“Well, what a question! Let me answer you point by point: first, it's not to my advantage simply to lock you up straight away.”

“How not to your advantage! If you're convinced, then you ought . . .”

“Eh, what if I am convinced? So far it's all just my dreams, sir. And what's the point of putting you there for a rest? You know it would be, since you're begging for it yourself. I'll bring in that little tradesman, for example, to give evidence against you, and you'll say to him: 'Are you drunk, or what? Who saw me with you? I simply took you for a drunk, and in fact you were drunk,' and what am I to say to that, especially since your story is more plausible than his, because his is just psychology—which, with a mug like his, is even indecent—and you'll have gone straight to the mark, because he does drink, the scoundrel, heavily, and is all too well known for it. And I myself have frankly admitted to you several times already that this psychology is double-ended, and that the other end is bigger, and much more plausible, and that so far I have nothing else against you. And though I'm going to lock you up all the same, and have even come myself (which is not at all how it's done) to announce everything to you beforehand, all the same I'm telling you directly (which is also not how it's done) that it will not be to my advantage. Now, secondly, sir, I've come to you because . . .”

“Ah, yes, secondly . . .” (Raskolnikov was still suffocating.)

“Because, as I announced earlier, I think I owe you an explanation. I don't want you to consider me a monster, especially since I am sincerely disposed towards you, believe it or not. As a result of which, thirdly, I've come to you with an open and direct offer—that you yourself come and confess your guilt. That will be infinitely more advantageous for you, and more advantageous for me as well—since it will be taken off my back. Now, tell me, is that sincere on my part, or not?”

Raskolnikov thought for about a minute.

“Listen, Porfiry Petrovich, you said yourself it was just psychology, and meanwhile you've gone off into mathematics. But what if you're actually mistaken now?”

“No, Rodion Romanych, I'm not mistaken. I've got that little trace. I did find that little trace then, sir—a godsend!”

“What little trace?”

“I won't tell you, Rodion Romanych. And in any case I have no right to put it off any longer; I shall lock you up, sir. So consider for yourself: it's all the same to me now, and consequently it's just for your sake alone. By God, it will be better, Rodion Romanych.”

Raskolnikov grinned spitefully.

“That's not only ridiculous, it's even shameless. Now, even if I were guilty (which I'm not saying at all), why on earth should I come and confess my guilt, when you yourself say I'll be put in there for a rest?”

“Eh, Rodion Romanych, don't believe entirely in words; maybe it won't be entirely for a rest! That's just a theory, and my theory besides, sir, and what sort of authority am I for you? I might be concealing something from you even now, sir. Why should I up and pour out everything for you, heh, heh! Another thing: what do you mean, what advantage? Do you know what a reduction of sentence you'd get for that? Because when is it that you'd be coming, at what moment? Just consider that! When another man has already taken the crime on himself and confused the whole case! And I swear to you by God Himself that I'll set it up and arrange things 'there' so that your confession will come out as quite unexpected. We'll do away entirely with all this psychology, and I'll turn all the suspicions of you to nothing, so that your crime will appear as some sort of darkening— because, in all conscience, it was a darkening. I'm an honest man, Rodion Romanych, I'll keep my word.”

Raskolnikov lapsed into a sad silence and his head drooped; he thought for a long time and finally grinned again, but this time his smile was meek and sad.

“Eh, don't!” he said, as if he were now entirely done dissembling with Porfiry. “It's not worth it! I don't want your reduction at all!”

“Now, that's what I was afraid of!” Porfiry exclaimed hotly and as if involuntarily. “That's what I was afraid of, that you don't want our reduction.”

Raskolnikov gave him a sad and imposing look.

“Ah, don't disdain life!” Porfiry went on. “You still have a lot of it ahead of you. How can you not want a reduction, how can you say that? What an impatient man you are!”

“A lot of what ahead of me?”

“Of life! What, are you a prophet? How much do you know? Seek and ye shall find. Maybe it's just here that God has been waiting for you. And the fetters, well, they're not forever...”

“They'll reduce the sentence...” Raskolnikov laughed.

“Or maybe you're afraid of the bourgeois shame of it, or something? It's possible you're afraid without knowing it yourself—you being so young! But, even so, you're not one to be afraid or ashamed of confessing your guilt.”

“Ehh, I spit on it!” Raskolnikov whispered scornfully and with loathing, as though he did not even wish to speak. He again made a move to get up, as if he wanted to go somewhere, but again sat down in visible despair.

“You spit on it, really! You've lost your faith and you think I'm crudely flattering you; but how much have you lived so far? How much do you understand? He came up with a theory, and now he's ashamed because it didn't work, because it came out too unoriginally! True, it did come out meanly, but even so you're not such a hopeless scoundrel. Not such a scoundrel at all! At least you didn't addle your brain for long, you went all at once to the outermost pillars. Do you know how I regard you? I regard you as one of those men who could have their guts cut out, and would stand and look at his torturers with a smile—provided he's found faith, or God. Well, go and find it, and you will live. First of all, you've needed a change of air for a long time. And suffering is also a good thing, after all. Suffer, then. Mikolka may be right in wanting to suffer. I know belief doesn't come easily—but don't be too clever about it, just give yourself directly to life, without reasoning; don't worry—it will carry you straight to shore and set you on your feet. What shore? How do I know? I only believe that you have much life ahead of you. I know you're taking what I say now as a prepared oration, but maybe you'll remember it later and find it useful; that's why I'm saying it to you. It's good that you only killed a little old woman. If you'd come up with a different theory, you might have done something a hundred million times more hideous! Maybe you should still thank God; how do you know, maybe God is saving you for something. Be of great heart, and fear less. Have you turned coward before the great fulfillment you now face? No, it's a shameful thing to turn coward here. Since you've taken such a step, stand firm now. It's a matter of justice. So, go and do what justice demands. I know you don't believe it, but, by God, life will carry you. And then you'll get to like it. All you need is air now—air, air!”

Raskolnikov even gave a start.

“And you, who are you?” he cried out. “What sort of prophet are you? From the heights of what majestic calm are you uttering these most wise prophecies?”

“Who am I? I'm a finished man, that's all. A man who can, perhaps, sympathize and empathize, who does, perhaps, even know something—but completely finished. But you are quite a different matter: God has prepared a life for you (though, who knows, maybe it will also pass like smoke and nothing will happen). What matter that you'll be passing into a different category of people? You're not going to miss your comforts, are you, with a heart like yours? What matter if no one will see you for a long time? The point lies in you, not in time. Become a sun and everyone will see you. The sun must be the sun first of all. Why are you smiling again—because I'm such a Schiller? I bet you think I'm trying to cajole you! And, who knows, maybe that's just what I'm doing, heh, heh, heh! Perhaps, Rodion Romanych, you shouldn't take me at my word, perhaps you even should never believe me completely—for such is my bent, I agree. Only I would like to add this: you yourself seem able to judge how far I am a base man and how far I am honest!”