🔊 So he lay a very long while. Now and then he seemed to wake up, and at such moments he noticed that it was far into the night, but it did not occur to him to get up. At last he noticed that it was beginning to get light. He was lying on his back, still dazed from his recent oblivion. Fearful, despairing cries rose shrilly from the street, sounds which he heard every night, indeed, under his window after two o’clock. They woke him up now. "Ah! the drunken men are coming out of the taverns," he thought, "it’s past two o’clock," and at once he leaped up, as though someone had pulled him from the sofa. "What! Past two o'clock!" He sat down on the sofa-and instantly recollected everything! All at once, in one flash, he recollected everything. For the first moment he thought he was going mad. A dreadful chill came over him; but the chill was from the fever that had begun long before in his sleep. Now he was suddenly taken with violent shivering, so that his teeth chattered and all his limbs were shaking. He opened the door and began listening-everything in the house was asleep. With amazement he gazed at himself and everything in the room around him, wondering how he could have come in the night before without fastening the door, and have flung himself on the sofa without undressing, without even taking his hat off. It had fallen off and was lying on the floor near his pillow. "If anyone had come in, what would he have thought? That I'm drunk but..." He rushed to the window. There was light enough, and he began hurriedly looking himself all over from head to foot, all his clothes; were there no traces? But there was no doing it like that; shivering with cold, he began taking off everything and looking over again. He turned everything over to the last threads and rags, and mistrusting himself, went through his search three times. But there seemed to be nothing, no trace, except in one place, where some thick drops of congealed blood were clinging to the frayed edge of his trousers. He picked up a big clasp knife and cut off the frayed threads. There seemed to be nothing more. Suddenly he remembered that the purse and the things he had taken out of the old woman's box were still in his pockets! He had not thought till then of taking them out and hiding them! He had not even thought of them while he was examining his clothes! What next? Instantly he rushed to take them out and fling them on the table. When he had pulled out everything, and turned the pocket inside out to be sure there was nothing left, he carried the whole heap to the corner. The paper had come off the bottom of the wall and hung there in tatters. He began stuffing all the things into the hole under the paper: "They're in!

他就这样躺了很长一段时间。偶尔他似乎醒来,这时他注意到已经是深夜了,但他并没有想到要起身。最后他注意到天开始亮了。他仰面躺着,刚从先前的昏迷中清醒过来,头脑还昏沉沉的。街上传来可怕而绝望的喊叫声,这是他每晚都能听到的声音--事实上,每天凌晨两点以后,他窗下就会响起这种声音。这回把他吵醒了。“啊！那些醉汉从酒馆里出来了,”他想,“已经过两点了。”他立刻跳了起来,好像有人把他从沙发上拽起来似的。“什么！过两点了！”他坐在沙发上--刹那间,一切全都记起来了！一刹那间,电光石火般,他什么都记起来了。最初的一刹那,他以为自己要发疯了。一阵可怕的寒噤袭来；但这寒冷是先前在睡眠中早已开始的发烧引起的。现在他突然猛烈地打起寒战来,牙齿咯咯作响,全身四肢都在发抖。他打开门,侧耳倾听--整座房子里的人都在熟睡。他惊奇地打量着自己和房间里周围的一切,纳闷昨晚自己怎么能不锁门就进来了,连衣服都没脱,甚至帽子也没摘,就一头倒在沙发上。帽子掉了下来,落在枕头旁边的地板上。“要是有人进来,他会怎么想？以为我喝醉了,不过……”他冲到窗前。光线足够亮了,他急忙从头到脚把自己打量了一番,检查了全部衣服:有没有留下痕迹？但这样不行；他冷得发抖,便开始脱下所有衣服,重新检查。他把每件东西都翻了个遍,连最后一根线和破布都不放过,而且由于不信任自己,他搜了三次。但似乎什么都没有,没有留下任何痕迹,只有一处地方,他裤子的磨损边沿上粘着几滴凝固的厚血点。他拿起一把大折叠刀,割断了磨损的线头。似乎再也没有别的了。突然他想起钱袋和从老太婆盒子里拿出来的东西还在口袋里！他此前一直没想到要把它们取出来藏好！甚至在检查衣服时,他也没有想到它们！接下来怎么办？他立刻冲过去把它们掏出来,扔在桌子上。他把所有东西都掏出来后,又把口袋翻了个底朝天,确信什么都没剩下,然后才把那堆东西拿到墙角。墙纸从墙底脱落,破破烂烂地挂在那里。他开始把所有的东西都塞进墙纸下的窟窿里:“全都藏好了！钱袋也藏好了！”他得意地想道,站起身来,茫然地瞧着那个比先前更鼓起来的窟窿。突然他吓得浑身发起抖来；“天哪！”他绝望地低语,“我这是怎么了？那也算藏好了吗？那是藏东西的方法吗？”他原先没料到还要藏首饰。他只想到了钱,所以事先没有准备藏匿处。“但是现在,现在,我有什么可高兴的？”他想,“那也叫藏东西？我的理智在离开我--干脆就是这么回事！”他筋疲力尽地在沙发上坐下,立刻又发起一阵难以忍受的寒战,全身都在颤抖。他机械地从旁边的椅子上拿起他那件旧的学生冬季大衣--虽然几乎破成碎片,但还带着暖意--他把大衣裹在身上,又陷入了昏睡和谵妄之中。他失去了知觉。过了不到五分钟,他第二次跳起来,立刻又发狂地扑向他的衣服。“我怎么能什么事都没做就又睡着了呢？是的,是的,我还没有把腋窝下的那个套子解下来！我忘了,竟然忘了这么一件事！这样的一个罪证！”他把那个套子扯下来,急忙把它剪成碎片,然后扔在枕头的内衣里。“不管怎样,撕碎的衬衣布片不会引起怀疑；我想不会,我想决不会！”他重复道,站在房间中央,痛苦地集中精神,又开始环顾四周,看着地板和每个角落,竭力使自己信服没有忘记任何东西。他确信自己的一切官能,甚至记忆力和最简单的思考能力都在衰退,这开始成为一种难以忍受的痛苦。“难道真的已经开始了吗？难道惩罚果真降临到我头上了？就是这样的！”他从裤子上剪下来的磨损布片实际上正躺在房间中央的地板上,任何人进来都会看见！“我这是怎么了！”他又像发了疯似的喊道。这时一个奇怪的念头钻进他的脑海:也许他的所有衣服上都沾满了血,也许上面有许多血迹,但他没有看见,没有注意到,因为他的感知力正在衰退、正在崩溃……他的理智变得模糊……突然他想起钱袋上也有血。“啊！那么口袋里也一定有血,因为我把湿漉漉的钱袋放进口袋了！”一转眼他把口袋翻了出来--没错！--口袋的衬里上有痕迹,有污渍！

🔊

oblivion /əˈblɪviən/

n. 完全忘记；沉睡➕

🔊

despairing /dɪˈspeərɪŋ/

adj. 绝望的➕

🔊

congealed /kənˈdʒiːld/

adj. 凝结的➕

🔊

frayed /freɪd/

adj. 磨损的➕

🔊

clasp /klɑːsp/

n. 扣子；紧握➕

🔊 All out of sight, and the purse too!" he thought gleefully, getting up and gazing blankly at the hole which bulged out more than ever. Suddenly he shuddered all over with horror; "My God!" he whispered in despair: "what's the matter with me? Is that hidden? Is that the way to hide things?" He had not reckoned on having trinkets to hide. He had only thought of money, and so had not prepared a hiding-place. "But now, now, what am I glad of?" he thought, "Is that hiding things? My reason's deserting me-simply!" He sat down on the sofa in exhaustion and was at once shaken by another unbearable fit of shivering. Mechanically he drew from a chair beside him his old student's winter coat, which was still warm though almost in rags, covered himself up with it and once more sank into drowsiness and delirium. He lost consciousness. Not more than five minutes had passed when he jumped up a second time, and at once pounced in a frenzy on his clothes again. "How could I go to sleep again with nothing done? Yes, yes; I have not taken the loop off the armhole! I forgot it, forgot a thing like that! Such a piece of evidence!" He pulled off the noose, hurriedly cut it to pieces and threw the bits among his linen under the pillow. "Pieces of torn linen couldn't rouse suspicion, whatever happened; I think not, I think not, any way!" he repeated, standing in the middle of the room, and with painful concentration he fell to gazing about him again, at the floor and everywhere, trying to make sure he had not forgotten anything. The conviction that all his faculties, even memory, and the simplest power of reflection were failing him, began to be an insufferable torture. "Surely it isn't beginning already! Surely it isn't my punishment coming upon me? It is!" The frayed rags he had cut off his trousers were actually lying on the floor in the middle of the room, where anyone coming in would see them! "What is the matter with me!" he cried again, like one distraught. Then a strange idea entered his head; that, perhaps, all his clothes were covered with blood, that, perhaps, there were a great many stains, but that he did not see them, did not notice them because his perceptions were failing, were going to pieces... his reason was clouded.... Suddenly he remembered that there had been blood on the purse too. "Ah! Then there must be blood on the pocket too, for I put the wet purse in my pocket!" In a flash he had turned the pocket inside out and, yes!-there were traces, stains on the lining of the pocket!

