| PART VI
8. CHAPTER VIII
 (continued)Raskolnikov raised his eyebrows inquiringly. The words of Ilya
 Petrovitch, who had obviously been dining, were for the most part a
 stream of empty sounds for him. But some of them he understood. He
 looked at him inquiringly, not knowing how it would end. "I mean those crop-headed wenches," the talkative Ilya Petrovitch
 continued. "Midwives is my name for them. I think it a very
 satisfactory one, ha-ha! They go to the Academy, study anatomy. If I
 fall ill, am I to send for a young lady to treat me? What do you say?
 Ha-ha!" Ilya Petrovitch laughed, quite pleased with his own wit. "It's
 an immoderate zeal for education, but once you're educated, that's
 enough. Why abuse it? Why insult honourable people, as that scoundrel
 Zametov does? Why did he insult me, I ask you? Look at these suicides,
 too, how common they are, you can't fancy! People spend their last
 halfpenny and kill themselves, boys and girls and old people. Only
 this morning we heard about a gentleman who had just come to town. Nil
 Pavlitch, I say, what was the name of that gentleman who shot
 himself?" "Svidrigailov," someone answered from the other room with drowsy
 listlessness. Raskolnikov started. "Svidrigailov! Svidrigailov has shot himself!" he cried. "What, do you know Svidrigailov?" "Yes . . . I knew him. . . . He hadn't been here long." "Yes, that's so. He had lost his wife, was a man of reckless habits
 and all of a sudden shot himself, and in such a shocking way. . . . He
 left in his notebook a few words: that he dies in full possession of
 his faculties and that no one is to blame for his death. He had money,
 they say. How did you come to know him?" "I . . . was acquainted . . . my sister was governess in his family." "Bah-bah-bah! Then no doubt you can tell us something about him. You
 had no suspicion?" |