To the question, your PERSONAL attitude, feelings towards Raskolnikov? (“Crime and Punishment”. Dostoevsky.) asked by the author Simple the best answer is I love Raskolnikov like, probably, few other literary heroes.
at least for those character traits that Razumikhin described:
"gloomy, gloomy, arrogant and proud; lately (and maybe much earlier) he has been suspicious and a hypochondriac. Generous and kind. He does not like to express his feelings and would rather commit cruelty than express his heart in words. Sometimes, however, he is not a hypochondriac at all, but simply cold and insensitive to the point of inhumanity, really, as if two opposite characters alternately alternate in him. Sometimes he’s terribly taciturn! Everyone has no time for him, everyone bothers him, but he lies there, does nothing. Not mocking, and not because he lacks wit , but he definitely doesn’t have enough time for such trifles. He doesn’t listen to what they say. He’s never interested in what everyone is interested in at the moment. He values himself terribly highly and, it seems, not without some right to it.”
but for these qualities I would forgive him both his theory and the consequences of his theory... maybe.
but anyway, I love it. In general, strange people, incomprehensible, unlike others, capable of mental development.
Well, Raskolnikov would probably fit this description quite well.
Answer from 22 answers[guru]
Hello! Here is a selection of topics with answers to your question: What is your PERSONAL attitude and feelings towards Raskolnikov? (“Crime and Punishment.” Dostoevsky.)
Answer from Sperato[guru]
This is what life brings you to! The guy is completely confused. Sorry for him.
Answer from Suckers[guru]
bastard
Answer from Binder[guru]
Pity and sympathy
Answer from Flush[active]
normal
Answer from Hilarion[guru]
I don't like this hero. Unable to organize his own life (he doesn’t study, doesn’t work, and doesn’t want to, lives on his mother’s money, walks around dirty and in rags) he believes that he can decide the fate of the world. How many of these Raskolnikovs are there now? The lower a person is in his level of existence, the more he thinks of himself.
Answer from Bun[guru]
however, sympathy. just like that! It didn’t cause any disgust in me personally. Of course, I am against violence, murder, etc., but personally, the image of Raskolnikov did not cause any terrible anger or antipathy. for some reason. Truth. I read this work back in school, then somehow re-read it several years later, perhaps if I re-read it now, there will be a different assessment. but hardly..
Answer from Musyonysh[guru]
Strangled the murderous leech, well done! But his personality does not evoke much sympathy, since he was completely devoid of a sense of humor and charm, and I don’t trust such people.
Answer from Џ
[guru]
There is no personal relationship, do not judge, lest you be judged.... everyone is responsible for their own actions... they don’t renounce the scrip and prison.... I could go on for a long time, but it’s probably clear that this is the answer to the question.
Answer from Ytne vtyz[guru]
nasty evil old woman!
Answer from Slava[guru]
I feel sorry for him, like any person who tries to rebuild life in accordance with his ideas about it. That’s what life taught him, but the price is terrible.
Answer from Kozlowski Anna. 49 years old[guru]
My attitude towards Raskolnikov is negative.
Answer from Sombre[guru]
his own theory drove him into the abyss. You should not confuse life with its laws and your personal fantasies and reflections. “Am I a trembling creature or do I have the right?” a person always wants to feel special. So Raskolnikov, in a foggy consciousness, self-proclaimed himself the arbiter of destinies. That's why he suffered. In short, this asshole Raskolnikov is all))
Preoccupied and serious, Razumikhin woke up the next day at eight o’clock. Many new and unexpected bewilderments suddenly arose in his mind that morning. He had never imagined that he would ever wake up like this. He remembered everything from yesterday to the last detail and understood that something extraordinary had happened to him, that he had received into himself one impression that was completely unknown to him and unlike all the previous ones. At the same time, he was clearly aware that the dream that had kindled in his head was extremely unrealizable, so unrealizable that he even felt ashamed of it, and he quickly moved on to other, more pressing concerns and bewilderments that were left to him as a legacy. after the “shattered yesterday.” His most terrible memory was how yesterday he turned out to be “low and disgusting,” not just because he was drunk, but because he scolded her fiancé in front of the girl, taking advantage of her position, out of stupidly hasty jealousy, without knowing only their mutual relationships and obligations, but not even knowing the person well. And what right did he have to judge him so hastily and recklessly? And who called him to be a judge! And how can such a creature as Avdotya Romanovna give herself to an unworthy person for money? Therefore, there are also advantages in it. Numbers? But how could he really know that these were numbers? After all, he is preparing the apartment... ugh, how low it all is! And what's the excuse that he was drunk? A stupid excuse that humiliates