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He could never have imagined such brutality； such frenzy。 In
terror he sat up in bed； almost swooning with agony。 But the fighting；
wailing and cursing grew louder and louder。 And then to his intense
amazement he caught the voice of his landlady。 She was howling；
shrieking and wailing； rapidly； hurriedly； incoherently； so that he
could not make out what she was talking about； she was beseeching；
no doubt； not to be beaten； for she was being mercilessly beaten on
the stairs。 The voice of her assailant was so horrible from spite
and rage that it was almost a croak； but he； too； was saying
something； and just as quickly and indistinctly； hurrying and
spluttering。 All at once Raskolnikov trembled； he recognized the
voice… it was the voice of Ilya Petrovitch。 Ilya Petrovitch here and
beating the landlady！ He is kicking her； banging her head against
the steps… that's clear； that can be told from the sounds； from the
cries and the thuds。 How is it； is the world topsy…turvy？ He could
hear people running in crowds from all the storeys and all the
staircases； he heard voices； exclamations； knocking； doors banging。
〃But why； why； and how could it be？〃 he repeated； thinking seriously
that he had gone mad。 But no； he heard too distinctly！ And they
would come to him then next； 〃for no doubt。。。 it's all about that。。。
about yesterday。。。。 Good God！〃 He would have fastened his door with
the latch； but he could not lift his hand。。。 besides； it would be
useless。 Terror gripped his heart like ice； tortured him and numbed
him。。。。 But at last all this uproar； after continuing about ten
minutes； began gradually to subside。 The landlady was moaning and
groaning； Ilya Petrovitch was still uttering threats and curses。。。。
But at last he； too； seemed to be silent； and now he could not be
heard。 〃Can he have gone away？ Good Lord！〃 Yes； and now the landlady
is going too； still weeping and moaning。。。 and then her door
slammed。。。。 Now the crowd was going from the stairs to their rooms；
exclaiming； disputing； calling to one another； raising their voices to
a shout； dropping them to a whisper。 There must have been numbers of
them… almost all the inmates of the block。 〃But； good God； how could
it be！ And why； why had he come here！〃
Raskolnikov sank worn out on the sofa； but could not close his eyes。
He lay for half an hour in such anguish； such an intolerable sensation
of infinite terror as he had never experienced before。 Suddenly a
bright light flashed into his room。 Nastasya came in with a candle and
a plate of soup。 Looking at him carefully and ascertaining that he was
not asleep； she set the candle on the table and began to lay out
what she had brought… bread； salt； a plate； a spoon。
〃You've eaten nothing since yesterday； I warrant。 You've been
trudging about all day； and you're shaking with fever。〃
〃Nastasya。。。 what were they beating the landlady for？〃
She looked intently at him。
〃Who beat the landlady？〃
〃Just now。。。 half an hour ago； Ilya Petrovitch； the
assistant…superintendent； on the stairs。。。。 Why was he ill…treating
her like that； and。。。 why was he here？〃
Nastasya scrutinised him； silent and frowning； and her scrutiny
lasted a long time。 He felt uneasy； even frightened at her searching
eyes。
〃Nastasya； why don't you speak？〃 he said timidly at last in a weak
voice。
〃It's the blood；〃 she answered at last softly； as though speaking to
herself。
〃Blood？ What blood？〃 he muttered； growing white and turning
towards the wall。
Nastasya still looked at him without speaking。
〃Nobody has been beating the landlady；〃 she declared at last in a
firm； resolute voice。
He gazed at her； hardly able to breathe。
〃I heard it myself。。。。 I was not asleep。。。 I was sitting up；〃 he
said still more timidly。 〃I listened a long while。 The
assistant…superintendent came。。。。 Every one ran out on to the stairs
from all the flats。〃
〃No one has been here。 That's the blood crying in your ears。 When
there's no outlet for it and it gets clotted； you begin fancying
things。。。。 Will you eat something？〃
He made no answer。 Nastasya still stood over him； watching him。
〃Give me something to drink。。。 Nastasya。〃
She went downstairs and returned with a white earthenware jug of
water。 He remembered only swallowing one sip of the cold water and
spilling some on his neck。 Then followed forgetfulness。
Chapter Three
HE WAS not completely unconscious； however； all the time he was ill；
he was in a feverish state； sometimes delirious； sometimes half
conscious。 He remembered a great deal afterwards。 Sometimes it
seemed as though there were a number of people round him； they
wanted to take him away somewhere； there was a great deal of
squabbling and discussing about him。 Then he would be alone in the
room； they had all gone away afraid of him； and only now and then
opened the door a crack to look at him； they threatened him； plotted
something together； laughed； and mocked at him。 He remembered Nastasya
often at his bedside； he distinguished another person； too； whom he
seemed to know very well； though he could not remember who he was； and
this fretted him； even made him cry。 Sometimes he fancied he had
been lying there a month； at other times it all seemed part of the
same day。 But of that… of that he had no recollection； and yet every
minute he felt that he had forgotten something he ought to remember。
He worried and tormented himself trying to remember； moaned； flew into
a rage； or sank into awful； intolerable terror。 Then he struggled to
get up； would have run away； but some one always prevented him by
force； and he sank back into impotence and forgetfulness。 At last he
returned to complete consciousness。
It happened at ten o'clock in the morning。 On fine days the sun
shone into the room at that hour； throwing a streak of light on the
right wall and the corner near the door。 Nastasya was standing
beside him with another person； a complete stranger； who was looking
at him very inquisitively。 He was a young man with a beard； wearing
a full； short…waisted coat； and looked like a messenger。 The
landlady was peeping in at the half…opened door。 Raskolnikov sat up。
〃Who is this； Nastasya？〃 he asked； pointing to the young man。
〃I say； he's himself again！〃 she said。
〃He is himself；〃 echoed the man。
Concluding that he had returned to his senses； the landlady closed
the door and disappeared。 She was always shy and dreaded conversations
or discussions。 She was a woman of forty； not at all bad…looking；
fat and buxom； with black eyes and eyebrows； good…natured from fatness
and laziness； and absurdly bashful。
〃Who。。。 are you？〃 he went on； addressing the man。 But at that moment
the door was flung open； and； stooping a little； as he was so tall；
Razumihin came in。
〃What a cabin it is！〃 he cried。 〃I am always knocking my head。 You
call this a lodging！ So you are conscious； brother？ I've just heard
the news from Pashenka。〃
〃He has just come to；〃 said Nastasya。
〃Just come to；〃 echoed the man