“这么说,我的理智还没有完全丧失,我还有一点判断力和记忆力,因为我凭自己猜到了这一点,”他得意地想,深深地松了一口气,“这不过是发烧虚弱,一时的神志不清。”他于是把左边裤子的整个口袋衬里都撕了下来。就在这时,阳光照在他左脚靴子上；从靴子里露出的袜子上,他似乎看到了痕迹！他甩掉靴子:“确实是痕迹！袜子的前部浸透了血。”他一定是不小心踩进了那摊血……“但现在我该怎么处理这些东西？袜子、破布和口袋该放哪里？”他把它们都收在手里,站在房间中央。“放到火炉里？可是他们首先会搜查火炉。烧掉？可我拿什么烧呢？连火柴都没有。不,最好出去,把这一切都扔到什么地方。是的,最好扔掉,”他重复道,又坐回沙发上,“而且立刻,马上,不要耽搁……”但是他的头却倒在枕头上。又一阵难以忍受的寒冷袭来；他重新把大衣拉过来裹住自己。在很长一段时间里,几个小时,他一直被一种冲动所困扰:“马上离开这里,立刻,把这一切都扔掉,让它消失,一了百了,马上,马上！”他好几次试图从沙发上站起来,但都做不到。最后,一阵猛烈的敲门声把他彻底惊醒了。“开门呀,你到底是死是活？他老在这儿睡！”娜斯塔霞喊道,用拳头捶着门。“成天像条狗一样在这儿打呼噜！他也就是条狗。开门,我跟你说。已经过十点了。”“也许他不在家,”一个男人的声音说。“哈！那是看门人的声音……他来干什么？”他跳起身来,坐到沙发上。他的心剧烈跳动,简直发痛。“那是谁把门闩上的呢？”娜斯塔霞反驳道。“他居然把自己闩在里面！好像有什么值得偷似的！开门,蠢货,醒醒！”“他们要干什么？为什么看门人也来了？全都暴露了。抵抗还是开门？听天由命吧！……”他半站起身,弯下腰,拉开了门闩。他的房间太小,他不用离开床就能够到门闩。是的,看门人和娜斯塔霞站在那里。娜斯塔霞用一种奇怪的神情盯着他。他用一种挑衅而绝望的目光瞥了看门人一眼,看门人一言不发地递给他一张灰色的、折起来的纸,上面封着火漆。“办公室的通知,”他边说边把纸递给他。“哪个办公室？”“当然是传唤到警察局。你知道是哪个办公室。”“到警察局？……为什么？……”“我怎么知道？传唤你,你就去。”那人仔细地打量了他一眼,环顾了一下房间,然后转身要走。

🔊

shuddered /ˈʃʌdərd/

v. 战栗,发抖➕

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trinkets /ˈtrɪŋkɪts/

n. 小饰品,廉价珠宝➕

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delirium /dɪˈlɪriəm/

n. 神志昏乱,谵妄➕

🔊

pounced /paʊnst/

v. 猛扑,突然袭击➕

🔊

insufferable /ɪnˈsʌfərəbl/

adj. 难以忍受的➕

🔊 "So my reason has not quite deserted me, so I still have some sense and memory, since I guessed it of myself," he thought triumphantly, with a deep sigh of relief; "it's simply the weakness of fever, a moment's delirium," and he tore the whole lining out of the left pocket of his trousers. At that instant the sunlight fell on his left boot; on the sock which poked out from the boot, he fancied there were traces! He flung off his boots; "traces indeed! The tip of the sock was soaked with blood;" he must have unwarily stepped into that pool.... "But what am I to do with this now? Where am I to put the sock and rags and pocket?" He gathered them all up in his hands and stood in the middle of the room. "In the stove? But they would ransack the stove first of all. Burn them? But what can I burn them with? There are no matches even. No, better go out and throw it all away somewhere. Yes, better throw it away," he repeated, sitting down on the sofa again, "and at once, this minute, without lingering..." But his head sank on the pillow instead. Again the unbearable icy shivering came over him; again he drew his coat over him. And for a long while, for some hours, he was haunted by the impulse to "go off somewhere at once, this moment, and fling it all away, so that it may be out of sight and done with, at once, at once!" Several times he tried to rise from the sofa, but could not. He was thoroughly waked up at last by a violent knocking at his door. "Open, do, are you dead or alive? He keeps sleeping here!" shouted Nastasya, banging with her fist on the door. "For whole days together he's snoring here like a dog! A dog he is too. Open I tell you. It's past ten." "Maybe he's not at home," said a man's voice. "Ha! that's the porter's voice.... What does he want?" He jumped up and sat on the sofa. The beating of his heart was a positive pain. "Then who can have latched the door?" retorted Nastasya. "He's taken to bolting himself in! As if he were worth stealing! Open, you stupid, wake up!" "What do they want? Why the porter? All's discovered. Resist or open? Come what may!..." He half rose, stooped forward and unlatched the door. His room was so small that he could undo the latch without leaving the bed. Yes; the porter and Nastasya were standing there. Nastasya stared at him in a strange way. He glanced with a defiant and desperate air at the porter, who without a word held out a grey folded paper sealed with bottle-wax. "A notice from the office," he announced, as he gave him the paper. "From what office?" "A summons to the police office, of course. You know which office." "To the police?... What for?..." "How can I tell? You're sent for, so you go." The man looked at him attentively, looked round the room and turned to go away.

“他病得很厉害！”娜斯塔霞说,目不转睛地盯着他。看门人转过头来瞥了他一眼。“他从昨天起就发烧了,”她又补了一句。拉斯柯尼科夫没有回答,手里拿着纸,没有打开。“那你就别起来了,”娜斯塔霞看到他正把脚从沙发上放下来,便同情地继续说,“你病了,就别去了；不用那么急。你手里拿的是什么？”他低头一看:他右手里握着他从裤子上剪下来的布片、袜子和口袋的破布。原来他睡着时手里还握着这些东西。后来回想起来,他记得自己在发烧中半醒的时候,曾把这些东西紧紧地抓在手里,然后又睡着了。“你看他收集的那些破烂,还抱着它们睡觉,好像得到了什么宝贝似的……”娜斯塔霞歇斯底里地咯咯笑起来。他立刻把那些东西全塞到大衣下面,并且眼睛紧紧地盯着她。尽管此时他远不能进行理性的思考,但他感觉到,没有人会这样对待一个即将被捕的人。“但是……警察局呢？”“你最好喝点茶！要不要？我去拿,还有点剩的。”“不……我要去；我马上就走,”他咕哝着,站起身来。“哎呀,你连楼梯都下不去！”“不,我能去。”“随你便。”她跟着看门人出去了。他立刻冲到光亮处检查袜子和破布。“有污迹,但不很明显；上面全是脏东西,而且已经蹭过,颜色也褪了。没有起疑心的人是什么也分辨不出的。娜斯塔霞从远处不可能注意到,谢天谢地！”然后他颤抖着拆开通知的火漆,开始读起来；他读了很久,才弄明白是怎么回事。这是一张普通的传唤通知,来自区警察局,要他当天九点半到区警察局长的办公室。“可是这种事什么时候发生过？我从来跟警察局没有任何关系！为什么偏偏是今天？”他痛苦而困惑地想。“老天爷,快点结束吧！”他跪下来想祈祷,却笑了起来--他不是笑祈祷本身,而是笑自己。他开始匆忙地穿衣服。“如果我完了,那就完了,我无所谓！我要穿这只袜子吗？”他忽然想,“它会变得更脏,痕迹也就消失了。”但他刚穿上,就厌恶而恐惧地又把它脱了下来。他脱掉了,但想到没有别的袜子,便又捡起来穿上--然后又笑了起来。