him even more! There is truth in the wine, and the whole truth has spoken out, “that is, all the dirt of his envious, coarse heart has spoken out”! And is such a dream even at all permissible for him, Razumikhin? Who is he compared to such a girl, he, a drunken brawler and yesterday’s braggart? “Is such a cynical and funny comparison possible?” Razumikhin blushed desperately at this thought, and suddenly, as if on purpose, at that very moment, he clearly remembered how he told them yesterday, standing on the stairs, that the hostess would be jealous of him for Avdotya Romanovna... it was unbearable. He hit the kitchen stove with all his might, hurt his hand and knocked out one brick. “Of course,” he muttered to himself a minute later, with some feeling of self-humiliation, “of course, all these dirty tricks can never be painted over and made good now... and therefore, there’s no point in thinking about it, and therefore appear in silence, and ... fulfill your duties ... also silently, and ... and not ask for an apology, and not say anything, and ... and, of course, now everything is lost!” And yet, while dressing, he examined his suit more carefully than usual. He didn’t have any other dress, and if he had, he perhaps wouldn’t have put it on, “so, he wouldn’t have put it on on purpose.” But in any case, one cannot remain a cynic and a dirty slob: he has no right to offend the feelings of others, especially since those others themselves need him and call him to themselves. He carefully cleaned his dress with a brush. His underwear was always tolerable; on this score he was especially clean. He washed himself that morning carefully, Nastasya had soap, he washed his hair, neck and especially his hands. When it came to the question: should I shave my stubble or not (Praskovya Pavlovna had excellent razors that were preserved from the late Mr. Zarnitsyn), the question was even bitterly resolved in the negative: “Let it remain so!” Well, when they think that I shaved for... yes, they will certainly think! No way in the world! And... and most importantly, he is so rude, dirty, his manner is that of a tavern; and... and let’s suppose he knows that he, at least a little, is a decent person... well, so what’s there to be proud of, that he’s a decent person? Every person should be a decent person, and even a cleaner one, and... and yet (he remembers this) there were such things behind him... not that they were dishonest, but yes, nevertheless!.. And what thoughts? there have been! hmm... and put all this next to Avdotya Romanovna! Well, yes, damn it! Let it be! Well, I’ll deliberately be so dirty, greasy, tavern-like, and I won’t give a damn! I will do even more!..” Zosimov, who spent the night in the hall with Praskovya Pavlovna, found him giving such monologues. He walked home and, leaving, hurried to look at the patient. Razumikhin informed him that he was sleeping like a groundhog. Zosimov ordered not to wake him until he woke up. He himself promised to come at about eleven o'clock. “If only he’s at home,” he added. Fu, damn it! You have no power over your patient, go and heal! Do not you know, He will go to those, or those will they come here? “Those, I think,” answered Razumikhin, understanding the purpose of the question, “and will, of course, talk about their family affairs. I'll leave. You, as a doctor, of course, have more rights than I do. I’m not a confessor either; I will come and go; and without them there is a lot to do. “One thing worries me,” Razumikhin interrupted, frowning, “yesterday, while I was drunk, I blabbed to him, dear, while walking, about various nonsense... about various... by the way, that you are afraid that he... is inclined to insanity ... You blabbed the same thing to the ladies yesterday. I know it's stupid! Hit me if you like! Did you really have any solid thoughts? Yes, it’s nonsense, I say; what a solid thought! You yourself described him as a monomaniac when you brought me to him... Well, yesterday we turned up the heat, you mean, with these stories... about a painter; It’s a good conversation when he may have gone crazy about it himself! If only I knew exactly what happened in the office then and that some rascal there... offended him with this suspicion! Hm... I would not have allowed such a conversation yesterday. After all, these monomaniacs will make an ocean out of a drop, they can see the fable in their faces... As far as I remember, yesterday, from this story by Zametov, half the matter became clear to me. What! I know of one case, how a hypochondriac, forty years old, unable to bear daily ridicule, stabbed an eight-year-old boy to death at the table! And here, all in rags, was an impudent policeman, an onset of illness, and such suspicion! A frantic hypochondriac! With mad, exceptional vanity! Yes, this may be where the entire point of departure of the disease lies! Well, yes, damn it!.. And by the way, this Zametov is really a sweet boy, but hmm... he shouldn’t have told all this yesterday. The chatterbox is terrible! Who did you tell? Me and you? And Porfiry. So what about Porfiry? By the way, do you have any influence on so-and-so, your mother and sister? Better be careful with him today... They'll come to an agreement! Razumikhin answered reluctantly. And why is he so angry with this Luzhin? A man with money doesn’t seem to disgust