel at a most critical moment in his life, when there seemed to be no way out. (In similarly desperate circumstances he started work on The Idiot. He had again lost all his money gambling and was forced to ask Katkov for an advance on his new work. On April 4, 1868, he wrote to his wife that the idea of turning to Katkov "struck me at nine o'clock or so when I had lost heavily at cards and went wandering about the town. It was just like this in Wiesbaden where, after losing the game, I plotted Crime and Punishment and then thought of making contact with Katkov.'')
It seems that misfortune and illness only served to generate in Dostoyevsky an enormous capacity for work. Some of his worshippers 25 almost feel inclined to bless these blows of fate, calling his illness (epilepsy) "the holy malady.'' This sounds romantic, indeed, but then one cannot help wondering why, when his circumstances had somewhat improved, Dostoyevsky continued to produce remarkable works such as The Meek, The Dream ot a Queer Fellow and The Brothers Karamazov.
In September, Dostoyevsky received an advance from Katkov (the money went to the creditors) for a story which would be about 130 pages long and which was to be completed early next year. The story was not to be about the down-and-out (as planned earlier) but about a student who committed a crime.
On October 15, Dostoyevsky returned to Russia and plunged into his work. The story grew into a novel.
On November 2, he met Suslova for the last time. She wrote in her memoirs: "Today I saw Fyodor Mikhailovich. We argued a lot and contradicted each other. He has long been offering me his hand and heart and this only makes me angry.''
After a few weeks Dostoyevsky changed the entire pattern of the novel. "By the end of November a lot had been written,'' he wrote to A. E. Vrangel on February 18, 1866, "but I burned it. I did not like it. A new form, a new plot came to me and I started afresh.'' As will be shown later, Dostoyevsky burned the manuscript because he felt he had not found the real motives for Raskolnikov's crime.
The year 1866 was a crucial one for Dostoyevsky.
26In January, Russkii Vestnik began to publish Crime and Punishment. "My whole future depends on my finishing this novel well,'' Dostoyevsky wrote to I. L. Yanishev on April 29, 1866.
On April 4, Karakozov shot at the czar but missed. Dostoyevsky called him "a hapless blind suicide.''
In the summer of that year Dostoyevsky lived in Lyublino, near Moscow, where a warm friendship developed between him and E. P. Ivanova, his sister's distant relative. But their relations were clouded by the fatal illness of her husband and by their involuntary expectation of his death.
On September 3, Karakozov was executed.
The book Dostoyevsky had promised Stellovsky had not yet been finished, but the deadline was soon approaching. To finish it in time Dostoyevsky dictated his new novel. The Gambler, to a stenographer, A. G. Snitkina.
This is what she wrote about their first meeting: "No words can convey the dismal impression Fyodor Mikhailovich made on me when I first met him. He looked perplexed, extremely worried, lonely and helpless, irritated and almost sick. It seemed he was so depressed that he could not even see my face and was unable to carry on a coherent conversation.''
In twenty-six days Dostoyevsky wrote more than 200 pages. His duel with Stellovsky was won. The Gambler was painfully autobiographical. A farewell to his love for Suslova, it was also an attempt to say quits to his passion for gambling (he was able to rid himself of it only seven years later, in 1873). But the main thing was that 27 it depicted "the inferno'', as Dostoyevsky put it, stripping naked all the passions born of the mad desire to get "a fortune straight off'', and showed by artistic means the process of "poisoning oneself with one's own fantasy'', the ``self-poisoning'' that brought the Gambler to his ruin and death.
In November and December, Dostoyevsky worked on the last part of Crime and Punishment. He wrote nearly a thousand pages in just one year. At that time he was very sick and every day expected an epileptic fit or a visit or a letter from his creditors. "I am convinced,'' he wrote to A. V. Korvin-Krukowska on July 17, 1866, "that none of our writers, living or dead, ever worked in such conditions. Turgenev would have died at the very thought of it.'' The following words apply to Crime and Punishment and to most of his other works: "It happened very often in my literary career that the beginning of a chapter or a story had already been sent to the printers while the rest was still in my head and had to be written by the next day.'' (Which makes all the more amazing the balance and consistency of the novel in all its parts).
On November 8, 1866, Dostoyevsky said to Snitkina: "If I should confess my love for you and ask you to be my wife, what would be your answer?" Snitkina recalled: "I looked at Fyodor Mikhailovich's face which was so dear to me, and said: 'My answer would be that I love you and will love you all my life.' " And soon he was to write about the love of Raskolnikov and Sonya Marmeladova in the Epilogue to Crime and Punishment: "Love had raised them from the dead, and the heart of each held endless springs of life for the heart of the other.'' These words 28 were also about himself. The hopeful ending of the novel marked a stage when a new life was beginning for him (Mrs. Dostoyevsky was to write many years after her husband's death: "The sun of my life, Fyodor Dostoyevsky'').
In those years, as never before or afterwards, the most petty everyday questions were entangled in Dostoyevsky's mind with the most general, ``eternal'' problems. All his energies were concentrated on his novel: either he won, or he must surrender. And he won. His victory was over himself, over his creditors (not all of them by far), over his ill fate. Work, for Dostoyevsky, was not an escape from the tormenting problems, but meant a confrontation with them; it was not an escape from hostile reality, but a desperate and, paradoxically, well-calculated single combat with it.
Crime and Punishment is a fusion, in artistic terms, of Dostoyevsky's tormenting and courageous reflections about himself, about his people, and about the destinies of mankind. In this novel Dostoyevsky carries on the search of Dante, Cervantes, Shakespeare, and Goethe, among whom he must be considered an equal.
The Divine Comedy (1307--1321) signalled the end of medievalism, the approach of a renaissance and the possible advent of a new inferno on earth.
Don Quixote (1605--1615) tells the funny and moving story about a man who tries to oppose the cynical and the calculating world with feelings of honour, truth and beauty, to triumph over the epoch of cold-blooded pursuit of money with the help of old dreams, to fight the battle with his eyes shut.
29The hero of Hamlet (1601) says that " Denmark's a prison,'' but he tries to break the prison and free his country from the rotten state it is in.
Faust (1808--1831) is an artistic interpretation of the mankind's struggle for emancipation; it treats defeat in the only correct way, that is, as a reason for continuing the struggle.
And then came Crime and Punishment.
It is especially clear today that the significance of this novel can be assessed only against the background of the history of world literature and, of course, in the context of Russian literature.
Back in the 1830's Rastignac became known to Russian readers (Balzac's works were widely read in Russia and many of them were translated into Russian). Still earlier, in 1824, Pushkin created Aleko, a character with a non-Russian name, whose "experiment in life" was limited to a Gypsy camp, away from St. Petersburg. In 1833, appeared Pushkin's The Queen ot Spades whose hero Hermann was the son of a Russianborn German, and the action took place in St. Petersburg. In the same year Pushkin created another character, Yevgeni, who was too weak, however, to stand up to the Bronze Horseman. And finally, came Dostoyevsky's Raskolnikov, the new hero of new times.
It seems that the key to an understanding of Crime and Punishment lies in juxtaposing its beginning and its end, its first pages and its last. Such a juxtaposition gives us an insight into its magnitude, the time and meaning of the action. It also helps us realize why the crime does not begin with the murder, nor does it end with the 30 hero's confession at the police station; why Raskolnikov's confession does not mean his repentance; why Raskolnikov is tormented not by pangs of remorse, but by his wounded pride; why the action of the story lasts not two weeks, but two years and then enters the realm of infinity, a future which will bring either disaster or salvation to the world; and, finally, why one is as concerned about ' the fate of an obscure student from Carpenter's Lane in St. Petersburg as if it were one's own fate and the fate of humanity.. .
[31] __ALPHA_LVL1__ ``There Appeared ``I have an amateur's passion for such
fiery, young, first literary efforts. Mist,
haze, and a chord vibrating through
the mist."
In the beginning was the Word. And this word was Raskolnikov's article about "two categories" of people. It was the first fiery, young effort, as Porfiry put it. "Mist, haze, and a chord vibrating through the mist. . . It was conceived in sleepless nights and in a state of ecstasy, with the lifting and thumping of the heart, with suppressed enthusiasm. But that proud, suppressed enthusiasm of youth is dangerous!''
After the word came the scheme-, to kill the money-lender! "One death, and a hundred lives 32 in exchange---why, it's simple arithmetic! What is the life of that stupid, spiteful, consumptive old woman weighed against the common good? No more than the life of a louse or a cockroachless, indeed, because she is actively harmful.''
After the scheme-the ``rehearsal''. Raskolnikov goes to the old woman to "try it out''. "I wonder what men are most afraid of. . . Any new departure and especially a new word-that is what they fear most of all. . .''
After the ``rehearsal''-the act itself. Besides the money-lender who is killed "according to plan" Raskolnikov ``accidentally'' kills Lizaveta, who is said to be pregnant and who has `` accidentally'' exchanged crosses with Sonia. (Would he have killed Sonia had she turned up at that moment? or the girl Polenka?) Also by ``accident'' the responsibility for his crime is assumed by Mikolka-another human life. . .
Also by ``accident'' his mother goes out of her mind and dies. . . He is thus an accidental matricide, too.
One act sets off a chain reaction over which he has no control.
One suddenly realizes that his mother's words which reveal her complete trust in her son have another, horrifying meaning, other than the literal one: "Look, Rodya, I have been reading your article in the magazine for the third time; Dmitry Prokofich brought it for me. Well, I was astonished when I saw it. See how foolish I am, I thought; this is what he is busy with, this is the answer to the riddle! [If she could only know the truth.] He has new ideas, perhaps, in his head just now; he is thinking them over, and I worry and disturb him. I am reading it, my dear, and __PRINTERS_P_33_COMMENT__ 2--707 33 of course there is a lot that I don't understand; but that must be so: how could I?" In saying these words she is actually reading her own death warrant-and other people's. She is glad but does not understand why she is glad. Having lost her mind "she declared rapturously that her son would in time be a man of state which his article and his brilliant literary talent had proved. She was reading and re-reading that article and all but slept with it. . . She was always talking about it and even beginning conversations in the street... In public vehicles or in shops, wherever she could find a hearer, she led the conversation round to her son, his article. ..''