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triumphantly /traɪˈʌmfəntli/

adv. 得意洋洋地,胜利地➕

🔊

defiant /dɪˈfaɪənt/

adj. 挑衅的,蔑视的➕

🔊

summons /ˈsʌmənz/

n. 传票；召唤➕

🔊 "He's downright ill!" observed Nastasya, not taking her eyes off him. The porter turned his head for a moment. "He's been in a fever since yesterday," she added. Raskolnikov made no response and held the paper in his hands, without opening it. "Don't you get up then," Nastasya went on compassionately, seeing that he was letting his feet down from the sofa. "You're ill, and so don't go; there's no such hurry. What have you got there?" He looked; in his right hand he held the shreds he had cut from his trousers, the sock, and the rags of the pocket. So he had been asleep with them in his hand. Afterwards reflecting upon it, he remembered that half waking up in his fever, he had grasped all this tightly in his hand and so fallen asleep again. "Look at the rags he's collected and sleeps with them, as though he has got hold of a treasure..." And Nastasya went off into her hysterical giggle. Instantly he thrust them all under his great coat and fixed his eyes intently upon her. Far as he was from being capable of rational reflection at that moment, he felt that no one would behave like that with a person who was going to be arrested. "But... the police?" "You'd better have some tea! Yes? I'll bring it, there's some left." "No... I'm going; I'll go at once," he muttered, getting on to his feet. "Why, you'll never get downstairs!" "Yes, I'll go." "As you please." She followed the porter out. At once he rushed to the light to examine the sock and the rags. "There are stains, but not very noticeable; all covered with dirt, and rubbed and already discoloured. No one who had no suspicion could distinguish anything. Nastasya from a distance could not have noticed, thank God!" Then with a tremor he broke the seal of the notice and began reading; he was a long while reading, before he understood. It was an ordinary summons from the district police-station to appear that day at half-past nine at the office of the district superintendent. "But when has such a thing happened? I never have anything to do with the police! And why just to-day?" he thought in agonising bewilderment. "Good God, only get it over soon!" He was flinging himself on his knees to pray, but broke into laughter-not at the idea of prayer, but at himself. He began, hurriedly dressing. "If I'm lost, I am lost, I don't care! Shall I put the sock on?" he suddenly wondered, "it will get dustier still and the traces will be gone." But no sooner had he put it on than he pulled it off again in loathing and horror. He pulled it off, but reflecting that he had no other socks, he picked it up and put it on again-and again he laughed.

“这一切都是约定俗成的,都是相对的,仅仅是看问题的角度不同,”他一瞬间想道,但这只是在他脑海的表层,而他的全身仍在颤抖,“好了,我穿上了！我终于还是把它穿上了！”但笑声很快就被绝望取代。“不,我受不了了……”他想。他的腿在发抖。“是恐惧,”他咕哝道。他的头昏沉沉的,因发烧而疼痛。“这是诡计！他们想把我引诱到那里,然后让我在所有事情上出丑,”他一边走下楼梯一边沉思,“最糟糕的是,我几乎神志不清……我可能会冒出什么蠢话来……”在楼梯上,他想起他把那些东西还留在墙上的窟窿里,“很可能,他们是故意趁我不在的时候来搜查,”他想,便停住了脚步。但他心中充满了那样的绝望,那样的痛苦地玩世不恭--如果可以这样说的话--以至于他挥了挥手,又继续往前走。“快点结束吧！”到了街上,又是难以忍受的酷热；这些天没有下过一滴雨。又是灰尘、砖头和灰泥,又是店铺和酒馆的臭气,又是醉汉、芬兰小贩和破旧不堪的出租马车。太阳直射他的眼睛,使他看东西都疼,他觉得头昏眼花--就像一个发烧的人在一个晴朗的大白天走到街上常有的感觉。当他拐进那条街时,他怀着极度的恐惧向那条街望去……看着那所房子……然后立刻移开了目光。“如果他们问我,也许我就直说了,”他在走近警察局时想道。警察局大约有四分之一俄里远。它最近搬到了新楼房四层的一间新屋子里。以前他曾在旧办公室里待过一会儿,但那是很久以前的事了。他走进大门,往右边看见一段楼梯,一个农民正手里拿着一本书往上走。“准是个看门人；那么,办公室就在这里。”于是他抱着侥幸心理开始上楼梯。他不想向任何人问路。“我进去,跪下,把一切全说出来……”他在上到四楼时想道。楼梯陡峭、狭窄,到处是脏水。各套间的厨房都对着楼梯,几乎整天都敞着门。所以气味难闻,又闷又热。楼梯上挤满了腋下夹着簿册上上下下的看门人、警察以及各色男女。办公室的门也大敞着。一些农民在里面等着。里面也闷热不堪,新装修的房间散发着油漆和陈油令人作呕的气味。

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hysterical /hɪˈsterɪkl/

adj. 歇斯底里的➕

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bewilderment /bɪˈwɪldərmənt/

n. 困惑,迷惑➕

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loathing /ˈloʊðɪŋ/

n. 厌恶,憎恶➕

🔊 "That's all conventional, that's all relative, merely a way of looking at it," he thought in a flash, but only on the top surface of his mind, while he was shuddering all over, "there, I've got it on! I have finished by getting it on!" But his laughter was quickly followed by despair. "No, it's too much for me..." he thought. His legs shook. "From fear," he muttered. His head swam and ached with fever. "It's a trick! They want to decoy me there and confound me over everything," he mused, as he went out on to the stairs-"the worst of it is I'm almost light-headed... I may blurt out something stupid..." On the stairs he remembered that he was leaving all the things just as they were in the hole in the wall, "and very likely, it's on purpose to search when I'm out," he thought, and stopped short. But he was possessed by such despair, such cynicism of misery, if one may so call it, that with a wave of his hand he went on. "Only to get it over!" In the street the heat was insufferable again; not a drop of rain had fallen all those days. Again dust, bricks and mortar, again the stench from the shops and pot-houses, again the drunken men, the Finnish pedlars and half-broken-down cabs. The sun shone straight in his eyes, so that it hurt him to look out of them, and he felt his head going round-as a man in a fever is apt to feel when he comes out into the street on a bright sunny day. When he reached the turning into the street, in an agony of trepidation he looked down it... at the house... and at once averted his eyes. "If they question me, perhaps I'll simply tell," he thought, as he drew near the police-station. The police-station was about a quarter of a mile off. It had lately been moved to new rooms on the fourth floor of a new house. He had been once for a moment in the old office but long ago. Turning in at the gateway, he saw on the right a flight of stairs which a peasant was mounting with a book in his hand. "A house-porter, no doubt; so then, the office is here," and he began ascending the stairs on the chance. He did not want to ask questions of anyone. "I'll go in, fall on my knees, and confess everything..." he thought, as he reached the fourth floor. The staircase was steep, narrow and all sloppy with dirty water. The kitchens of the flats opened on to the stairs and stood open almost the whole day. So there was a fearful smell and heat. The staircase was crowded with porters going up and down with their books under their arms, policemen, and persons of all sorts and both sexes. The door of the office, too, stood wide open. Peasants stood waiting within. There, too, the heat was stifling and there was a sickening smell of fresh paint and stale oil from the newly decorated rooms.