her... but they don’t have much? A? What are you asking? - Razumikhin shouted irritably, - how do I know whether it's a big deal or not? Ask yourself, maybe you'll find out... Ugh, how stupid you are sometimes! Yesterday's hops sit... Goodbye; Thank me for your Praskovya Pavlovna for the overnight stay. She locked herself, didn’t answer my bonjour through the door, and got up at seven o’clock, the samovar was carried through the corridor from the kitchen to her... I didn’t get to see... At exactly nine o'clock Razumikhin appeared at Bakaleev's room. Both ladies had been waiting for him for a long time with hysterical impatience. They got up at seven o'clock or even earlier. He came in as gloomy as the night, bowed awkwardly, for which he immediately became angry - with himself, of course. He calculated without the owner: Pulcheria Alexandrovna rushed to him, grabbed him by both hands and almost kissed them. He glanced timidly at Avdotya Romanovna; but even in this arrogant face at that moment there was such an expression of gratitude and friendship, such complete and unexpected respect for them (instead of mocking glances and involuntary, thinly concealed contempt!) that, really, it would have been easier for him if they had met swearing, otherwise it became too embarrassing. Fortunately, there was a ready-made topic for conversation, and he quickly latched on to it. Having heard that “I haven’t woken up yet,” but “everything is fine,” Pulcheria Alexandrovna announced that this was for the best, “because she really, really, really needs to talk first.” There followed a question about tea and an invitation to drink together; They themselves had not yet drunk while waiting for Razumikhin. Avdotya Romanovna called, a dirty ragamuffin came to answer the call, and tea was ordered for him, which was finally served, but so dirty and so indecent that the ladies felt ashamed. Razumikhin energetically scolded the number, but, remembering Luzhin, fell silent, became embarrassed and was terribly happy when Pulcheria Alexandrovna’s questions finally rained down in succession without interruption. Answering them, he spoke for three quarters of an hour, constantly interrupted and questioned, and managed to convey all the most important and necessary facts that he knew from the last year of Rodion Romanovich’s life, concluding with a detailed story about his illness. He missed a lot, however, that he should have missed, including about the scene in the office with all the consequences. They listened to his story eagerly; but when he thought that he had already finished and satisfied his listeners, it turned out that for them it was as if he had not yet begun. Tell me, tell me, what do you think... oh, sorry, I still don’t know your name? Pulcheria Alexandrovna was in a hurry. Dmitry Prokofich. So, Dmitry Prokofich, I would really, really like to know... how in general... he looks at objects now, that is, understand me, how can I tell you this, that is, it is better to say: what he loves and what does not love? Is he always this irritable? What are his desires and, so to speak, dreams, if possible? What exactly has a special influence on him now? In a word, I would like... Oh, mamma, how can you answer all this so suddenly! Dunya noticed. Oh my God, this is not at all how I expected to meet him, Dmitry Prokofich. “This is very natural, sir,” answered Dmitry Prokofich. I don’t have a mother, but my uncle comes here every year and almost every time he doesn’t recognize me, even from the outside, but he’s a smart man; Well, in the three years of your separation, a lot of water has gone away. And what can I tell you? I have known Rodion for a year and a half: he is gloomy, gloomy, arrogant and proud; Recently (and maybe much earlier) he has been suspicious and a hypochondriac. Generous and kind. He doesn’t like to express his feelings and would rather commit cruelty than express his heart in words. Sometimes, however, he is not a hypochondriac at all, but simply cold and insensitive to the point of inhumanity, really, as if two opposing characters alternately alternate in him. Sometimes he's terribly taciturn! He has no time for everything, everyone interferes with him, but he lies there and does nothing. Not mockingly, and not because there was a lack of wit, but as if he didn’t have enough time for such trifles. Doesn't listen to what they say. Never interested in what everyone else is interested in at the moment. He values himself terribly highly and, it seems, not without some right to do so. Well, what else?.. It seems to me that your arrival will have a most salutary influence on him. Oh, God forbid! - cried Pulcheria Alexandrovna, exhausted by Razumikhin’s review of her Family. And Razumikhin finally looked more cheerfully at Avdotya Romanovna. He often glanced at her during the conversation, but briefly, for only one moment, and immediately looked away. Avdotya Romanovna either sat down at the table and listened carefully, then got up again and began to walk, as usual, from corner to corner, crossing her arms, pursing her lips, occasionally asking her question, without interrupting her walk, thinking. She also had a habit of not listening to what was being said. She was dressed in some kind of dark dress made of light material, and a white transparent scarf was tied around her neck. Based