And finally, also by ``accident'', when he is ill, Raskolnikov has ``accidental'' dreams. (It is as if the writer had broken the test tube in which he was doing his experiment and spilled its lethal contents). People crush one another like lice, like cockroaches. The apocalypse of one man grows into an apocalypse of universal proportions, dwarfing the biblical one. This is even more terrible than the scene where the lemurs are digging a grave for the blind yet happy Faust, more terrifying than the modern anti-- utopias: "The whole world was condemned to fall victim to a terrible, unknown plague which was moving on Europe out of the depths of Asia. . . There had appeared a new strain of trichinae, microscopic creatures parasitic in men's bodies. But these creatures were endowed with intelligence and will. People who were infected immediately became like men possessed and went out of their minds. All were full of anxiety, and none could understand another; they did not know how or whom to judge and could not agree 34 what was evil and what good. They did not know whom to condemn or whom to acquit. Men killed one another in senseless rage. . . In towns, the tocsin sounded all day long, and called out all the people, but who had summoned them and why nobody knew, and everybody was filled with alarm. . . In places men congregated in groups, agreed together on some action, swore not to disband-and immediately began to do something quite different from what they themselves had proposed, accused one another, fought and killed each other. Conflagrations were started, famine set in. The plague grew and spread wider and wider. . .''
One can almost hear the chord vibrating in the soul of the youth who was planning his article with a ``suppressed'' and ``dangerous'' enthusiasm. In this dump of squirming millions, one can see the Raskolnikovs holding the article in one hand and the axe in the other. And each one of them kills his money-lender, his Lizaveta, and his mother. Each one of them is trying to rise to the ``higher'' category and push all the others into the ``lower'' one.
``The first effort" has been made, but there is no one to check his ``arithmetic'', and no one to weigh "against the common good''.
It seems that Raskolnikov's mad dreams are made up of little pieces of real life, and that this real life is one big terrible dream. Raskolnikov's dreams remind one of the inferno in The Divine Comedy, a revelation and at the same time an extension of life on earth.
``The whole world was condemned to fall victim to a terrible, unknown plague. ..'' This may mean that the death of the money-lender, __PRINTERS_P_35_COMMENT__ 2* 35 Lizaveta, and the mother, and in general all those nameless millions who are included in the ``lower'' category, is a sacrifice to the ideas contained in Raskolnikov's article, to "something new''. (``This is the answer to the riddle".)
``There had appeared a new strain of trichinae, microscopic creatures.. .'' Could it be that Dostoyevsky set out to study these ``trichinae'' under a microscope in order to dissect the ideas and the very soul of the suicidal murderer, the originator of universal murder and suicide, and, to find an antidote for the ``trichinae''?
[36] __ALPHA_LVL1__ ``I Myself Wanted``My conscience is easy."
What led Raskolnikov onto the road to hell? What was Raskolnikov trying to achieve? His intentions seem good, at first glance. The crux of the problem seems to be the wrong means he used to achieve his aim, which debased his aim and led to unforseen and undesirable consequences.
Six months before he committed his crime, Raskolnikov made his "first effort": he wrote an article in which he tried to prove that ``extraordinary'' people could and must "transgress laws'', but only for the sake of an 37 idea which was "salutary for all mankind''.
Six weeks before the murder, he accidentally overheard a conversation between a student and an officer, and he recognized "exactly the same ideas" as those which had been "brewing in his head.'' (``One death, and a hundred lives in exchange-why, it's simple arithmetic!'')
Two days before he committed his act, Raskolnikov ``rehearsed'' his project and later, quite accidentally, met Marmeladov whoss life reminded him of his own and of the life of his mother and sister with whom, thank goodness, he had lost all contact. He decided to "cross the barrier" and carry out his project : "and that is as it should be''!
The day before he took his fateful step, Raskolnikov received a letter from his mother (``like a bolt from the blue''). He learned that his sister Dunya, with their mother's consent, had decided to marry Luzhin whom she did not love, and that both mother and daughter would soon leave for St. Petersburg. Raskolnikov felt that his sister took the step in order to provide for him and he rejected this sacrifice: "It shall not be, while I live, it shall not, it shall not!" At the same time he felt that what happened to Marmeladov might well happen to his own family. He decided that he "must do something now, now, without delay''. After reading the letter he went out into the street and there, by fatal coincidence, met a drunken girl, a variant of "Sonechka the eternal" (or it might well be Dunya, his sister. ..) Minutes later, again by sheer accident, he learned that the next day, at seven in the evening, the money-lender would be home, quite alone, with her sister Lizaveta away.
The day of the murder comes. Raskolnikov 38 leaps out of bed when the clock chimes. Someone shouts downstairs: "The clock struck six long ago.'' Raskolnikov goes to the porter's room. .. Nobody around, and the axe is in its usual place.. . Glancing casually into a shop, he sees from the clock that it is already ten minutes past seven. But he has arrived; here is the house and the gate. Somewhere a clock strikes once. "What, can it possibly be half past seven? Surely not; time is really flying!''
Everything, everything including time itself which now seems to Raskolnikov to be rushing headlong at reckless speed, drives him into a blind alley which he has mistaken for his only way out. Everything is pushing him on "to cross the barrier''. And he finally does so, convinced that his ``project'' is not a crime.
Several days after the murder, Raskolnikov, with more vehemence than ever before, defends his idea before Porfiry, for the sake of which ``extraordinary'' people have the right to cross conventional barriers. "It is in that sense only that I speak in my article of their right to commit crime,'' he says.
An hour before he goes to the police station, he tells Dunya: "Crime? What crime? Killing a foul, noxious louse, that old money-lender, no good to anybody, who sucked the life-blood of the poor, so vile that killing her ought to bring absolution for forty sins-was that a crime? That is not what I am thinking of, and I do not think of atoning for it. . . I myself wanted to benefit men, and I would have done hundreds, thousands of good deeds to make up for that one piece of stupidity-not even stupidity, but simple clumsiness, since it has failed. .. [Failure makes 39 anything seem stupid.] By that act of stupidity I meant only to put myself in an independent position, to take the first step, to acquire means, and then everything would have been expiated by immeasurably greater good. ..''
Five months later, at the trial, he testifies that "the motive of the whole thing lay in his wretched position, his poverty and helplessness, his desire to furnish for the first steps of his career. . .'' The judges take into account the fact that the defendant did not act for "mercenary ends''.
And finally, eighteen months later, in a hardlabour camp, Raskolnikov still believes his ``arithmetic'' is valid. "But although he judged himself severely, his lively conscience could find no particularly terrible guilt in his past, except a simple blunder that might have happened to anybody. . . But he did not feel remorse for his crime.'' He reflects: "My conscience is easy. Of course, an illegal action has been committed; of course, the letter of the law has been broken and blood has been spilt; well, take my head to satisfy the letter of the law. . . and let that be all!" "This was the sole sense in which he acknowledged his crime, that he had not succeeded and that he had confessed.''
For two years Raskolnikov remains convinced that he is right. With time this conviction becomes even stronger.
``A fire occurred at a theatre. The audience could not see it because it was in the wings. The clown came upon the stage to inform the audience about it. Everybody thought it was a joke and began to applaud. He repeated the announcement, and the applause grew louder. I think the 40 world will perish to loud general applause" (Kirkcgor).
In Raskolnikov's last dreams the world perishes, with everyone convinced of his own righteousness, in the name of this righteousness. Nobody admits to being a criminal. Everyone is a fighter for truth and a martyr to it. Everyone is prepared, like Raskolnikov, to swear that were everything to start anew his truth would be the only genuine one. And so would be his means to defend it. Let the world perish but justice shall prevail: "Each thought he was the sole repository of truth. . . Never, never had any men thought themselves so wise and so unshakable in the truth. . . Never had they considered their judgements, their scientific deductions, and their moral convictions and creeds more infallible.'' These words from the Epilogue, like the finale of a symphony, sum up one of the leading themes of the novel. They recall Raskolnikov's outburst about his righteousness immediately before his confession: "Never, never have I realized this more clearly than now, and I understand less than ever why what I did is a crime! Never have I been stronger, never have I held my convictions more firmly, than now. . .''
``Never, never had any men. . .'', "Never, never have I. . .''
But can one speak of "a good aim" with results like this? Would anyone who has set himself such an aim have the courage to say: "This is what I wanted?" No, he would say with disgust: "I didn't want this! It wasn't this I wanted!"--- the usual refrain of all those who have "crossed the barrier" and have got a different result from what they expected.
__PRINTERS_P_41_COMMENT__ 2B---707 41But maybe Raskolnikov's last dreams are mere visions, a kind of mirage (and for Dostoyevsky and the reader they are only an artistic fantasy), while Lizaveta, the mother, the trial, etc.-the whole thing is just a ``blunder'', a "mere blunder''?
And if someone were to tell Raskolnikov that had it not been for this particular ``blunder'' there might be others, that had it not been for these chance happenings there might still be others, Raskolnikov would be unmoved. For him the mistake is in the practice and not in the theory,- and if life fails to conform to the theory, so much the worse for life. It means that life must be destroyed.
When Raskolnikov is on his way to the `` rehearsal'', a drunk shouts: "Hi, you in the German hat!" Raskolnikov mutters: "A piece of stupidity like this, an insignificant trifle might wreck the whole affair. Yes, the hat is too noticeable. ..'' And a moment later he makes an almost philosophical conclusion-. "Trifles are important. . . Trifles like this can bring disaster. . .'' When he goes to the police station to confess he says that he is ruined by his " stupidity and even clumsiness.''