等了一会儿,他决定往前走进下一个房间。所有的房间都很小,天花板很低。一种可怕的焦躁驱使他不停地往前。没有人注意他。在第二个房间里,有几个书记员在写东西,他们穿得并不比他好多少,而且样子相当古怪。他走到其中一个跟前。“什么事？”他出示了他收到的传票。“你是学生吗？”那人看了一眼传票问。“是的,以前是学生。”书记员看了他一眼,但毫无兴趣。这是个特别邋遢的人,目光中带着一种执拗的神情。“从他那里什么也问不出来,因为他什么都不关心,”拉斯柯尼科夫想。“到里面首席书记官那里去,”书记员指着最里面的房间说。他走进那个房间--按顺序是第四间；房间不大,挤满了人,比外面房间的人穿得稍微体面一些。其中有两位女士。一位穿着朴素的丧服,坐在首席书记官对面的桌子旁,正照他的口述写东西。另一位是个非常肥胖、丰满的女人,脸上有紫红色的斑点,穿着极其时髦,胸前别着一个茶碟般大小的胸针,站在一边,显然在等什么。拉斯柯尼科夫把传票塞给首席书记官。后者看了一眼,说:“等一会儿,”然后又去招呼那位穿丧服的女士了。他松了一口气。“不可能是那个！”他渐渐地开始恢复信心,不断地鼓励自己要勇敢、冷静。“一点小小的愚蠢,一点小小的疏忽,就可能让我暴露！嗯……可惜这里没有空气,”他又加了一句,“闷死了……头更晕了……脑子也……”他意识到内心极度混乱。他害怕失去自制力；他试图抓住点什么,把注意力集中在某件完全不相关的事情上,但根本办不到。然而,首席书记官引起了他极大的兴趣,他不断地希望能看透他,从他的脸上猜出点什么来。那个人很年轻,大约二十二岁,肤色黝黑,表情活跃,看起来比实际年龄大。他穿得时髦,讲究打扮,头发中分,梳得整整齐齐,还抹了油,洗得干干净净的手指上戴着好几枚戒指,背心上挂着金链子。他用法语对房间里的一个外国人说了两句话,而且说得相当准确。“路易莎·伊万诺夫娜,您可以坐下,”他漫不经心地对那个穿着花哨、脸色紫红的女人说。她一直站着,仿佛不敢坐下,尽管她旁边就有椅子。“Ich danke,”那女人说,然后轻轻坐下,丝绸沙沙作响。

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cynicism /ˈsɪnɪsɪzəm/

n. 玩世不恭；愤世嫉俗➕

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trepidation /ˌtrepɪˈdeɪʃn/

n. 惊慌,恐惧不安➕

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stench /stentʃ/

n. 恶臭➕

🔊 After waiting a little, he decided to move forward into the next room. All the rooms were small and low-pitched. A fearful impatience drew him on and on. No one paid attention to him. In the second room some clerks sat writing, dressed hardly better than he was, and rather a queer-looking set. He went up to one of them. "What is it?" He showed the notice he had received. "You are a student?" the man asked, glancing at the notice. "Yes, formerly a student." The clerk looked at him, but without the slightest interest. He was a particularly unkempt person with the look of a fixed idea in his eye. "There would be no getting anything out of him, because he has no interest in anything," thought Raskolnikov. "Go in there to the head clerk," said the clerk, pointing towards the furthest room. He went into that room-the fourth in order; it was a small room and packed full of people, rather better dressed than in the outer rooms. Among them were two ladies. One, poorly dressed in mourning, sat at the table opposite the chief clerk, writing something at his dictation. The other, a very stout, buxom woman with a purplish-red, blotchy face, excessively smartly dressed with a brooch on her bosom as big as a saucer, was standing on one side, apparently waiting for something. Raskolnikov thrust his notice upon the head clerk. The latter glanced at it, said: "Wait a minute," and went on attending to the lady in mourning. He breathed more freely. "It can't be that!" By degrees he began to regain confidence, he kept urging himself to have courage and be calm. "Some foolishness, some trifling carelessness, and I may betray myself! Hm... it's a pity there's no air here," he added, "it's stifling.... It makes one's head dizzier than ever... and one's mind too..." He was conscious of a terrible inner turmoil. He was afraid of losing his self-control; he tried to catch at something and fix his mind on it, something quite irrelevant, but he could not succeed in this at all. Yet the head clerk greatly interested him, he kept hoping to see through him and guess something from his face. He was a very young man, about two and twenty, with a dark mobile face that looked older than his years. He was fashionably dressed and foppish, with his hair parted in the middle, well combed and pomaded, and wore a number of rings on his well-scrubbed fingers and a gold chain on his waistcoat. He said a couple of words in French to a foreigner who was in the room, and said them fairly correctly. "Luise Ivanovna, you can sit down," he said casually to the gaily-dressed, purple-faced lady, who was still standing as though not venturing to sit down, though there was a chair beside her. "Ich danke," said the latter, and softly, with a rustle of silk she sank into the chair.

她浅蓝色的连衣裙镶着白色花边,像气球一样飘在桌子周围,几乎占了半个房间。她周身散发出香水味。但她显然因为占了半个房间和身上浓烈的香水味而局促不安；尽管她的笑容既厚颜无耻又谄媚,却透露出明显的不安。穿丧服的女士终于完成了,站起身来。突然,一个军官很神气地走了进来,每走一步都带着一种特别的肩膀摆动。他把饰有帽徽的帽子扔在桌上,在安乐椅上坐了下来。那个小个子女士一看见他,立刻从座位上跳起来,欣喜若狂地连连行礼；但军官对她毫不理会,她也不敢在他面前重新坐下。他是副局长。他长着红褐色的胡子,在脸两侧水平翘起,五官极小,除了某种傲慢之外,什么表情也没有。他斜着眼,相当恼怒地看着拉斯柯尼科夫；拉斯柯尼科夫穿得那么褴褛,而尽管他处境卑微,他的举止却与他的衣着完全不符。拉斯柯尼科夫无意中非常长久而直接地盯着他看,这使得他感到受到了冒犯。“你想干什么？”他喊道,显然很惊讶这样一个衣衫褴褛的家伙居然没有被他的威严目光吓得魂飞魄散。“我被传唤……通过一张传票……”拉斯柯尼科夫结结巴巴地说。“追索学生欠款,”首席书记官急忙插嘴,从文件中抬起头来。“给你！”他把一份文件扔给拉斯柯尼科夫,并指了指地方。“念吧！”“欠款？什么欠款？”拉斯柯尼科夫想,“但是……那么……肯定不是那件事。”他高兴得发抖。他感到一种突如其来的、无法形容的解脱。一块大石头从背上卸了下来。“请问,先生,指定你什么时候来？”副局长喊道,似乎莫名其妙地越来越恼怒。“告诉你九点来,现在都十二点了！”“传票是一刻钟前才给我的,”拉斯柯尼科夫回头大声答道。令他惊讶的是,他自己也突然生起气来,并从其中感到某种快意。“而且我发烧生病还来了,这已经足够了。”“请不要大喊大叫！”“我没有大喊大叫,我说话很轻,是你在对我喊叫。我是学生,我不允许任何人对我喊叫。”副局长气得一时只能含糊不清地骂骂咧咧。他跳起身来。“住口！你在政府机关里。别放肆,先生！”“你也在政府机关里,”拉斯柯尼科夫喊道,“你不仅喊叫,还抽烟,这是对我们所有人的不尊重。”他说完这话,感到一种无法形容的满足。首席书记官微笑着看着他。愤怒的副局长显然不知所措。“这不关你的事！”最后他用不自然的嗓门喊道。“请按要求作出声明。给他看,亚历山大·格里戈里耶维奇。有人控告你！你不付债！你是个好家伙！”但拉斯柯尼科夫现在没在听；他急切地抓住文件,急于找到解释。他读了一遍,又读了一遍,仍然不明白。“这是什么？”他问首席书记官。“这是依据借据追索债务的令状。你必须要么付清欠款,包括所有费用、开支等等,要么书面声明你何时能偿付,同时承诺在还清欠款前不离开本城,也不得出售或隐匿财产。债权人有权出售你的财产,并根据法律对你起诉。”“可是我……不欠任何人钱！”“那不关我们的事。这儿,一张一百一十五卢布的借据,经过合法认证,已经到期,被送来追索,是你九个月前开给陪审员遗孀扎尔尼岑的,然后由遗孀扎尔尼岑转让给某位切巴罗夫先生。因此我们据此传唤你。”“但她是我女房东！”“她是你的女房东又怎样？”首席书记官带着一种宽容的同情微笑看着他,同时又有点胜利的神情,就像看着一个第一次受审的新手--似乎在说:“喂,你现在感觉如何？”但是,他此刻哪里还在乎什么借据,什么追索令状！那现在还值得担心吗,值得注意吗！他站着,他读着,他听着,他回答着,他甚至自己提问,但都是机械的。胜利的安全感,从压倒性的危险中获救的感觉,此刻充满了他整个灵魂,没有对未来的思考,没有分析,没有推测或猜想,没有怀疑,也没有追问。这是一个纯粹的、直接的、完全本能的喜悦瞬间。但就在这时,办公室里仿佛发生了暴风雨。先前被拉斯柯尼科夫的不敬所动摇的副局长,仍在怒气冲冲,显然急于维护他受伤的尊严,便向那位不幸的时髦女士猛扑过去--她自从他进来起就一直用极其愚蠢的微笑注视着他。“你这个不要脸的荡妇！”他突然声嘶力竭地喊道。

