Have you ever thought about what fiction is? Probably, such a question may seem surprising: and so everything is clear. Every person throughout his life has to repeatedly create the works he needs for specific purposes - statements, autobiographies, dictations - using not gypsum or clay, not musical notes, not paints, but just a word. At the same time, almost every person will be very surprised if he is told that he thereby created a work of fiction, which is very different from visual art, music and sculpture making. However, everyone understands that a student's essay or dictation is fundamentally different from novels, short stories, news that are created by professional writers. In the works of professionals there is the most important difference - excogitation. But, oddly enough, in a school literature course, you donât realize the full power of fiction. So using our website in your free time discover fiction for yourself. Crime and Punishment by Fyodor Dostoyevsky (book club recommendations TXT) đ
- Author: Fyodor Dostoyevsky
Book online «Crime and Punishment by Fyodor Dostoyevsky (book club recommendations TXT) đ». Author Fyodor Dostoyevsky
âAnd to think that even Razumihin had begun to suspect! The scene in the corridor under the lamp had produced its effect then. He had rushed to Porfiry.... But what had induced the latter to receive him like that? What had been his object in putting Razumihin off with Nikolay? He must have some plan; there was some design, but what was it? It was true that a long time had passed since that morningâtoo long a timeâand no sight nor sound of Porfiry. Well, that was a bad sign....â
Raskolnikov took his cap and went out of the room, still pondering. It was the first time for a long while that he had felt clear in his mind, at least. âI must settle SvidrigaĂŻlov,â he thought, âand as soon as possible; he, too, seems to be waiting for me to come to him of my own accord.â And at that moment there was such a rush of hate in his weary heart that he might have killed either of those twoâPorfiry or SvidrigaĂŻlov. At least he felt that he would be capable of doing it later, if not now.
âWe shall see, we shall see,â he repeated to himself.
But no sooner had he opened the door than he stumbled upon Porfiry himself in the passage. He was coming in to see him. Raskolnikov was dumbfounded for a minute, but only for one minute. Strange to say, he was not very much astonished at seeing Porfiry and scarcely afraid of him. He was simply startled, but was quickly, instantly, on his guard. âPerhaps this will mean the end? But how could Porfiry have approached so quietly, like a cat, so that he had heard nothing? Could he have been listening at the door?â
âYou didnât expect a visitor, Rodion Romanovitch,â Porfiry explained, laughing. âIâve been meaning to look in a long time; I was passing by and thought why not go in for five minutes. Are you going out? I wonât keep you long. Just let me have one cigarette.â
âSit down, Porfiry Petrovitch, sit down.â Raskolnikov gave his visitor a seat with so pleased and friendly an expression that he would have marvelled at himself, if he could have seen it.
The last moment had come, the last drops had to be drained! So a man will sometimes go through half an hour of mortal terror with a brigand, yet when the knife is at his throat at last, he feels no fear.
Raskolnikov seated himself directly facing Porfiry, and looked at him without flinching. Porfiry screwed up his eyes and began lighting a cigarette.
âSpeak, speak,â seemed as though it would burst from Raskolnikovâs heart. âCome, why donât you speak?â
âAh these cigarettes!â Porfiry Petrovitch ejaculated at last, having lighted one. âThey are pernicious, positively pernicious, and yet I canât give them up! I cough, I begin to have tickling in my throat and a difficulty in breathing. You know I am a coward, I went lately to Dr. Bâân; he always gives at least half an hour to each patient. He positively laughed looking at me; he sounded me: âTobaccoâs bad for you,â he said, âyour lungs are affected.â But how am I to give it up? What is there to take its place? I donât drink, thatâs the mischief, he-he-he, that I donât. Everything is relative, Rodion Romanovitch, everything is relative!â
âWhy, heâs playing his professional tricks again,â Raskolnikov thought with disgust. All the circumstances of their last interview suddenly came back to him, and he felt a rush of the feeling that had come upon him then.
âI came to see you the day before yesterday, in the evening; you didnât know?â Porfiry Petrovitch went on, looking round the room. âI came into this very room. I was passing by, just as I did to-day, and I thought Iâd return your call. I walked in as your door was wide open, I looked round, waited and went out without leaving my name with your servant. Donât you lock your door?â
Raskolnikovâs face grew more and more gloomy. Porfiry seemed to guess his state of mind.
âIâve come to have it out with you, Rodion Romanovitch, my dear fellow! I owe you an explanation and must give it to you,â he continued with a slight smile, just patting Raskolnikovâs knee.
But almost at the same instant a serious and careworn look came into his face; to his surprise Raskolnikov saw a touch of sadness in it. He had never seen and never suspected such an expression in his face.
âA strange scene passed between us last time we met, Rodion Romanovitch. Our first interview, too, was a strange one; but then... and one thing after another! This is the point: I have perhaps acted unfairly to you; I feel it. Do you remember how we parted? Your nerves were unhinged and your knees were shaking and so were mine. And, you know, our behaviour was unseemly, even ungentlemanly. And yet we are gentlemen, above all, in any case, gentlemen; that must be understood. Do you remember what we came to?... and it was quite indecorous.â
âWhat is he up to, what does he take me for?â Raskolnikov asked himself in amazement, raising his head and looking with open eyes on Porfiry.
âIâve decided openness is better between us,â Porfiry Petrovitch went on, turning his head away and dropping his eyes, as though unwilling to disconcert his former victim and as though disdaining his former wiles. âYes, such suspicions and such scenes cannot continue for long. Nikolay put a stop to it, or I donât know what we might not have come to. That damned workman was sitting at the time in the next roomâcan you realise that? You know that, of course; and I am aware that he came to you afterwards. But what you supposed then was not true: I had not sent for anyone, I had made no kind of arrangements. You ask why I hadnât? What shall I say to you? it had all come upon me so suddenly. I had scarcely sent for the porters (you noticed them as you went out, I dare say). An idea flashed upon me; I was firmly convinced at the time, you see, Rodion Romanovitch. Come, I thoughtâeven if I let one thing slip for a time, I shall get hold of something elseâI shanât lose what I want, anyway. You are nervously irritable, Rodion Romanovitch, by temperament; itâs out of proportion with other qualities of your heart and character, which I flatter myself I have to some extent divined. Of course I did reflect even then that it does not always happen that a man gets up and blurts out his whole story. It does happen sometimes, if you make a man lose all patience, though even then itâs rare. I was capable of realising that. If I only had a fact, I thought, the least little fact to go upon, something I could lay hold of, something tangible, not merely psychological. For if a man is guilty, you must be able to get something substantial out of him; one may reckon upon most surprising results indeed. I was reckoning
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