Life itself turns out to be an ``accident'', a ``trifle'', something ``clumsy'', ``stupid'', ``base'', a ``blunder'', "needless aesthetics''.
Raskolnikov is driven to a kind of frantic conviction that he is right. Certainly nobody could accuse him of greed, venality, or a passion for an "easy life''. He is not the acquisitive type, and he has given money and even his blood when necessary.
Raskolnikov, like Ivan Karamazov, "has no 42 use for millions''; for him it is far more important "to put the idea through''. But what idea? And what are the means for carrying it out? That is the question. The steps taken by Ivan suggest that he is Raskolnikov's spiritual brother. (The action of The Brothers Karamazov and of Crime and Punishment takes place at the same time, approximately in 1865).
And the more disinterested this idealistic ``creed-bearer'' is, the more sincerely and with greater conviction will he defend his method of "trial and error" until. . . until his "terrible dreams" become a reality and until we finally come to doubt the purity of his motives and stop believing his words.
And does he himself really believe in what he says? The words he utters are gloomy, hysterical words. His convictions are joyless, as if they had some inherent flaw. He protests too much about the ``righteousness'' of his aims. But things that are "as clear as daylight" are not talked about in this way. One may talk about them with energy and enthusiasm, but never in a gloomy, hysterical way.
Why does Raskolnikov call his idea `` accursed''? Why does Dostoyevsky depict Raskolnikov in such gloomy colours, as in the scene where he tells Sonya about his ``idea''? "He felt a sort of sombre ecstasy.. . Sonya understood that this gloomy creed had become his faith and his law.''
To his mother's words "Yes, Rodya, I'm sure that everything you are doing is right!" Raskolnikov replies with a wry smile: ``Don't be so sure!''
After his explanation (which sounded "as though he was repeating a lesson'') of the 43 motive for killing the money-lender (``to furnish for the first steps''), Sonya exclaims in anguish: "Oh, you're wrong, you're wrong! How could you? No, things are not like that!" And he suddenly admits: "But I am not telling the truth, Sonya. It is a long time since I have told or known the truth. . . This was all wrong; your judgement is sound there. There were quite, quite, quite, different reasons!''
What kind of ``truth'', what kind of ``justice'' is this when their pursuit leads, at every step, to bloodshed, death, disaster, and finally wholesale murder? What is meant by this infanticidal, matricidal and suicidal ``justice''? Can it be a healthy seed the fruit of which is death? Does it not contain the germ of destruction? Why is it that what has been started with the pen ends with the axe? What is this iron-clad, unassailable logic which treats human lives as mere ``material'' for building syllogisms? What kind of a person is he who wants always to be right? What kind of "easy conscience" is it which protests so much about how ``easy'' it is? And finally, what kind of ``disinterestedness'' is it which spells death for others? Can it really be disinterestedness?
If Raskolnikov wants to kill the money-lender in order to avenge all the Lizavetas, and to help them later, why then does he have to kill this Lizaveta? Is it for her good? Or for the good of all the other Lizavetas? Why does he calmly accept the possibility that Mikolka may go to prison instead of him? Is it in the name of all the other Mikolkas or what? Whom does he sacrifice, and tor whom"?
Is the road to hell really paved with good intentions?
[44] __ALPHA_LVL1__ "Power Over All! ``I did not commit murder to help my
mother---that's rubbish! I did not
commit murder in order to use the profit
and power I gained to make myself a
benefactor to humanity. Rubbish!"
Raskolnikov is a monomaniac, a person obsessed by one idea. "There are bookish dreams here, and a heart troubled by theories,'' says Porfiry when discussing Raskolnikov's crime. Raskolnikov's "bookish dreams" call to mind the dreams of a character from Notes from Underground. "We are all still-born, and in fact have for a long time been born of fathers who are not living men. The idea appeals to us more and more. . . We're getting a taste for it. And soon we shall think of some way of being born of an idea.'' Raskolnikov is born of an idea. 45 He, like Kirillov in The Possessed, is ``eaten'' by an idea. "Ideas can kill a man just as savagely as a villain can with an axe.''
``He was sceptical, he was young, he had an abstract and consequently cruel mind,'' Dostoyevsky wrote about Raskolnikov.^^*^^
It is clear that Raskolnikov, who in his article divides all people into two categories, includes himself in the "higher category''. How can such a division, such a fantastic claim, accord with ``righteous'' aims?
``Two categories"-"higher" and ``lower'', the "people proper" and the ``material'' And where do Raskolnikov's mother, sister and other relatives belong? In the ``lower'' category? And what about children? How should they be divided? Raskolnikov is afraid to pursue further the question he himself has raised.
He tells Porfiry when he first meets him: "In short, for me all men have completely equivalent rights, and-uiue la guerre eternelle. . ." " Perpetual war" as an expression of supreme love for mankind?
Raskolnikov reflects on the idea after his first visit to Porfiry: "No, those people are not made like this; the real ruler, to whom everything is permitted, destroys Toulon, butchers in Paris, forgets an army in Egypt, expends half a million men in a Moscow campaign, shakes himself free with a pun in Wilno, and when he is _-_-_
^^*^^ In his notes for Crime and Punishment, Dostoyevsky wrote: "In depicting the man, remember that he is twentythree.''
46 dead they put up monuments to him; everything is permitted to him. No! Such people are plainly not made of flesh, but of bronze!. . . He is right, he is right, the `prophet', when he establishes a mar-vell-ous battery across a street somewhere and mows down the innocent and the guilty, without deigning to justify himself. Obey, trembling creature and-do not will, because-that is not your affair!''``A mar-vell-ous battery" as a salutary idea?
Here is another admission: "Freedom and power, but above all, power! Power over all trembling creatures, over the whole ant-heap! . . . That is the goal! Remember this!" Those were Raskolnikov's parting words to Sonya.
Later he explains the meaning of those words: '"Sonya, I have an evil heart, note that; it explains many things. . . This is it: I wanted to make myself a Napoleon, and that is why I killed her. . . I. . . I wanted to have the courage, and I killed. . . I only wanted to dare, Sonya, that was the only reason!" It turns out that he longs to become one of those ``prophets'' to whom everything is permitted. "The man who dares much is right in their eyes. The man who tramples on the greatest number of things is their lawgiver, and whoever can dare the most is the most right. I would not lie about it even to myself! I did not commit murder to help my mother-that's rubbish! I did not commit murder in order to use the profit and power I gained to make myself a benefactor to humanity. Rubbish! I simply murdered for myself, for myself alone, and whether I should become a benefactor to anybody else, -or, like a spider, spend the rest of my life catching everybody in my web and sucking 47 the life-blood out of them, would have been a matter of complete indifference to me at that moment! . . . And, most important, it was not money that I needed, Sonya, when I killed; it was not money, so much as something else. . . I needed to experience something different, something else was pushing me along: what I needed to find out then, and find out as soon as possible, was whether I was a louse like everybody else or a man, whether I was capable of stepping over the barriers or not. . . Was I a trembling creature or had I the right. . .''
Raskolnikov speaks about his crime in different ways to different peoples, and tells the truth only to himself, and to Sonya.
``Pride'', ``conceit'', ``hatred'', ``self-reliance'', ``arrogance'', ``disgust'', "malicious contempt for people"-such are the words Dostoycvsky used to describe each step taken by Raskolnikov in pursuit of his idea.
``He really does not love anyone; perhaps he never will,'' says Razumikhin.
``Monomaniac'', "exceptional, lunatic vanity'',--- such is the first impression Zosimov, a doctor, has of Raskolnikov. "And here, perhaps, lies the point of departure of the illness!''
``Exorbitant ambition. . . Above all vanity, vanity and pride. . . Napoleon had a terrible fascination for him,'' says the cynical and discerning Svidrigaylov about Raskolnikov.
And Dostoyevsky adds: "It should be noted that Raskolnikov had scarcely any friends at the university. He held himself aloof, never went to see anyone and did not welcome visitors. Very soon, however, he found himself left alone. He 48 took no part in the usual assemblies, discussions, or amusements. He worked hard, not sparing himself, and for this he was respected, but he was not liked. He was very poor and excessively proud and unsociable. It seemed to some of his fellow students that he looked down on them all as children, as if he had outdistanced them in knowledge, development, and ideas, and that he considered their interests and convictions beneath him.'' (Raskolnikov was still more contemptuous of his comrades-in-misfortune in the prison camp.)
."It was not money so much that I needed,'' Raskolnikov lets slip. But without money, without ``vulgar'' money one cannot even begin to make "a fortune straight off'', to obtain power. As Porfiry points out: "Suppose somebody, some young man, fancies he is a Lycurgus or Mahomet-a future one, of course-and starts removing all obstacles to that end. . . I have in front of me, he says, a long campaign, and money is necessary for it. Well, he begins to acquire supplies for the campaign. . . You know what I mean?''
What will remain of the "righteous aim" if the ``prophet'' with his "mar-vell-ous battery" is right, and if our ``idealist'' wants to become a Napoleon?
Such motives predetermine the outcome of the whole project. The unforseen, the ``accidental'' proves to be the regular course of things. Raskolnikov reaps what he himself has sown. The slogan "long live perpetual war" can only invite universal destruction (like that Raskolnikov saw in his mad dreams). And if he who is the most daring, the most arrogant, is the most righteous, then everyone will want to dare all things, to show 49 contempt for each and all. This is what Raskolnikov's logic leads to. "Perpetual war" thus becomes the aim, the means, and the result. And it would be too late to say afterwards "I did not want it, this is not what I wanted!" Porfiry's question: "How can you distinguish between ' ordinanary' and `extraordinary' people?" is unanswerable. For people would fight one another for the right to be in the ``higher'' category. Moreover, among them there would inevitably be some ambitious swellheads who would claim an exclusive place even among the ``extraordinary''. And the only means of achieving this goal, this `` extraordinary'' position, this right to "bloodshed as a matter of conscience'', would be this very right, which is its own judge and its own creator. Could it be that this right is an end in itself, something that is exercised for its own sake? Raskolnikov is forced to accept this logic, but he does not take the trouble to question its soundness. He praises and defends it tooth and nail. He admits " proudly and with confidence": "Strength, strength is what I need; nothing can be done without strength; and strength must be gained by strength.. .''
