Vendredi 18 février 2011

Here there were no taverns

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When with a start he lifted his head again and looked around, he forgot at once what he had just been thinking about and even where he was going. In this way he walked right across Vassilyevsky Ostrov, came out on to the Lesser Neva, crossed the bridge and turned towards the islands. The greenness and freshness were at first restful to his weary eyes after the dust of the town and the huge houses that hemmed him in and weighed upon him. Here there were no taverns, no stifling closeness, no stench.

Here there were no taverns, no stifling closeness, no stench. But soon these new pleasant sensations passed into morbid irritability. Sometimes he stood still before a brightly painted summer villa standing among green foliage, he gazed through the fence, he saw in the distance smartly dressed women on the verandahs and balconies, and children running in the gardens. The flowers especially caught his attention; he gazed at them longer than at anything. He was met, too, by luxurious carriages and by men and women on horseback; he watched them with curious eyes and forgot about them before they had vanished from his sight.

Once he stood still and counted his money; he found he had thirty copecks. "Twenty to the policeman, three to Nastasya for the letter, so I must have given forty-seven or fifty to the Marmeladovs yesterday," he thought, reckoning it up for some unknown reason, but he soon forgot with what object he had taken the money out of his pocket. He recalled it on passing an eating-house or tavern, and felt that he was hungry.... Going into the tavern he drank a glass of vodka and ate a pie of some sort.
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Par poloallen0005 - 2 commentaire(s)le 18 février 2011

She used to see him on holidays at the prison

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But that he lived so poorly and roughly, not from any plan or design, but simply from inattention and indifference. Sonia wrote simply that he had at first shown no interest in her visits, had almost been vexed with her indeed for coming, unwilling to talk and rude to her. But that in the end these visits had become a habit and almost a necessity for him, so that he was positively distressed when she was ill for some days and could not visit him. She used to see him on holidays at the prison gates or in the guard-room, to which he was brought for a few minutes to see her.

She used to see him on holidays at the prison gates or in the guard-room, to which he was brought for a few minutes to see her. On working days she would go to see him at work either at the workshops or at the brick kilns, or at the sheds on the banks of the Irtish. About herself, Sonia wrote that she had succeeded in making some acquaintances in the town, that she did sewing, and, as there was scarcely a dressmaker in the town, she was looked upon as an indispensable person in many houses. But she did not mention that the authorities were, through her, interested in Raskolnikov; that his task was lightened and so on.

But she did not mention that the authorities were, through her, interested in Raskolnikov; that his task was lightened and so on. At last the news came (Dounia had indeed noticed signs of alarm and uneasiness in the preceding letters) that he held aloof from every one, that his fellow prisoners did not like him, that he kept silent for days at a time and was becoming very pale. In the last letter Sonia wrote that he had been taken very seriously ill and was in the convict ward of the hospital. Chapter Two HE WAS ill a long time.
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Par poloallen0005 - 1 commentaire(s)le 18 février 2011

He had still the most important thing to do

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This was in order to divert the attention of the old woman for a time, while she was trying to undo the knot, and so to gain a moment. The iron strip was added to give weight, so that the woman might not guess the first minute that the "thing" was made of wood. All this had been stored by him beforehand under the sofa. He had only just got the pledge out when he heard some one suddenly about in the yard. "It struck six long ago." "Long ago! My God!" He rushed to the door, listened, caught up his hat and began to descend his thirteen steps cautiously, noiselessly, like a cat.

He had still the most important thing to do- to steal the axe from the kitchen. That the deed must be done with an axe he had decided long ago. He had also a pocket pruning-knife, but he could not rely on the knife and still less on his own strength, and so resolved finally on the axe. We may note in passing, one peculiarity in regard to all the final resolutions taken by him in the matter; they had one strange characteristic: the more final they were, the more hideous and the more absurd they at once became in his eyes.

In spite of all his agonising inward struggle, he never for a single instant all that time could believe in the carrying out of his plans. And, indeed, if it had ever happened that everything to the least point could have been considered and finally settled, and no uncertainty of any kind had remained, he would, it seems, have renounced it all as something absurd, monstrous and impossible. But a whole mass of unsettled points and uncertainties remained. As for getting the axe, that trifling business cost him no anxiety, for nothing could be easier.
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Par poloallen0005 - 0 commentaire(s)le 18 février 2011

I was summoned

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He had a reddish moustache that stood out horizontally on each side of his face, and extremely small features, expressive of nothing much except a certain insolence. He looked askance and rather indignantly at Raskolnikov; he was so very badly dressed, and in spite of his humiliating position, his bearing was by no means in keeping with his clothes. Raskolnikov had unwarily fixed a very long and direct look on him, so that he felt positively affronted. "What do you want?" he shouted, apparently astonished that such a ragged fellow was not annihilated by the majesty of his glance.

