PART I
6. CHAPTER VI
(continued)
"Of course she does not deserve to live," remarked the officer, "but
there it is, it's nature."
"Oh, well, brother, but we have to correct and direct nature, and, but
for that, we should drown in an ocean of prejudice. But for that,
there would never have been a single great man. They talk of duty,
conscience--I don't want to say anything against duty and conscience;
--but the point is, what do we mean by them. Stay, I have another
question to ask you. Listen!"
"No, you stay, I'll ask you a question. Listen!"
"Well?"
"You are talking and speechifying away, but tell me, would you kill
the old woman /yourself/?"
"Of course not! I was only arguing the justice of it. . . . It's
nothing to do with me. . . ."
"But I think, if you would not do it yourself, there's no justice
about it. . . . Let us have another game."
Raskolnikov was violently agitated. Of course, it was all ordinary
youthful talk and thought, such as he had often heard before in
different forms and on different themes. But why had he happened to
hear such a discussion and such ideas at the very moment when his own
brain was just conceiving . . . /the very same ideas/? And why, just
at the moment when he had brought away the embryo of his idea from the
old woman had he dropped at once upon a conversation about her? This
coincidence always seemed strange to him. This trivial talk in a
tavern had an immense influence on him in his later action; as though
there had really been in it something preordained, some guiding
hint. . . .
*****
On returning from the Hay Market he flung himself on the sofa and sat
for a whole hour without stirring. Meanwhile it got dark; he had no
candle and, indeed, it did not occur to him to light up. He could
never recollect whether he had been thinking about anything at that
time. At last he was conscious of his former fever and shivering, and
he realised with relief that he could lie down on the sofa. Soon
heavy, leaden sleep came over him, as it were crushing him.
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