That is the kind of apple Raskolnikov ate.~^^*^^
_-_-_^^*^^ There is a striking resemblance between Raskolnikov and Andrei Bolkonsky in Tolstoi's War and Peace, who dreams of his own ``Toulon'': "And later. . . I don't know what will happen later. I cannot and don't want to know! But if I want it, if I want to be famous and be known to people, if I want to be loved by them, why, it's not my fault that I want this, it's not my fault that this is the only thing I want and live for. Yes, for this alone! I shall never tell this to anyone, but, Lord, what can I do if I crave for nothing but glory and people's love. Death, wounds, loss of my family---all that does not frighten me. And no __NOTE__ Footnote cont. on page 51. 50
``It's a good thing that you only killed an old woman. If you had invented a different theory you might perhaps have done something a hundred million times as monstrous!" says Porfiry to Raskolnikov. But Dostoyevsky in fact shows the possibility, even the inevitability, of such a denouement on the basis of the theory formulated by Raskolnikov. Dostoyevsky does it subtly, tactfully and convincingly, in his descriptions of Raskolnikov's last dreams. The artistic logic of the novel here fully agrees with its psychological motivation: these are the dreams, the mad dreams of a sick man, the very dreams which a man like Raskolnikov can and must dream; these are the dreams of a man consumed by gnawing questions which he has whispered to himself thousands of times before he commits murder. . . But it is only in his fitful sleep that Raskolnikov finally receives the answer. In a dream he witnesses a deed "a hundred million times as monstrous''. "It distressed Raskolnikov that this crazy fantasy lingered so painfully and sadly in his memory, and that he could not shake off for so long the impressions of his delirious visions.''
It is "for so long" because the visions bring out the same motives which he fostered on many a long night when he was planning his article: "I had no light at night, and I lay in the dark, because I wouldn't earn the money for candles. I should have been studying, but I had sold my _-_-_ __NOTE__ Footnote cont. from page 50. matter how dear, how close to me are many people, my father, sister and wife, the dearest ones I know on earth, I would---no matter how dreadful and unnatural this might sound---give them up now, all of them, for just one moment of glory, of triumph over people, for the love of people whom I don't know and shall never know. . .''
51 books, and the dust is still lying inches thick on the note-books and papers on my table. I preferred to lie and think. I spent all the time thinking. . . And all the time I had such dreams, all sorts of strange dreams,- no need to tell you what they were! But it was only then that I began to fancy that. . . I had a thought then, for the first time in my life, that nobody had ever had before me! Nobody! It was suddenly as clear as daylight to me : how strange it is that not a single person passing through this nonsensical world has the courage, has ever had the courage, to seize it all by the tail just like that and fling it to the devil!. . .''``As clear as daylight"-and this about the " accursed idea" born in the darkness of the night! The dark, "accursed idea" seemed radiant to him. . .
Dostoyevsky shows that a man who has committed a criminal act is to be held responsible not only for the consequences of his act, not only for the criminal means he has used, but, mainly for his criminal intentions. What Dostoyevsky is saying is that a person is responsible even for his desires, of which he may not be fully conscious. "Did I know about the terrible consequences of my collusion with Lambert?" wonders the hero of A Raw Youth, and answers: "No, I did not.'' But then he adds: "This is the truth, but is it the whole truth? No, it is not; I knew something, I know I did. In fact I knew quite a lot, but how? Let the reader recall the dream I had! If such a dream could visit me, if it could come out of my heart and take shape, this could only mean that I knew an awful lot, or that rather I had a presentiment about it. . . I had no clear knowledge of 52 it, but my heart was full of forebodings and the evil spirits had become the masters of my dreams.'' It was the dream in which he and Lambert tried to blackmail Madame Akhmakova. It anticipated what actually happened later: "This means that everything has long been germinating in my depraved heart, in my desires, but my heart was ashamed of the truth and my mind was yet unable to make a conscious effort to face anything as terrible as that. But in my sleep my soul conjured up and expressed all that was in my heart, in all particulars and in the fullest form possible, in the form of a prophecy.'' Raskolnikov, too, "had a presentiment about it''.
If Dostoyevsky had written a mere murder story he would have failed to achieve a main goal-to secure the maximum participation of the reader. He would not have been able to stir the reader, burn his soul, and make him look into himself, but, on the contrary, would have confirmed him in his complacent attitude that he is not involved in the doings of others.
But Dostoyevsky "is not good at singing lullubies'', although he tried to do it at times. He is not good at lulling to sleep either himself or the reader.
``This story is also about you,'' Dostoyevsky seems to say to his readers, "about you if you have evil aims which are concealed from you by a veil of self-deception, if you shrink from fully identifying yourself with them. For any man may have his own old money-lender, his own Lizaveta, his own Mikolka, whatever their real names might be.'' Moreover, Crime and Punishment contains a ``hidden'' confession which concerns not only Raskolnikov or the reader, but also the 53 author himself, which is evident from his notes for the novel (April 16, 1865).
Thus the results and the means are not in keeping with the lofty aims. Is this, then, a question of contradiction between them? It seems so, but it is not so, says Dostoyevsky with his characteristic ethical maximalism. It follows that there is something wrong with the aims. There is no contradiction here but a deep, hidden and often elusive conformity. Dostoyevsky seems to be breaking up the apparently impenetrable nucleus of Raskolnikov's mentality. In his own way he discovers and interprets the Marxist thesis: "A goal which calls for unrighteous means is not a righteous goal.''
Chernyshevsky discussed the same idea in a letter to his son in 1876: "The aim justifies the means' is a questionable proposition. A good aim achieved by bad means?.. . No, it cannot justify them because they do not suit the purpose for which they are used. A good aim cannot be achieved by bad means. The nature of the means used must be the same as the nature of the aim. Only then can the means lead to a good aim. Bad means can serve only a bad aim, and good means serve good aims. . . Yes, my dear, historians and, following them, all sorts of people, scholars and nonscholars, are too often mistaken, in a most foolish and disgusting way, when they think it is possible to use bad means to achieve a good aim. This idea is nonsensical and absurd. It is like saying 'an even number is an odd number,' or 'a triangle has four angles,' or 'iron has roots, stem and leaves,' or 'man is a creature of the feline family,' etc.-mere words that convey no meaning. They are good only for scoundrels who seek to confuse 54 the minds of serious people or to fascinate fools. The means must be just as good as the aim.''
Talk about achieving lofty aims by base means testifies at best to a vague conception of the aims. But more often this talk is a means for achieving and concealing wrong ends.
It was not for a righteous aim that Raskolnikov committed his crime; he committed it for unjust ends. Here the aim does not justify but determines both the means and the results, while the means and the results reveal the real aim. To use improper means to achieve a lofty aim may still be considered a mistake, though an irreparable one. But to have evil aims, evil motives is, in Dostoyevsky's view, a crime.
The ``plague'' is an embodiment of Raskolnikov's "accursed idea'', an acting out of what he expounded in his article.
Raskolnikov, like Ivan Karamazov, is the "principal killer'', the ``brains'' behind the crime, because he has inspired universal death and destruction. He could have applied to himself the words spoken by the main character in The Dream oi a Queer Fellow. "I know that I have brought about my own fall.'' He compares himself to "a loathesome trichina'', "an atom of plague which infects whole countries'', where, as a result, the "wise ones" seek to destroy all the ``weaklings'' (those who have failed to understand the idea) so that they will not stand in its way. These are the same dreams dreamed by Raskolnikov but in a condensed form.
And the ``millions'', which Ivan Karamazov, like Raskolnikov, found he had no use for, are mere pennies compared with the idea that 55 ``everything is permissible'', with the idea of "bloodshed as a matter of conscience''. But this idea cannot be realized without a good deal of money, if not exactly ``millions''.
The intentions with which the road to hell is paved are not as good as they seem.
[56] __ALPHA_LVL1__ The "Wise Men"``There are no real barriers."
What Raskolnikov says and does can be understood only by keeping in mind his "accursed idea''. It has become part of him; it has engulfed him and affects all his feelings and thoughts, his words and actions.
``The mistakes and perplexities of the mind disappear sooner and more completely than the mistakes of the heart. The former are overcome not so much by argument and reasoning as by the inexorable logic of events in real life, which often suggest the necessary and correct way out and point to the straight road, if 57 not at the moment they arise, at least quite soon. .. But mistakes of the heart are a different matter. A mistake of the heart is a very grave thing: it is a poisoned spirit which clouds vision and turns people blind, so blind that they are beyond cure, even when the facts before them clearly point to the straight road. It distorts the facts to suit its end and assimilates them with its poisoned spirit.''
Raskolnikov's idea has penetrated not only his mind but also his heart (``I am evil at heart''). That is his misfortune and his crime.
Raskolnikov listens to Marmeladov after his ``rehearsal''. He has been listening to him for a long time, nearly an hour. He listens in silence, feeling no pity for the man. And as he listens he thinks about his problem (how to "cross the barrier'') which cuts deeper and deeper into his mind especially after his ``rehearsal'', especially after Marmeladov has repeated three times his words: "There's nowhere to go!" Perhaps Marmeladov and others like him have nowhere to go, but he, Raskolnikov, knows where to go, and Marmeladov's story confirms him in his final choice (so far everything has pointed to the correctness of his choice). Let Marmeladov squirm like a crushed worm. This is his lot: he belongs to the category of ``material''. Raskolnikov is another matter; he is of the ``higher'' category.