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unkempt /ˌʌnˈkempt/

adj. 不整洁的,蓬乱的➕

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foppish /ˈfɒpɪʃ/

adj. 花花公子般的,讲究衣着的➕

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turmoil /ˈtɜːrmɔɪl/

n. 混乱,骚动➕

🔊 Her light blue dress trimmed with white lace floated about the table like an air-balloon and filled almost half the room. She smelt of scent. But she was obviously embarrassed at filling half the room and smelling so strongly of scent; and though her smile was impudent as well as cringing, it betrayed evident uneasiness. The lady in mourning had done at last, and got up. All at once, with some noise, an officer walked in very jauntily, with a peculiar swing of his shoulders at each step. He tossed his cockaded cap on the table and sat down in an easy-chair. The small lady positively skipped from her seat on seeing him, and fell to curtsying in a sort of ecstasy; but the officer took not the smallest notice of her, and she did not venture to sit down again in his presence. He was the assistant superintendent. 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. "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. I'm a student, and allow no one to shout at me." The assistant superintendent was so furious that for the first minute he could only splutter inarticulately. He leaped up from his seat. "Be silent! You are in a government office.

（穿丧服的女士已经离开办公室。）“昨晚你家里发生了什么事？嗯？又是丢脸的事,你成了整条街的丑闻。又打架又喝酒。你想进教养院吗？我警告过你十次,第十一次我不会放过你！可你又来了,又来了,你……你……！”纸从拉斯柯尼科夫手中掉了下来,他发狂地看着那位被如此无礼对待的时髦女士。但他很快就明白了是怎么回事,并立刻开始在这个丑闻中找到了一种积极的乐趣。他饶有兴趣地听着,甚至很想笑,想大笑……他所有的神经都绷紧了。“伊利亚·彼得罗维奇！”首席书记官不安地开口,但停住了,因为他凭经验知道,被激怒的副局长除非用武力否则无法阻止。至于那位时髦女士,起初她在暴风雨面前真的发抖了。但奇怪的是,辱骂的话越多、越猛烈,她的表情就越和蔼,她投向可怕的副局长的笑容也越迷人。她不安地扭动着身子,不停地行礼,急切地等待机会插话；最后她终于找到了机会。“我家里没有吵闹和打架,上尉先生,”她突然像撒豆子一样叽里呱啦地说起来,带着强烈的德国口音,但俄语说得很自信,“也根本没有任何丑闻,阁下是喝醉了来的,我说的全是实话,上尉先生,我没有一点错……我是正派人家,上尉先生,规矩正派,而且我自己一向最讨厌任何丑闻。但他醉醺醺地来了,又要了三瓶酒,然后他抬起一条腿,开始用一只脚弹钢琴,这在正派人家是绝对不行的,他 ganz 把钢琴弄坏了,那样子非常无礼,我就说他了。他拿起一个酒瓶,开始用它打人。于是我喊了看门人,卡尔来了,他抓住卡尔打他的眼睛；他把亨丽埃特的眼睛也打伤了,还打了我五个耳光。这在正派人家是非常不绅士的,上尉先生,我尖叫起来。他打开临运河的窗户,站在窗口,像小猪一样尖叫,真是丢人。在窗口对着街上像小猪一样尖叫！真不要脸！卡尔抓住他的上衣把他从窗口拉了下来,这是真的,上尉先生,他撕破了他的上衣。然后他喊道,必须得赔他十五卢布损失。我给了他,上尉先生,五卢布赔他的上衣。他是一个不绅士的访客,引起了所有这些丑闻。

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impudent /ˈɪmpjədənt/

adj. 放肆的,无礼的➕

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ecstasy /ˈekstəsi/

n. 狂喜,入迷➕

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insolence /ˈɪnsələns/

n. 傲慢,无礼➕

🔊 Don't be impudent, sir!" "You're in a government office, too," cried Raskolnikov, "and you're smoking a cigarette as well as shouting, so you are showing disrespect to all of us." He felt an indescribable satisfaction at having said this. The head clerk looked at him with a smile. The angry assistant superintendent was obviously disconcerted. "That's not your business!" he shouted at last with unnatural loudness. "Kindly make the declaration demanded of you. Show him. Alexandr Grigorievitch. There is a complaint against you! You don't pay your debts! You're a fine bird!" But Raskolnikov was not listening now; he had eagerly clutched at the paper, in haste to find an explanation. He read it once, and a second time, and still did not understand. "What is this?" he asked the head clerk. "It is for the recovery of money on an I O U, a writ. You must either pay it, with all expenses, costs and so on, or give a written declaration when you can pay it, and at the same time an undertaking not to leave the capital without payment, and nor to sell or conceal your property. The creditor is at liberty to sell your property, and proceed against you according to the law." "But I... am not in debt to anyone!" "That's not our business. Here, an I O U for a hundred and fifteen roubles, legally attested, and due for payment, has been brought us for recovery, given by you to the widow of the assessor Zarnitsyn, nine months ago, and paid over by the widow Zarnitsyn to one Mr. Tchebarov. We therefore summon you, hereupon." "But she is my landlady!" "And what if she is your landlady?" The head clerk looked at him with a condescending smile of compassion, and at the same time with a certain triumph, as at a novice under fire for the first time-as though he would say: "Well, how do you feel now?" But what did he care now for an I O U, for a writ of recovery! Was that worth worrying about now, was it worth attention even! He stood, he read, he listened, he answered, he even asked questions himself, but all mechanically. The triumphant sense of security, of deliverance from overwhelming danger, that was what filled his whole soul that moment without thought for the future, without analysis, without suppositions or surmises, without doubts and without questioning. It was an instant of full, direct, purely instinctive joy. But at that very moment something like a thunderstorm took place in the office. The assistant superintendent, still shaken by Raskolnikov's disrespect, still fuming and obviously anxious to keep up his wounded dignity, pounced on the unfortunate smart lady, who had been gazing at him ever since he came in with an exceedingly silly smile. "You shameful hussy!" he shouted suddenly at the top of his voice.

‘我要揭露你,’他说,‘因为我可以在所有报纸上写你。’”“那么他是作家？”“是的,上尉先生,而且是一个在正派人家极不绅士的访客……”“好啦！够了！我已经告诉过你……”伊利亚·彼得罗维奇！首席书记官意味深长地重复了一遍。副局长迅速看了他一眼；首席书记官微微摇了摇头。“……所以我告诉你,最可敬的路易莎·伊万诺夫娜,我最后一次告诉你,”副局长继续说,“要是你的正派人家再发生一次丑闻,我就把你本人关进拘留所,这在文明社会里就是这么叫的。听到了吗？那么一位文人,一位作家,在一所‘正派人家’为了他的上衣后摆要了五卢布？这些作家真是一群好东西！”他轻蔑地瞥了拉斯柯尼科夫一眼。“前几天一家饭店里也出了丑闻。一个作家吃了饭不给钱；‘我要写讽刺文章骂你,’他说。还有上周的一个,在轮船上对一位文官的可敬家属--他的妻子和女儿--说了最下流的话。还有一个,前天被人从一家糖果店里赶了出来。他们就是这样,作家、文人、学生、市井喧嚣者……呸！你走吧！我自己会到你家去的。到那时你小心点！听到了吗？”路易莎·伊万诺夫娜带着匆忙的恭敬,向四面八方点头哈腰,就这样退到门口。但在门口,她向后一退,撞上了一个英俊的军官,他面容清新开朗,长着漂亮浓密的淡黄色络腮胡子。这正是本区警察局长本人,尼科季姆·福米奇。路易莎·伊万诺夫娜连忙几乎跪下行礼,然后迈着小碎步,飞快地飘出了办公室。“又是雷电交加--暴风雨！”尼科季姆·福米奇用客气友好的声调对伊利亚·彼得罗维奇说。“你又激动了,又冒火了！我在楼梯上就听到了！”“那又怎样！”伊利亚·彼得罗维奇用绅士般的漫不经心拖长声调说；然后他迈着神气的步子,每走一步肩膀一摆,拿着一些文件走到另一张桌子。“喏,请您看看:一个作家,或者至少是个学生,不付债,开了借据,不肯搬出房间,不断地有人投诉他,而他还居然反对我当着他的面抽烟！他自己行为下流,请您看看他。这位先生就在这里,而且很吸引人呢！”“贫穷不是罪过,我的朋友,但我知道你像火药一样一点就着,你受不了丝毫冒犯,你大概自己受了什么委屈,也做得过分了,”尼科季姆·福米奇继续说道,和蔼地转向拉斯柯尼科夫。