on many signs, Razumikhin immediately noticed that the situation of both women was extremely poor. If Avdotya Romanovna had been dressed like a queen, it seems that he would not have been afraid of her at all; now, perhaps precisely because she was so poorly dressed and because he noticed all this stingy surroundings, fear entered his heart, and he began to fear for his every word, for every gesture, which was, of course, embarrassing for a person, who already didn’t trust himself. You said a lot of interesting things about your brother’s character and... you said them impartially. This is good; “I thought you were in awe of him,” Avdotya Romanovna noted with a smile. “It seems that it is also true that there should be a woman next to him,” she added thoughtfully. I didn’t say that, but by the way, maybe you’re right about that too, only... What? After all, he doesn’t love anyone; “maybe he will never love,” Razumikhin snapped. That is, he is not able to love? Do you know, Avdotya Romanovna, you yourself are terribly similar to your brother, even in everything! he blurted out suddenly, unexpectedly for himself, but immediately, remembering what he had just told her about his brother, he blushed like a lobster and was terribly embarrassed. Avdotya Romanovna could not help but laugh, looking at him. “You could both be wrong about Rodya,” Pulcheria Alexandrovna picked up, somewhat piqued. I’m not talking about the present, Dunechka. What Pyotr Petrovich writes in this letter... and what you and I assumed may not be true, but you cannot imagine, Dmitry Prokofich, how fantastic and, how can I put it, capricious, he is. I could never trust his character, even when he was only fifteen years old. I am sure that even now he can suddenly do something to himself that no one would ever think of doing... Yes, it’s not far to go: do you know how, a year and a half ago, he amazed me, shocked me and a little didn’t kill him at all when he decided to marry this what’s her name, the daughter of this Zarnitsyna, his mistress? Do you know anything in detail about this story? asked Avdotya Romanovna. “Do you think,” Pulcheria Alexandrovna continued passionately, “he would have been stopped then by my tears, my requests, my illness, my death, perhaps out of anguish, our poverty? I would calmly step over all obstacles. But does he really, really doesn’t love us? “He never said anything to me about this story himself,” Razumikhin answered cautiously, “but I heard something from Mrs. Zarnitsyna herself, who, in her way, is also not one of the storytellers, and what I heard, then, perhaps, even a little strange... What, what did you hear? asked both women at once. However, nothing too special. I only found out that this marriage, which was completely harmonious and did not take place only due to the death of the bride, was very much not to Madame Zarnitsyna’s liking... In addition, they say, the bride was not even good-looking, that is, they say, she was even ugly. .. and so sick, and... and strange... but, it seems, with some advantages. There certainly had to be some merit; Otherwise it’s impossible to understand anything... There’s no dowry either, and he wouldn’t count on a dowry... In general, it’s difficult to judge in such a matter. “I’m sure that she was a worthy girl,” Avdotya Romanovna noted briefly. God will forgive me, but I still rejoiced at her death, although I don’t know which of them would have destroyed the other: was he her, or was she him? Pulcheria Alexandrovna concluded; then carefully, with delays and with continuous glances at Dunya, which was obviously unpleasant for her, she began again to ask about yesterday’s scene between Rodya and Luzhin. This incident apparently worried her most of all, to the point of fear and trembling. Razumikhin recounted everything again, in detail, but this time he added his conclusion: he directly accused Raskolnikov of deliberately insulting Pyotr Petrovich, this time making very little excuse for his illness. “He came up with this before his illness,” he added. “I think so too,” said Pulcheria Alexandrovna with a defeated look. But she was very surprised that this time Razumikhin spoke about Pyotr Petrovich so carefully and even as if with respect. This also struck Avdotya Romanovna. So what is your opinion about Pyotr Petrovich? Pulcheria Alexandrovna couldn’t help but ask. “I can’t have a different opinion about your daughter’s future husband,” Razumikhin answered firmly and passionately, “and I’m not saying this out of mere vulgar politeness, but because... because... well, at least because Avdotya Romanovna She herself, voluntarily, deigned to choose this person. If I reviled him like that yesterday, it’s because yesterday I was dirty drunk and also... crazy; yes, mad, without a head, out of my mind, completely... and today I’m ashamed of it!.. He blushed and fell silent. Avdotya Romanovna flushed, but did not break the silence. She did not utter a single word from the very minute they started talking about Luzhin. Meanwhile, Pulcheria Alexandrovna, without her support, was apparently indecisive. Finally, stuttering and constantly looking at her daughter, she announced that she was now extremely concerned about one circumstance. “You see, Dmitry Prokofich...,” she began. Will I be completely frank with Dmitry Prokofich, Dunechka? “Of