"I once more repeat the question I have put you: If you think me guilty, why not issue a warrant against me?""What a question! But I will answer you categorically. To begin with, your arrest would not benefit me!""It would not benefit you? How can that be? From the moment of being convinced, you ought to--""What is the use of my conviction, after all? For the time being, it is only built on sand. And why should I have you placed ATREST? Of course, I purpose having you arrested--I have called to give you a hint to that effect--and yet I do not hesitate to tell you that I shall gain nothing by it. Considering, therefore, the interest I feel for you, I earnestly urge you to go and acknowledge your crime. I called before to give the same advice. It is by far the wisest thing you can do--for you as well as for myself, who will then wash my hands of the affair. Now, am I candid enough?"Raskolnikoff considered a moment. "Listen to me, Porphyrius Petrovitch! To use your own statement, you have against me nothing but psychological sentiments, and yet you aspire to mathematical evidence. Who has told you that you are absolutely right?""Yes, Rodion Romanovitch, I am absolutely right. I hold a proof!
And this proof I came in possession of the other day: God has sent it me!""What is it?"
"I shall not tell you, Rodion Romanovitch. But I have no right to procrastinate. I am going to have you arrested! Judge, therefore:
whatever you purpose doing is not of much importance to me just now; all I say and have said has been solely done for your interest. The best alternative is the one I suggest, you may depend on it, Rodion Romanovitch! When I shall have had you arrested--at the expiration of a month or two, or even three, if you like--you will remember my words, and you will confess. You will be led to do so insensibly, almost without being conscious of it. I am even of opinion that, after careful consideration, you will make up your mind to make atonement. You do not believe me at this moment, but wait and see. In truth, Rodion Romanovitch, suffering is a grand thing. In the mouth of a coarse man, who deprives himself of nothing, such a statement might afford food for laughter. Never mind, however, but there lies a theory in suffering. Mikolka is right. You won't escape, Rodion Romanovitch."Raskolnikoff rose and took his cap. Porphyrius Petrovitch did the same. "Are you going for a walk? The night will be a fine one, as long as we get no storm. That would be all the better though, as it would clear the air.""Porphyrius Petrovitch," said the young man, in curt and hurried accents, "do not run away with the idea that I have been ****** a confession to-day. You are a strange man, and I have listened to you from pure curiosity. But remember, I have confessed to nothing. Pray do not forget that.""I shall not forget it, you may depend-- How he is trembling!
Don't be uneasy, my friend--I shall not forget your advice. Take a little stroll, only do not go beyond certain limits. I must, however, at all costs," he added with lowered voice, "ask a small favor of you; it is a delicate one, but has an importance of its own; assuming, although I would view such a contingency as an improbable one--assuming, during the next forty-eight hours, the fancy were to come upon you to put an end to your life (excuse me my foolish supposition), would you mind leaving behind you something in the shape of a note--a line or so--pointing to the spot where the stone is?--that would be very considerate. Well, au revoir! May God send you good thoughts!"Porphyrius withdrew, avoiding Raskolnikoff's eye. The latter approached the window, and impatiently waited till, according to his calculation, the magistrate should be some distance from the house. He then passed out himself in great haste.
A few days later, the prophecy of Porphyrius Petrovitch was fulfilled. Driven by the torment of uncertainty and doubt, Raskolnikoff made up his mind to confess his crime. Hastening through the streets, and stumbling up the narrow stairway, he presented himself at the police office.
With pale lips and fixed gaze, Raskolnikoff slowly advanced toward Elia Petrovitch. Resting his head upon the table behind which the lieutenant was seated, he wished to speak, but could only give vent to a few unintelligible sounds.
"You are in pain, a chair! Pray sit down! Some water"Raskolnikoff allowed himself to sink on the chair that was offered him, but he could not take his eyes off Elia Petrovitch, whose face expressed a very unpleasant surprise. For a moment both men looked at one another in silence. Water was brought!
"It was I--" commenced Raskolnikoff.
"Drink."
With a movement of his hand the young man pushed aside the glass which was offered him; then, in a low-toned but distinct voice he made, with several interruptions, the following statement:--"It was I who killed, with a hatchet, the old moneylender and her sister, Elizabeth, and robbery was my motive."Elia Petrovitch called for assistance. People rushed in from various directions. Raskolnikoff repeated his confession.