"I was summoned... by a notice..." Raskolnikov faltered. "For the recovery of money due, from the student," the head clerk interfered hurriedly, tearing himself from his papers. "Here!" and he flung Raskolnikov a document and pointed out the place. "Read that!" "Money? What money?" thought Raskolnikov, "but... then... it's certainly not that." And he trembled with joy. He felt sudden intense indescribable relief. A load was lifted from his back. "And pray, what time were you directed to appear, sir?" shouted the assistant superintendent, seeming for some unknown reason more and more aggrieved.

A load was lifted from his back. "And pray, what time were you directed to appear, sir?" shouted the assistant superintendent, seeming for some unknown reason more and more aggrieved. "You are told to come at nine, and now it's twelve!" "The notice was only brought me a quarter of an hour ago," Raskolnikov answered loudly over his shoulder. To his own surprise he, too, grew suddenly angry and found a certain pleasure in it. "And it's enough that I have come here ill with fever." "Kindly refrain from shouting!" "I'm not shouting, I'm speaking very quietly, it's you who are shouting at me.
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Par poloallen0005 - 0 commentaire(s)le 18 février 2011

His spleen rose within him

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Raskolnikov pulled away his hand. "Never mind," he said, "I have come for this; I have no lessons.... I wanted... but I don't want lessons...." "But I say! You are delirious, you know!" Razumihin observed, watching him carefully. "No, I am not." Raskolnikov got up from the sofa. As he had mounted the stairs to Razumihin's, he had not realised that he would be meeting his friend face to face. Now, in a flash, he knew, that what he was least of all disposed for at that moment was to be face to face with any one in the wide world.

His spleen rose within him. He almost choked with rage at himself as soon as he crossed Razumihin's threshold. "Good-bye," he said abruptly, and walked to the door. "Stop, stop! You queer fish." "I don't want to," said the other, again pulling away his hand. "Then why the devil have you come? Are you mad, or what? Why, this is... almost insulting! I won't let you go like that." "Well, then, I came to you because I know no one but you who could help... to begin... because you are kinder than any one- clever, I mean, and can judge..

. to begin... because you are kinder than any one- clever, I mean, and can judge... and now I see that I want nothing. Do you hear? Nothing at all... no one's services... no one's sympathy. I am by myself... alone. Come, that's enough. Leave me alone." "Stay a minute, you sweep! You are a perfect madman. As you like for all I care. I have no lessons, do you see, and I don't care about that, but there's a bookseller, Heruvimov- and he takes the place of a lesson. I would not exchange him for five lessons.
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Par poloallen0005 - 0 commentaire(s)le 18 février 2011

She mended a shirt for you, too

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Well, the painter is mixed up in it..." "Oh, I heard about that murder before and was rather interested in it... partly... for one reason.... I read about it in the papers, too...." "Lizaveta was murdered, too," Nastasya blurted out, suddenly addressing Raskolnikov. She remained in the room all the time, standing by the door listening. "Lizaveta," murmured Raskolnikov hardly audibly. "Lizaveta, who sold old clothes. Didn't you know her? She used to come here. She mended a shirt for you, too." Raskolnikov turned to the wall where in the dirty, yellow paper he picked out one clumsy, white flower with brown lines on it and began examining how many petals there were in it, how many scallops in the petals and how many lines on them.

She mended a shirt for you, too." Raskolnikov turned to the wall where in the dirty, yellow paper he picked out one clumsy, white flower with brown lines on it and began examining how many petals there were in it, how many scallops in the petals and how many lines on them. He felt his arms and legs as lifeless as though they had been cut off. He did not attempt to move, but stared obstinately at the flower. "But what about the painter?" Zossimov interrupted Nastasya's chatter with marked displeasure.

She sighed and was silent. "Why, he was accused of the murder," Razumihin went on hotly. "Was there evidence against him then?" "Evidence, indeed! Evidence that was no evidence, and that's what we have to prove. It was just as they pitched on those fellows, Koch and Pestryakov, at first. Foo! how stupidly it's all done, it makes one sick, though it's not one's business! Pestryakov may be coming to-night.... By the way, Rodya, you've heard about the business already; it happened before you were ill, the day before you fainted at the police office while they were talking about it."
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Par poloallen0005 - 0 commentaire(s)le 18 février 2011
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