course, mummy,” Avdotya Romanovna remarked impressively. “That’s the thing,” she hurried, as if a mountain had been lifted from her with permission to communicate her grief. Today, very early, we received a note from Pyotr Petrovich in response to our notification of arrival yesterday. You see, yesterday he was supposed to meet us, as promised, at the station itself. Instead, a footman was sent to the station to meet us with the address of these numbers and to show us the way, and Pyotr Petrovich ordered that we be told that he would arrive here himself this morning. Instead, this note came from him this morning... Best of all, read it yourself; there is a point here that worries me very much... you will now see for yourself what this point is, and... tell me your frank opinion, Dmitry Prokofich! You know Rody's character better than anyone and can best advise him. I’m warning you that Dunechka has already resolved everything from the first step, but I, I still don’t know what to do, and... and I was still waiting for you. Razumikhin unfolded the note marked with yesterday's date and read the following:
“Dear Empress Pulcheria Alexandrovna, I have the honor to inform you that due to the sudden delays that occurred, I could not meet you at the landing stage, having sent a very efficient person for that purpose. I will equally deprive myself of the honor of meeting with you tomorrow morning, on urgent Senate business and so as not to interfere with your family meeting with your son and Avdotya Romanovna with her brother. I will have the honor to visit you and say goodbye to you in your apartment no other than tomorrow, exactly at eight o’clock in the afternoon, and I dare to add my convincing and, I will add, my urgent request that Rodion Romanovich no longer be present at our general meeting, so how he offended me in an unprecedented and discourteous way when I visited him yesterday when he was ill and, moreover, having personally given you the necessary and detailed explanation on a certain point, about which I would like to know your own interpretation. I have the honor to inform you in advance that if, contrary to the request, I meet Rodion Romanovich, I will be forced to leave immediately, and then you will have yourself to blame. I am writing on the assumption that Rodion Romanovich, who seemed so ill when I visited him, suddenly recovered two hours later, and therefore, leaving the yard, he might come to you. I was confirmed in this with my own eyes, in the apartment of one drunkard, broken by horses, from this deceased, whose daughter, a girl of notorious behavior, gave up to twenty-five rubles yesterday, under the pretext of a funeral, which surprised me very much, knowing with what troubles they collected you this amount. Moreover, testifying my special respect to the respected Avdotya Romanovna, I ask you to accept feelings of respectful devotion
your humble servant
P. Luzhin.
What should I do now, Dmitry Prokofich? Pulcheria Alexandrovna spoke, almost crying. Well, how can I suggest that Rhoda not come? Yesterday he so insistently demanded that Pyotr Petrovich be refused, and now he himself is ordered not to be accepted! Yes, he will come on purpose as soon as he finds out, and... what will happen then? “Do as Avdotya Romanovna decided,” Razumikhin calmly and immediately answered. Oh, my God! She says... she God knows what she says and doesn’t explain her purpose to me! She says that it will be better, that is, it’s not that it’s better, but for some reason it’s absolutely necessary that Rodya also come on purpose today at eight o’clock and that they will definitely meet... But I still haven’t sent letters I wanted to show him, and somehow trick him, through you, so that he wouldn’t come... that’s why he’s so irritable... And I don’t understand anything, what kind of drunkard died, and what kind of daughter was there, and how he could give this daughter all the last money... which... “Which you got so dearly, mamma,” added Avdotya Romanovna. “He wasn’t himself yesterday,” Razumikhin said thoughtfully. If you knew what he said yesterday in the tavern, albeit cleverly... hm! He actually told me something about some dead man and some girl yesterday when we were walking home, but I didn’t understand a word... And by the way, neither did I myself yesterday... Best of all, Mama, let’s go to him ourselves and there, I assure you, we’ll immediately see what to do. And besides, it’s time, Lord! Eleventh hour! she screamed, looking at her magnificent gold watch with enamel, hanging around her neck on a thin Venetian chain and terribly out of harmony with the rest of her outfit. “The groom’s gift,” thought Razumikhin. Ah, it’s time!.. It’s time, Dunechka, it’s time! Pulcheria Alexandrovna began to fuss anxiously, “she’ll think that we’ve been angry since yesterday for not coming for so long.” Oh my god! As she spoke, she fussily threw her mantilla over herself and put on her hat; Dunechka also got dressed. The gloves she was wearing were not only worn, but even tattered, which Razumikhin noticed, and yet this obvious poverty of the costume even gave both ladies the appearance of some special dignity, which always happens to those who know how to wear a poor dress. Razumikhin looked at Dunechka with reverence and was proud that he would lead her. “That queen,” he thought to himself, “who