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writ /rɪt/

n. 令状；文书（法律）➕

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condescending /ˌkɒndɪˈsendɪŋ/

adj. 居高临下的,傲慢的➕

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dignity /ˈdɪɡnəti/

n. 尊严,自尊➕

🔊 (The lady in mourning had left the office.) "What was going on at your house last night? Eh! A disgrace again, you're a scandal to the whole street. Fighting and drinking again. Do you want the house of correction? Why, I have warned you ten times over that I would not let you off the eleventh! And here you are again, again, you... you...!" The paper fell out of Raskolnikov's hands, and he looked wildly at the smart lady who was so unceremoniously treated. But he soon saw what it meant, and at once began to find positive amusement in the scandal. He listened with pleasure, so that he longed to laugh and laugh... all his nerves were on edge. "Ilya Petrovitch!" the head clerk was beginning anxiously, but stopped short, for he knew from experience that the enraged assistant could not be stopped except by force. As for the smart lady, at first she positively trembled before the storm. But, strange to say, the more numerous and violent the terms of abuse became, the more amiable she looked, and the more seductive the smiles she lavished on the terrible assistant. She moved uneasily, and curtsied incessantly, waiting impatiently for a chance of putting in her word: and at last she found it. "There was no sort of noise or fighting in my house, Mr. Captain," she pattered all at once, like peas dropping, speaking Russian confidently, though with a strong German accent, "and no sort of scandal, and his honour came drunk, and it's the whole truth I am telling, Mr. Captain, and I am not to blame.... Mine is an honourable house, Mr. Captain, and honourable behaviour, Mr. Captain, and I always, always dislike any scandal myself. But he came quite tipsy, and asked for three bottles again, and then he lifted up one leg, and began playing the pianoforte with one foot, and that is not at all right in an honourable house, and he ganz broke the piano, and it was very bad manners indeed and I said so. And he took up a bottle and began hitting everyone with it. And then I called the porter, and Karl came, and he took Karl and hit him in the eye; and he hit Henriette in the eye, too, and gave me five slaps on the cheek. And it was so ungentlemanly in an honourable house, Mr. Captain, and I screamed. And he opened the window over the canal, and stood in the window, squealing like a little pig; it was a disgrace. The idea of squealing like a little pig at the window into the street! Fie upon him! And Karl pulled him away from the window by his coat, and it is true, Mr. Captain, he tore sein rock. And then he shouted that man muss pay him fifteen roubles damages. And I did pay him, Mr. Captain, five roubles for sein rock. And he is an ungentlemanly visitor and caused all the scandal.

“但你在那件事上是错的；他是个好小伙子,我向你保证,只是暴躁,暴躁！他容易发火,一烧起来就不可收拾！但过后就没事了！其实他心地很善良！他在团里的绰号是火爆中尉……”“而且那是个什么样的团啊！”伊利亚·彼得罗维奇叫道,虽然还在生气,但对这友好的打趣感到十分受用。拉斯柯尼科夫突然很想对所有人说点特别愉快的话。“请原谅,上尉,”他轻松地开口,突然对尼科季姆·福米奇说,“您能理解我的处境吗？……如果我失礼了,我准备道歉。我是一个穷学生,因为生病和贫困而垮掉了（他用了‘垮掉’这个词）。我现在不上学,因为我无法维持生活,但我会弄到钱的……我有一个母亲和妹妹在X省。她们会寄钱给我,我会付清的。我的女房东是个好心肠的女人,但她因为我丢掉了工作,并且欠了四个月房租没付,非常生气,连饭都不给我送……而且我根本不明白这张借据是怎么回事。她凭这张借据要我付钱。我怎么付给她？请您评判一下！”

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enraged /ɪnˈreɪdʒd/

adj. 被激怒的,暴怒的➕

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seductive /sɪˈdʌktɪv/

adj. 诱惑的,迷人的➕

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ungentlemanly /ʌnˈdʒentlmənli/

adj. 不绅士的,无礼的➕

🔊 'I will show you up,' he said, 'for I can write to all the papers about you.'" "Then he was an author?" "Yes, Mr. Captain, and what an ungentlemanly visitor in an honourable house...." "Now then! Enough! I have told you already..." "Ilya Petrovitch!" the head clerk repeated significantly. The assistant glanced rapidly at him; the head clerk slightly shook his head. "... So I tell you this, most respectable Luise Ivanovna, and I tell it you for the last time," the assistant went on. "If there is a scandal in your honourable house once again, I will put you yourself in the lock-up, as it is called in polite society. Do you hear? So a literary man, an author took five roubles for his coat-tail in an 'honourable house'? A nice set, these authors!" And he cast a contemptuous glance at Raskolnikov. "There was a scandal the other day in a restaurant, too. An author had eaten his dinner and would not pay; 'I'll write a satire on you,' says he. And there was another of them on a steamer last week used the most disgraceful language to the respectable family of a civil councillor, his wife and daughter. And there was one of them turned out of a confectioner's shop the other day. They are like that, authors, literary men, students, town-criers.... Pfoo! You get along! I shall look in upon you myself one day. Then you had better be careful! Do you hear?" With hurried deference, Luise Ivanovna fell to curtsying in all directions, and so curtsied herself to the door. But at the door, she stumbled backwards against a good-looking officer with a fresh, open face and splendid thick fair whiskers. This was the superintendent of the district himself, Nikodim Fomitch. Luise Ivanovna made haste to curtsy almost to the ground, and with mincing little steps, she fluttered out of the office. "Again thunder and lightning-a hurricane!" said Nikodim Fomitch to Ilya Petrovitch in a civil and friendly tone. "You are aroused again, you are fuming again! I heard it on the stairs!" "Well, what then!" Ilya Petrovitch drawled with gentlemanly nonchalance; and he walked with some papers to another table, with a jaunty swing of his shoulders at each step. "Here, if you will kindly look: an author, or a student, has been one at least, does not pay his debts, has given an I O U, won't clear out of his room, and complaints are constantly being lodged against him, and here he has been pleased to make a protest against my smoking in his presence! He behaves like a cad himself, and just look at him, please. Here's the gentleman, and very attractive he is!" "Poverty is not a vice, my friend, but we know you go off like powder, you can't bear a slight, I daresay you took offence at something and went too far yourself," continued Nikodim Fomitch, turning affably to Raskolnikov.