But he realizes, or at least cannot help feeling, that Marmeladov, in his own way, rebels against the theory of "two categories''. Marmeladov does so like a slave, on his knees, humbly, but still he rebels: "But He will pity us. He who pitied all men and understood all men and all things. He alone is the judge... And He shall 58 judge all men, and forgive them, the good and the evil, the wise and the humble. .. And when He has done with all men, then shall He summon us also: 'Come forth' He will say, 'also, ye drunkards, ye weaklings, ye infamous, come forth'! And we shall come forth without shame and stand before Him. And He will say: 'Ye are swine! ye are made in the image of the beast and bear his mark; yet come, ye also unto Me!' And the wise and learned shall say: 'Oh Lord, why do you receive them?' And He will say: 'I receive them, oh ye wise men, I receive them, oh ye learned ones, inasmuch as not one of these has deemed himself worthy. . .' "
After taking Marmeladov home (where he quietly puts on the window-sill what is left of his money) Raskolnikov says to himself: "And this Sonya, too! What a little gold-mine they've managed to get hold of to profit from. Oh yes, they wept at first, but now they are used to it. Men are wretches; they can get used to anything!" And he adds enigmatically: "Well, and if I am wrong, if men are not really wretches, men in general, the whole human race, I mean, then all the rest is just prejudice, imaginary fears, and there are no real barriers, and that is as it should be!''
What is he talking about? About the same thing. "Wretches get used to it.'' But mankind is not made up of wretches alone, but of "two categories''. And Raskolnikov will not "get used to it'', and will ``transgress'' because he belongs to the ``higher'' category; he is not a ``wretch'', but one of the ``wise''.
And who are the wretches, then? Raskolnikov's slip of the tongue provides the answer. They are the people whom Marmeladov calls ``weaklings''.
59This ``slip'' is not accidental here. This mixing up of ``weaklings'' with ``wretches'', this imperceptible change from the first to the second is ominous: it is like saying that people of the `` lower'' category are ``lice'', "trembling creatures''. It means that Raskolnikov has passed from his idea to "do good for men" to the " accursed idea" of taking power and holding sway over "the trembling creatures'', and of doing it as soon as possible, and not for the good of these ``creatures'' but for his own good.
Raskolnikov's idea is anti-popular. The ``lower'' category, the ``material'', the ``weaklings''-such are the terms Raskolnikov uses in describing the people. But it is to be kept in mind that the last judgement of the ``wise'' Raskolnikov is meted out by the people, by the ``weaklings''. Dostoyevsky often returned to the subject of the theory of "two categories''. He wrote: "I could never accept the idea that only one-tenth of the people are destined to develop on a higher plane, while the remaining nine-tenths should serve as material for this. .. and languish in the dark.''
On the morning after his meeting with Marmeladov Raskolnikov was reproached by Nastasya for "not doing anything''.
``I am doing. . .'' began Raskolnikov grimly and reluctantly.
``Work?''
``Work.. .''
``What sort of work?''
``Thinking,'' he replied seriously, after a moment's pause.
Nastasya fairly shook with laughter. ..
The ``work'' the ``wise'' Raskolnikov is doing also has to do with Nastasya; he thinks of her as 60 a ``weakling'', though he has not yet included her in his ``arithmetical'' calculations. He is still ``counting'' by ``categories'', by millions. He is still rounding up figures. . .
A day later Nastasya learns about the murder, but she will probably never know that she is on the same list as the money-lender and Lizaveta; it is just that her turn has not come yet.
[61] __ALPHA_LVL1__ "A Percentage!" ``Let them eat one another alive---
what is it to
After reading his mother's letter Raskolnikov goes out into the street. The ``idea'' is still in his head, not in the form of a dream, "but in a new, unfamiliar and terrible form''. He is thinking about his sister, about Svidrigaylov. .. .Suddenly he notices a drunken girl of about sixteen, or maybe only fifteen. A few paces away stands an overdressed fop. The situation is obvious.
All that has constantly been in Raskolnikov's mind and heart now surges forth in a violent, outburst: "Hey, you Svidrigaylov, what do you want here?" And as he shouts these words he 62 clenches his fists and grins, his lips trembling from rage. (He calls the stranger ``Svidrigaylov''. He seems to be rehearsing a meeting with the real Svidrigaylov.)
The interference of a policeman stops the fight. Raskolnikov begs him: "There, look. Heaven knows who she is, but she can hardly be a professional. More likely somebody made her drunk and abused her. . . for the first time. .. and then turned her out into the street like this. Look, her dress is torn; look how it is put on; clearly she didn't dress herself, she was dressed by somebody else, and dressed by unskilful hands, masculine hands. That is plain. How are we to keep her out of his hands?" He shoves the last twenty kopecks he has into the police officer's hand. The latter says plaintively: "Oh, what shameful things there are in the world now. .. Maybe she belongs to decent people, poor ones, perhaps.. .''
At this moment an instantaneous revulsion of feeling seems to sting Raskolnikov. "No, listen!" he cries after the moustached policeman. "Sto^i! What is it to you? Drop it! Let him amuse himself! What business is it of yours?" The policeman stands dumbfounded by such ``dialectics'', while Raskolnikov laughs right into his face. . . "Eh!" says the officer, and with a gesture of his hand follows the girl and the man, evidently taking Raskolnikov for a lunatic or worse. And Raskolnikov says bitterly: "He's gone off with my twenty kopecks. Now he can take something from the other as well, and let the girl go with him, and that will be the end of it... Is it for me to try to help? Have I any right to help? 63 Let them eat one another alive-what is it to me?''
But a moment later: "Poor girl!" And again: "Pah! Let it go. They say it must be so. Such and such a percentage they say, must go every year. . . somewhere or other. . . to the devil, I suppose, so that the rest may be left in peace and quiet.'' (This is Lu/hin's theme and also the theme of Raskolnikov's article).
Raskolnikov's thoughts undergo another change but not for the last time: "A percentage! They have some capital words: they are so soothing and scientific. Once you've said 'a percentage' there is no need to worry any more. If you used a different word, why then perhaps. . . it might be disturbing... And what if Dunya becomes part of the percentage?. . . If not in one then in another?.
Here we have two absolutely different men. The changes are instantaneous. Indeed they are not mere changes but a metamorphosis which foreshadows a terrible answer to the terrible question: What would happen if this girl came then instead of Lizaveta? It would make no difference in the long run who would turn up. And perhaps Lizaveta could be in this girl's place, why not.
And if everyone acts according to the principle "let them eat each other alive,'' then Raskolnikov's last dreams threaten to become a reality.
But while Raskolnikov's desire to help the girl is sincere and unfeigned, and as his anguish for those who have become part of the ``percentage'' is genuine, his words "What is it to me?" take 64 on an ominous ring and his curt "Let it go" sounds callous and unnatural.
This little passing scene, like many others in Dostoyevsky's stories and novels, is rooted in what has already been and what is yet to come.
__PRINTERS_P_65_COMMENT__ 3-707 [65] __ALPHA_LVL1__ ``Accidental Murder" ``Poor Lizaveta! Why had she to turn
up? It is strange though; I wonder
why I hardly ever think of her, as
though I had not killed her..."
Raskolnikov does not think of Lizaveta mainly because the very thought of her frightens him.
He tells the court that he did not mean to kill Lizaveta, that he killed her by ``accident''. And in sentencing him the judges take into consideration Raskolnikov's long-standing hypochondria. But if Raskolnikov committed his crime by ``accident'', and at a moment of temporary insanity, there would be little cause for pondering over the case.
Let's go back to our ``naive'' question: to which of Raskolnikov's two ``categories'' does 66 Lizaveta belong? To the ``lower'' one, it would seem; for obviously she is incapable of saying "something new''. And if so, then she could be dispensed with and even disposed of. "No,'' Raskolnikov would say. But supposing he dispenses with her only in order to say that "something new'', then the answer would obviously be "yes.'' To be sure, this "something new" must be of a certain scope, and Raskolnikov's "something new" is precisely of the required scope. This means that although the murder of Lizaveta is accidental, it is nevertheless logical, i. e., it is in keeping with Raskolnikov's ``theory''. For if she is not killed, the world will never learn about Raskolnikov's "something new''.
And one more question: what would have happened if it was Sonya who turned up, and not Lizaveta? Would Raskolnikov have killed Sonya? After all he knew Lizaveta (she had mended his shirts and he had heard someone say that she had a kind smile, and was ill-treated by her sister, the old money-lender). As for Sonya, he had heard her spoken of but had never met her. Perhaps he would have tried, before deciding her fate, to find out if she was ``ordinary'' or `` extraordinary''? But he had decided this question a long time before, or at least he thought he had.
After helping to save Sonya from Luzhin Raskolnikov thinks: "Well, Sofya Semyonovna, let us see what you will have to say now!" He believes that he has now a new argument to support his theory, and he even hopes that Sonya will agree with him. "Suppose, Sonya, you had known Luzhin's intentions beforehand, and known for a certainty that they meant the ruin of Katerina Ivanovna and the children, and of yourself into __PRINTERS_P_67_COMMENT__ 3* 67 the bargain (I put it that way, because you consider yourself of no account). Polenka as well. .. because she is destined to take the same road. Well, then: suppose you were allowed to decide that either one or the other should go on living, that is, either that Luzhin should live and go on doing evil, or that Katerina Ivanovna should die. How would you decide? Which of them should die? That is my question.'' That question is full of Jesuitical cunning.
But his violent arguments are annihilated by the reply of the quiet, unbending Sonya. "A human being a louse?" she exclaims. She does not argue with him; she does not even say he is wrong. She just does not understand him. And this absence of understanding proves to be stronger than any ``cunning''.
Instead of asking Sonya whether "Luzhin should live and go on doing evil, or Katerina Ivanovna should die" Raskolnikov could well put another question, not to Sonya, but to himself: whether he should be able to say "something new" or whether Lizaveta should die. In a reallife situation this question proves to be still simpler: whether Raskolnikov should go to prison (for the first murder), or whether Lizaveta should die? He would draw a maximum of twenty years of penal servitude, but Lizaveta would remain alive. But his ``arithmetic'' works infallibly, and he calculates in a trice (in fact this was calculated a long time ago) that it would be better for her to die, than for him to go to a prison camp. The ``trichina'' has done its job.