was mending her stockings in prison, certainly at that moment looked like a real queen, and even more so than during the most magnificent celebrations and appearances.” My God! - exclaimed Pulcheria Alexandrovna, - did I think that I would be afraid of meeting with my son, with my dear, dear Rodey, as I am now!.. I am afraid, Dmitry Prokofich! “She added, looking timidly at him. “Don’t be afraid, mummy,” said Dunya, kissing her, “you better believe in him.” I believe. Oh, my God! I believe it too, but I didn’t sleep all night! - cried the poor woman. They went outside. You know, Dunechka, as soon as I fell asleep a little in the morning, I suddenly dreamed of the deceased Marfa Petrovna... and all in white... she came up to me, took my hand, and she shook her head at me, and so sternly, sternly, as if condemning... Is this good? Oh, my God, Dmitry Prokofich, you don’t know yet: Marfa Petrovna has died! No, I don’t know; what is Marfa Petrovna like? Suddenly! And imagine... “Afterwards, Mama,” Dunya intervened, “after all, they still don’t know who Marfa Petrovna is. Oh, you don’t know? And I thought you already knew everything. Forgive me, Dmitry Prokofich, these days I’m just going crazy. Really, I consider you as our providence, and therefore I was convinced that you already knew everything. I consider you as my own... Don’t be angry that I say so. Oh, my God, what is your right hand! Hurt? “Yes, a bruise,” muttered the happy Razumikhin. Sometimes I speak too much from the heart, so Dunya corrects me... But, my God, what a closet he lives in! Did he wake up, though? And this woman, his owner, considers this a room? Listen, you say, he doesn’t like to show his heart, so maybe he’s tired of me with my... weaknesses?.. Won’t you teach me, Dmitry Prokofich? How can I be with him? You know, I walk around completely lost. Don’t ask him too much about anything if you see him wincing; especially don’t ask about health: he doesn’t like it. Ah, Dmitry Prokofich, how hard it is to be a mother! But here is this staircase... What a terrible staircase! “Mother, you are even pale, calm down, my darling,” said Dunya, caressing her, “he should still be happy that he sees you, and you are torturing yourself like this,” she added, her eyes sparkling. Wait, I’ll look ahead, are you awake? The ladies slowly followed Razumikhin, who had gone up the stairs ahead, and when they were already level with the landlady's door on the fourth floor, they noticed that the landlady's door was open a small crack and that two quick black eyes were examining them both from the darkness. When their eyes met, the door suddenly slammed shut, and with such a knock that Pulcheria Alexandrovna almost screamed in fright.Answering them, he spoke for three quarters of an hour, constantly interrupted and questioned, and managed to convey all the most important and necessary facts that he knew from the last year of Rodion Romanovich’s life, concluding with a detailed story about his illness. He missed a lot, however, that he should have missed, including about the scene in the office with all the consequences. They listened to his story eagerly; but when he thought that he had already finished and satisfied his listeners, it turned out that for them it was as if he had not yet begun.
- Tell me, tell me, what do you think... oh, sorry, I still don’t know your name? - Pulcheria Alexandrovna was in a hurry.
- Dmitry Prokofich.
- So, Dmitry Prokofich, I would really, really like to know... how in general... he looks at objects now, that is, understand me, how can I tell you this, that is, it’s better to say: what does he like and what doesn’t like? Is he always this irritable? What are his desires and, so to speak, dreams, if possible? What exactly has a special influence on him now? In a word, I would like...
- Oh, mamma, how can you answer all this so suddenly! - Dunya noted.
“Oh, my God, this is not at all how I expected to meet him, Dmitry Prokofich.”
“This is very natural, sir,” answered Dmitry Prokofich. “I don’t have a mother, but my uncle comes here every year and almost every time he doesn’t recognize me, even from the outside, but he’s a smart man; Well, in the three years of your separation, a lot of water has gone away. And what can I tell you? I have known Rodion for a year and a half: he is gloomy, gloomy, arrogant and proud; Recently (and maybe much earlier) he has been suspicious and a hypochondriac. Generous and kind. He doesn’t like to express his feelings and would rather commit cruelty than express his heart in words. Sometimes, however, he is not a hypochondriac at all, but simply cold and insensitive to the point of inhumanity, really, as if two opposing characters alternately alternate in him. Sometimes he's terribly taciturn! He has no time for everything, everyone interferes with him, but he lies there and does nothing. Not mockingly, and not because there was a lack of wit, but as if he didn’t have enough time for such trifles. Doesn't listen to what they say. Never interested in what everyone else is interested in at the moment. He values himself terribly highly and, it seems, not without some right to do so. Well, what else?.. It seems to me that your arrival will have a most salutary influence on him.
- Oh, God forbid! - cried Pulcheria Alexandrovna, exhausted by Razumikhin’s review of her Family.