“但那不是我们的事,您知道,”首席书记官插嘴说。“是的,是的。我完全同意您。但请允许我解释……”拉斯柯尼科夫又说道,仍然对着尼科季姆·福米奇说,但也尽力对着伊利亚·彼得罗维奇说,尽管后者一直假装在翻文件,轻蔑地不理他。“请允许我解释,我在她那里住了将近三年,起初……起初……为什么我不承认呢,一开始我答应娶她的女儿,那是口头承诺,自愿的……她是个姑娘……事实上,我喜欢她,虽然并不爱她……实际上是年轻人的事……也就是说,我的意思是,那时女房东很信任我,让我赊账,我过着一种……非常粗心的生活……”“没有人问你这些个人细节,先生,我们没有时间可浪费,”伊利亚·彼得罗维奇粗暴而带着胜利的口吻插嘴说；但拉斯柯尼科夫热切地打断了他,尽管他突然发现说话异常困难。“但是请原谅,请原谅。这是我解释……这一切是怎么发生的……轮到我……虽然我同意您的看法……这没有必要。但是一年前,那个姑娘死于伤寒。我仍旧住在那里,当我的女房东搬到现在这个住处时,她对我说……以一种友好的方式……说对我完全信任,不过,她还是要我给她一张一百一十五卢布的借据,作为我欠她的全部债务。”

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contemptuous /kənˈtemptʃuəs/

adj. 轻蔑的,鄙视的➕

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nonchalance /ˈnɒnʃələns/

n. 冷淡,若无其事➕

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affably /ˈæfəbli/

adv. 和蔼地,亲切地➕

🔊 "But you were wrong there; he is a capital fellow, I assure you, but explosive, explosive! He gets hot, fires up, boils over, and no stopping him! And then it's all over! And at the bottom he's a heart of gold! His nickname in the regiment was the Explosive Lieutenant...." "And what a regiment it was, too," cried Ilya Petrovitch, much gratified at this agreeable banter, though still sulky. Raskolnikov had a sudden desire to say something exceptionally pleasant to them all. "Excuse me, Captain," he began easily, suddenly addressing Nikodim Fomitch, "will you enter into my position?... I am ready to ask pardon, if I have been ill-mannered. I am a poor student, sick and shattered (shattered was the word he used) by poverty. I am not studying, because I cannot keep myself now, but I shall get money.... I have a mother and sister in the province of X. They will send it to me, and I will pay. My landlady is a good-hearted woman, but she is so exasperated at my having lost my lessons, and not paying her for the last four months, that she does not even send up my dinner... and I don't understand this I O U at all. She is asking me to pay her on this I O U. How am I to pay her? Judge for yourselves!..." "But that is not our business, you know," the head clerk was observing. "Yes, yes. I perfectly agree with you. But allow me to explain..." Raskolnikov put in again, still addressing Nikodim Fomitch, but trying his best to address Ilya Petrovitch also, though the latter persistently appeared to be rummaging among his papers and to be contemptuously oblivious of him. "Allow me to explain that I have been living with her for nearly three years and at first... at first... for why should I not confess it, at the very beginning I promised to marry her daughter, it was a verbal promise, freely given... she was a girl... indeed, I liked her, though I was not in love with her... a youthful affair in fact... that is, I mean to say, that my landlady gave me credit freely in those days, and I led a life of... I was very heedless..." "Nobody asks you for these personal details, sir, we've no time to waste," Ilya Petrovitch interposed roughly and with a note of triumph; but Raskolnikov stopped him hotly, though he suddenly found it exceedingly difficult to speak. "But excuse me, excuse me. It is for me to explain... how it all happened... In my turn... though I agree with you... it is unnecessary. But a year ago, the girl died of typhus. I remained lodging there as before, and when my landlady moved into her present quarters, she said to me... and in a friendly way... that she had complete trust in me, but still, would I not give her an I O U for one hundred and fifteen roubles, all the debt I owed her.

“她说只要我给她这张借据,她就重新信任我,随便我欠多少都行,而且她永远--这是她的原话--决不会用这张借据,直到我自己能还清……而现在,当我失去了工作,没饭吃的时候,她却起诉我。对此我还能说什么呢？”

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explosive /ɪkˈsploʊsɪv/

adj. 暴躁的；易爆发的➕

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gratified /ˈɡrætɪfaɪd/

adj. 感到满足的,高兴的➕

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heedless /ˈhiːdləs/

adj. 不注意的,掉以轻心的➕

🔊 She said if only I gave her that, she would trust me again, as much as I liked, and that she would never, never-those were her own words-make use of that I O U till I could pay of myself... and now, when I have lost my lessons and have nothing to eat, she takes action against me. What am I to say to that?" "All these affecting details are no business of ours." Ilya Petrovitch interrupted rudely. "You must give a written undertaking but as for your love affairs and all these tragic events, we have nothing to do with that." "Come now... you are harsh," muttered Nikodim Fomitch, sitting down at the table and also beginning to write. He looked a little ashamed. "Write!" said the head clerk to Raskolnikov. "Write what?" the latter asked, gruffly. "I will dictate to you." Raskolnikov fancied that the head clerk treated him more casually and contemptuously after his speech, but strange to say he suddenly felt completely indifferent to anyone's opinion, and this revulsion took place in a flash, in one instant. If he had cared to think a little, he would have been amazed indeed that he could have talked to them like that a minute before, forcing his feelings upon them. And where had those feelings come from? Now if the whole room had been filled, not with police officers, but with those nearest and dearest to him, he would not have found one human word for them, so empty was his heart. A gloomy sensation of agonising, everlasting solitude and remoteness, took conscious form in his soul. It was not the meanness of his sentimental effusions before Ilya Petrovitch, nor the meanness of the latter's triumph over him that had caused this sudden revulsion in his heart. Oh, what had he to do now with his own baseness, with all these petty vanities, officers, German women, debts, police-offices? If he had been sentenced to be burnt at that moment, he would not have stirred, would hardly have heard the sentence to the end. Something was happening to him entirely new, sudden and unknown. It was not that he understood, but he felt clearly with all the intensity of sensation that he could never more appeal to these people in the police-office with sentimental effusions like his recent outburst, or with anything whatever; and that if they had been his own brothers and sisters and not police-officers, it would have been utterly out of the question to appeal to them in any circumstance of life. He had never experienced such a strange and awful sensation. And what was most agonising-it was more a sensation than a conception or idea, a direct sensation, the most agonising of all the sensations he had known in his life.

“所有这些感伤的细节不关我们的事。”伊利亚·彼得罗维奇粗鲁地打断他。“你必须做出书面保证,至于你的恋爱故事和所有这些悲剧事件,我们不管。”“喂……你太苛刻了,”尼科季姆·福米奇咕哝道,在桌旁坐下,也开始写东西。他看上去有点不好意思。“写吧！”首席书记官对拉斯柯尼科夫说。“写什么？”后者粗声粗气地问。“我来口述。”拉斯柯尼科夫觉得,在他那番话之后,首席书记官对待他更加随便和轻蔑了,但奇怪的是,他忽然变得完全不在乎任何人的看法了,这种变化发生在一瞬间,一刹那。如果他肯稍微想一下,他确实会感到惊讶,一分钟前他竟会那样对他们说话,把自己的感情强加给他们。那些感情又是从哪里来的？现在,即使整个房间里挤满的不是警察,而是他至亲至近的人,他也找不到一句人话对他们说,他的内心是如此空虚。一种痛苦的、永恒的孤独和疏离的阴郁感觉,在他灵魂中清晰地形成了。导致他内心这种突然转变的,并不是他在伊利亚·彼得罗维奇面前感情倾诉的卑鄙,也不是后者对他占据上风的卑鄙。哦,他现在还在乎自己的卑鄙、所有这些琐碎的虚荣、军官、德国女人、债务、警察局吗？如果此刻他被判处火刑,他也不会动弹一下,甚至不会把判决听完。某种全新的、突如其来的、未知的事情正在他身上发生。他并非明白,而是清晰地感觉到,以全部感觉的强度感受到,他再也不能像刚才那样向警察局的这些人感情倾诉,或以其他任何方式向他们呼吁了；而且,即使他们是他的亲生兄弟姐妹,而不是警察,在任何生活情况下向他们呼吁也完全是不可可能的。他从未经历过如此奇怪而可怕的感觉。而最痛苦的是--这更像是一种感觉,而不是概念或思想,一种直接的感觉,是他一生中所知道的最痛苦的感觉。