The theory of "two categories" is not merely a justification for crime but a crime itself. From the very beginning, even before it is precisely 68 formulated, it foreshadows and decides the question as to who should live and who should die. Basically it is also the theory of those who want to "sit in judgement of the whole world and to execute those who look just a little different from them"(The Gambler).
Any hypothetical list of people divided into Raskolnikov's "two categories" (the list would be drawn up by the ``extraordinary'', of course) inevitably turns into an actual list of those who are destined to live and those who are destined to die.
Once the "two categories" are defined, the rest is predictable. The old woman is the most useless, the most harmful ``louse'' and therefore die she must. The whole thing begins, but does not end with her.
Raskolnikov did not kill Lizaveta by accident; it was Sonya whom he ``accidentally'' did not kill.
It is possible, someone might argue, that at the moment of the crime Raskolnikov was not motivated by his ``theory'' but rather driven by `` instinct''. Of course, ``instinct'' was there. It was ``instinct'', for example, that told Raskolnikov, when he was at the police station, that nobody had suspected him of the crime. "Triumphant satisfaction in his safety, his escape from imminent looming danger, filled for the time his whole being, to the exclusion of all forebodings, all doubts and questions, all critical analysis, all riddles about the future. It was a moment of full, spontaneous, and purely animal rejoicing.'' And there were other moments of such ``cunning'' and `` rejoicing'' on Raskolnikov's part. But does this not mean that unjust aims had corrupted him and 69 turned him into a coward? Does this not mean that the whole idea of ``arithmetic'' was nothing but animal instincts, that, in fact, it released them?
The question of instinct and sickness aside (the whole crime and the article as part of it could be put down to sickness), let us recall Porfiry's words: "Why is it, old chap, that you see just these dreams in your sick delirium, and not others?''
[70] __ALPHA_LVL1__ ``I Did Not Prostrate Myself ``Suddenly and unexpectedly a bitter
hatred for Sonya seemed to flood his
heart."
Hatred for Sonya? For "Sonechka the eternal"? For the ``gentle'' Sonya who wants to save Raskolnikov and who is ready to go with him to the end of the world? This comes as a shock to the reader, as something inexplicable, or pathological.
The story continues: "Surprised and almost terrified by this feeling, he lifted his head and gazed at her, meeting her eyes fixed on him with a look of anxiety and anguished care. There was love in that look; his hatred vanished like a shadow. It had not been real; he had taken one feeling for another.''
71What can one expect from an ``extraordinary'' man who has come to ask an ``ordinary'' person for help? He will inevitably despise himself for his ``weakness'' and will hate that other person for his ``humiliation''. And what does someone from the ``higher'' category fear most of all when he opens up before the ``lower''? It is disgrace that he fears, disgrace in his own eyes: "you succumbed, you could not hold out, you bankrupt Napoleon. ..''
Raskolnikov's momentary hatred for Sonya is understandable. But what accounts for the bitterness of his feelings which surprised even Raskolnikov himself? What did he expect to see in her eyes?
Dostoyevsky shows here a new facet in the character of an excessively proud man. Raskolnikov is haunted by suspicion; he is mistrustful of people and imagines that all they think about is how to humiliate him, to cast him out of the ``higher'' category. For Raskolnikov life becomes one bitter struggle to realize his ambitions, a struggle in which sincerity and frankness are ``weaknesses'' which others will inevitably take advantage of. And since, for Raskolnikov, all people must have the same view of life, he has reasons for despising himself for his `` weakness'', and still more, for fearing that others might hold him in contempt. The logic here is remarkable although it eludes Raskolnikov himself: he, a ``chosen'' and an ``extraordinary'' one, ascribes his own features to all people, including the ``ordinary'' ones, thereby revealing the essential falseness of his theory and the groundlessness of his claims.
72But does Raskolnikov suspect Sonya of all that too? Is he afraid of her? Evidently he is.
The moment when this sudden feeling of bitter hatred appeared is carefully planned by Dostoyevsky. It appeared at the very last moment before Raskolnikov's dreaded confession. This feeling was to hold him back from making his confession. And if he had seen in Sonya's eyes even the slightest hint of what he had expected to see he would not have made it. But "there was love in that look; his hatred vanished like a shadow. It had not been real; he had taken one feeling for another. All that it meant was that the moment had come.''
This feeling appeared immediately after Sonya rejected his logic (``either that Luzhin should live and go on doing evil, or that Katerina Ivanovna should die''). For he had hoped that she would support him, that she would shoulder some of his burden and agree with him in everything. But she did not agree. One of the most humiliating things for a ``wise'' man, for someone who wants to have his way at all costs, is to see his syllogism smashed by the elementary logic of life. Sonya, this ``weakling'', suddenly refuted a ``wise'' man, a thinker. . . How dared she? For disagreeing with him was the same as humiliating him. Hence the ``outburst'' of suspicion which turned into hatred. But Sonya, who did not agree with him, and who did not want to humiliate him either, loved him and was prepared to shoulder his burden. "His hatred vanished like a shadow.''
Nevertheless, after he had confessed the murder, his old suspicion suddenly reappeared: "And what would it matter to you, what could it matter to you if I confessed now that I had done __PRINTERS_P_73_COMMENT__ 33---707 73 wrong? What could you find in such a meaningless triumph over me? Oh, Sonya, was it for that I came to you?" These are the key words-" meaningless triumph''. That was what he sought in her eyes and feared to find. Yes, more than anything else he feared Sonya's "meaningless triumph" over him. Only one person-he himself-has the right to ``triumph''' (not a ``meaningless'' one, of course).
Sonya had begun walking the streets only five weeks before; and Raskolnikov had committed his crime only a few days before. Their paths crossed at the most critical point of their lives. Their souls met at a time when they were still sensitive to pain, their own and others, when they had not yet grown accustomed to it. Raskolnikov fully realized the significance of this coincidence. That was why he had chosen Sonya, had chosen her for himself.
And although that was his first visit to Sonya (he came for his own sake, not for hers), Raskolnikov tortured her with his cruel questions:
``You don't get money every day?" The question could have been asked by "the man from underground'', another of Dostoyevsky's heroes.
``Polenka will probably go the same way?''
``No! No! That can't be! No!" Sonya almost shrieked in desperation, as if someone had plunged a knife into her. "God, God will not allow such a terrible thing!...''
``He lets it happen to others.''
``No, no! God will protect her! God will protect her!" she repeated beside herself.
``Perhaps God does not exist,'' answered Raskolnikov, with malicious enjoyment. He looked at her and laughed. Sonya began to sob.
74``Some five minutes passed. He went on walking up and down the room in silence, without looking at her. At last he went up to her; his eyes were glittering. He took her by the shoulders with both hands and looked into her weeping face. His piercing eyes were dry and inflamed, his lips twitched violently. . . With a sudden swift movement he stooped, fell to the ground, and kissed her foot...
`` 'Why, why do you do that? To me!'
`` T prostrated myself not before you, but before all human suffering,' he said wildly, and walked away to the window.''
What is this? The supreme expression of human kindness (and this is perhaps what Raskolnikov himself thought)? Or an exalted expression of anguish for the sufferings of the human race?
``.. .not before you, but before all human suffering''. But why not "before you''?
The ultimate meaning of this phrase, interpreted in terms of Raskolnikov's ``arithmetic'', is cruel. He is saying, in effect, that Sonya, too can and should be sacrificed to "all human kind''. It is not so difficult to exclaim "Sonechka the eternal'', but it is much more difficult, and so far impossible, for Raskolnikov to release her from the "lower category'', indeed to cast off the `` categories'' altogether.
The scene of Raskolnikov's prostration before Sonya is an extremely important and powerful scene. It is indeed an exalted symbol. . . but of what? A symbol of anguish? Yes, but not pure anguish. It is a symbol of pain vitiated by the ``trichinae''. It is an image of human kindness, but it is the sort of kindness which, like any abstract __PRINTERS_P_75_COMMENT__ 33* 75 humaneness, goes together with cruelty towards a particular person.
Dostoyevsky wrote: "To love man in general most likely means to despise, or even to hate the man who is standing next to you.''
``Anyone who loves humanity in general almost always loves only himself,'' says Nastasya Philippovna (The Idiot). "The more I love humanity as a whole, the less I love people in particular, that is individuals taken one by one. I can never understand how it is possible to love those who are close to you. The ones who are close to you are the very people whom it is impossible to love,'' says Ivan Karamazov.
``.. .not before you but before all human suffering.'' These words are pronounced by a tongue that is ``sinful'', ``idle'', and ``cunning''. Raskolnikov wants to tell one ``truth'' but has given away another. Without the cruel questions asked in a malicious, bitter tone, and without this "not before you'', the whole scene would become too ``elevated'' and sickly sweet, and would fail to reveal fully Raskolnikov's character.
Raskolnikov's prostration before Sonya here is different from his prostration before her at the end of the novel, when this terrible contradiction (``not before you, but before all'') is resolved, and no words are necessary.
But we are still a long way from the end. Meanwhile Raskolnikov would yet say many times: "Oh, we are such different people!. . . We don't match. And why, why did I come? I shall never forgive myself that!" He would still feel that "he really hated Sonya, especially now when he had made her more unhappy.'' And this after 76 he prostrated himself before all human suffering!
He would still wonder, on his way to the police station: "Do I love her? No, surely I don't? Why, I drove her away just now like a dog. Well, did I, in fact, need to get the crosses from her? Oh, how low I have fallen! No, I wanted her tears, I wanted to see her terror, and watch her heart being torn and tormented! I wanted something, anything, to cling to, some excuse for delay, some human being to look at! I, who had such confidence in myself, such visions of what I would do! I am a beggarly, worthless wretch, I am a miserable wretch!''