And Razumikhin finally looked more cheerfully at Avdotya Romanovna. He often glanced at her during the conversation, but briefly, for only one moment, and immediately looked away. Avdotya Romanovna either sat down at the table and listened carefully, then got up again and began to walk, as usual, from corner to corner, crossing her arms, pursing her lips, occasionally asking her question, without interrupting her walk, thinking. She also had a habit of not listening to what was being said. She was dressed in some kind of dark dress made of light material, and a white transparent scarf was tied around her neck. Based on many signs, Razumikhin immediately noticed that the situation of both women was extremely poor. If Avdotya Romanovna had been dressed like a queen, it seems that he would not have been afraid of her at all; now, perhaps precisely because she was so poorly dressed and because he noticed all this stingy surroundings, fear filled his heart, and he began to fear for his every word, for every gesture, which was, of course, embarrassing for a person even without the one who didn’t trust himself.
“You said a lot of interesting things about your brother’s character and... you said them impartially.” This is good; “I thought you were in awe of him,” Avdotya Romanovna noted with a smile. “It seems that it’s also true that there should be a woman next to him,” she added thoughtfully.
“I didn’t say that, but then again, maybe you’re right about that, but...
- After all, he doesn’t love anyone; “maybe he will never love,” Razumikhin snapped.
– So you’re not capable of love?
“You know, Avdotya Romanovna, you yourself are terribly similar to your brother, even in everything!” - he suddenly blurted out, unexpectedly for himself, but immediately, remembering what he had just told her about his brother, he blushed like a lobster and was terribly embarrassed. Avdotya Romanovna could not help but laugh, looking at him.
“You could both be wrong about Rodya,” picked up a somewhat piqued Pulcheria Alexandrovna. – I’m not talking about the present, Dunechka. What Pyotr Petrovich writes in this letter... and what you and I assumed may not be true, but you cannot imagine, Dmitry Prokofich, how fantastic and, how can I put it, capricious, he is. I could never trust his character, even when he was only fifteen years old. I am sure that even now he can suddenly do something to himself that no one would ever think of doing... It’s not far off: do you know how, a year and a half ago, he amazed me, shocked me and almost completely killed when he decided to marry this what’s her name - the daughter of this Zarnitsyna, his mistress?
– Do you know anything in detail about this story? – asked Avdotya Romanovna.
“Do you think,” Pulcheria Alexandrovna continued passionately, “he would have been stopped then by my tears, my requests, my illness, my death, perhaps out of anguish, our poverty?” I would calmly step over all obstacles. But does he really, really doesn’t love us?
“He never said anything to me about this story himself,” Razumikhin answered cautiously, “but I heard something from Mrs. Zarnitsyna herself, who, in her way, is also not one of the storytellers, and what I heard, then, perhaps, even a little strange...
Razumikhin reminded Porfiry of their drunken argument yesterday about the socialists’ view of crimes - they say people commit them because “the environment is stuck.” “Socialists want to remake the living history of human development according to a dead theory that came out of some mathematical head. All human disorders are explained by stupidity alone. They want to discipline a living soul, make it slave, like rubber - but it’s not alive, but without will, but it’s slave, it won’t rebel! Everything was reduced to just the laying of bricks and the arrangement of corridors and rooms in the phalanstery! But it’s too early for a living soul to go to the cemetery!”
Porfiry chuckled, but suddenly started talking about Raskolnikov’s article in Periodical Speech. Rodion himself did not know that the article he sent to this newspaper was published there. Porfiry was interested in the main idea of this note: “there seem to be some people in the world who have every right to commit all sorts of atrocities and crimes. And ordinary people must live in obedience with them.”
Raskolnikov began to passionately explain: “All the benefactors of humanity were terrible bloodshed - otherwise it would be impossible to spread useful institutions and ideas among people. And the good they have done justifies their crimes! The ordinary masses preserve the world and increase it numerically, but special people move the world towards the goal,” towards the New Jerusalem.
Porfiry was surprised that Raskolnikov still believed in the New Jerusalem. “And do you believe in God?” - he asked. - “I believe.” “But how can we distinguish ordinary people from special ones? – the investigator did not lag behind. - And if someone from the first category considers that he belongs to the second and begins remove all obstacles? And how many extraordinary people are there who have the right to cut others? It’s scary, sir, if there are too many of them?” “Don’t worry, there are very few such people,” Raskolnikov said irritably.
Razumikhin widened his eyes: “Are you serious, Rodya? But this is a permission for blood according to conscience, it’s more terrible than an official permission to shed blood!” Raskolnikov looked at him sadly: “There are always stupid or vain people. But society is provided with exile, prisons, judicial investigators, hard labor. Look for the thief."