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revulsion /rɪˈvʌlʃn/

n. 突变；厌恶➕

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solitude /ˈsɑːlɪtuːd/

n. 孤独,独处➕

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sentimental /ˌsentɪˈmentl/

adj. 多愁善感的,感伤的➕

🔊 The head clerk began dictating to him the usual form of declaration, that he could not pay, that he undertook to do so at a future date, that he would not leave the town, nor sell his property, and so on. "But you can't write, you can hardly hold the pen," observed the head clerk, looking with curiosity at Raskolnikov. "Are you ill?" "Yes, I am giddy. Go on!" "That's all. Sign it." The head clerk took the paper, and turned to attend to others. Raskolnikov gave back the pen; but instead of getting up and going away, he put his elbows on the table and pressed his head in his hands. He felt as if a nail were being driven into his skull. A strange idea suddenly occurred to him, to get up at once, to go up to Nikodim Fomitch, and tell him everything that had happened yesterday, and then to go with him to his lodgings and to show him the things in the hole in the corner. The impulse was so strong that he got up from his seat to carry it out. "Hadn't I better think a minute?" flashed through his mind. "No, better cast off the burden without thinking." But all at once he stood still, rooted to the spot. Nikodim Fomitch was talking eagerly with Ilya Petrovitch, and the words reached him: "It's impossible, they'll both be released. To begin with, the whole story contradicts itself. Why should they have called the porter, if it had been their doing? To inform against themselves? Or as a blind? No, that would be too cunning! Besides, Pestryakov, the student, was seen at the gate by both the porters and a woman as he went in. He was walking with three friends, who left him only at the gate, and he asked the porters to direct him, in the presence of the friends. Now, would he have asked his way if he had been going with such an object? As for Koch, he spent half an hour at the silversmith's below, before he went up to the old woman and he left him at exactly a quarter to eight. Now just consider..." "But excuse me, how do you explain this contradiction? They state themselves that they knocked and the door was locked; yet three minutes later when they went up with the porter, it turned out the door was unfastened." "That's just it; the murderer must have been there and bolted himself in; and they'd have caught him for a certainty if Koch had not been an ass and gone to look for the porter too. He must have seized the interval to get downstairs and slip by them somehow. Koch keeps crossing himself and saying: 'If I had been there, he would have jumped out and killed me with his axe.' He is going to have a thanksgiving service-ha, ha!" "And no one saw the murderer?" "They might well not see him; the house is a regular Noah's Ark," said the head clerk, who was listening. "It's clear, quite clear," Nikodim Fomitch repeated warmly.

首席书记官开始向他口述通常的声明格式,说他无法付款,承诺将来会付,不会离开城市,不出售财产等等。“但是您写不了,您几乎拿不住笔,”首席书记官注意到,好奇地看着拉斯柯尼科夫。“您病了吗？”“是的,我头晕。请继续念！”“完了。签字。”首席书记官拿走了纸,转向其他人。拉斯柯尼科夫把笔还回去；但他没有站起来离开,而是把胳膊肘支在桌子上,双手抱住头。他感觉好像有一根钉子钉进了他的脑壳。他突然想到一个奇怪的念头:立即站起身来,走到尼科季姆·福米奇面前,把昨天发生的一切都告诉他,然后带他到自己的住处,给他看墙角窟窿里的东西。这个冲动如此强烈,以至于他从座位上站起来想去做。“我是不是最好想一会儿？”他脑海中闪过一个念头。“不,最好不加思考地卸下这个包袱。”但他突然站住了,像生了根一样。尼科季姆·福米奇正在热切地与伊利亚·彼得罗维奇交谈,他的话传到了他耳中:“不可能,他们俩都会被释放。首先,整个故事自相矛盾。如果是他们干的,他们为什么要叫看门人？为了举报自己？还是为了掩人耳目？不,那太狡猾了！此外,佩斯特里亚科夫那个学生,进门时被两个看门人和一个女人看见了。他和三个朋友一起走,朋友们在门口才离开他,他当着朋友的面问看门人怎么走。现在,如果他带着那样的目的,会问路吗？至于柯赫,他在上楼到老太婆那里去之前,在楼下银匠那里待了半小时,而他在差一刻八点时离开了银匠。现在你想一想……”“但是请原谅,你怎么解释这个矛盾？他们自己说他们敲了门,门是锁着的；而三分钟后他们和看门人一起上去时,门却是开着的。”“问题就在这儿；凶手一定还在里面,把自己锁在里面；如果柯赫不是个笨蛋,也跟着去找看门人的话,他们肯定能抓住他。他一定是抓住了那个间隙下了楼,以某种方式从他们身边溜了过去。柯赫不停地画十字说:‘如果我在那里,他会跳出来用斧头把我砍死。’他打算去做谢恩祈祷--哈哈！”“那么没人看见凶手吗？”“他们很可能没看见他；这栋房子简直是个诺亚方舟,”听着他们说话的首席书记官说。“很清楚,非常清楚,”尼科季姆·福米奇热烈地重复道。“不,一点也不清楚,”伊利亚·彼得罗维奇坚持说。拉斯柯尼科夫拿起帽子,朝门口走去,但他没有走到门口……

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cunning /ˈkʌnɪŋ/

adj. 狡猾的,诡诈的➕

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blind /blaɪnd/

n. 幌子,掩护➕

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Noah's Ark /ˈnoʊəz ɑːrk/

n. 诺亚方舟（比喻拥挤混乱的地方）➕

🔊 "No, it is anything but clear," Ilya Petrovitch maintained. Raskolnikov picked up his hat and walked towards the door, but he did not reach it.... When he recovered consciousness, he found himself sitting in a chair, supported by someone on the right side, while someone else was standing on the left, holding a yellowish glass filled with yellow water, and Nikodim Fomitch standing before him, looking intently at him. He got up from the chair. "What's this? Are you ill?" Nikodim Fomitch asked, rather sharply. "He could hardly hold his pen when he was signing," said the head clerk, settling back in his place, and taking up his work again. "Have you been ill long?" cried Ilya Petrovitch from his place, where he, too, was looking through papers. He had, of course, come to look at the sick man when he fainted, but retired at once when he recovered. "Since yesterday," muttered Raskolnikov in reply. "Did you go out yesterday?" "Yes." "Though you were ill?" "Yes." "At what time?" "About seven." "And where did you go, my I ask?" "Along the street." "Short and clear." Raskolnikov, white as a handkerchief, had answered sharply, jerkily, without dropping his black feverish eyes before Ilya Petrovitch's stare. "He can scarcely stand upright. And you..." Nikodim Fomitch was beginning. "No matter," Ilya Petrovitch pronounced rather peculiarly. Nikodim Fomitch would have made some further protest, but glancing at the head clerk who was looking very hard at him, he did not speak. There was a sudden silence. It was strange. "Very well, then," concluded Ilya Petrovitch, "we will not detain you." Raskolnikov went out. He caught the sound of eager conversation on his departure, and above the rest rose the questioning voice of Nikodim Fomitch. In the street, his faintness passed off completely. "A search-there will be a search at once," he repeated to himself, hurrying home. "The brutes! they suspect." His former terror mastered him completely again.

当他恢复知觉时,他发现自己坐在一把椅子上,右边有人扶着他,左边站着另一个人,手里拿着一个淡黄色的杯子,里面盛着黄色的水,而尼科季姆·福米奇站在他面前,专注地看着他。他从椅子上站起身来。“怎么回事？你病了吗？”尼科季姆·福米奇相当严厉地问。“他签字时几乎拿不住笔,”首席书记官说道,然后坐回自己的座位,重新开始工作。“你病了多久了？”伊利亚·彼得罗维奇从自己的座位上喊道,他也在翻阅文件。当然,当他昏倒时,他曾过来看这个病人,但在他苏醒后立刻退回到自己的位置上去了。“从昨天起,”拉斯柯尼科夫咕哝着回答。“你昨天出去了吗？”“是的。”“尽管病了？”“是的。”“什么时间？”“大约七点。”“你去了哪里,可以问问吗？”“沿着街走。”“简短而干脆。”拉斯柯尼科夫脸色像手帕一样白,回答得简短而急促,没有在伊利亚·彼得罗维奇的注视下垂下那双正发着烧的黑眼睛。“他几乎站都站不稳了。而您……”尼科季姆·福米奇开始说。“没关系,”伊利亚·彼得罗维奇用一种相当奇怪的语气说道。尼科季姆·福米奇本想再表示反对,但看了一眼紧紧盯着他的首席书记官,就没有再说话。突然一阵沉默。这很奇怪。“好了,那么,”伊利亚·彼得罗维奇总结道,“我们不耽搁您了。”拉斯柯尼科夫走了出去。他听到离开时身后传来热烈的交谈声,其中尼科季姆·福米奇的质问声最为突出。到了街上,他的晕眩完全消失了。“搜查--马上就会搜查的,”他在赶回家时对自己重复道。“这些畜生！他们怀疑了。”他先前的恐惧又完全控制了他。

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feverish /ˈfiːvərɪʃ/

adj. 发烧的；狂热的➕

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brutes /bruːts/

n. 畜生,残忍的人（复数）➕

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terror /ˈterər/

n. 恐怖,惊恐➕

Part 2 – Chapter one (第一章)