Here one feels that a different outcome is finally possible. But Raskolnikov would still torment Sonya, even in the prison camp. Even there he would feel ashamed.
Ashamed? But before whom? Before Sonya? But Sonya was afraid of him, and was it before her that he should be ashamed?
And still he was ashamed even before Sonya, and tormented her on account of this, treating her roughly and with contempt. On the other hand he was not ashamed of his shaven head and his manacles. His pride had been hurt, and as a result he fell ill. "She always stretched out her hand to him timidly, sometimes even half withdrawing it, as if she feared he would repulse her. He always grasped it reluctantly, always greeted her with a kind of irritation, sometimes remained obstinately silent all through her visit. There had been occasions when she had quailed before him and gone away deeply hurt.''
That is the meaning of "not before you but before all human suffering.''
77 __ALPHA_LVL1__ ``It's My Sin! ``No, Rodion Romanovich, my dear
chap, Mikolka isn't in this at all."
And if Raskolnikov "for some reason" does not think of Lizaveta, there can surely be no reason why he should think of some Mikolka who for some unknown reason has confessed the murders. Thank God he has! For he has thus saved an ``extraordinary'' man and given him a chance to say his "something new''. And if Raskolnikov has thought of Lizaveta once or twice, he has never thought of Mikolka at all.
Mikolka for Raskolnikov is one of those who "live in obedience and like it''. "In my opinion they ought to obey because that is their 78 destiny, and there is nothing at all degrading to them in it.'' Such a ``destiny'' even gives them a sense of purpose in life.. . It must be a pleasant and joyous feeling to know that "you are the material" to be used by ``extraordinary'' men, who will model out of you something they alone know (or maybe don't know yet). Such is Raskolnikov's attitude to people, an attitude dictated by his theory.
At first there is an imperceptible connection between Mikolka and Raskolnikov. But gradually this connection becomes more tangible. One of them murders, robs and sneaks away. The other (the lad Mikolka) is with his friends: "Down below someone tore out of a flat shouting and did not so much run as tumble down the stairs, yelling at the top of his voice: 'Mitka! Mitka! Mitka, Mitka! Blast your eyes!' "
The connection grows stronger: Raskolnikov is being hunted and Mikolka quite accidentally saves him. Raskolnikov hides in the unlocked apartment from which the boisterous lad has run a minute before.
The connection becomes more explicit as the plot unfolds. As Raskolnikov leaves the scene of his crime he accidentally drops a pair of earrings. Mikolka picks them up. .. Later Raskolnikov lies on his couch and listens to Razumikhin telling how Mikolka sold the earrings for two roubles and "when he got the note he changed it at once, drank two glasses of vodka, took his change, and went.''
After the news about the murder had spread Mikolka was detained "at the toll-gate, at an inn. He had gone in, taken off his silver cross and 79 asked for a glass of vodka for it. They gave it to him. A few minutes later a woman went into the cowshed, and saw him through a crack, in the cart-shed next door. He had tied his girdle to a beam and made a noose in it; he was standing on a block of wood and was just about to put his neck in the noose; the woman yelled blue murder, and people ran in: 'So that's it!'-'Take me/ said he, 'to such-and-such a police station; I will confess everything.' "
If Mikolka had hanged himself he would have saved Raskolnikov for the second time. As things turned out he was to save Raskolnikov again, but now he was saying:
``I hadn't the least idea! I heard of it two days later.''
``Why didn't you come forward before this?''
``From fear.''
``Why did you try to hang yourself?''
``Thinking.''
``Thinking what?''
``That they would pin it on me.''
But presently Mikolka pleaded guilty. By the way, he did not forget Mitka: "Mitka is innocent, he had nothing to do with any of it.''
But Mikolka's story does not end here. This is what Porfiry tells Raskolnikov: "First of all, he is still a lad, not grown up yet, and he is confessing now not because he is scared but because he believes his own inventions, since in his own way he's an artist. He is innocent, impressionable, and emotional, and his imagination runs away with him. He can sing and dance and he tells stories so well that, they say, people come from miles round to hear him. He has been to school, too, 80 and he is ready to die of laughing over nothing at all, and every now and then he drinks himself silly with vodka, not really for the sake of getting drunk so much as because somebody plies him with drink-like a child again. And when he stole that time he didn't know it was stealing, because 'if I pick it up from the ground, why is that stealing?'"
It also turns out that some members of his family are dissenters, followers of a religious sect. "It is not long since he himself spent two years under the obedience of some elder in his village. . . And what's more, he was once all for becoming a hermit himself! He was a regular zealot, used to get up in the night to pray, and read himself silly with old books, what they consider the `genuine' ones. St. Petersburg had a very powerful effect on him, especially the female sexand the vodka, too. He is impressionable, and he forgot the village elder and everything else. I have been told that a painter here got quite attached to him and Mikolka used to go and see him sometimes, and then this affair came along!" (That is an ``ordinary'' Mikolka, a living refutation of the theory of "two categories'', Mikolka who is regarded by some critics, together with Lizaveta and Raskolnikov's mother, as a mere "artistic detail".)
``Well, he felt afraid, he tried to hang himself. He tried to run away. What can be done about the way the common people think of our justice? Some of them find the mere word `trial' terrifying. Whose fault is that? Well, apparently he has remembered the good elder now that he is in prison: the bible has made its appearance again, too. Do you, Rodion Romanovich, know what some 81 of these people mean by suffering? It is not suffering for somebody's sake, but simply ' suffering is necessary'-the acceptance of suffering, and if it is at the hands of the authorities, so much the better.. . What, can't you admit that such fantastic creatures are to be found among people of his kind? They often crop up. I have taken a fancy to Mikolka and I am investigating him thoroughly. . . No, Rodion Romanovich, my dear chap, Mikolka isn't in this at all. . . It's somebody else, somebody who committed murder, yet he thinks of himself as an honourable man, despises other people and goes about like a martyred angel. No, what has Mikolka to do with all this, my dear Rodion Romanovich? There's no Mikolka in it.''
Raskolnikov is listening but hears nothing. He is debating with himself whether he should say his "something new" or whether Mikolka should go to prison. Not exactly ``debating'' of course. For he made his decision long ago, and it seems to him that he will abide by it all his life.
It is not the earrings that fasten Mikolka to Raskolnikov, but something which is invisible and cannot be torn asunder: he is doomed by Raskolnikov as one of the ``lower'' category. It is not the earrings, and not only St. Petersburg, but the article by the ``trichinae-affected'' Raskolnikov that brings down disaster on him. For this article regiments the lives of all the Mikolkas (even those yet to be born) for thousands of years to come, although they (odd fellows!) suspect nothing and go on doing whatever they are doing: painting walls, some of them even trying to make their way as artists, pleading guilty to 82 crimes they have not committed, praying to God and drinking themselves silly with vodka ( incidentally, the muzhik who beat his horse to death in Raskolnikov's early dream is also called Mikolka).
[83] __ALPHA_LVL1__ ``You're the Killer!" ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ``I'm guilty."
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ``Of what?"
``Of evil thoughts."
Dostoyevsky finally gets down to Raskolnikov's real motives, and shows that the motives themselves are criminal. He develops this idea with great artistry, by creating a kind of "mirror image'', a "man from underground''.
This is not Pushkin's "man in black" who commissioned Mozart to write a requiem, nor Lermontov's Unknown from The Masquerade. He is a real, down-to-earth type which makes him all the more frightening. "He was wearing a sort of long robe and a waistcoat, from a 84 distance he resembled a peasant woman. His head, in a greasy cap, hung down, and his whole figure seemed to stoop. From his flabby wrinkled face he seemed to be over fifty; his sunken little eyes looked hard, morose, and discontented.''
The stranger looks for Raskolnikov and, not finding him, leaves the house. Raskolnikov dashes after him as if driven by an irresistible force. At first they walk in silence, side by side, neither of them saying a word. .. Suddenly the stranger turns to Raskolnikov. . . "The killer,'' he says in a low, but clear and distinct voice. Raskolnikov keeps on walking, his knees feeling terribly weak and a chill running up his spine. They walk another hundred paces. Then he mutters hardly audibly: "But why do you... what.. . who is a killer?" And hears: ``You're the killer!''
``Who is he? Who is this man who seems to have sprung up from nowhere? Where was he and what did he see? Everything, doubtless. Why has he risen out of the ground only now? And how could he see-can it be possible?''
But there is nothing mystical about the scene. "That tradesman, that scoundrel is well known as a heavy drinker,'' Porfiry later explains to Raskolnikov. The man saw Raskolnikov go to the place of his crime, and he heard him ask about "the blood''. "I was annoyed that they left you alone, thinking you were drunk. I was so annoyed that I couldn't sleep.'' Heavy drinkers often have a remarkable sense of discernment. Burdened with a guilty conscience, they are quick to spot others like themselves. This "bleary-eyed tradesman" guessed not only and not so much about what Raskolnikov had done as about Raskolnikov's thoughts which he could read as plain as print. 85 Raskolnikov's face was an open target.. .
After this attempt by Porfiry to spring a " little surprise" on Raskolnikov, Raskolnikov senses that something is going to happen...
``He was on the point of opening the door when it began to open of itself. He started and recoiled. The door was opening slowly and quietly, and suddenly he saw a figure-yesterday's stranger from underground. .. 'What do you want?' asked Raskolnikov, terror-struck.
``The man said nothing, but suddenly bowed very low, almost to the ground, low enough at least to touch it with one finger of his right hand.
`` 'Who are you?' cried Raskolnikov.
`` `I'm guilty,' said the man quietly.
`` 'Of what?'
`` 'Of evil thoughts.' "
One man begs forgiveness of the other only because he has had "evil thoughts''. Ironically he asks it of a man whose thoughts are still more evil, and who has already put them into action. One of them begs forgiveness and the other replies: "God will forgive you.'' And after that he "was in better spirits than ever before''. " 'Now we shall fight again' he said with a bitter smile, as he went down the stairs... But the bitterness was directed against himself; he remembered his own `cowardice' with scorn and shame.''