“Well, what about his conscience?” – Porfiry was curious. “Whoever has it must suffer, since he recognizes his mistake,” Raskolnikov did not give up. - This is his punishment - like hard labor. Suffering and pain are always necessary for a broad consciousness and a deep heart. Truly great people, it seems to me, should feel great sadness in the world.” - “And when you wrote your article - it’s impossible that you didn’t consider yourself, at least a little bit, an extraordinary person too?” “It may very well be,” Raskolnikov muttered contemptuously. - “And they would decide for the sake of noble goals step over: kill and rob? “I don’t consider myself Mohammed or Napoleon.” “Come on, who in Rus' doesn’t consider himself Napoleon now?” Porfiry doubted. - “Wasn’t it some future Napoleon who killed our Alena Ivanovna with an ax last week?” – Zamyotov assented.
Raskolnikov got up to leave. “You were one of the last to visit the murdered woman,” said Porfiry. “Won’t you come to my unit, maybe we can learn something useful from you.” - “Do you want to officially interrogate me?” – Rodion turned sharply to him. - “Why, sir? For now this is not required at all. And when was the last time you visited the old woman, when walking up the stairs, you didn’t see any workers in the open apartment?” Porfiry asked, as if by chance.
“But the dyers were painting on the very day of the murder, and he was there three days before?” – Razumikhin shouted to Porfiry. - “Ugh! Mixed it up! Completely mixed up!” – he slapped himself on the forehead with feigned absent-mindedness.
Raskolnikov and Razumikhin left.
Dostoevsky “Crime and Punishment”, part 3, chapter 6 – summary
Along the way, Raskolnikov was indignant to Razumikhin that Porfiry clearly suspected him of murder. “If they had this thought, they would, on the contrary, hide it!” - Razumikhin believed. “They don’t hide it because they don’t have the facts. So they are trying to knock me down with impudence, so that I will break through out of frustration,” Raskolnikov shouted.
He was suddenly struck by an alarming thought: was it possible that some of the loot was left in the hole behind the wallpaper? What if they come with a search! Having quickly said goodbye to Razumikhin, Raskolnikov rushed home. He searched through the hole behind the wallpaper, but found nothing.
Then going out into the yard, he saw a janitor and standing next to him an unfamiliar, gloomy, elderly tradesman, dressed in a strange robe. The janitor pointed out Raskolnikov to the tradesman. Rodion rushed towards them. But the tradesman, without saying anything, looked at him sternly, turned and walked away. Raskolnikov rushed after him.
Having caught up with the stranger, he walked side by side with him for a minute, not daring to ask anything out of excitement. “Did you ask the janitor for me?” – he finally squeezed out. The tradesman stopped and, looking at him, said ominously: “Murderer!” - “What are you... who is the killer?” - Raskolnikov muttered in shock. – “ You murderer,” said the tradesman, turned and left.
Raskolnikov returned home trembling. He lay down helplessly on the sofa. Thoughts flowed on their own without any connection. Hearing that Razumikhin and Nastasya were coming in, he pretended to be asleep. They decided not to wake him and left.
“Who is this man who came out of the ground? - Raskolnikov was tormented. “Where was he and what did he see?”
He cursed himself bitterly: why did he decide to commit a crime, knowing in his soul that he was not Napoleon! “I killed someone to kill, but it turns out that didn't step over! I convinced myself that I was doing everything. for a noble purpose, while a real genius places a good-sized battery somewhere across the street and blows on the right and the wrong, without even deigning to explain himself! Mother, sister, how I loved them! Why do I hate them now? (See the full text of this monologue.)
He gradually dozed off. I saw in a dream that he was walking down the street in the evening, and a tradesman from afar was beckoning him with his hand. Raskolnikov followed him into the gateway of the house. The tradesman disappeared. And suddenly he found himself in the same one apartment. Someone was hiding behind a cloak hanging there on the wall. Raskolnikov took him away and saw an old pawnbroker with her head bowed. He took out an ax and began to hit her on the head, over and over again, but she did not even move from the blows. He bent down to look into her face and saw the old woman burst into laughter. Then voices were heard from the bedroom. The hallway and stairs were already full of people...
Rodion woke up and saw, as a continuation of his dream, that the door of his closet was wide open, and an unfamiliar, portly man was standing on the threshold and looking at him.
Raskolnikov closed his eyes, looking through his eyelashes. The stranger entered, closed the door and quietly sat down on a chair, resting his chin on his cane.
After waiting quite a long time, Raskolnikov sat up on the sofa. “But I knew that you weren’t sleeping,” the strange guest laughed. - Arkady Ivanovich Svidrigailov, allow me to introduce myself..."