[86] __ALPHA_LVL1__ ``She Will Either Die ``Even the news of his mother's death
did not touch him very deeply."
If his mother or sister (one chance in a million) were in Lizaveta's place, would Raskolnikov have killed them? Would his "instinct of selfpreservation" work then, too? And if it did not work, then the theory would have to be readjusted to make an exception for one's relatives.
Ideas often have tremendous power and implacable logic. And if people are to be divided into "two categories'', these could first be tentatively designated as the ``higher'' and the ``lower'' categories. It could also be added that the word ``lower'' has nothing humiliating attached to it 87 (Raskolnikov says so). Words and designations aside, the idea remains that all human beings, according to this theory, are divided into " people proper" and ``non-people'', that this division grants or takes away the right to live. This logic is frightening, but it cannot be dismissed out of hand.
Raskolnikov is being inconsistent when he is afraid to say outright that, according to his `` theory'' Sonya, Lizaveta, his sister, and, of course, his mother are mere ``insects''. But why does not he begin with his mother, if he wants to put his ``theory'' to the final test? "Whoever can dare the most is the most right!''
And could people not "change places" in life and go from one ``category'' to the other? Could Raskolnikov's mother be the money-lender, and the money-lender Raskolnikov's mother? What would happen then?
``Then,'' Raskolnikov might say, "others would have to do what he has not the courage to carry out.'' He did say so, though he put it in a different way: "Of course, many benefactors of mankind who did not inherit power but seized it for themselves, should have been punished at their very first steps. But the first steps of those men were successfully carried out, and therefore they were right, while mine failed, which means I had no right to permit myself that step.''
A son who has to kill his mother in order to test himself, a son who is sorry because he could not bring himself to perform the act-such is the outcome to which the logic of Raskolnikov's "accursed idea" inexorably leads to. But to accept this logic would be suicidal to Raskolnikov. That is why he dreads admitting the very possibility 88 of it. He foresees that his mother will either die of grief or go out of her mind, and when Sonya, months later, breaks the terrible news to him, she sees to her amazement that even this does not touch him very deeply, so far, at least, as she can judge from his outward appearance. He instinctively shuts out any thoughts about his mother (just as he did earlier about Lizaveta), because the thoughts are unbearable to him.
In a curt, matter-of-fact manner Dostoyevsky describes, not Raskolnikov's inborn cruelty, but the ruthlessness of his ``idea'' which has "turned him inside out" and brutalized him.
If Raskolnikov were to act according to his own theory, he would have to repudiate those for whom he surfers, to despise, hate and murder those whom he loves. And he just cannot bear this.
[89] __ALPHA_LVL1__ ``Out of One Pod" ``I am always glad to meet young
people: you learn from them what is new."
It would seem that Raskolnikov's hatred for Luzhin and Svidrigaylov is a redeeming feature. But is it really so?
Svidrigaylov has good reasons for saying to Raskolnikov: ``Didn't I say we had something in common, eh?" And later: ``Wasn't I right when I said we were out of one pod?" And he has good reasons for repeating: "Here you have come to me now, not only with a definite object, but for something new. That's true, isn't it? Isn't it? Well, then, imagine that I, while I was still on my way here, was counting on you too 90 to tell me something new, and on managing to borrow something from you! You see what we rich men are!''
Svidrigaylov's talk about "something new" reminds us of Raskolnikov's article in which Raskolnikov wrote: "In a word, I deduce that all of them, not only the great ones, but also those who diverge ever so slightly from the beaten track, those, that is, who are just barely capable of saying something new, must, by their nature, inevitably be criminals.''
Raskolnikov is to see himself reflected in Svidrigaylov and that is why he hates him all the more (and that's why he gravitates to him at the same time).
And he also sees his reflection in Luzhin who has come to St. Petersburg not only on business but also to see "something new": "I am always glad to meet young people: you learn from them what is new.'' Luzhin then proceeds to expound his theory of "advance or, as they say now, progress": "If, for example, in earlier times it was said to me: 'Love your neighbour' and I acted on it, what was the result? The result was that I divided my cloak with my neighbour and we were both left half-naked, for according to the Russian proverb: 'If you run after two hares, you will catch neither.' Science, however, says: love yourself first of all, for everything in the world is based on personal interest. If you love yourself alone, you will conduct your affairs properly, and your cloak will remain whole. Economic truth adds that the more private enterprises are established, and the more, so to speak, whole cloaks there are in a society, the firmer will be its foundations and the more will be undertaken for the 91 common good. That is to say, that by the very act of devoting my gains solely to myself, I am at the same time benefiting others with something better than half a torn cloak, and that not by private, isolated bounty, but as a consequence of the general economic advancement.'' When Luzhin comments on the murder of the moneylender: "And what about morals? And principles?" Raskolnikov interposes: "What are you making so much fuss about? It has worked out in accordance with your own theory!" "What do you mean?" "Carry to its logical conclusion what you were preaching just now, and it emerges that you can cut people's throats. ..''
Raskolnikov says "in accordance with your own theory'', but he knows very well that he could have said "in accordance with my theory'', or "in accordance with our theory''.
The most unnatural of ``sins'' is greed, the accumulation of money as an end in itself. Money was still unknown when all the other ``sins'' had appeared. But with money it became possible to buy all the other ``sins'' and to atone for them also with money. People became tempted to buy everything they did not yet have in this life, and in the life hereafter. Luzhin, for example, loved and prized money beyond anything in the world, "his money which he got together laboriously and by every means in his power; it raised him to the level of everything that had been superior to him.'' The old money-lender also sought to rise to that ``superior'' level. But she knew she did not have a chance to do so in this world and willed all her money to a monastery in memory of her soul. There is no one else that Raskolnikov hates more than the money-lender 92 and Luzhin. But curiously enough, although Luzhin needs ``millions'' and Raskolnikov wants to "work out his idea'', both the ``idea'' and the ``millions'' (even the old woman's ``thousands'') are got at one and the same price, and those who pay for them are the ``weaklings''. By killing Lizaveta Raskolnikov finishes up what the old money-lender has left undone. And Luzhin suddenly becomes his competitor, disgusting and untalented as he is, but not his enemy. Luzhin's very existence caricatures Raskolnikov's theory and reveals its true meaning. And this, more than anything else, maddens Raskolnikov.
Luzhin and Svidrigaylov are Raskolnikov's doubles, for they have what is the worst in Raskolnikov. They are like a mirror which reflects his own image. He knows this and wants to smash the mirror. But Luzhin is his small, paltry double, a little mirror. He is a worthless man, petty and boring, and is unaware of his kinship with Raskolnikov. By contrast, Svidrigaylov, a cynic and at the same time a romantic, the last of his kind, is a talented man in his own way; he is endowed with a keen power of observation, and he sees through Raskolnikov at a glance.
It turns out, then, that in order to hate and despise even such people as Luzhin and Svidrigaylov, in order to fight with them, one must first have the right to hate and despise, to have the moral right to engage in such a fight. As a murderer, and an over-ambitious person, Raskolnikov has no such right. For he may at any moment be asked the murderous question: "And what about you?" In fact this question is put to him.
It is significant that, in trying to reason out the motives of his crime Raskolnikov is on the 93 offensive all the time (out of his moral weakness, of course). Once, after the murder, he attacks Svidrigaylov with "They say that you drove Marfa Petrovna to her grave; is that so?" Svidrigaylov does not yet know that this question is asked by a murderer. But when Raskolnikov again attacks Svidrigaylov accusing him of eavesdropping, he receives a sensible reply: "If you are so sure that one can't listen at doors, but that one can bump off any old woman for one's fancy, then you'd better be off at once to America somewhere.'' Svidrigaylov has good grounds for telling Raskolnikov: ``You're a pretty fair cynic yourself. At any rate, you have all the makings of a very considerable one. There are many things you know how to recognize, many. . . and, indeed, you are capable of doing many things, too.'' And shortly before his suicide he again thinks: "What a rascal that Raskolnikov is, though! He has brought a lot on himself. He may become a great rogue in time, when the nonsense has left him, but now he wants to live too much.''
One can imagine Raskolnikov in his delirious sleep listening to Svidrigaylov speaking to him from the other world: "You drove your own mother to her grave, you `first-born'.. . Under what category did you write her off, 'Rodya, my precious Rodya?'. .. Don't listen at doors...''
And Luzhin could, in all justice, ask Raskolnikov: "You say it's wrong to frame Sonya. But is it right to kill and rob?''
One can imagine Luzhin's sincere and diabolical joy when he learns at last who the murderer is.
But why should he be worse than Raskolnikov in his own eyes (even from the point of view of 94 Raskolnikov's article) ? For he is sincerely convinced that Raskolnikov is an idler, and that Sonya is an immoral woman who corrupts society and that if she has not stolen today she definitely will do so tomorrow. And why not, once she has got used to it? And she could just as well get used to her ``profession''. The same idea has occurred to Raskolnikov, too: " 'Three ways are open to her--- to throw herself into the canal, to end in a madhouse, or. . . or, finally, to abandon herself to debauchery that will numb her mind and turn her heart to stone.' The last idea was repulsive to him, but he was sceptical, he was young, he had an abstract and consequently cruel mind, and therefore he could not but believe that the last course, of yielding to corruption, was the most likely.'' And Luzhin most likely thinks about himself as a man who has restored justice by slipping that banknote to her. He also "accelerates the progress of history'', he also "moves the world"! He has included Raskolnikov and Sonya in the category of the ``material'', while Raskolnikov has done exactly the same thing with him and Sonya. Sonya is thus part of the ``material'' both in Raskolnikov's and Luzhin's view. Her only place is in that category. And then comes that outburst: " Sonechka, Sonechka Marmeladova, Sonechka the eternal, while th